Whispered Music (London Fairy Tales #2)(42)

The haunted practice room, still littered with glass and remnants of death, seemed to groan in the candlelight. He figured, after around seven swallows of brandy, that it would make him feel loads better to be surrounded by more darkness. To remember the light he witnessed while making love to his wife, the goodness she brought, the way her heart, her soul seemed to reach out and meet his...

Well, it was fruitless.

Because he would never have children. The idea of passing an heir repulsed him. For it meant that his father would have been proud that he was finally being the leader he demanded Dominique be. And although his father was dead, by his own hands nonetheless, he refused to give him one more thing to boast about in Hades.

Though the idea that any son or daughter would possess his wife’s goodness brought a smile to his face, the smile was quickly removed when he walked into this room.

If he tarried with such thoughts any longer, he would live to regret it. For if he touched his wife one more time, he would be lost forever, and even he knew there were consequences to loving someone too much, becoming obsessed with that very thing until it consumes you and forces you to go beyond all logic, all reason. He knew he had his mother in him, knew that if love ever got a hold of him, it would never relent.

Dominique took another swig of brandy and sat on the piano bench. The melody from his childhood haunted him, its minor notes floating into the air, almost visible in his drunken state.

Candlelight danced off the walls, and the room seemed enchanted. With an exasperated sigh, he placed his gloved hands on the piano. They slipped across the dust. Taking a look around the room, he slowly removed the gloves and poured brandy onto them and then wiped the keys.

He tossed the gloves to the floor and brought his scarred hands to the piano. It was always a magical thing, the way his warm skin used to feel against the cold keys. And then the music would dance into the air and it would consume everything about him. A trance would take over and he would imagine himself floating above, basking in the joy of the music.

Even the haunting song brought him respite. Perhaps being with Isabelle was better for him than he realized. For the first time in fifteen years he was able to play the song without crying.

Or cursing.

Or throwing things, which Miss Ward would truly appreciate.

****

Isabelle awoke with a start.

The room, once bathed in the afterglow of love-making, was cold and lonely. She reached out her hand and ran it across the empty side of the bed where Dominique had just slept. Memories of a few hours before bombarded her brain. A nervous tremble ran down her body as she closed her eyes in remembrance of his erotic touch.

The way his lips pressed against her neck.

His hot breath tickling her ear.

And then she heard it.

Classical music.

The notes reached deep into her soul. An urge, stronger than she had ever known, came over her as she reached for her dressing gown and walked to the door, toward the direction of the music.

It grew louder as she descended the stairs.

A light glowing from the practice room drew her attention. Dominique had told her never to go into the room. But surely after everything they had shared that night, he wouldn’t mind if she listened?

The music stopped. Disappointed she walked to the door and leaned against it. It creaked open, and her feet moved her forward on their own accord. Tingling awareness washed over her as she took a tentative step into the room.

Dominique’s back was to her. His head hovered over the dusty piano. He began playing the same haunting song again, and she fought to keep her eyes open when all she wanted to do was close them and get lost in the beauty of the music. It was bittersweet, just when the melody began to climb, it would fall back down and drown within the sharp notes, making her want to weep.

As he continued to play, she watched as his muscles tensed in his back, stretching underneath his white shirt. His fingers moved so fast, so effortlessly. She could only see a blur of his hands, only the pinkish skin protruding from the cuffs of his shirt.

With a sigh, she looked around the room, only now noticing the disarray it was in. Glass covered the floor. Curtains fell haphazardly across the windows, pieces of material torn and filled with dust. The marble floor had lost its shine. Everywhere she looked there was dirt and debris. Why hadn’t Dominique or at least the servants cleaned up the room? It was obviously still in use, so it made no sense whatsoever that they wouldn’t at least try to tidy it up.

Lost in thought, she didn’t even realize the music had stopped. She looked up and took a step closer to Dominique. A loud crunch was heard, followed by her scream as a piece of glass lodged itself into her foot.

Dominique turned around, a horrified look on his face. Concern washed over his features, softening them just a bit. The edges of his mouth turned downward into a frown, and his eyebrows lifted as he looked at her cut foot.

Isabelle let out a pitiful whimper as it began to throb with pain. Dominique walked carefully over to her and knelt, his hands reached out to pull her foot onto his bended knee so he could retract the piece of glass.

Isabelle’s eyes fell on his hands. White and red scars pinched his skin all the way from his fingers up his forearms where the scars were hardly visible, just slightly discolored. Fascinated, she leaned forward just as Dominique, with a curse, stumbled back; expletives flew out of his mouth as he grabbed his gloves from the piano and put them on.

“So, you’ve come to get a look at the beast?”