“I imagine that was your first kiss,” he said.
“You imagine correctly.” Her voice was slightly shaky. Dominique refused to feel guilty.
With a mocking laugh he tilted his head, trying to appear patronizing and cruel. “I could tell that it was your first kiss and I no longer feel guilty.”
“Guilty? I’m surprised a man of your reputation even understands the word.” Isabelle’s scowl deepened.
“And to think, this whole time I was feeling guilty that I had stolen a London treasure and was being beastly in coveting you for myself, but now I see the truth. You’re just like every other debutante—a cold English fish with no ability to drive a man wild with lust. Take your form...” He lifted a gloved hand with a flick of his wrist and shook his head. “You’ve no beautiful curves to speak of, plain brown hair, and frankly, the skill of the worst of courtesans. So, you see, I don’t feel guilty. If anything I should be commended for taking you off their hands.”
Chapter Two
Music feeds the soul much like food feeds the body; starve your body of food and it will surely die. Starve your soul of music and I fear the ending would be catastrophic.
— The Diary of Dominique Maksylov
His ridiculous speech was met with a slap so hard he could do nothing save curse for several minutes as the stinging continued to throb across his face. The chit had attacked him! Surprisingly, he hadn’t seen it coming, though he deserved it and more.
When he opened his eyes, the look on Isabelle’s face haunted him, for it was the exact look he’d seen daily on his own mother’s face after she’d fought with his father.
Memories came flooding back though he fought to keep them tucked away and, in that instant, he wanted nothing more than to be shot.
He deserved worse.
Perhaps to be trampled by the horses drawing his carriage.
Or poisoned by the woman sitting across from him.
But apologies were foreign words on Dominique’s lips; they sounded gruff and awkward and, well, if he were being honest with himself, it would only be half-hearted. Yes, he had hurt her feelings, perhaps crossed a line. He grimaced as her face flushed a deeper hue of red. Perhaps he crossed several lines, but the truth of the matter was, by hurting her, he was doing her a favor. By causing her a short amount of pain he was keeping her from a lifetime of agony, for no woman would ever desire to be given false hope.
He could not love.
Would not love.
Had nothing to offer save his title and wealth and even that came at a great cost.
In an epic battle of right and wrong, he decided to change the subject. “We should be arriving at the ship within the hour. You should rest.”
Isabelle glared, but did as she was told.
Dominique thanked God, for if the woman found this particular time to fight him at every turn, he would be half-tempted to give in to her. And that would prove dangerous for everyone, especially her. She had no idea the monster she was riding with, the sins he had committed, nor the blood that stained his hands.
Stains that refused to wash away.
Because they were scarred onto his very person.
With a scowl, he turned to look out the window, all the while convincing himself he’d done the right thing. His soul was still as black as ever, but at least he’d saved one woman. One innocent creature from certain Hell. Though one good deed was hardly enough to cover the darkness that consumed him.
****
Isabelle lurched awake as the carriage came to a stop.
“Out you go,” Dominique, said as the door opened. The nighttime air was crisp and damp. Would winter never end? Perhaps it was the cold that made her shiver, surely it wasn’t the fact that Dominique’s touch still lingered on the small of her back as he helped her out of the carriage.
Abruptly, he removed his hand, and her body gave another involuntary shiver. Mortified, she looked away from his piercing gaze.
“Are you chilled?” he asked, though it would be a stretch to say any hint of concern laced his deep timbre. Icy blue eyes studied her boldly.
“No, merely repulsed,” she answered, sweetly refusing to give into the treacherous feelings his touch gave her. Her once-innocent lips burned with the memory of his scorching kiss. Again, she turned away and began walking.
“Where are you going?” he asked, behind her.
“To the—” Isabelle looked around her. Where the devil was she?
Dominique chuckled. “I believe, my lady, that the ocean is in the opposite direction. That is, unless you plan on walking all the way back to London? I know I may be beastly, but believe me when I say there are wolves about. I daresay I’m not the most dangerous creature here.”
Another shudder overtook her. “Wolves?”
“Oh yes.” Dominique’s white teeth glowed in the night. “Don’t tell me you haven’t heard the tale of the wretched wolf that hunts innocent women with his charm and manages to lull them into a deep sleep before killing them?”
“Ah, so the wolf is you? Self-fulfilling prophecy, my lord?” She stomped by him, hating that he was bringing out the worst in her with every turn. Isabelle had never spoken in such a way to any person and it broke her to do so, but how else was she to keep her wits about her?
“Self-fulfilling prophecy?” Dominique fell into step beside her. An amused smile broke across his face.
Heavens, he was beautiful when he smiled.
“No, my little Belle, it is merely an old tale told by fishermen’s wives and those who are too ignorant to know the truth. The Wolf is, after all, a close companion to the Beast, didn’t you know? Of course you didn’t,” he mocked. “At any rate, I’ll protect you as much as I’m able.”
“What are you going to do, growl at him?”
Dominique stopped in his tracks and with the ease and skill of the most cunning of predators, pulled her flush against his body. “If I have to. Though it seems my growl doesn’t even scare you, does it, my lady?”
“I believe the growl you’re referring to, and the purr that escaped your lips earlier when kissing me are one and the same.” She pushed at his chest and stumbled over her own feet as she made her way toward the boat.
“I assure you it was a purr of disgust.” Dominique sneered as he caught her arm before she truly did topple over, head first.
“So you say.” With a jerk she pulled her arm away and continued to march toward the boat.
“Your Highness.” A tall broad man with a Russian accent saluted Dominique and ordered the rest of the deckhands to grab their luggage.