Whispered Music (London Fairy Tales #2)(22)
Author: Rachel Van Dyken

Hurrying down the marble staircase, she didn’t notice that the room, usually empty when she ate in the morning, held not just Dominique but Hunter as well.

“So the princess is awake?” Hunter looked up from his plate. “We were beginning to worry about you.”

Isabelle lifted an eyebrow. “We?”

“Yes.” Hunter wiped his mouth with a napkin. “Well, to be quite honest, I knew you were just fine, most likely exhausted from beating off the swine and his snoring through the night. But, I am glad you are here.” He chuckled when Dominique rolled his eyes. “It seems Dominique has discovered close to twenty ways you could have injured yourself this morning, all of them most likely a figment of his own imaginings. But alas, I see you are in one piece.”

Isabelle snapped her attention to Dominique. With his face clean-shaven it was apparent that he was fighting not to blush, as his neck turned a light pink color.

“See, old friend? I told you it was impossible for someone to fall from her bed and break her neck, or take a tumble down the stairs, or for a bird to jump through the window and peck her to death. Truly, does your own imagination never frighten you?”

Still, Dominique said nothing. Peculiar. It wasn’t often that he didn’t yell back at his friend when provoked, or at least growl.

Isabelle walked closer to where he sat and leaned in toward his face. Perhaps he was foxed? At her inspection Dominique leaned back, which of course just made her lean forward even more until she was only a few inches away from his face, her eyes squinted.

“Saints alive, I think she’s inspecting me,” Dominique said cheekily.

Hunter’s laughter brought Isabelle back to the present. Embarrassed, she jerked back and went to the sideboard to obtain some toast.

“Are you ill, my lord?” she asked, her back turned to both of the men.

“Ill?” Dominique repeated. “No, I believe I’m quite healthy.”

“Foxed,” she guessed.

“I do not drink in the mornings.”

“Perhaps you are in good humor because Miss Ward snuck some herbs into your morning coffee?”

Suddenly Dominique’s hands were on her shoulders, and she nearly dropped her plate. She stood, rigid, as he whispered in her ear, his voice sounding like music. “Or, perhaps I’m overjoyed at seeing you first thing this morning.”

“Impossible,” she breathed. Never had he taken his breakfast with her. His only demand had been dinner. If anything, he had been avoiding her for the past week. But everything changed last night. She felt it, felt the way his touch sent a shiver down her spine. It seemed he was actually trying to be agreeable.

“I have a surprise for you.” She felt him step away. His abrupt subject change was welcome. Grabbing an extra piece of toast, she reached for the jam and went to join the men at the table.

“You’re leaving?” She added some jam to her toast and waited for him to bark at her for saying such a hurtful thing.

“If I left, you would be coming with me,” he answered, his words short as if he was trying to keep himself from yelling.

With a sigh, she looked up and into his blue eyes, eyes that were a whirl of so many emotions. Perhaps he was trying to be a good husband. Maybe, he wanted things to be different between them. Music, it seemed had united them in some odd way, though she couldn’t imagine how, considering he was so agitated with her lack of talent.

“What is it?” Taking a bite of her toast, she waited.

Hunter folded his hands and leaned in toward Isabelle. “You mean the actual surprise, not the fact that Dominique is doing such a wonderful job of keeping his temper in check? I take full credit by the way. You may thank me how you see fit.” He winked and stared blatantly at her lips.

The air in the room stilled. Isabelle stole a glance at Dominique, who against all odds still appeared to be calm. Suspicious, Isabelle promised herself that she would sniff his tea to see if there was any sort of calming herb mixed in.

“Finish your breakfast. Take your time.” Dominique rose from his seat. “I will await you in the stables.”

Isabelle nodded at his retreating form then glanced back at Hunter, who merely shrugged and winked at Miss Ward who had just entered the room.

****

Dominique paced back in forth in the stables, watching for a glimpse of Isabelle’s honeyed-brown hair glinting in the sunlight, waiting for her luscious voice to break the silence, or at least keep him from going mad.

“This better work,” he mumbled to himself.

Last night after watching her sleep, which he later admitted was a grave mistake for she slept so beautifully it made his chest hurt, he had decided he would try. The nights had been torturous, but nothing compared to the absolute pain he felt every day that went by that he was stripped of the chance to touch her with his bare hands.

The idea that he could be anything other than what he was hadn’t at any point crossed his mind, that is, until Isabelle entered into his life. And oddly enough, after spending time in her company, he found he quite enjoyed himself, at least enough to want to see her smile, to hear her quick intake of breath when he was close, to smell the scent of lavender floating off her skin.

After all, he had self-control. He had been in control of his baser instincts these last few years. He’d had to be. And now, well, he imagined he would try to keep the walls around his heart firm, for they had to be impenetrable. But, he justified his actions with his wife. After all, she was lonely, and he would be just as bad as his father before him if he left her to her own devices.

Hunter suggested he ravish her, but that would prove difficult, for he could not imagine separating his soul from bonding with hers if he joined her physically. And Hunter always had allowed his body to make choices before his mind when it came to women.

Miss Ward had suggested he dine with her in the mornings in order to familiarize himself with her character.

And Brinks was so besotted with the girl that his suggestion had been to let her have free reign throughout the castle as long as she smiled at him the way she did. In fact, just this morning, Brinks had told Dominique how lovely it would be to allow her to pick out a horse.

Fools. All of them.

He hoped he would trust her, eventually. But it would take time.

As all good things did.

“Dominique?” Isabelle called out his name. The sweetness of her voice gave him pause. Without taking as much as a breath, he peered around the corner and watched, fascinated as she glided along the ground, dancing as she made her way to the stables. Her long, graceful arms tickled the sides of her dress. If he closed his eyes he could almost feel the way the fabric would grace his fingers. It had been ages since he had felt any sort of texture against his hands. Would her dress feel silky? And her hair, would it slide through his fingers? He shuddered as he imagined how her soft warm body would penetrate into the depths of his scars.