Whispered Music (London Fairy Tales #2)(34)
Author: Rachel Van Dyken

Isabelle hadn’t counted on feeling so vulnerable, but with Dominique lying across her, both of them in the aftermath of their love-making, slick with sweat and breathing heavily, she realized that she could not have given her heart to anyone else but him. And her hope soared that by doing so, he would finally open himself up completely to her. Finally trust her with everything, rather than shut her out of the darkness he surrounded himself with.

“I’m sorry.” He rolled away from her and pushed away from the bed. Embarrassed, Isabelle began to pull at the blankets so she could hide her body. But within seconds Dominique had returned, and attended to her.

Surely she was blushing all the way to her toes! His strong hands lifted her with little effort as he placed her on the edge of the bed and with a damp towel washed the sweat from her body, and torturously alternated between kissing where he touched and washing.

She closed her eyes again as those same sensations made her desire so heavy that she nearly leaned back across the bed again in open invitation.

Dominique laughed. “Too soon, love. Believe me.” When he was finished, he cradled her in his arms and tucked her into the bed, taking his place beside her.

The air was alive with tension. What was she to say? What was normal practice? Fighting the desire to ask the questions that burned in the back of her mind, she managed to bite her lip to keep from speaking. It was Dominique, after all. Having any sort of uncomfortable discussions was always on the bottom of his list.

“Are you well?” He sighed. The bed dipped with his weight as he moved closer to her and pulled her in the crook of his arm. “Did I…do you…?”

Isabelle burst out laughing. “Are you stuttering?”

Dominique cursed. “Perhaps, but it is only because I do not normally… That is to say, with virgins. This is…this is a first and I find myself worried for your welfare.”

So he was insecure, was he? Never had she heard the man sound anything less than the arrogant fool that he was. Wanting him to suffer, she let out a long sigh, before dipping her head beneath his head to kiss his neck.

He stiffened and then moaned. “I take it that you are much recovered?”

“Much,” she purred, wrapping her hands around his body and pulling him tighter against her.

Isabelle felt him swallow, and then he tensed. “We cannot do that again.”

It was her turn to tense. A mixture of outrage, confusion, and rejection poured through her. “I don’t understand? Are we not husband and wife? And you, you feel for me?”

Dominique pushed away. “What I feel has nothing to do with what we did. What we did was a natural thing, when put together so many nights on end. It was bound to happen. I’m merely saying it cannot happen again.”

“But…”

“Do not argue with me on this, for I doubt I have the strength to deny you anything so soon after seeing you without clothing. I stand by my decision.”

“Your decision?” she repeated, outraged. “And what about me? Am I to have a say in our relationship at all?”

“No.” He didn’t even blink.

Isabelle let out a curse word she often heard Dominique use and pushed away from him, ending up in the cold part of the bed. She began to shake uncontrollably. The man had taken everything from her! Everything she had and he treated it like it was the most horrendous of sins.

“Did I not please you?” Her voice was small, vulnerable.

Cursing, Dominique reached and pulled her firmly against his body. “Love, you would please any male who had the benefit of good sight and youth. Your pleasing me is not the issue.”

“I don’t understand.” A warm tear ran down her cheek.

“Children,” he spouted venomously. “We cannot have children.”

“Is this a choice or an ailment?” she asked, hoping for the latter, because then at least the rejection of him wanting no part of her wouldn’t destroy the beating of her heart.

“A choice.”

“I see.” She moved away though he tried to keep her pinned against him. Dominique reached for her again but she slapped his hand away. “We have nothing more to discuss.”

Dominique’s breath hitched. She knew she had upset him, but she would take upset and irritated any day rather than the heartache she presently had. Why did he constantly reject her? Why was he so set against her? Better to have left her in London even if she was to meet death, than be stuck with a man she could never have, but had to endure the rest of her life.

Again, Dominique reached for her, but as his gloved hand touched her shoulder, she tensed. Immediately, he pulled back and pushed away from the bed, leaving the room with a curse.

Chapter Twenty

Music, I understand. Notes make sense to me. Women? Romance? Love? They elude me and I fear will continue to elude me until the day I die.

—The Diary of Dominique Maksylov

He promised himself he wouldn’t allow the girl to get to him, and here he was, drinking brandy in the last place he wanted to be. It was more than the idea of having children. For the note he had just written was to her brother-in-law. If he continued to sleep with his wife—and how he wanted it!—he wasn’t sure he could execute perfect control, and if she became pregnant, there was no way for her to go back. She would be stuck with him. Forever. She had proved time and time again that she deserved a life better than he could give her. To trap her, without her consent, would be the worst thing he could ever do to her.

The haunted practice room, still littered with glass and remnants of death, seemed to groan in the candlelight. He figured, after around seven swallows of brandy, that it would make him feel loads better to be surrounded by more darkness. To remember the light he witnessed while making love to his wife, the goodness she brought, the way her heart, her soul seemed to reach out and meet his…

Well, it was fruitless.

Because he would never have children. The idea of passing an heir repulsed him. For it meant that his father would have been proud that he was finally being the leader he demanded Dominique be. And although his father was dead, by his own hands nonetheless, he refused to give him one more thing to boast about in Hades.

Though the idea that any son or daughter would possess his wife’s goodness brought a smile to his face, the smile was quickly removed when he walked into this room.

If he tarried with such thoughts any longer, he would live to regret it. For if he touched his wife one more time, he would be lost forever, and even he knew there were consequences to loving someone too much, becoming obsessed with that very thing until it consumes you and forces you to go beyond all logic, all reason. He knew he had his mother in him, knew that if love ever got a hold of him, it would never relent.