Whispered Music (London Fairy Tales #2)(16)
Author: Rachel Van Dyken

“Who are they?” She pulled Dominique’s hand, hoping he would stop.

He looked at the pictures, his face a mixture of hurt and anger. “They are dead, and that is all you need to know.”

“But…”

“Enough!” His voice snapped and his icy blue eyes burned holes through her. “I will show you to our room, but there are a few things you must first know about the castle.”

“Other than it’s haunted, you mean?” Isabelle whispered.

“Cuppins likes to talk, do not take his words for truth.”

“So you didn’t run around naked during a royal dinner?” Isabelle wasn’t sure what made her feel the need to tease the man who merely seconds ago had scolded her so harshly. Perhaps she was going mad.

Dominique actually smiled, though she could tell he took great pains to hide it, which proved a simple task considering all the scruff on his face. “Yes well, when I was a boy I had a great need for affection. I thought nobody would ignore my presence if I were, uh, naked.”

“And did they?”

“Did they what?”

“Ignore you?”

Dominique swallowed and looked down. “Always.”

Isabelle reached a comforting hand to Dominique’s face. His eyes closed as her skin made contact with his.

“Please, don’t,” he whispered.

“Don’t what?”

“Pity me. I would rather you hate me, rather you dream about my death, than extend the same pity and compassion to me that you do Cuppins.”

It made no sense that the man wouldn’t want comfort, after all, hadn’t he just finished explaining the lack of attention he received as a boy?

“Why?” Her other hand went up to touch the other side of his face, bringing it dangerously close to hers.

“Because, I am undeserving. Of your loyalty, your goodness, your compassion. Everything. I would rather die than receive it.”

“Do any of us truly deserve loyalty? Love? Forgiveness? How can you earn such things in the first place, Dominique?” Her heart leapt as she said his name. She pulled back as if burned, noting the fierceness in his gaze as he looked at her lips then back at her eyes.

“What I have done has earned me a spot in the inner most circle of Hell.” His hand caressed her neck up and down, until she leaned in wantonly, needing more of his touch.

“The rules.” He cleared his throat and stepped back. “As I stated before, are simple. Dinner is always at eight, you are to dine with me every evening.” She opened her mouth to speak but he shook his head and continued talking. “You have free reign of the castle, but you may not under any circumstances enter the second practice room located near the stairs. It is locked, so it shouldn’t pose a problem to your morbid curiosity.”

Isabelle watched as he bit his lip in obvious frustration. “What’s in the room that you’ve forbidden me to enter? Corpses?” Her sarcastic remark was met with so much rage in his face that she took a step back. Truly, she had meant to lighten the mood with humor. Was it truly littered with such as she said?

“It is none of your concern! Do I make myself clear?” he roared.

“Y-yes,” she stammered.

He cursed and turned on his heel, pausing after only a few steps. “And Isabelle?”

She lifted her head just in time to see a devilish smile dance across his face, bringing wicked intent into his eyes. “You will share my bed. Every night.”

“But—”

He marched back in her direction and grabbed her arm, pulling her against him. “You are my wife, and you will act as such. In every way.” His eyes dipped to her bodice and then back to her lips. “If you find the idea so repulsive, then close your eyes. Hum a song, think on happier things. Blast it all, you can even pretend it’s Hunter rather than myself, but you will be mine.”

Cursing, he left her in the dark hall, his boots stomping all the way down the stairs.

****

Isabelle sat in silence, and watched as Dominique’s form disappeared. She still had no idea where her rooms were, nor in which direction to go. Within minutes, Miss Ward came up the stairs that Dominique had just exited and led her to a bedroom on the second floor of the castle.

By the time Miss Ward had helped her dress for bed, she was a bottle of nerves. The house did not boast of any lady’s maids, something she was told to take care of whenever she was ready, so Miss Ward took it upon herself to regale her with stories of the enchanted castle, all the while Isabelle had to fight to keep her teeth from chattering.

He would stay with her tonight.

He would be in her bed. Yes, he’d stayed with her before, but there had been something in his tone earlier that lead her to believe that things would change…and soon.

When Miss Ward left, Isabelle’s shaky legs took her to her side of the bed. She extinguished the candle and dove under the covers. The minutes went by with agonizing slowness, until finally she heard the unmistakable click of boots against the marble floors.

The bedroom doors opened in a rush.

Dominique stepped inside, though she could only see his shadow, nothing more. With jerky movements he pulled off his clothes, making Isabelle’s face heat even though she couldn’t see his form. She could imagine it, and an involuntary shiver ran down her spine. Soon, his weight forced the bed to dip almost causing her to topple towards him. And then, he exhaled and was still.

How in the world could he be still? How was it possible that the man wasn’t the least bit affected sleeping in the same bed as her?

At the Inn, they had both been exhausted, but now, here, in their bedroom, in the castle they would share…

He was sleeping.

And her body was refusing to relax.

Every muscle was clenched tight. She tried to breathe evenly but her breaths came out in short gasps, and then something touched her.

His leg moved next to hers, body heat radiating from his person. Her stomach tumbled and tightened. The feeling was foreign as if she was almost weak or exhilarated from his touch.

As she scooted to the farthest edge of the bed, a thought occurred. How was she to survive sleeping in this bed every night for the rest of her life?

Chapter Ten

Those who cannot carry a tune should not attain to try, for they try in vain and my ears can only take so much torment before I contemplate removing them with a blunt object to rid them of the ringing horrid music brings. If society stopped teaching young girls to sing and play piano when they showed no true talent, I would be much obliged. Yet, every year it seems a new debutante finds a way to torture me with a note not yet found on the scale.