Whispered Music (London Fairy Tales #2)(27)
Author: Rachel Van Dyken

She watched him jump off of his horse and stomp through the back door. With a sigh, she brought Horse back to the stables and slowly made her way back to the castle. Hunter greeted her, a grim look on his face.

“I take it things did not go well?” Hunter offered his arm. She took it as he led her into one of the salons.

“You could say that.”

“Truly, I do not understand why you would have so much difficulty. He’s such a shy, gentle fellow.”

At that precise moment a loud bellow was heard throughout the house and then a thunderous yell, followed by something shattering.

“I’m sure he’s just redecorating. Hates the color purple, often makes him agitated and prickly,” Hunter offered.

Isabelle laughed in spite of the somber mood she was in. Perhaps Hunter would tell her what haunted Dominique so.

“Won’t you tell me about my husband?” Isabelle gave him her most reassuring smile, the same one she used to give the cook in order to receive the hottest biscuits in the mornings.

Hunter’s eyes widened just slightly before he leaned forward and clasped his hands. “You’re good, I’ll give you that. Put you in a room with a few French soldiers and they’d blurt out every battle plan and strategy that existed, and all for one of your smiles or for a kiss. But I am made of stronger stuff.”

“Of course you are,” she said, breathlessly.

“As I said not a few seconds ago, I admire your flirtation, and I would normally take you up on such an offer, though we both know you’d rather be shot than lie with a wolf. Not when your heart so irrevocably belongs to him.” Hunter sighed and pushed away from his seat, he walked in front of the large window.

Isabelle watched his taut muscles flex and stretch beneath his fitted jacket. Lifting a hand to his head, he rubbed then cursed. “It is not my story to tell, Isabelle.” He looked agitated and uncomfortable before taking a seat again. “Sometimes, it is best for the ones who have been wronged to tell how they were wronged. For me to steal that from Dominique would do irreparable harm to your relationship, for how can you be the salve that heals him when he doesn’t trust you with his life? I cannot take that from him. I refuse to steal the one thing keeping you apart from one another.”

“Isabelle!” Dominique’s voice shattered the moment between her and Hunter. Isabelle looked back toward the door. What the devil did he want? It was nearly time for luncheon and…

“Have you forgotten your lesson?” Dominique stood in the doorway, hands behind his back; whatever scowl he must have worn while shouting minutes ago was gone and in place of it, a demure smile that made her slightly uncomfortable. Perhaps he was drinking and redecorating as Hunter put it.

“Apologies, I hadn’t realized you wished to commence lessons so soon before luncheon.”

“You will join me in the music room for luncheon,” Dominique said in a clipped voice then glared at Hunter. “Don’t you have some place to be?”

Hunter jumped from his seat. “Yes, well, any place where I’m welcome. Perhaps the local tavern has some wenches I can pay to talk to. After all, I’m merely a man starved for conversation. Besides, I’ve already had my kiss for the day.” He winked at Isabelle. Wide-eyed she could only shake her head. The fool truly didn’t know when to stop talking.

Dominique rolled his eyes and pushed the door open as Hunter walked briskly out before returning his attention to Isabelle. “You have five minutes to change out of your riding habit and into an afternoon dress. I’ll be waiting.”

Clenching her fists at her sides, Isabelle wanted nothing more than to yell at him. She knew why he did it. Why he was so hot and cold. He only gave her glimpses of the man he could be. Instead he hid behind all of his anger, his bitterness. It was easier to push others away when one shielded oneself against emotions. And he had spent the better part of his morning bleeding for her. In all honesty, he was most likely spent for the day and exhausted.

Managing a small smile, she curtsied to her husband and walked toward the stairway. If he wanted to be in lessons the rest of the day, she would be in lessons. Anything to discover his secrets to help him heal.

Chapter Sixteen

I always hated it when my parents would raise their voices. Often times I was told I spoke too softly. But I felt the need to balance out the loudness, to blot out the anger. Yet, I am my father’s son, as much as I loath to admit it. For the anger that destroyed him I see in my own reflection. It scares me more than I care to admit, for I hate giving into fear. But I reek of it. The stench of fear is what I bathe in. For every moment of every day I wonder when I will turn out just like him.

—The Diary of Dominique Maksylov

Dominique was actually quite patient. He just didn’t want anyone to know about it. He would be happy, sitting at the piano and drinking tea all day with Isabelle. But he noticed that the minute he began to sit and think was also the precise moment he was tempted to give into every single feeling he had. Silence made him want to speak, and when he was in her presence he wanted to speak of it.

But she would hate him again if she knew.

She would recoil in disgust, not just because of his physical scars but because of the sins he committed in honor of them. Isabelle wanted to know, she wanted to fix him, she had said as much hadn’t she? Music was the common ground. He needed it to be able to think clearly. If the music surrounded their time together then perhaps he wouldn’t be tempted to open himself up too much.

“Dominique?” Isabelle’s sweet voice called to him. Sometimes he wondered if she understood how completely beautiful and clear she sounded to him. If he was in a crowded street in London and she spoke his name, he would still know it was her. The inflection of her voice sounded like a bell; unclouded, strong, unwavering, and every time she said his name, she lingered at the end as if she didn’t want the word to finish pouring forth from her mouth.

Obviously, he was mad to think so, but he imagined she liked the way his name sounded on her lips. Not that he cared, for any time she spoke he wanted to close his eyes and listen. Her singing voice was in desperate need of help, but he was thankful for it. What would he have done had she had a beautiful singing voice? Along with all the rest of her gifts? He shuddered thinking of it.

“Are you well?” Isabelle was leaning over him, her eyes a mask of worry. Blast, it felt good to have someone other than his servants concerned for his well-being.

He cleared his throat. “Fine, just fine. Now, why don’t we have a little to eat while we discuss your lesson for the day?”