Whispered Music (London Fairy Tales #2)(50)

“Gads, no. I wouldn’t wish that on my worst enemy. Every time I hear someone approach the door, I begin to perspire. If I have to drink one more concoction that is said to make me strong as an ox, I believe I’ll fake my own death.”

“Brilliant, just take me with you so I don’t have to drink the stuff.” Hunter leaned back against the headboard, not at all flummoxed that both men were sitting in the bed like a gaggle of women gossiping about the rag sheets.

“So, your favor.” Hunter inspected his nails. “What is it?”

“A ball.”

“Absolutely not.” Hunter shot up from the bed and began pacing. “You cannot ask me to do it. I will not do it. I refuse. I will end our friendship. I will jump from the window. I will—”

“For Isabelle?”

“Blasted nuisance.” Hunter cursed. “Even if I could manage to plan a ball in her honor, and help you win her affection yet again… No Englishman is safe here, not even your pretty wife.”

“I know,” Dominique said smugly.

“Balls usually involve dancing, lots of dancing, and food, and something else. Oh yes, guests!” He fixed Dominique with a pointed stare.

“I am aware.”

“Smug idiot. Wipe that smile off your face and tell me what you are about.”

Dominique grinned. “I thought you’d never ask.”

****

Isabelle sniffed the concoction that Cook had made for Dominique. She would have half a mind to pity him if he hadn’t been such a difficult patient. The man was insufferable! Every time she neared the bed he would pull her into his arms; every minute she was in his room it was as if she was going to be seduced at any second.

Not that she minded all that much, but he had been so ill and the idea of losing him, even though he was doing so much better, nearly killed her.

Fighting back ridiculous tears, for she had been extremely emotional as of late, she straightened her shoulders and carried the tray upstairs to Dominique’s bedroom. Oh, she knew a servant would be more than happy to do the job, but something about nursing him back to health on her own, without servants, held its appeal. They were often alone during the day. And in order to keep him from jumping out the window, she had agreed to read to him.

His interests, however, were not the typical books a young lady of gentle breeding read. They were vulgar, and, well, she had to admit, interesting. But Dominique would watch her when she read. His eyes would be trained on her lips as if they fascinated him, and then he would close his eyes and dip his hand into the air as if conducting some sort of invisible song.

After three days of this she finally came to the conclusion that he was either mad, or truly heard music where others could not. For every time she spoke, it seemed to calm him, to make him smile. So she read, even though it mortified her all the way down to her toes to speak about such things aloud.

Just yesterday he had asked her if she would be so kind as to demonstrate what the book was discussing.

It was from India.

And had more pictures than it did words.

She threw it at his head.

He laughed, a hearty laugh rich with amusement and full of his baritone timbre, but he never apologized.

She imagined he would come up with another way to embarrass her, or flirt with her, today. A small smile danced across her lips as she pushed open the door.

Only to find Hunter and Dominique in each other’s arms, dancing.

Wonders never cease.

Quietly, she lifted an eyebrow as she set the tray down on the nearest table and crossed her arms. They paused in their dancing, jerking away from one another. “Oh please.” She waved her hand in dismissal. “Do not stop on my account.”

Hunter cleared his throat. “We were…” Words died as he squinted and closed his mouth.

“Making sure Hunter could dance at the masquerade in a few months. His leg hasn’t yet fully healed. He was concerned he would clobber someone with his boot. Isn’t that right, Hunter?” Dominique patted him on the back. “He’s a dreadful dancer in the first place. Women scurry away in hopes he won't ask for their hand, tends to step on their new slippers and all that. Not to mention the fact that he cannot count… well.”

“Cannot count.” Hunter repeated through clenched teeth. “Right. I’m dumb as an ox. Been spending too much time with this one.” He pointed at Dominique. “Say,” he walked toward the table. “Dominique was just speaking to me about how lovely this certain concoction was! He is so diligent about taking his medication, aren’t you, my friend?”

Dominique’s glare turned murderous as his nostrils flared in response. “Yes, well. I seem to be quite full of…” His eyes greedily searched the room.

Hunter grinned. “Brilliant, seems you haven’t yet had your tea, this should slide down quite easily. We don’t want Isabelle to be disappointed, now do we?”

“No,” Isabelle joined in. “We don’t.”

“I miss my seclusion.” Dominique cursed and took the concoction. Isabelle’s eyes trained on his grimace as he drank the medicine in a few gulps. “Delightful.” He coughed and hit his chest. “Lovely how it burns there at the end, what is that again?”

“It's best I keep it a surprise.” Isabelle reached for the biscuits and tea. “Now, shall I pour?”