Whispered Music

by Rachel Van Dyken

  “Do not speak of it.”

  Dominique blanched. “Did you compromise her?”

  “I did it for God and Country?” Hunter said it as more of a question as he broke his gaze away and stared at the floor.

  “Yes well, be sure to say that when the duke murders your sorry excuse for an a—”

  The doors opened swiftly, interrupting Dominique’s speech.

  Montmouth stood, arms crossed, looking every inch the formidable foe Dominique had remembered him being. He suddenly had a distasteful vision of the man ripping his limbs off, laughing all the while Isabelle watched.

  Well, he would always have those few weeks of happy memories before he met his demise. And here we go.

  “Montmouth, didn’t expect to see you here,” he rasped, casting a quick nervous glance at Isabelle.

  Anger rolled off her. Face pale and hands on hips, she sent him a murderous glare.

  Dominique cringed. She knew.

  “Did you not send for me?” Montmouth asked, clearly agitated as he paced in front of him.

  “I did, but that was over a month ago, before the accident.” He hoped that his emphasis on the word clued Isabelle in. He dared not look at her, lest he break down in front of a room of strangers. The infamous beast, felt like a broken man, a wounded puppy, and once again full of fear.

  “Yes well, you can imagine it took a while for word to reach us, though it just so happened that Gwen nearly beat us here, imagine that.”

  Hunter spoke up, “Yes imagine it.”

  The raven-haired beauty glared at Hunter but said nothing. Nor did her body language give away any sort of previous meeting.

  Family reunions. Truly glorious, something to look forward to in the future, no doubt.

  Dominique cleared his throat. “I will have rooms readied for you at once, your grace.” He nodded to Brinks who was standing outside the room watching the exchange with an amused grin on his face.

  He cleared his throat for the second time, and Brinks disappeared around the corner.

  “Now,” Dominique addressed the Duke. “I trust one of England’s greatest spies has yet again helped us retrieve your sister-in-law?”

  Montmouth nodded. “Yes, it seems Gwen sold as many of her possessions as she could in order to go searching for her lost sister. She imagined the great beast of Russia was set on killing her.”

  “Lovely bedtime story, do be sure to tell me that one someday, Dominique,” Hunter interjected with amusement.

  Montmouth glared. “At any rate, the man who rescued her, though I use the term loosely considering her disheveled state, hasn’t been seen since, nor do I know his identity. However, I’m not sure I wish to thank him. Murdering him sounds more likely, since Gwen has yet to explain where she obtained the marks on her neck and arms.”

  Hunter chose that opportune moment to have a fit of coughing. He bent over and grabbed at Dominique’s coat.

  With a resigned sigh, Dominique pushed his friend away and once again faced the duke. “Your grace, as you can see Isabelle is quite alive and healthy.”

  “I cannot see that,” Montmouth clipped. “Perhaps you need to look closer, for my sister-in-law looks ready to burst into tears at any moment, and since you are the only one I can imagine who caused such pain, you will forgive me for not being more polite or well-mannered. I have half a mind to shoot you for buying her. What’s worse is you brought her into a heavily French-occupied area!”

  Domnique didn’t think it would be wise to point out that the duke had done the same with his own wife.

  “My mother-in-law is in Bedlam, and it seems Isabelle has traded one nightmare for another. Do you deny it?”

  He couldn’t. Dominique wanted to deny it, to fight, to explain the whole story, but the truth of the matter was, Isabelle had put up with the worst of nightmares, and he was to blame.

  “I do not deny it.”

  “At least you have some honor.”

  Hunter took a step forward, but Dominique stopped him with his hand.

  “Now,” Montmouth spat. “We will stay as long as it takes to gather what belongings Isabelle has here, and we will be returning to London with her. Do I make myself clear?”

  The man seemed ruthless. Especially standing up to one with Dominique’s reputation. With an amused chuckle and most likely an insane wish to be shot, Dominique said, “No, you do not make yourself clear. Perhaps you should speak louder.”

  Montmouth's face turned red with rage, he reached into his jacket pocket. But Dominique was quicker. With little effort he rendered the giant harmless by cracking his wrist. The pistol dropped to the floor, and he kicked it to Hunter who immediately made quick work of unloading it of its contents.

  “Now, you have barged into my home, put your wife and her two sisters in danger, as well as the life of my unborn child…” He knew it was possible, though quite unlikely that Isabelle carried his heir, but he hoped Montmouth didn’t see the fib, nor the trembling of Dominique’s own voice at the thought. “All based on a letter that should have never been sent to you in the first place.” Dominique used all his strength to push Montmouth down into a nearby chair and loomed over him. “Now, allow me to take myself clear. I love Isabelle. I have been to Hell and back in order to have her, and will not let some self-righteous duke trounce into my home and demand that the only woman I have ever loved return with him. You will have to kill me to get to her, and if her choice is to go with you, I beg you to kill me anyway, for I cannot imagine taking a breath without her by my side.”

  The room fell silent.

  Montmouth’s breathing slowed and then a grin broke out on his face. “Good work, man! I knew you had it in you! See, Isabelle, I told you it was a misunderstanding. Women, you can’t truly believe a word that comes out of their mouths.” Rosalind slapped him playfully on the arm.

  Hunter swore a string of expletives and kicked the wall with his boot.

  Exhausted and in utter shock, Dominique merely stared at the duke, slack jawed.

  “Come now!” Montmouth rose to his feet and pulled him into a tight embrace. “It seems we have a wedding to celebrate!”

  Dumbstruck, it took a few seconds for what had just transpired and when it hit him, he was ready to pummel the man. “You smug son of a—”

  “Easy…” Montmouth paused and looked Dominique straight in the eyes. “I know when a man is tortured, the haunting look in his eyes when he thinks he’s lost what’s most important to him. It was like looking in a mirror.” Montmouth shook his head. “Now, let us adjourn elsewhere so the ladies can catch up. It seems they’ve all had adventures to last a lifetime.”

  Dominique nodded slowly and turned to look at Isabelle, tears were streaming down her face. She gave him a weak smile and nodded. He took that as a good sign, the only sign she could give him amidst the chatter.

  Hunter led the way, a scowl on his face. Montmouth turned to Dominique. “Speaking of a man haunted, what the devil is wrong with your friend? It looks as if he’s seen a ghost.”

  “Not a ghost… a memory.” Dominique left it at that and went into the study where he kept his best whiskey. There would be time enough to talk to Isabelle after dinner. And he would make certain she knew where his loyalty lay.

  Chapter Thirty-two

  I refuse to be him, therefore I won’t be. I make a choice to be better, stronger, more loving. To be a true father.

  —The Diary of Dominique Maksylov

  Once she had awoken from fainting, Stefan had demanded she tell him what was wrong. Was she held here by her own free will? Had she been harmed? Where was her husband? Truly it had all been too much.

  She lost all control.

  And in true feminine fashion, burst into tears. Never before had she been such a watering pot. She told them everything. Nothing was sacred, well, except for the stolen moments with Dominique.

  To his credit, Stefan listened intently while Rosalind patted her hand and Gwendolyn held her in her arms whispering int
o her hair.

  She loved him, and she told them as much, but also explained that she had just discovered an incriminating letter.

  Heartbroken, she continued to sob, until with a laugh Stefan jumped to his feet. “Well, this is perfect!”

  Rosalind glared.

  Gwen gasped.

  And Isabelle whimpered.

  “Hear me out!” Stefan clapped his hands. “All men need is a little push, and it seems the earl is at the brink of insanity!”

  “Please explain yourself, husband, before you find yourself sleeping in the stables.” Rosalind seethed.

  Stefan ignored her angry comment and continued, “I’ll threaten to take the thing he values most in life.”

  “His music?” Isabelle offered.

  Stefan knelt in front of her, “No, my dear. The other half of his soul. You.”

  Well, Isabelle hadn’t known what to say then, not that it mattered because as soon as the words left Stefan’s mouth, low voices were heard outside the doors to the salon.

  Stefan marched right over to the doors and threw them open revealing a pale-looking Hunter and irritated Dominique.

  She was unable to meet his gaze, ashamed for believing the worst of him, but most of all, still doubtful of his affection. Isabelle was so used to his rejection, to his excuses, his justifications that no matter how much attention he paid her these past few weeks, she still feared the worst.

  Dominique began his speech, defending himself. She didn’t want to listen, wanted to stay in her miserable state. That is, until she heard him say that he sent the letter before the accident.

  Before he was bed-ridden.

  Before he reached for her.

  And before he promised to hold and keep her heart forever.

  She meant to put a stop to all the nonsense. Stefan truly should have made a go of it with the theater. He was yelling and threatening as if he was truly intent on causing physical harm, and just when she thought Dominique would hang his head and allow her to go with them, he rallied.

  And in that moment, stole her heart all over again.

  He loved her.

  She smiled at the memory and touched her hand to her chest, surely she was dreaming! She hadn’t realized she had an audience until she looked up at both her sisters. Each of them had their heads tilted, merriment twinkling in her eyes.

  Isabelle cleared her throat. Drat, they looked at her again, and again she gave back a blank stare. Had they asked her a question?

  “My, my, it is worse than I expected,” Gwen mused. “Our dear sister has fallen so hard she has forgotten her own name.”

  “That isn’t true.” Isabelle cheeks heated.

  “Sure it is.” Gwen winked. “I’ve been repeating your name trying to gain your attention for the past five minutes. And all I received was a sigh.”

  “Don’t forget the fluttering of her eyelashes, too,” Rosalind interjected helpfully.

  Isabelle glared. “I assure you, I remember my name, I was merely…” Drat, why couldn’t she think of a better excuse than daydreaming about her husband's hands on her body?

  “Lusting.”

  “Sinning.” Gwen coughed.

  Isabelle narrowed her eyes at her two sisters and promptly changed the subject. “So, how is mother?”

  Apparently that was the one thing that would cause both of her sisters to lose their merriment immediately. Rosalind was the first to answer. “Quite mad. Tried to kill me. It was all very exciting, but that’s another story, dear. All that matters is Stefan and I are enormously happy, and so thankful to have found both of you again.”

  “And Gwen, why ever would you run after me alone!”

  “Adventure?” she offered.

  “Go to the park to find your adventure. Read a book. You do not go gallivanting around Belgium while we are at war!” Isabelle grabbed her sister’s hand and kissed it. “What if something would have happened to you?”

  Her sister looked up, her clear blue eyes boring through Isabelle. “And who’s to say something didn’t?”

  “Gwen…” Isabelle said in warning.

  A blank stare washed over Gwen’s face; she shrugged and gave a tight smile. “I assure you, I am just fine!”

  But Isabelle knew her sister better than she knew herself. Something was amiss, but Gwen was never one to offer information freely. Isabelle would just have to bide her time until her sister was ready to talk about whatever transpired over the past few months.

  A few months? Had it only been that long? Truthfully, Isabelle felt as if she had been in this castle for years! So much had happened, and so much more was in store. She closed her eyes and placed a hand over her stomach. Truthfully, it hadn’t been a white lie on Dominique’s part when he was confronted by Montmouth. It was, in fact, the truth. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath. Tonight. She would tell him tonight.

  Chapter Thirty-three

  Can a man be more than he was born to be? Or will he be constantly haunted by the past? By what he was born into? Are we simply copies of those who bore us? Or can we live past that, can we exceed expectations. Can I exceed the consequences of my birth?

  —The Diary of Dominique Maksylov

  Dominique slowly trudged up the stairs to his rooms. Dinner had been quite the fiasco, what with all three women chattering at once. It was impossible to get a word in edgewise. Stefan, which was how he was now to address the duke, simply watched and drank his wine in large gulps, clearly using the alcohol as a way to numb the pounding in his ears at the volume of talking around the table.

  Hunter, however, crossed his arms and scowled the entire time, as if the wine was too sour, the food cold, and the company lacking. Never before had he seen his friend in such a foul mood, and that included the time Dominique set his coat tails on fire.

  He smiled at the memory.

  Whatever the issue, Hunter would never come out and say it. No, Dominique needed to bide his time until his friend was ready to discuss what was plaguing him. And Dominique had a sneaking suspicion that it had everything to do with the raven-haired beauty who sent equally murderous glares toward Hunter the entire meal.

  Life had certainly taken a drastic change over the past twenty-four hours, and he was eternally grateful that he still had a wife to hold tonight, or in his case, make love to until the wee hours of the morning.

  He knocked quietly, alerting her of his presence, and swiftly let himself in the bedroom.

  Isabelle stood facing the fire, her brown hair trickling down her back like a blanket of dark honey. He wanted her so badly it hurt.

  Slowly, he joined her and put an arm around her shoulders, pulling her into the warmth of his body.

  “I’m sorry,” he said.

  Isabelle said nothing.

  “I should have told you that I wrote the letter, but after I was ill, I had forgotten doing so and then when I heard back, I panicked. I should have gone straight to you, explained to you that I would die before letting you go.” He took a deep breath, his heart pounding in his chest, surely she could hear it. “I love you.”

  For a moment, she said nothing. Then finally Isabelle whispered, “Say it again.”

  “I love you, I love you, I love you.” He ran his fingers through her hair; a shiver of delight slammed into his chest as she turned and kissed him hard across the mouth.

  “Oh, Isabelle.” His hands reached around to grab her waist, thrusting her against himself as his tongue plummeted into her mouth, searching, grasping, tirelessly winding with hers.

  “Stop.” Flushed, Isabelle pulled away. “Before we…” She motioned to the bed, little did she know that the activity he had in mind was much more adventurous.

  “Before I strip you naked, you mean? Before I kiss every part of your body that’s exposed and parts that are hidden. Before I gaze upon your feminine beauty, the lush curves of your hips, the way your skin feels against my palm. Before I possess you with every ounce of my—”

  Laughing and blushing profusel
y, Isabelle placed a hand over his mouth. “Yes, before a-all that. I have something exciting to tell you.”

  Taking a seat, he pulled Isabelle into his lap and played with her hair as she seemed to be struggling for words. Whatever it was, it was important.

  “I have reason to believe...”

  Devil take him, she was gorgeous. Brown wavy hair taunted and teased him until he wanted nothing more than to plunge his hands into its endless length.

  “…I am carrying your heir.”

  “Pardon?” His stomach lurched, his heart nearly stopped beating.

  “I think I’m increasing. I missed my last courses and it seems that—”

  “Stop.” Dominique pulled his hands back from her hair. It was as if she had poured cold water over him., He gently pulled her off of his lap and rose to his feet. So many emotions were swirling within him that he could not, dare not, say a thing lest he ruin something that by all accounts should be good news.

  “A-are you upset?” Isabelle’s voice was weak. He closed his eyes and prayed for patience, for strength, and turned around.

  Large blue eyes gazed back at him, vulnerability rolling off of her, but also protectiveness, a fierceness that he’d never seen her possess. A mama in the making, no doubt.

  “I do not know what to say.” Dominique looked down at the floor. “I need some time, I need… I need to think.” With that, he left the room, not stopping once. Not even when he heard his wife break down into sobs, or the painful whisper of his name on her lips as glass hit the floor.

  Pregnant? How was it possible! He paced the damaged practice room like a caged animal. What the devil was he to do?

  He cursed aloud in every language he knew, which was quite a lot of cursing to be honest. He only stopped when his voice was hoarse from shouting.

  “Impressive, tell me, do you know Finnish?” a male voice asked.

  “Stefan, this is none of your concern.”