Whispered Music by Rachel Van Dyken

Author:Rachel Van Dyken [Dyken, Rachel Van]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Astraea Press
Published: 2012-09-02T14:00:00+00:00

Chapter Nineteen

At times I hate my gift. If I had been born normal, then my life would not be as such. It seems with great gifts comes great opposition. A better man should have possessed the music, for a better man would have known what to do with the life he was given.

—The Diary of Dominique Maksylov

Dominique had always waited until Isabelle was asleep, for if she was awake he would have to look into her eyes, and if he looked he was afraid he would see his own desire reflected back, and he hadn’t the strength to be a gentleman.

Thinking back on the night's festivities, he had to laugh. Isabelle had been so distraught and tired, she fell asleep in his arms the minute he reached their bedroom. A maid had helped her ready for bed, only waking her when she needed to get Isabelle out of her dress.

Dominique had waited in the study. His control was at the point of snapping. Every kiss, every touch, made him crave her more and more. Until he could do nothing but think about what it would be like to be her first lover, the man who made her scream with pleasure, the man she looked at with passion-filled eyes.

He had nearly ruined everything. She gave and gave, until nothing was left, and he took, yet was never satisfied or content in his taking.

The quill on his desk seemed to be staring at him. He knew what he had to do. Somehow during the past few weeks in Isabelle’s presence, he had found a semblance of honor as well as a conscience, which was quite inconvenient, all things considered.

With a curse, he grabbed a piece of fresh paper and addressed it: “To his Grace, The Duke of Montmouth.”

Hours later, he was utterly exhausted; he pulled off his boots and shrugged out of his dinner jacket once he reached the bedroom. Going to bed late meant he had no use for his valet, not that he found much use for one in the first place. Trying to tip toe around the room, he finally found the softness of the bed and reached down to pull the blankets back.

Shock was an adequate word to describe his thoughts as his hand touched Isabelle’s bare arm. Apparently she had fallen asleep sprawled across the bed in a diagonal manner. Her sleeping habits amused him; he'd thought he was the only person alive that slept so fitfully, but Isabelle tossed and turned just as badly, if not worse.

Biting back a smile, he pulled her into his arms and tried to set her on her back, but the blankets were tangled within her legs, making it near-impossible for her body to move comfortably without being twisted.

Letting out a frustrated sigh, Dominique reached down and gave the blankets a tug. Eventually they came free, but as they did so, they pulled up Isabelle’s nightgown, giving him a view of her creamy legs. Even in the dark he could see their perfect outline, could almost taste their sweetness on his lips.

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