Whispered Music (London Fairy Tales #2)(40)
Author: Rachel Van Dyken

—The Diary of Dominique Maksylov

The fire was fading. He remembered the minute it began to decrease in its heat. Cold lips had pressed against his, and then his scarred hand had been placed across something warm. He wasn’t sure how he knew it was warm, just that it was. And then he felt a rhythm. It was perfect.

He hadn’t felt such a rhythm in his entire lifetime. He had searched for an eternity to feel such a steady and strong beat.

It wasn’t until the heat began to leave his body that he realized what the rhythm was. A heart.

Moments passed, or perhaps days, even years. Dominique could not tell. All he knew was that he felt oddly at peace.

The smell of fresh biscuits made his eyes flutter open. Isabelle was sprawled next to him on the bed.

And she was holding his hand.

Without his gloves.

He thought she was sleeping, that is until her lips moved ever so slowly. Was she speaking to him? Praying?

Ears straining, he waited.

“Beautiful…” She sighed and kissed his hand. “So beautiful.”

Shock radiated all the way down to his toes. If he could have roared or at least shouted, he would have. Beautiful? Surely she was dreaming! Impossible that she was holding his scar, his beastly scar, and commenting that it was beautiful. He opened his mouth to say so, but she sighed again and moved, this time releasing his hand and wrapping her arm around his chest.

It felt nice.

Perhaps he would pretend to sleep for a little while longer.

She pressed closer to him, her breath coming out in lazy movements against his neck.

Memories of the past few days, of Isabelle being in danger, almost losing her, and finally getting shot came flooding back. He should be panicked, outraged, irritated, and most likely dead, considering he must have been feverish.

Instead all he felt was contentment.

Isabelle let out a faint feminine sigh and tucked her face deeper into his neck.

Perhaps he did die, and this was Heaven.

Dominique fought to keep his lips from turning into a smug smile, he truly did, but in the end, he could not help himself.

“You’re awake!” Cuppins announced from the door.

He should be fired for his insolence.

Men should have a sixth sense about such things, especially concerning women. Dominique narrowed his eyes, but Cuppins didn’t seem the least bit affected.

Isabelle jerked away from Dominique, nearly tumbling off the bed. “I was, I mean. I was helping you…”

“Oh, believe me, love,” Dominique winked. “You were helping. Care to help some more? Cuppins? Go away. My wife has it on her mind to be helpful. Who am I to deny her such a simple request?”

“Right away, my lord.” Cuppins grinned and stepped back out into the hall, shutting the door behind him.

Isabelle flushed when Dominique gazed at her.

And then she did the oddest thing.

She burst into tears.

What sort of world did he wake up in? “Isabelle?” He tried to move but his body was so fatigued. The best he could do was pat the side of the bed where she had previously been sitting. “Is this how you mean to help me? Showering tears across my bed seems unnecessary, considering I’ve been a victim of my own sweat from fever, but won’t you tell me what plagues you so?”

Isabelle uttered a sigh and tentatively sat on the bed, as gentle as a mouse. “I—” she started. “I thought you were gone.”

“Sorry to disappoint,” Dominique teased.

Poor timing on his part, considering Isabelle burst into fresh tears. With a chuckle he reached for her hand, knowing that his scars were visible in the morning light. “It seems as much as the devil wanted me, an angel needed me to stay here. Soft lips touched mine in the most achingly beautiful kiss I’d ever experienced. Tell me, was it you? Or my imagination?”

Isabelle touched her lips with her hand. “It’s silly really.” Wet, tear-filled eyes answered his question. “I kept thinking that if I kissed you, you’d awaken from your fever.”

“As in a true fairy tale, is that it? The prince is turned from a frog to a prince? The beast into a handsome man?”

Isabelle nodded, red creeping up her neck.

“Did it work?” Dominique asked. The room was still and silent except for their breathing.

Slowly, Isabelle craned her head tilting it this way and that as she leaned over his body and whispered against his lips, “Yes.”

What he wouldn’t give for a little bit of strength, anything to be able to pull her into his arms and prove to her how he would fight, how he would live, how he would die with her name on his lips. “Am I a prince or merely handsome then? Which fairy tale will I be? Hmm?” His lips found a delicate spot on her neck, just below her ear. Fascinated with that tender piece of skin, he flicked it with his tongue, waiting for her to answer.

“Both,” she whispered. “You’re both.”

Chapter Twenty-five

I’ve seen the sun for the first time. Imagine seeing the sunrise without looking out the window. For a moment, can you feel how powerful it would be to see light after experiencing a lifetime of darkness? Of blindness? I can. It is so sweet that it aches, so powerful that for the first time in my life I want to weep with joy, yet…I wonder how long this light will last, how long will it fight against the dark? Will it one day resent the darkness? Resent the way the darkness seems to swallow everything whole? I wonder, I wonder if it is enough.

—The Diary of Dominique Maksylov

Dominique awoke with a start. It had been three days since he had been brought back from the land of the dead. His strength had yet to return full force, and if Isabelle came in one more time yelling at him to lie in bed he was going to go mad. Either that or ravish her, both options seeming quite promising this early in the morning if his arousal and irritation were any indicator.

Footsteps neared his door. He flinched, and ducked under the covers like some small lad waiting to get his ears boxed. The knob on the door turned. He began to sweat. Please, let it be anything other than what he thought it would be. If Cuppins brought in anymore tonic for him to drink he was going to go mad.

Hunter burst into the room a smile plastered across his face. “I have returned!”

“Alert the Regent, it seems we are to have a parade. Let me just lift my wounded arm so I can notify him by letter, oh wait… I was shot.”

Hunter cursed. “Yes, and I rode for days into the middle of a battle. I imagine Isabelle has been nursing you to health quite well. Kissing all your bruises and brushing her br**sts against your arm when she gets too close. Yes, it seems like you’ve suffered a terrible experience, while I had to be treated by a doxy who smelled of fresh meat and eggs. I shall never eat again, I fear.”