Whispered Music (London Fairy Tales #2)(53)
Author: Rachel Van Dyken

“Lovely bedtime story, do be sure to tell me that one someday, Dominique,” Hunter interjected with amusement.

Montmouth glared. “At any rate, the man who rescued her, though I use the term loosely considering her disheveled state, hasn’t been seen since, nor do I know his identity. However, I’m not sure I wish to thank him. Murdering him sounds more likely, since Gwen has yet to explain where she obtained the marks on her neck and arms.”

Hunter chose that opportune moment to have a fit of coughing. He bent over and grabbed at Dominique’s coat.

With a resigned sigh, Dominique pushed his friend away and once again faced the duke. “Your grace, as you can see Isabelle is quite alive and healthy.”

“I cannot see that,” Montmouth clipped. “Perhaps you need to look closer, for my sister-in-law looks ready to burst into tears at any moment, and since you are the only one I can imagine who caused such pain, you will forgive me for not being more polite or well-mannered. I have half a mind to shoot you for buying her. What’s worse is you brought her into a heavily French-occupied area!”

Domnique didn’t think it would be wise to point out that the duke had done the same with his own wife.

“My mother-in-law is in Bedlam, and it seems Isabelle has traded one nightmare for another. Do you deny it?”

He couldn’t. Dominique wanted to deny it, to fight, to explain the whole story, but the truth of the matter was, Isabelle had put up with the worst of nightmares, and he was to blame.

“I do not deny it.”

“At least you have some honor.”

Hunter took a step forward, but Dominique stopped him with his hand.

“Now,” Montmouth spat. “We will stay as long as it takes to gather what belongings Isabelle has here, and we will be returning to London with her. Do I make myself clear?”

The man seemed ruthless. Especially standing up to one with Dominique’s reputation. With an amused chuckle and most likely an insane wish to be shot, Dominique said, “No, you do not make yourself clear. Perhaps you should speak louder.”

Montmouth’s face turned red with rage, he reached into his jacket pocket. But Dominique was quicker. With little effort he rendered the giant harmless by cracking his wrist. The pistol dropped to the floor, and he kicked it to Hunter who immediately made quick work of unloading it of its contents.

“Now, you have barged into my home, put your wife and her two sisters in danger, as well as the life of my unborn child…” He knew it was possible, though quite unlikely that Isabelle carried his heir, but he hoped Montmouth didn’t see the fib, nor the trembling of Dominique’s own voice at the thought. “All based on a letter that should have never been sent to you in the first place.” Dominique used all his strength to push Montmouth down into a nearby chair and loomed over him. “Now, allow me to take myself clear. I love Isabelle. I have been to Hell and back in order to have her, and will not let some self-righteous duke trounce into my home and demand that the only woman I have ever loved return with him. You will have to kill me to get to her, and if her choice is to go with you, I beg you to kill me anyway, for I cannot imagine taking a breath without her by my side.”

The room fell silent.

Montmouth’s breathing slowed and then a grin broke out on his face. “Good work, man! I knew you had it in you! See, Isabelle, I told you it was a misunderstanding. Women, you can’t truly believe a word that comes out of their mouths.” Rosalind slapped him playfully on the arm.

Hunter swore a string of expletives and kicked the wall with his boot.

Exhausted and in utter shock, Dominique merely stared at the duke, slack jawed.

“Come now!” Montmouth rose to his feet and pulled him into a tight embrace. “It seems we have a wedding to celebrate!”

Dumbstruck, it took a few seconds for what had just transpired and when it hit him, he was ready to pummel the man. “You smug son of a—”

“Easy…” Montmouth paused and looked Dominique straight in the eyes. “I know when a man is tortured, the haunting look in his eyes when he thinks he’s lost what’s most important to him. It was like looking in a mirror.” Montmouth shook his head. “Now, let us adjourn elsewhere so the ladies can catch up. It seems they’ve all had adventures to last a lifetime.”

Dominique nodded slowly and turned to look at Isabelle, tears were streaming down her face. She gave him a weak smile and nodded. He took that as a good sign, the only sign she could give him amidst the chatter.

Hunter led the way, a scowl on his face. Montmouth turned to Dominique. “Speaking of a man haunted, what the devil is wrong with your friend? It looks as if he’s seen a ghost.”

“Not a ghost… a memory.” Dominique left it at that and went into the study where he kept his best whiskey. There would be time enough to talk to Isabelle after dinner. And he would make certain she knew where his loyalty lay.

Chapter Thirty-two

I refuse to be him, therefore I won’t be. I make a choice to be better, stronger, more loving. To be a true father.

—The Diary of Dominique Maksylov

Once she had awoken from fainting, Stefan had demanded she tell him what was wrong. Was she held here by her own free will? Had she been harmed? Where was her husband? Truly it had all been too much.

She lost all control.

And in true feminine fashion, burst into tears. Never before had she been such a watering pot. She told them everything. Nothing was sacred, well, except for the stolen moments with Dominique.

To his credit, Stefan listened intently while Rosalind patted her hand and Gwendolyn held her in her arms whispering into her hair.

She loved him, and she told them as much, but also explained that she had just discovered an incriminating letter.

Heartbroken, she continued to sob, until with a laugh Stefan jumped to his feet. “Well, this is perfect!”

Rosalind glared.

Gwen gasped.

And Isabelle whimpered.

“Hear me out!” Stefan clapped his hands. “All men need is a little push, and it seems the earl is at the brink of insanity!”

“Please explain yourself, husband, before you find yourself sleeping in the stables.” Rosalind seethed.

Stefan ignored her angry comment and continued, “I’ll threaten to take the thing he values most in life.”

“His music?” Isabelle offered.

Stefan knelt in front of her, “No, my dear. The other half of his soul. You.”

Well, Isabelle hadn’t known what to say then, not that it mattered because as soon as the words left Stefan’s mouth, low voices were heard outside the doors to the salon.