“Christophe—you are creating a scene.”
Not seeming to hear Aleksender, he uttered a curse and slammed his fist onto the table. “There’s nothin’ of your father in you. You only enlisted because you couldn’t deal with your own desires. Ain’t that right, mon ami? You wanted that dancing ward of yours.” A severe smile framed his lips. “Ah, don’t look so surprised. It was obvious enough between your stories and the letters. Come now. I’m not that foolish. Tell me—what’s her name again? Hmm? Sidney, Cecilia … No, no. Those aren’t right.”
“What do you want from me?”
“Take a guess. Go on.” Silence. “Ah, you never were one for games. Truth be told … Paris is in great need of your great and humble charity, Monsieur le Comte.” Each syllable dripped with mockery. “Lives are bein’ stolen.” Christophe paused before continuing. A look of severe pain marred his features. He adjusted his posture and scrubbed a hand over his weathered face. “People are losing everything that matters … their homes, loved ones—”
“A pity.” Aleksender absently stroked a hand through his hairline. “But not my concern.”
“Damn it, Alek. You could turn this around. I’d likely be shot to high hell if I stepped within a mile of Versailles. But you … you are different. You have the one thing that everyone else lacks. A worthy name.”
Aleksender’s lips curved into a cold, almost triumphant smile. “That’s where you’re wrong. None of us are worth a damn.” Aleksender pushed back his chair as he prepared to stand.
“Sure, you’re all high and mighty now,” Christophe stuttered. “But just wait. Wait till your darling wife is raped up against a wall, till your chateau is burned to the ground and your father’s grave is pissed on—all while your little Sofia whores herself for a loaf of bread.” Aleksender tensed at the sound of his ward’s name. “This has always been your answer to everything. Run away … run away and hide like a damned coward. So very noble of you, monsieur. Your father would be most proud.”
“We’re done.” Aleksender rose to his feet, signaled to Round-faced-jolly-bartender, and threw a handful of francs onto the table. One of the coins rolled across its counter and spun in dizzying circles. Through Aleksender’s eyes, it was Champion, Bois de Boulogne’s sorry-looking gelding, putting around the racecourse. It was Sofia Rose, Salle Le Peletier’s beloved ballerina, mesmerizing everyone with her delicate movements. “And Christophe.” Aleksender grated as he gestured to the coins. “Here’s my charity.”
•
Sacred Heart’s dormitory was exceptionally cozy if not a bit cramped. A dozen or so wooden beds lined the plastered walls, each one centered below arches and hanging crucifixes. Sconce candles gently flickered and cast dancing shadows across the cracked floorboards. Like all other nights, the convent was quiet and unnaturally still.
Sofia lay stiffly in her bed, mind racing and unable to sleep. Her cot was stationed in the farthest corner of the dormitory, which allowed her privacy from the other girls. A moderate-sized window hung nearby. On most evenings, she’d gaze into the star-filled sky and lose herself within the constellations. Tonight, however, no stars could be seen. The night was black and cold—a bottomless, unforgiving void.
Sofia tossed onto her side as worry furrowed her brow. Left alone with her thoughts, she reflected on her past and considered her future. The dormant feelings she’d longtime held for Aleksender had become amplified, and could no longer be ignored nor written off as mere fantasy.
The drapes lazily fluttered under the wind’s breath. The windowpane jingled, thrusting back and forth in steady movements. A mild breeze whispered across Sofia’s cheeks in a pleasant and transient caress. She inhaled deeply as the scent of fresh blooms stirred all five of her senses to life. With Paris in such poor condition, leaving the window undone was undeniably dangerous, but it was a risk she’d always been more than happy to take. Countless nights, Sofia had imagined Aleksender climbing through that slim portal. He’d come and spirit her away, whisking her off to some distant land.
Like everything else, the fantasy was short-lived. Most evenings, light footfall followed by the click of a latch jarred Sofia from her thoughts. Indeed—Sister Catherine often locked the window once she believed Sofia had fallen asleep.
Sofia flipped onto her stomach and hooked both arms around the pillow. Tears sprang to her eyes, threatening to dampen the material. Nuzzling deeper into the cotton, she inhaled a strangled sob. She couldn’t help it, couldn’t stop the tears. Soft cries shook her body. The pillow muted the sounds and grew heavy with moisture. She missed him. She missed him more than she could say. It seemed he’d returned only to disappear once more. It was a year ago all over again.
Why? Why did things have to change so suddenly? And why must Aleksender force them apart? She understood his reasons, of course … just as she understood they could never be together. As both a husband and citizen of Paris, Aleksender was wedded to his duties.
His words from the Tuileries Garden haunted her mind. We can’t see each other anymore. Not like this. Not for a while.
Did he truly think her so cold—so unloving and cruel? She could never turn her cheek from his pain and agony, especially now.
The question rose in her mind like a dark storm cloud: what was to become of their delicate bond? What was to become of her—and what of Aleksender?
Her choices were barren at best. A loveless marriage was something she could never endure. And she was confident that Aleksender would not force her into a marriage of convenience—the same sort of partnership he shared with Elizabeth.
During her nineteen years, Sofia had known only two homes: Sacred Heart Convent and Aleksender’s arms. If she could no longer be with Aleksender, she’d remain at Sacred Heart forever. She would likely leave the stage and take her vows.
And yet, despite her adoration for God, she had no desire to spend her existence as a nun. She yearned for romance and unbridled passion—two things that would become entirely forbidden. She yearned for children, the comfort of a family. But, above all things, she ached for Aleksender’s love—something that had always been, and always would be, forbidden to her …
Despite her rather strict religious upbringing, despite the knowledge that such desires were built from sin, despite Aleksender’s words from only days ago, I love you as my ward … nothing more, Sofia couldn’t shake the feeling they were supposed to be together.
Resting on that thought, the thumping window transformed into a soft, rhythmic chime as sleep finally came.
CHAPTER NINE
They demand answers. They take a perverse delight in taunting my willpower, teasing me, waving a dagger before my eyes. The tarnished blade drips, coated with blood—the blood of my fallen comrades. The evidence of my fellow men’s suffering only empowers me. I do not answer.
I invite their tortures with a low and sardonic chuckle. They oblige, plunging the rusty blade deep into my back. The pain is excruciating. Even worse, it is degrading … humiliating. I’m unable to suppress a choked cry. I cringe in spite of myself and bite down on my lip till the metallic flavor of blood floods my jaw line.
As always, they share a rough laugh and demand my cooperation in clumsy French. But all I ever offer is bitter silence and a more bitter grin. I raise my head with feigned pride. My parched lips curl into a chilling smile. Blood seethes from between my teeth, leaking down my chin—dripping onto the muddy ground below. Muttering vile curses and promises of pain, the dagger is mercilessly twisted—lodged inside my flesh, buried to the hilt—crucifying my soul …
Christophe’s frantic pleas slice through my consciousness: “Hör auf damit! Hör auf damit …”
I shall not allow them the pleasure of my agony. I do not stir a limb. I detach soul from body—thinking of her. My grin widens as one of the men cross themselves in a rushed motion: in the name of the Father, Son, and the Holy Spirit—
Aleksender woke with a violent start. Mon Dieu. The nightmare had been painfully vivid. He could feel the bl
ade impaling his flesh, hear the cruel, mocking laughter, and smell the rancid stench of sweat and blood.
Near to suffocating, Aleksender tore through the bedchamber’s double-doors and stepped onto the balcony. The night was black, bottomless and empty. Above, a storm of clouds maliciously shielded the moon from his gaze. A strange fog blew in all directions, blanketing the walkways beneath a thick and milky haze. Rain drops fell from the sky and filled the ground with bruised puddles.
Strange. Stormy weather was unusual for spring. An impending sense of doom was inescapable, and Paris seemed to be weeping for her fate.
Aleksender stole a backward glance of Elizabeth’s reclined silhouette. She was slumbering, appearing wonderfully peaceful in her sedated state.
Yet her tear-stained cheeks told a quite different story. His chest contracted at the sight of her pain.
He swallowed and returned his gaze to the bruised sky. Despair, guilt, and sorrow swelled all four chambers of his heart. The material of his cloak flowed behind him, whipping fiercely in the wind.
Not far in the distance, a cloaked figure broke through the rolling haze. It approached the chateau at a vast and remarkably graceful stride. Aleksender exhaled a shaky breath, passed a hand over his hair, and summoned every ounce of his noble courage.
Both of them would need it.
•
Aleksender crossed the chateau’s front lawn at a steady pace. In response, the cloaked figure also increased its speed, reaching a sprint then a fierce run. Standing inches apart, Aleksender and the cloaked figure came together after some steps. Both remained perfectly still, perfectly silent. Their breaths penetrated the air, misting in a unified cloud.
Aleksender was the one who took a swift step closer.
His six-foot-two frame towered over the delicate figure with ease. The thick navy-blue hood hid the stranger’s face, sheltering his or her identity from his eyes. And yet he knew. Out on the balcony he’d felt her very presence.
His icy voice split the darkness. “I told you—you have no place here. You were supposed to keep away.”
A growl rumbled low in his throat as he tossed back the hood. For both of their sanities, he’d planned to be ruthless and cold, cruel and unfeeling. Aleksender’s courage instantly faltered. The vision enchanted him beyond words. His malicious intent dissolved into affection—the indescribable need to shelter Sofia from the world … to shelter her from himself.
Her eyes, so blue and deep, struck him like a whip. Tears swam down her porcelain cheeks and descended in a waterfall, mingling with the falling rain. Freed from the hood’s snug confines, a whirlwind of russet curls flowed behind her in a fierce flurry. They danced freely in the breeze, mocking her enslaved spirit.
“I’m sorry. I know I wasn’t supposed to come. It’s just … I—I had a nightmare,” came her soft confession.
Indeed, Sofia had been plagued with recurring nightmares for years. In sleep, her mother would return along with the pain of her former life. The burns, blasphemy and humiliation … within the darkness and solitude of her thoughts, all of the horrors would return. And Aleksender’s arms had become her safe haven … an escape from the ghosts of her past. Ghosts that would never be laid to rest. His touch chased away those monsters that came for her during the night. His words had always been a breath of fresh air and a token of courage.
Aleksender replaced her hood with a reverent touch and gathered Sofia to his chest. “I would never let harm come of you. And no matter what happens between us … I shall always be there.” He pressed two fingers below her chin and tilted her face back. “You know that, don’t you?”
Sofia said nothing. She spoke with her touch. Her fingertips grazed the nape of his neck and clawed at the rugged flesh, forcing him dangerously close. Sofia laid her cheek across his shoulder and inhaled an uneven sigh.
The heat of her breaths impaled his dress shirt and warmed the depths of his soul. Not thinking, not caring anything for propriety, Aleksender aligned their two bodies. Their heartbeats touched, echoing an undeniable affection, whispering things they dared not say. And so he simply allowed himself to feel.
Aleksender inhaled a sharp breath and deftly grazed her upturned cheek with the back of his hand. The opposite ran through her hair and fanned the precious satin. Against his roughened flesh, every bit of Sofia felt impossibly vulnerable. The texture of her curls was spun from exquisite velvet and sinfully soft.
Lowering his lashes, he gazed down and marveled at the sight of their joined bodies. A peaceful smile graced Sofia’s lips. Pressed against his much larger form, she looked small and perfectly helpless. Safe, secure and completely at home within the circle of his arms.
A warm sensation pierced Aleksender’s chest as her tears ran anew. Sofia groaned aloud at her weakness and shamefully hid her eyes within the folds of his dress shirt. “I told myself I wouldn’t cry.”
“Ah, ma chérie …” He cradled Sofia in his arms, rocking her to and fro, back and forth, as one might a babe. With every movement her tears faded away until there was only the two of them. “Why must my angel weep?”
When she spoke, her voice was a husky and unusually deep mezzo, its timbre dipped within a vat of unfilled longings. Neither of them recognized it as her own. Each of her words fluttered against his cheek like a kiss. “Tell me this is not all in my mind.” Aleksender felt his heart skip a beat. And then he felt it skip two more. “Tell me.” Their eyes united in a single, powerful gaze. The heat of her words fanned across his face in an enticing tease, transient and tempting. Her breath smelled sweeter than nectar from the honeycomb. “Tell me you feel what I feel.”
Silence was his reply. He answered with his touch. Gently, carefully, and ever so tenderly, their lips came together in a kiss.
Sofia’s face bent forward as if in prayer, sapphire eyes lowering to the ground beneath her feet. Both she and Aleksender were left breathless, resembling a couple caught in the midst of passionate lovemaking.
Sofia tucked her head beneath the arch of Aleksender’s chin as a discrete smile stretched her lips. Content and happy, she relaxed within the protection of his arms.
A feeling of completeness claimed the both of them. It seemed they’d waited a lifetime for this moment, for this sense of security and comfort, this mutual tenderness and appreciation.
“No. You are not alone,” he carefully breathed into her curls. “Dieu. I … I feel the same.”
In an unexpected movement, Sofia lunged forward and grabbed onto the material of Aleksender’s cloak. She twisted it neurotically between her tiny fingertips—fearful that she would too soon awake—fearful that he would vanish from her grasp.
“Stay with me, Alek.”
He rested a palm against the middle of her back and gave a gentle push. Sofia’s fingers slid up his chest in an intimate and experimental touch—up the strong column of his throat, then back down again.
Raw desperation empowered her touch, while primal longings allowed Aleksender to accept it. Sofia’s slim arms circled his hips. Her hands slid up his waist in a shy and painfully slow motion. He’d bedded handfuls of whores and mistresses—countless whores and mistresses—without a trace of shame. He’d lain with women whose sexual appetites would make even a seasoned harlot blush.
And yet, this was the most intimate moment of his entire life.
Sofia’s tender and virginal touch was more than he could bear; it was nearly his undoing. Aleksender groaned against her neck. Her curls quivered, manipulated by his heavy and erratic breaths. They tickled his cheek with the caress of a butterfly’s silky wings. His manhood simultaneously twitched, swelling to painful proportions behind the confines of his trousers.
“Please, please …” he implored—though he knew not for what.
Please don’t do this to me … to us, his mind shouted. Complete me, make me whole, his heart simultaneously pleaded.
But words were unneeded. Sofia read into his deepest and most sincere of thoughts. “I’ve been so
empty without you.”
He swallowed at her confession. “So empty,” he confirmed, defeated and at her mercy.
Empowered, Sofia’s hands crawled around his body and slowly inched up the impressive length of his back. Her fingers clawed at the cloak’s thick material—digging at the covered terrain in hopes of discovering some unknown treasure.
A treasure she felt the greedy desire to possess.
And then she simply relaxed in Aleksender’s embrace. A mass of chestnut curls cushioned his chin as she tucked her face into his chest. She was shaking—from fear or the cold, he could not say. Aleksender gathered his cloak and wrapped their bodies within the material, constructing a makeshift cocoon. Both Sofia and Aleksender savored the newly found sanctuary, never wishing to abandon this warmth. The absolute warmth of each other.
After a moment, Sofia raised her head and chanced a look at Aleksender. Their lips were dangerously close, mere inches apart, the cloak tying them together in a snug bundle.
“My Alek, so many nights … endless nights I dreamt of you.” She hesitated and paused her brazen confession, allowing a maiden blush to polish her cheekbones. “I dreamt of you in my arms, my bed …”
Aleksender swallowed and tightened against her, both hardening and softening in one breath.
Sofia’s eyes descended to his lips—full and beckoning lips that framed a beguiling mouth and were sculpted with the purpose to tell pretty lies.
“I dreamt of you, Alek.”
“Sofia,” he hoarsely warned. His voice was a rich and sultry growl, music to her little ears. And his desire was unmistakable. She could feel the source of his physical affection pulsating against her. And the evidence of his passion only fueled her longings tenfold—empowering her beyond recognition, equipping her with a startling audacity.
“I dreamt of you. All of you. Your touch. Your kiss. I—”
Aleksender swallowed the very last of her words. With an urgent sweep of his tongue he parted her mouth and wedged between the moist seams of her lips. Sofia obliged with a soft and wildly feminine sigh. Body and soul, she surrendered to the onslaught of his passion. His heart did a quick turn, spun by the sweet sounds which fluttered from her throat.
The Frost of Springtime Page 10
