Whispered Music (London Fairy Tales #2)(60)

Dominique was silent for a few minutes, his eyes closed. “He laughed.”

Isabelle felt her eyes pool with tears. Flames danced on the walls of the room, they cast shadows and light across Dominique’s features. Such a beautiful man, so much talent and promise, utterly ruined as a boy. How could even the best of men come out of a similar situation without bearing scars?

Dominique smiled cynically and poured another glass of spirits. “He forced me to play one last song. It was as if I was playing the piano for my mother, only it was her funeral, not a birthday or a party or even a celebration. I still hear the song; it still haunts me. It has become a habit to write out the notes so I can sleep at night, but I burn what I write as if burning the memory of that night will purge it from me.

“I had no idea the depths of my father’s own perversion. The pain was excruciating when he poured hot wax across my hands. I believe he meant to take away my gift, but hot wax does nothing more than burn you, it does not keep you from playing the same instrument he despised so much.”

Feeling ill, Isabelle leaned forward; the smell of death seemed to permeate their room.

But Dominique continued, his voice hollow. “In the end, he threw my music into the fire, told me to follow it there. I was a silly child. I did not want to see my music, the music I had written for my mother, burn. So like a fool I reached into the flames to retrieve it.”

“No more!” Isabelle sobbed into her hands. “Please.” Her shoulders shook of their own accord as her sobs echoed in the silent room.

“I must, Isabelle. You must know.” Dominique’s hand was on her shoulder and then her neck. He had moved closer to her and was now kneeling in front of her, holding her hands within his own. His voice trembled as he continued. “He held my hands there until I passed out. I have no idea how long they were in the flames, all I know is Cuppins found me hours later. The trauma was enough for them to worry for my life. My father, who bore scars of his own, was never the same after that night.”

Isabelle stopped crying and removed her hands from her eyes to gaze upon her husband. “Cuppins told me the rest, about how your father tried to kill you.”

Dominique’s eyes darkened. “Yes, though you should know it was I who achieved murder that night. Though accidental, there hasn’t been a day that goes by that I don’t wish I could kill him again, and do it without the immaturity that a boy possesses, make him suffer, make him suffer as I suffered, as my mother suffered being married to him… And now you know my darkness, what makes me so repulsive. For what man wakes up wishing to kill a man who is already dead?”

Isabelle sighed and reached her hand to his beautiful face. “A man who has been very wronged, Dominique.”

“I have never spoken of it aloud.” He cursed. “I am a monster,” he said underneath his breath. “I turned into what I hated, by focusing my hate so fully on the one man who destroyed my happiness, I succeeded in ruining my own.”

Isabelle was silent for a moment. “You were but a boy, perhaps the hatred that you held is what sustained you, helped you get better. But with that hatred comes the responsibility to feed it, which you did quite well. I believe now—now you need to let it go.” She held her breath, unsure if he would lash out at her, or simply never speak to her again or trust her with his innermost thoughts and demons.

“I did.” Dominique sighed. “Let it go, that is, the moment I felt the beat of your heart against my hand. The steady rhythm pulled me back from the shadows when all I wanted to do was follow him into the depths of Hell.”

Unable to speak lest she begin to sob all over again, Isabelle held his head between her hands and rained kisses on his eyelids, his cheeks, his forehead.

“Thank you for trusting me with this.” Isabelle leaned forward and brushed a kiss across his lips. “Can you feel this?” She brought his scarred hands to her mouth and kissed across the pinkish white ridges.

With a deep breath, Dominique closed his eyes and sighed. “It feels wonderful. I should have lost sensation, and a whole lot more. Instead, it seems my senses are heightened on my hands.” He laughed. “It was an actual blessing, if you can call it that, for I feel the keys of the piano much better now. It was why I kept playing. My final vengeance against my father, that even in all his hatred he did not keep me from being what my mother wanted most.”

“And what was that?” Isabelle dipped her hands into his silky hair.

“To be a famous composer, a prodigy, something more than just heir to the royal line of princes.”

“You are much more than that, my love.” Isabelle smiled at her husband, bestowing all the love in the world with one single glance, or at least she hoped so. “You are, brave, extraordinary, gifted, and I l—”

Why couldn’t she say the words? He had given everything. Been vulnerable beyond all reason but the words stuck in her throat, the simple truth, which should be so easy, was now the most difficult feat imaginable.

“Shh.” Dominique pressed his finger to her lips. “I’m going to undress you. I’m going to kiss you, make love to you, make you forget the nightmares I just told you… and if you say no, I may not possess the strength to listen.”

Who could say no to such a good argument? Especially when his muscled body was so near hers that she could feel the heat radiating from him.