Whispered Music (London Fairy Tales #2)(4)

He was bluffing. For the first time since their journey she saw doubt in his eyes; either he wasn’t used to talking of such things and therefore was not as wicked as he wanted her to believe, or he in his own way was afraid of marriage and the love that came with it.

“Then tell me—” she challenged — “After all, I am such a curious sort. Innocent of the ways of the world. Regale me with stories, my lord. I wait with bated breath. After all, I grow bored and you won’t even tell me how far we are in our trip to your estates.”

****

Dominique kept his face impassive as he watched the whirlwind of emotions cross the beautiful Isabelle’s features. The minx was bluffing, but he hadn’t the heart to be so cruel to her in such short time. Granted, he wasn’t sure he had a heart to begin with, but for some reason she tugged at him, which truthfully irritated him all the more.

And the blasted music rolling off of her was the most soothing sound he had heard in years. The chit would probably think him unhinged if she knew that every time she smiled he heard the trickling melody played in the key of G.

Swallowing, he slowly scanned her face, taking in every plane of her soft features. One such as he should not be rewarded with the perfection sitting across from him. Not after doing what he did.

“We, of course, need to cross the channel, then it is only a days’ ride to my estate. I imagine we have at least a few days worth of travel with one another.”

“You ignored my other question.”

“What other question?” He lifted his eyebrow trying not to be amused at her bravery, stupid as it was.

“About the marriage bed.” Her blush was becoming and he found a smile trying to crack through his stony features. Blast, it had been years since he felt a genuine smile.

All it took was reminding himself of women’s deceit, folly, and finally, of his mother and the worst betrayal of all. It was as if a bucket of cold seawater had been thrown over his head. With a grimace he answered, “Ah yes, the marriage bed. I’ve half a mind to show you rather than tell, after all, you will soon be my wife, and if anyone needs a lesson in silence, it is you, my dear.”

“I dare you.”

“Pardon?” Was the woman mad? Did she not know who he was? What he could do to her? The absolute power he had over her tiny, insignificant life? “You dare me?” At that, he did laugh, good and hard.

Isabelle’s chin tilted up, her eyes challenging his.

He must be cursed, or mad, or dreaming, for he had never met a woman who would willingly dare him to do anything, especially when it included ruining her so thoroughly.

Before she could change her mind, he slipped his hands behind her head, jerking her closer. Warm, innocent lips met his with confusion, and then fear as they trembled under his touch. And he meant to make it worse, to make her loathe him, for it was the only way to keep himself safe.

He plundered her hair, wildly pulling the lush golden-brown strands as his mouth accosted hers. However, when she gasped against his lips, his blood roared, and he found that he couldn’t stop the challenge even if he wanted to. With what felt much like a grunt or beastly roar, he drove his tongue into the ecstasy of her mouth. Desire shot through him at alarming speed when her tongue met his, carefully at first and then as wrapped up in passion as he. Her hands went to cup his face, softly rubbing his beard, his jaw, not once repaying his savagery with scorn of her own, but tenderness.

Enough to shatter the walls around his heart.

Her taste was sweet, but the need to protect himself was survival, so with great force he pushed her back against her seat and left her.

Her cherry-red lips stood out in contrast to her bright blue eyes as she stared back at him. Her hair was undone to her waist, wavy and thick, glistening in the carriage as if it was merely reflecting off her glowing face.

“I imagine that was your first kiss,” he said.

“You imagine correctly.” Her voice was slightly shaky. Dominique refused to feel guilty.

With a mocking laugh he tilted his head, trying to appear patronizing and cruel. “I could tell that it was your first kiss and I no longer feel guilty.”

“Guilty? I’m surprised a man of your reputation even understands the word.” Isabelle’s scowl deepened.

“And to think, this whole time I was feeling guilty that I had stolen a London treasure and was being beastly in coveting you for myself, but now I see the truth. You’re just like every other debutante—a cold English fish with no ability to drive a man wild with lust. Take your form...” He lifted a gloved hand with a flick of his wrist and shook his head. “You’ve no beautiful curves to speak of, plain brown hair, and frankly, the skill of the worst of courtesans. So, you see, I don’t feel guilty. If anything I should be commended for taking you off their hands.”





Chapter Two


Music feeds the soul much like food feeds the body; starve your body of food and it will surely die. Starve your soul of music and I fear the ending would be catastrophic.

— The Diary of Dominique Maksylov



His ridiculous speech was met with a slap so hard he could do nothing save curse for several minutes as the stinging continued to throb across his face. The chit had attacked him! Surprisingly, he hadn’t seen it coming, though he deserved it and more.

When he opened his eyes, the look on Isabelle’s face haunted him, for it was the exact look he’d seen daily on his own mother’s face after she’d fought with his father.