Whispered Music (London Fairy Tales #2)(66)

But Isabelle knew her sister better than she knew herself. Something was amiss, but Gwen was never one to offer information freely. Isabelle would just have to bide her time until her sister was ready to talk about whatever transpired over the past few months.

A few months? Had it only been that long? Truthfully, Isabelle felt as if she had been in this castle for years! So much had happened, and so much more was in store. She closed her eyes and placed a hand over her stomach. Truthfully, it hadn’t been a white lie on Dominique’s part when he was confronted by Montmouth. It was, in fact, the truth. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath. Tonight. She would tell him tonight.





Chapter Thirty-three


Can a man be more than he was born to be? Or will he be constantly haunted by the past? By what he was born into? Are we simply copies of those who bore us? Or can we live past that, can we exceed expectations. Can I exceed the consequences of my birth?

—The Diary of Dominique Maksylov



Dominique slowly trudged up the stairs to his rooms. Dinner had been quite the fiasco, what with all three women chattering at once. It was impossible to get a word in edgewise. Stefan, which was how he was now to address the duke, simply watched and drank his wine in large gulps, clearly using the alcohol as a way to numb the pounding in his ears at the volume of talking around the table.

Hunter, however, crossed his arms and scowled the entire time, as if the wine was too sour, the food cold, and the company lacking. Never before had he seen his friend in such a foul mood, and that included the time Dominique set his coat tails on fire.

He smiled at the memory.

Whatever the issue, Hunter would never come out and say it. No, Dominique needed to bide his time until his friend was ready to discuss what was plaguing him. And Dominique had a sneaking suspicion that it had everything to do with the raven-haired beauty who sent equally murderous glares toward Hunter the entire meal.

Life had certainly taken a drastic change over the past twenty-four hours, and he was eternally grateful that he still had a wife to hold tonight, or in his case, make love to until the wee hours of the morning.

He knocked quietly, alerting her of his presence, and swiftly let himself in the bedroom.

Isabelle stood facing the fire, her brown hair trickling down her back like a blanket of dark honey. He wanted her so badly it hurt.

Slowly, he joined her and put an arm around her shoulders, pulling her into the warmth of his body.

“I’m sorry,” he said.

Isabelle said nothing.

“I should have told you that I wrote the letter, but after I was ill, I had forgotten doing so and then when I heard back, I panicked. I should have gone straight to you, explained to you that I would die before letting you go.” He took a deep breath, his heart pounding in his chest, surely she could hear it. “I love you.”

For a moment, she said nothing. Then finally Isabelle whispered, “Say it again.”

“I love you, I love you, I love you.” He ran his fingers through her hair; a shiver of delight slammed into his chest as she turned and kissed him hard across the mouth.

“Oh, Isabelle.” His hands reached around to grab her waist, thrusting her against himself as his tongue plummeted into her mouth, searching, grasping, tirelessly winding with hers.

“Stop.” Flushed, Isabelle pulled away. “Before we…” She motioned to the bed, little did she know that the activity he had in mind was much more adventurous.

“Before I strip you naked, you mean? Before I kiss every part of your body that’s exposed and parts that are hidden. Before I gaze upon your feminine beauty, the lush curves of your hips, the way your skin feels against my palm. Before I possess you with every ounce of my—”

Laughing and blushing profusely, Isabelle placed a hand over his mouth. “Yes, before a-all that. I have something exciting to tell you.”

Taking a seat, he pulled Isabelle into his lap and played with her hair as she seemed to be struggling for words. Whatever it was, it was important.

“I have reason to believe...”

Devil take him, she was gorgeous. Brown wavy hair taunted and teased him until he wanted nothing more than to plunge his hands into its endless length.

“…I am carrying your heir.”

“Pardon?” His stomach lurched, his heart nearly stopped beating.

“I think I’m increasing. I missed my last courses and it seems that—”

“Stop.” Dominique pulled his hands back from her hair. It was as if she had poured cold water over him., He gently pulled her off of his lap and rose to his feet. So many emotions were swirling within him that he could not, dare not, say a thing lest he ruin something that by all accounts should be good news.

“A-are you upset?” Isabelle’s voice was weak. He closed his eyes and prayed for patience, for strength, and turned around.

Large blue eyes gazed back at him, vulnerability rolling off of her, but also protectiveness, a fierceness that he’d never seen her possess. A mama in the making, no doubt.

“I do not know what to say.” Dominique looked down at the floor. “I need some time, I need… I need to think.” With that, he left the room, not stopping once. Not even when he heard his wife break down into sobs, or the painful whisper of his name on her lips as glass hit the floor.

Pregnant? How was it possible! He paced the damaged practice room like a caged animal. What the devil was he to do?