Whispered Music (London Fairy Tales #2)(44)

“I slept with her last night, she knows I want her.” If her screams and womanly sighs were any indication, she enjoyed herself as well as he did.

“There it is!” Hunter said sarcastically.

“There what is?”

“The stupidity. It was speaking again. Furthermore—” Hunter leaned forward, “when a man sleeps with a woman he does not follow the deed by telling her he no longer wants her to live with him. Sends the wrong signals, if you get my meaning.”

“I am helping her!”

“You are a fool if you think that is what you are accomplishing. Now run off and grovel, get down on your hands and knees, confess your stupidity, then take your woman to the bedroom and pleasure her again and again until she forgets the stupidity that briefly took over your body.”

Devil take it, Hunter would have been a good general.

“So the final words you leave me with are pleasure her? Sounds frighteningly normal.” Dominique rose to his full height. “For what it’s worth, Hunter, I do apologize for last night. You are truly the best friend a man could ask for.”

“Yes, yes, I know. Now go find the girl.”

“My lord?” Cuppins limped into the room. “I’m sorry to disturb that lovely speech on your intelligence—”

Hunter gave a hearty laugh.

Dominique scowled. “Yes?”

Cuppins clenched his hands and shook his head. “This just came for you. I imagine it is information regarding the French. The fighting has been getting closer and closer and although I find us to be quite safe, I think you better read it.”

“Why, when you already have?” Dominique lifted an eyebrow toward his old, retired butler.

“It isn’t safe for the lady to go riding alone anymore. The letter says the area is littered with French soldiers and she’s as English as they come.”

“Right, well, good thing I was just on my way to break fast to see her.”

Hunter paled and grabbed Dominique by the arm. “She isn’t breaking her fast.”

“Of course she is. Isn’t that where you two had your intimate chat?”

Hunter cursed and ran for the door. “She was dressed for riding and at the stables. I told her to wait, but...”

Dominique stopped listening when he heard stables. Fear pricked at his heart. If he lost her, he would die.





Chapter Twenty-two


Helplessness is the worst feeling imaginable. It is akin to swimming through the dark waters of the ocean not knowing which way will give you air and which way will be your death. Most of my regrets are directly related to helplessness. I was helpless to save my mother, my father, my teacher, and in the end myself. Perhaps that is why when the music calls to me, when it says there is danger, I heed the call regardless of the repercussions for I refuse to allow myself to feel helpless again.

—The Diary of Dominique Maksylov



The air was too quiet, eerie almost. After waiting five minutes, Isabelle decided to take the horse that Hunter had already saddled. After all, she was only going to for a quick ride to clear her head, and she couldn’t imagine him being with Dominique for any less than an hour. She looked down at her skirts, obviously she was properly attired, but the saddle wasn’t what she was accustomed to. She looked back in the direction Hunter had left and exhaled, her breath dancing in front of her face. The horse neighed, decision made, she managed to sit across the horse and gain her balance.

The horse was weighed down by some of Hunter's belongings but she didn’t care. She had no desire to run, merely to wander to the clearing that Dominique had shown her. The only problem was, she couldn’t remember the way. After the thunderstorm last night it had rained, melting the snow into tiny icicles that froze over all the trees.

She continued in the general direction of the forest. The white crystals strewn through the trees were breathtaking; the ground was hard but no longer covered in snow. Isabelle’s thoughts went to the night before.

Of Dominique’s hands on her thighs, of his lips nibbling her ear. The air should have chilled her, but the idea of their skin making contact threatened to make her sweat. Isabelle shook the sensual thoughts from her consciousness and looked around again. The trees all looked the same. Perplexed, she bit her lip and continued riding in the general direction she assumed the little ice sculptures were.

Now, deeper within the forest, she was able to see through the trees to the little clearing where she and Dominique had spent their time. Excited that she had found it, she kicked the horse into a slow trot. Once she reached the clearing, she let out a little laugh and slid off the horse. It was just as magical as she remembered it. Perhaps the rejection of her husband, the idea of him not wanting her after such a wonderful night, maybe it wouldn’t be as hard to deal with in this place. She twirled around, once, twice, and finally stopped.

“What have we here?” A foreign voice penetrated her magical world.

Frozen in place, Isabelle didn’t want to turn, or think, or even blink for fear of what would happen. Unmistakably, the man was speaking French.

Another man laughed, “An English bird?”

Isabelle’s own understanding of the language wasn’t what it should have been, in fact it was nearly impossible to translate, but she was convinced the man just asked if she was English. Either that, or a bird, not that it mattered.