Whispered Music (London Fairy Tales #2)(68)

Everyone was capable of darkness, but why glorify it? Why preserve it as he had? Revenge was never truly his to bestow, and justification for his actions was merely another poor excuse to live in solitude, to keep himself protected.

Truthfully, he had lived as the most selfish of men. Keeping his heart safe from the world, his mind safe from the hauntings of his music, and in return a part of him had died.

Until her.

“I need to speak with her.” Dominique hastily walked to the door.

“Wait,” Stefan called out. “I may not have the best expertise with the fairer sex. After all, I do believe it took me at least twelve times before I got my proposal right, but perhaps you should wait until the morning. Allow her the comfort of her sisters, and speak to her when she has slept. Nothing good comes of two people discussing their feelings in the wee hours of the night.”

“Hmm…” Dominique let out a laugh.

“You think my advice amusing?”

“No.” Dominique turned and purposefully walked to the sofa where Stefan still stood. “I just cannot believe I went through an entire conversation being scolded by an Englishman without drawing my pistols.”

Stefan smirked.

“You’re right, you know, I should wait.” Though he hated to do so, he saw wisdom in allowing Isabelle her rest. After all, if she was correct, then she needed to take care of their baby. At the thought his heart leapt with joy.

“And you’re smiling like an idiot because…?” Stefan asked.

“I’m going to be a father.”

Stefan hit him across the back. “A toast! To the best father my little nephew could have.”

Scales fell from Dominique’s eyes. The walls around his heart all but crumbled, and for the first time in fifteen years, he was able to celebrate in what he had always thought of as his mother’s grave. Where life was taken, life was now restored.

So they raised their cups, drank of the fine whiskey and toasted, to life, to family, but most of all, to true love.





Chapter Thirty-four


When you have lost your way, when the world appears as if it is crumbling around you, perhaps, just maybe, you should close your eyes. By looking outward we forget the strength that is given inward. We can only see part of the picture with our eyes open. But, when they are closed, we see as a whole. We concentrate not on what we can see, but on the faith of what we know to be true.

—The Diary of Beauty and her Beast Prince



Isabelle wasn’t one to pout or cry, yet she sat in her room for the remainder of the night doing exactly that. Either she truly was increasing or she was mad. Eyes puffy and tired, she wanted nothing more than to throw a hairbrush at the mirror for reminding her why her heart felt like breaking all over again..

In all fairness, he hadn’t rejected her. But, his behavior had been less than thrilled. All because she carried his heir, and yet, she couldn’t find it in herself to be sorry or even guilty.

Instead she felt a fierce protectiveness, and a need to fight until she was the victor. So she sat in her chair as the sun rose over the horizon, and when the pink light began to shimmer into her room, she still did not move.

When the pink turned into a yellow, a knock came on her door. Again, she did not move, but waited as it opened a crack and then fully revealed her husband.

Would it be too much to ask for him to look at least partially as frightened as she was? His hair was perfect, his skin refreshed and rejuvenated as if he had the best night’s sleep and was a different man.

And then, she saw it.

The light behind his eyes.

The glow in his skin.

The absolute joy in his smile as he slowly walked toward her.

But truly, she was never the patient type.

So, in true Isabelle fashion, she met him halfway, stumbling into his arms until he caught her and fell with her gently to the floor, both of them on their knees, embracing one another.

“I—” Dominique’s voice trembled. Merciful heavens, she hardly recognized the man in front of her, it was as if he had been reborn.

His scarred hands tenderly caressed hers as he continued to struggle for words. His clear blue eyes shimmered with unshed tears.

He bit his lip and closed his eyes as if needing to regain his strength, and when he opened them, he stopped trying to talk.

But then again, Dominique was the type of man who didn’t need words. Actions meant so much more to him.

Isabelle watched in unspeakable joy as his hands slowly dropped to her flat stomach. His head soon followed, and then his lips pressed against her belly as he whispered, “I love you.”

Naturally, she thought he meant her, but his eyes, his focus, his artist's gaze was not on her, but the gift they had been given.

“I love you,” he repeated again. “I hope you have your mother's heart.”

“And your father's talent,” Isabelle added, pressing a kiss against the top of his head as he held her.

“What if I’m wrong?” she said, suddenly frightened. After all, it was quite early.

Dominique slowly lifted them both to their feet. “Then we will just have to keep trying. In fact—” His eyes turned predatory. “To be sure, we should probably engage in some illicit activities now, don’t you think? I for one, want to be certain that my child is growing within you.”