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.
He shook the treacherous thought from his head.
It was just an afternoon ride.
Nothing more, nothing less.
“Dominique?” she called again, this time closer as her booted foot stepped into the stables, obviously having changed into a riding habit in record time.
Naturally, he didn’t want to appear the fool that sat about and gawked at her without her knowledge, so he thought the best course of action would be to ignore her altogether.
His brilliant plan proved not so brilliant when she, in a moment of obvious irritation, kicked a bucket in his direction.
“Dominique? Is there a reason you’ve been rendered mute?”
He turned on his heel, prepared to give her a tongue lashing for mocking him, or at least a haughty look.
What he had in mind to do, and what actually happened were two different things.
But what could she expect? When she stood, hands on hips, lip jutting out, and pieces of hair tumbling out of her coiffure.
“Uh…” He prayed for a complete sentence, or words.
Again nothing.
“Well?” she prompted, this time taking a step closer. The smell of lavender practically danced in the air, bombarding his senses, weakening his knees.
He shook his head, breaking her penetrating gaze. “Pick one.”
Unfortunately, he hadn’t noticed that he was in fact in front of an empty stable, not anywhere near the other side of the stables where several horses stood eating hay.
“You have a mind to put me in the stables now? Am I to pick my room? Is that why you’ve dragged me out here in the blistering winter? So we aren’t to go riding?”
So many questions and assumptions in that beautiful head of hers. “No, Isabelle, it seems I’m out of sorts today. I meant for you to pick a horse, but if you’d rather a night tossing in the hay with yours truly, by all means, don’t let me stop you.”
Her eyes narrowed. “Fine. I want that one.” She nodded in his direction, to the horse directly to her left. His horse.
“Any horse but that horse.”
“But I thought you said I should just pick one?”
Dominique let out an irritated breath. “I meant for you to pick from the available horses, over there.” He pointed to the long row of stables that held the rest of the horses.
“Then you should have made that clear before you ran your mouth and got yourself into a pickle. You said to pick a horse, and I fancy the black one.”
“You’ll get yourself killed.” Dominique knew it was a losing battle, trying to fight with her. She was just as stubborn as he, though she tried to shield her streak with a quick smile and easy manner.
Isabelle placed her hands on her hips, jutting out one and leaned provocatively close to him. Curse her inability to back down. He could roar, growl, and throw all sorts of tantrums and she’d most likely smile and ask if he were done. And the worst of it was that he would have be to be standing within her vicinity the entire time, nearly dying from having to keep his hands away from her body.
“Fine.” He moved out of the way. “But don’t say I didn’t warn you when Horse throws you.”
“Horse?” Isabelle walked toward the animal and laid a hand across the shiny coat. “Is that truly the beast's name?”
“My name or the horse's?” Dominique tilted his head.
“The horse.”
“Is named Horse.”
“I’m confused.” Isabelle furrowed her brows.
“Yes well, it isn’t too hard to understand. The horse is named Horse. Lovely name. Descriptive, straight to the point, no confusion as to what the animal actually is…”
Isabelle leaned across Horse. “Yes, it’s also boring and ridiculous. Tell me, were you drunk when you named her or merely practicing the art of stupidity?”
“Both.” Hunter interrupted. “Though, to be fair, I believe it was my own fault that he was so inebriated. The stupidity, however, is all his own doing.”
“Thank you, Hunter.” Dominique felt himself manage a small, irritated twitch of his mouth, which could be mistaken as a smile if one looked hard enough. He shook his head. “Are you suddenly under the impression you’ve been invited?”
Hunter grinned and peered around Dominique to wink at Isabelle. He gave a little wave and returned his attention to his friend. “It seems our dear Isabelle has forgotten her hat. And I thought to myself, what lady, what princess, could possibly go for a morning ride without her hat? Truly, it would be a travesty! An error of gigantic proportions! So I steeled myself against the morning mist and cold temperatures, to save the day.”
“How very heroic,” Dominique said dryly.
Hunter looked genuinely pleased that Dominique had even acknowledged him. “Thank you, I thought so. Now, here you are Isabelle. Let us attach this magnificent piece of…er, hat. And get you on to your delightful morning.”
****
Something wasn’t right. Hunter wasn’t truly the idiot he was portraying himself to be. If he was, he would be the worst spy the Crown had to offer.
He walked forward and gave her another wink, just as the groom entered the stables to speak with Dominique.
“He needs a little push is all.” Hunter placed the hat on her head, in perfect fashion.
“Pardon?”
Jolly façade gone, Hunter took a step back, and she nearly gasped. She had always thought he was an attractive man, but his silly attitude made him seem so harmless. She realized it was a mask, merely one of the disguises he wore to keep his true self as well as his real intentions hidden. Humor drained f
rom his face as Hunter leaned forward and whispered, “He needs you.”
Isabelle swallowed and looked down at her hands. “I’m not sure I’m doing a good job.”
Hunter’s hand touched her chin, lifting her gaze upwards toward his face. “Then I’ll just have to remedy that. Oh, and if you could take the sting out of your slap I would be eternally grateful.”
“Whatever do you mea—”
Before she had a chance to finish her sentence, Hunter was upon her. All of him. Raw masculinity poured out of him as his lips forcibly moved across hers. His hands moved to the sides of her face. And in a moment of sheer madness, his tongue plunged into her mouth. Truly, he was insane!
She pushed against him, beat at his chest, and finally when he pulled away, slapped him across the cheek.
“If that was you taking the sting out of your slap, I pity poor Dominique. How many times have you slapped him, anyway?” Hunter rubbed his cheek just before Dominique charged him, knocking them both into the hay.
“What the devil do you think you’re doing?” Dominique brought his fist back to lay what would surely be a devastating blow to Hunter's head, when Isabelle let out a scream and fell to the ground.
Dominique lurched to his feet and ran to her side. Hunter, however, lay back in the hay, hands behind his head and a piece of straw in his mouth.
“Are you hurt?” Dominique inquired. It seemed the only time he was truly gentle with her was when he thought she was injured. Before, it was when the glass had cut her, and there was the situation with him being afraid that Horse would throw her, and now this.
“My, um, my ankle turned, just a little.” She managed a small voice and looked shakily in Hunter's direction. He nodded his approval and gave another wink before slinking away.
“I—I think he was merely trying to provoke you,” Isabelle stuttered, in hopes that he wouldn’t beat Hunter senseless later. Dominique’s hands glided smoothly over the ankle she had pointed at. Each trail he made with his gloved fingers caused gooseflesh.
“Hunter is a fool.” Dominique helped her to her feet. “But, he’s a smart fool, and he’s my best friend. If he decided to kiss you, I can only imagine he either wants me to shoot him, is bored of country life, or truly is making good on his promise to steal you away. Regardless, you are mine.” The way he said mine was so possessive, so typically male, but she wasn’t offended. No, rather, she felt light-headed and important.
He led her to Horse and gave strict instructions to the groom to place a sidesaddle on the animal, all the while cursing Isabelle under his breath for taking the one horse he didn’t want her touching.
Within minutes they were ready for their morning jaunt, they led the horses out into the open. Isabelle pulled her fur cloak tight over her riding habit. As his hands wrapped around her waist to hoist her up, she whispered. “I am.”
“You are? What?”
Isabelle felt heat rising to her cheeks. Looking down at his curious, chiseled face, she almost lost her nerve but remembered Hunter's words. “Yours.”
Chapter Fourteen
Emotions are fickle. Music, however, is always the same. Notes may change, chords may differ, but the sensation of gliding one's hands over the keys never changes. Exhilarating, provoking, sensual—but music can only play part time lover until you crave the real thing. The real emotions, the real feel of a woman’s flesh in your hands, the taste of her tongue on your lips. I pity the day I begin to crave such things, for nothing will keep me from experiencing it, and I fear my own emotions will be my downfall.
—The Diary of Dominique Maksylov
Since his ears were obviously playing tricks on him, Dominique had no reason for his hands to still be placed across Isabelle’s luscious waist, or for his body to react so violently, so possessively, to her admission. Merciful heavens, he was actually perspiring over the simple word. “Yours.”
Clearing his throat, he walked away and mounted the horse he thought Isabelle would choose.
“You’re an idiot.” Isabelle’s voice disturbed his dream-like state.
Dominique turned his horse to face her. “Excuse me?”
“If you truly think I would pick that horse over this one, you’re an idiot.” She flashed him a brilliant smile and kicked her heels into Horse so hard that Dominique’s sides hurt.
“Race you to the forest?”
Dominique swore as she took off, but forced his horse to gallop after her, and then felt foolish for even trying.
The impetuous girl was a sure judge of horseflesh. For he had assumed she would choose the oldest, most docile creature in the stables like the one he currently rode. Instead she chose the most dangerous one of the bunch. It was a good five minutes before he reached her. And the horse’s sides were heaving.
“That was not even a race, Isabelle.”
Brown hair spilled from her coiffure onto her shoulders, a bright crimson stained her cheeks. “No, it wasn’t.” Her teeth bit down on her lower lip as her mouth spread into a smile.
Dominique irritated with his own arousal at seeing her bite her lip, dismounted and gruffly pulled her from her horse making sure to tie them to the nearest tree. “Now, for the surprise.”
“I thought the horse was the surprise?”
Dominique grasped her hand. “You thought wrong. Now, try to keep up.” He pulled her closer into his embrace and led her through the edge of the forest, into the tiny clearing he used to retreat to as a boy.
The only happy memory of playing at all had been when his father demanded he take riding lessons to have an hour of respite from playing the piano. But this particular memory was something he knew would forever be etched in his mind.
His mother had told him that elves lived in the forest and often made ice sculptures during the night, casting magical enchantments around the land. Of course, he was always such a sober little boy, he never believed her. Until one day, when he took his daily ride, the only hour he had to himself; he went into the clearing and discovered two ice sculptures as if they had been erected out of pure magic.
Later he discovered it was the doing of Cuppins Port. Apparently he had felt sorry for Dominique as a young lad not being able to experience adventure of his own, so he had created magic for him. He never told his father, for surely he would get into trouble if he was caught doing something other than training to be the leader his father wanted him to be.
It had been his sanctuary.
Until the night his father followed him and destroyed the magical sculptures. Dominique cried himself to sleep that night. A week later, out of sheer habit, he led his horse into the clearing and noticed a small sculpture, resting beneath a tree. The scene was a boy playing the piano. It was him. And ever since then, every winter, there was a sculpture waiting for him.
Perhaps it was foolish, but if he could share just a tiny bit of himself with Isabelle, this was what he wanted to share. The one happy memory he could think of. The only memory of his childhood that wasn’t stained with blood, pride, or betrayal.
“Where are we?” Isabelle asked. Her hand was still firmly clenched within his.
“You’ll see.” Dominique’s breath danced out in front of him, the temperatures were getting colder, and he only hoped Isabelle wouldn’t freeze during their little adventure. Of course, he could always pull her closer and share body heat, but that would mean touching her, and touching any more of her body would surely lead to things he had no business doing, considering they were in a snow-covered clearing. Though, it would keep him quite warm.
Isabelle gasped, releasing his hand and covering her mouth. He smiled at her response. For it was truly something taken straight from a fairy tale book. Crystalline icicles hung from the branches of the trees, glittering like diamonds, the poetic rhythm of the melting ice dripping into the pristine snow drifts. Everywhere one looked was a reflection of the icy cold of winter, yet strangely warm and intimate. Trees encircled the small area; it appeared untouched by anything. Isabelle's dark h
air was a vivid chocolate against the white snow and her eyes sparkling sapphires as she smiled at him with appreciation. “It’s so beautiful! It feels like magic!” She ran into the middle of the clearing and twirled around in a circle. Pieces of snow fell from the trees onto her eyelashes as if they too wanted to touch her and add to the enchanting beauty she was.
Transfixed, Dominique watched, a smile spreading across his lips as Isabelle laughed and then stopped twirling. “What is this place?”
Suddenly feeling exposed, Dominique turned away from her burning gaze. “It was my sanctuary when I was a small boy. If you look just there—” he pointed beneath the largest of the trees— “You’ll find something I’m sure you’ve never seen before.”
Isabelle laughed and ran to the tree. “What is it? I don’t understand.”
Dominique was going to kill Cuppins Port, slowly… The sculpture beneath the tree was that of a beautiful young girl who looked exactly like Isabelle. But that wasn’t the most mortifying part. No, the worst part was that the girl was in a man's arms. Dominique’s arms to be precise, and they were sharing a passionate embrace.
His face heated as he struggled for words. Isabelle bent down and touched the sculpture. “It’s beautiful. Is it us?”
“I assure you, Isabelle, my intention was not to—”
She reached out her hand and lightly touched his arm. Rising to her feet, she stepped toward him. Time stood still, as if nothing existed but her eyes, her lips, and the vision of icicles glittering her hair. Frozen in place, he closed his eyes, as her hand traveled slowly up his arm and cupped his face.
Tender, she was tender and achingly slow in her examination of him. She removed her gloves and then her hands caressed his cheeks, skin-on-skin contact that singed him all the way to his frozen toes. Thawing much more than his body, but his mind. His heart. In that moment he believed in magic.
The magic of touch.
His eyes flickered open as he watched her examine him, and then her eyes closed as her cheek pressed against his and then he felt her plump, wet lips touch the side of his mouth. The words, his thoughts, everything was lost and forgotten in the beauty of her warmth.