He kissed her. It was as simple as that. Different than the other times because this particular moment was theirs, and only theirs. With nothing to prove, no pride in the way, and no hurt feelings.
It was them.
Gradually, she parted her lips. But he didn’t push the kiss any further than paying special attention to each corner of her mouth, as if a treasure was hidden behind the curves of her lips. Dominique reached out and touched her hair, smoothing it back behind her ear as he laid lazy kisses across her mouth and finally tasted her tongue. Slow, erotic movements made it absolute torture to keep his hands from traveling down the expanse of her body. He brought his hands around her waist and pulled her tighter against him, their breaths mingling in the air in front of them.
Heat spread through his body at their contact. Feminine curves fit perfectly into his arms, and he found himself needing to be closer to her, needing that completion that only comes with intimacy.
Oddly, this innocent kiss had turned into him wanting sex. Horrified, because it completely shattered this beautiful moment, he abruptly pulled back. Sex had always been identified with using women, never something so intimate as what he was experiencing with Isabelle. It was hard to fuse the two acts together. One was out of necessity and selfishness, whereas this, well it would be out of wanting to give all of himself to the one woman he knew he shouldn’t.
Never had his body been so aroused, so completely ready to give of itself, to take and take until nothing was left of the woman peering at him through thick lashes.
“I can’t…” Dominique swallowed and took a few deep breaths. Clearly Isabelle didn’t understand the seriousness of the situation. Had she any idea how close he was to utterly ravishing her on the purest of snow? He closed his eyes against the ugliness of his thoughts: Isabelle’s dark hair spread across the white covered ground, her cherry red lips swollen with kisses and then his blasted hands sans gloves caressing her body. Red, ugly scars ruined the picture of perfection, just as he ruined everything he touched.
He winced, and stepped completely back from Isabelle.
She stepped toward him, trapping him between her body and the tree.
“Don’t.”
“Pardon?” His breath was coming out in short gasps.
“Don’t hide anymore.” Her voice was soft, angelic, sensual. He blinked several times trying to break the illusion of the compassion in her face.
“I think it’s time for a music lesson,” she said taking his hand.
The idea of her teaching him anything musical made him laugh aloud. Isabelle gave him a pointed look. “Never fear. I know where my strengths lie. I sometimes wonder, Dominique…”
“What?” His voice was hoarse with arousal. “What do you wonder?”
She stopped in the middle of the clearing and let go of his hand. “I wonder if all you know is music. I wonder if you understand things only in musical terms, but fail to comprehend emotions. It seems to me that you lack something important.”
He shuddered, unable to help it. This was the moment, the time when she would point out every insecurity, every single thing wrong with him. Just as his father had, and his mother and—
“You do not follow your heart.” She interrupted his thoughts. “So I’m going to teach you how to listen.”
Stunned, he merely stood there as Isabelle began to circle him. “Listen, Dominique, listen to the drops of water falling from the trees. Listen to your breathing, just as you showed me with the music. Listen.”
Satisfying her, he closed his eyes and did just that. He listened.
And then, sultry feminine hands wrapped around him from behind. The smell of lavender overwhelmed his senses. How the devil was he to listen when all he wanted to do was turn around and lay the woman flat on her back, possessing every inch of her body?
Her voice, so quiet and steady, whispered in his ear, tickling the side of his neck. “One, two, three. One, two, three.” She then put her hand on his chest and lightly tapped it in cadence with the same rhythm he previously taught her. Leisurely, she continued her tapping until finally he was facing her.
“You took a girl without knowing anything about her, saving her, at least you claim as much,” she whispered. “What does your heart say about that?”
“My heart—”
“And before you answer,” she interrupted. "Remember your head is not your heart. What does your heart say?”
Dominique exhaled. Truly, his head told him he was the worst sort of human being, that taking her defied all logic. Selfishness drove him to do what he did. Yet as he was thinking on it and as she corrected him, it was as if his heart burst forth with the correct answer—the real answer.
“My heart says there was no other way. It says the moment I laid eyes on you, the rhythm of my heart forever changed…and aligned itself with yours.”
If his response shocked her, it was impossible to tell, as she continued in the same fashion. “Relax, listen to your breathing, forget your thoughts, listen to the music of the trees. The music I know you hear. It sings to you, pulls you. Dominique, what does your mind say about me?”
“You said to listen to my heart.”
“Answer the question.”
Dominique sighed and hung his head. Eyes still closed, he answered. “My mind says I don’t deserve you. That you’ll run away screaming the minute you see me for who I really am. My mind cannot separate my need to have you and my selfishness for doing so.”
“And your heart?”
With a shudder Dominique turned to face her. “It sings your name.”
Chapter Fifteen
I fear losing control. I fear the day when I hold nothing back and there is nobody there to catch me when I fall. But most of all, I fear that someone will be there, they will catch me, and in the end will know all of my secrets, all of my lies. In the end I would rather fall, for then I would feel no shame in my lies.
—The Diary of Dominique Maksylov
Isabelle felt tears well in the corners of her eyes. She blinked rapidly, trying to remove the desperate urge she felt to weep for the man in her arms. For the vulnerability he had just shown.
She reached out to grab his hand. He pulled back, but she pursued, finally able to grasp at his gloves. She prayed her eyes said trust me, when she gazed into his. Fear was marked on his every feature, from the grim set of his lips, to the pale color of his face. Gradually his eyes closed. Black lashes against the perfect lines of his cheekbones. He exhaled, Isabelle pulled and then a branch snapped in the distance.
“Get down!” Dominique hissed, pulling her behind one of the trees between two large bushes.
Two French soldiers meandered into the clearing. They were armed, but discussing a recent fight that had broken out amongst the soldiers, nothing important was said. Isabelle’s heart slammed in her chest. Surely they were safe! After all, they were at least a few days' ride from Brussels. And Dominique would never knowingly put them in danger. She glanced at Dominique, he was frozen in place, did he too understand French? He had to, for the minute the Frenchman cursed the English, Dominique’s hand tightened on her waist.
Swallowing the dryness in her throat, she glanced at Dominique. He looked ready to attack, ready to kill. His eyes darkened as the men neared the tree where they hid, and then they were gone.
Isabelle began to shake in Dominique’s arms. He held her close and kissed her head. “Are you all right?”
“Y-yes. I thought we were safe here! Heavens! What if they would have seen the horses?”
Dominique grimaced. “Yes well, we were fortunate that they didn’t notice much of anything, we weren’t exactly concealed.”
“How did you know there was danger? It could have been an animal, or even Hunter.”
Dominique actually blushed and looked away. “We should return.”
Isabelle put her hands on her hips. “Not until you tell me. What are you, some kind of spy? Is that how you and Hunter are friends? You both work for the Cro
wn? Is that just another secret you’re keeping from me?”
Dominique’s face turned murderous. Isabelle backed up, knowing she'd pushed him too far, and so soon after the progress made!
“I am not a spy,” he spat. “And if you must know, I am a trifle mad, at least that’s what you’re going to think.”
“I would never.”
“Save me your pity. Yes, you will.” Dominique mounted his horse, not giving his aid for Isabelle to mount her own. “I heard the music.”
“The music?” Isabelle repeated dryly. “I didn’t hear anything.”
Dominique let out a heavy sigh. “You wouldn’t. You don’t have my curse. I hear….” He swore and took a deep breath. “The reason I took you when I did was because I heard music. It was the same music that haunted me when tragedy struck my heart as a boy. And when the twig snapped, I heard it again.”
“So you…hear… music.” Isabelle had to say it aloud to believe it herself.
“Yes, I believe that’s been established.”
“And it tells you things.”
Dominique cursed and stopped his horse. “It doesn’t speak to me. Well, I guess in a way it does. Just...never mind.”
“When you saw me, when you took me, you said the music changed, were you…” Isabelle swallowed the dryness in her throat. “Were you worried for my welfare? Was I truly in danger?”
Dominique shifted on his saddle and looked away, before digging his heels into the horse’s flesh.
“No…Dominique, wait.” She pressed her boots into the horse's sides to catch up to his trot. “I’m just trying to understand.”
Dominique laughed bitterly. “You will never understand. Nobody will ever understand me. Don’t you get it?” He urged the horse faster; she increased the pressure in her heels to keep up. “No matter how many walls you break down, no matter how many lessons you give me. You will never understand my pain, you will never be close enough to understand what haunts me.”
“I want to be.” Her voice trembled.
“No, no you don’t. You want to fix me; you think you can heal what’s been broken, what’s been so utterly destroyed. But you cannot redeem the damned, Isabelle. No matter how hard you wish it.” His words were just above a whisper when he said, “I thank you for trying. And as I have shown you, I will try as well, but please, do not continue to wish for things that will never be. I will never be more than I am right now. You must accept that.”
Isabelle nodded as she watched him gallop off. He didn’t hear her say I do, nor did he see the slippery tears that ran down her cold cheeks. It was more than the physical scars that kept him so tortured, though she hadn’t seen any evidence of such in all her days with him. But she decided then and there that she was going to discover what haunted him, even if it killed her.
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 o
f 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?”
Nodding, she took a seat across from him. “Shall I pour the tea?”
“Absolutely.” He smirked and watched as she began to pour the hot liquid. Such a perfect little English wife. Posture rigid, face emotionless, and body amply hidden by a prudish-looking afternoon dress. One that hid every curve of her body.
Pity.
“Take off your dress.” He heard himself speak, a little shocked that he was being so rakish.
“Pardon?” Isabelle paused mid-pour. “Did you just tell me to take off my dress?”
“So you can breathe better,” Dominique half-lied. Naturally it would help her breathing, but part of him, the part that yearned to see the curves of her body, demanded she take off the one piece of fabric that kept his eyes from feasting on her form.