Well, that was odd. He was an earl, not a prince. The idea that this man, this beast standing next to her was anything related to royalty was almost laughable.
Unfortunately, she choked on her laugh the minute she stepped onto the most beautiful ship she had ever seen, one of ten that her new husband owned. The Lullaby boasted of beautiful intricately carved wood that took her breath away. She barely had time to register her surroundings before Dominique roughly grabbed her arm and escorted her below deck, pushing her into the first room they came to.
“You will join me for dinner,” he said, slamming the door in her face and leaving her no option in the matter.
Isabelle wasn’t sure if she wanted to stick out her tongue or have a good cry. Wouldn’t her sisters be worried about her? And her own mother? What had happened to everyone? Before Dominique had taken her, the family had been in an absolute uproar. Her mother had said that if her sister, Rosalind, didn’t marry the Duke of Montmouth, people would begin dying in both of their families. It was believed that a gypsy had cursed them, making it impossible to marry outside the boundaries of both powerful families. The night she met Dominique for the first time, he had been arriving to take his rightful place as the only heir to the Hariss Earldom. Little did she know that the same night she met the beast, would also decide her fate for eternity. For the following morning she found herself in his carriage being escorted out of London, away from her home, her family, and everything she had ever known.
She only hoped that whatever hazards had befallen her two sisters and her mother—that Montmouth had still married Rosalind, and things were as they should be. One of them deserved the fairy tale ending, and since she knew it would never be her, Rosalind was the only logical choice.
Would Dominique even let her contact her family? Isabelle may have been a dreamer, but she wasn’t stupid. There was no way this man could have taken her without her family’s knowledge. Perhaps that was what hurt the most.
That she’d been sold off to the highest bidder.
One only had to look around to see the obvious wealth of the man, regardless of the money and title he inherited from her father’s estate. The Russian beast had no need for an alliance of any kind. Besides, she had no dowry, nothing to offer the man save herself, and he had made it perfectly clear what he thought of her.
A cold English fish.
And although his music was quite famous, she had no idea it could bring the obvious profit she was seeing around her.
Sighing, she took a seat on the bed and looked around the dimly lit cabin. Gold casing covered the wardrobe in the corner. A small writing desk was nailed to the middle of the floor but it was adorned with gold plating on the front. A beast was carved out of the gold and would have normally given her a fright to look at it, but she had just spent hours in the carriage with one.
A mere portrait of one did nothing to her nerves.
A soft knock sounded at the door. Obviously it wasn’t the brute coming back to order her around.
“Who is it?”
“Miss Ward.” The reply was soft.
“Who are you?”
“I’m to help you ready yourself after such a long journey. Would you prefer me to come back later, my lady?”
Isabelle looked down at her wrinkled dress. It probably would be best for her to be more presentable, not that she was entertaining the thought of dining with that horrible man. But still.
“You may enter.” She rose from the bed to greet the lady. Her eyes nearly fell out of her head when a short, plump woman of at least sixty and five bounced into the room.
“Thank you ever so much, my lady. I despise being out near all those scoundrels. To think! Having me travel this whole way by myself, without a chaperone!” The elderly lady patted her coiffure. “I could have been accosted! Or ruined! They stare at me with heat in their eyes. And I do not care for it at all! I cannot stand it!”
“Right.” Isabelle tried not to smile, failing miserably. The woman was old enough to be a grandmother. To think that a man would willingly ruin her was the most amusing thing she had heard all day.
“What are you smiling about?” Miss Ward put her hands on generous hips and tilted her head. “Has the master put that lovely smile on your face then?”
Isabelle scowled. “The master, as you so lovingly call him, has locked me in my room and demanded I join him for dinner.”
“He’s used to people following his orders, my lady.” Miss Ward made quick work as she lit candles, making the room immediately feel warmer and more inviting.
Isabelle snorted. “I’m sure he’s used to a lot of things. But I am not one of his servants to be ordered about.”
Miss Ward smiled. “No, my dear, you’re to be his wife, and as his wife you are to mind him regardless of how beastly he can be.”
Isabelle exhaled and punched the pillow next to her.
“There, there.” Miss Ward took a seat on the bed. “Why don’t I help you dress into a new gown, and we’ll see about joining the master for dinner?”
“I’m not hungry,” Isabelle argued, though her stomach chose that exact moment to growl. What was wrong with her? Never had she acted the part of a spoiled child, but the man had to understand. She had no idea how her family was faring and no way of communicating with them. And to make it worse, she was traveling with strangers to some unknown land.
Miss Ward raised a plump hand to Isabelle’s face. “Things always seem easier to handle when you have a warm meal inside you.”
Shoulders slumped in defeat, Isabelle nodded.
“Oh, I’m so glad you’ve agreed! I have the perfect dress! I sewed it myself, I’ve just been in absolute rapture these past few weeks, in hopes that a lady as beautiful as you would be the one to wear it!”
“I would be honored.” Isabelle gave Miss Ward a hug and began peeling off her gloves.
Chapter Three
In my darkest times, music has been my lover, and for that I owe music all of my devotion, for when it counted, music lifted me up, whereas women let me down.
—The Diary of Dominique Maksylov
“Where is she?” Dominique paced the creaky floorboards of the captain’s room for the hundredth time. Didn’t she know that punctuality was next to godliness? To keep him, of all people, waiting? Did she think she was the Queen?
A throat cleared.
He turned, nearly tripping over his own feet.
“Oh…it’s you.” Cursing, he merely waved his friend off to the nearest seat and continued his pacing.