The Frost of Springtime

by Rachel L. Demeter

  The rain fell in harsh streams, showering the two lovers. Neither Sofia nor Aleksender felt the assault, completely lost within each other. Entirely lost within the beauty of the moment. They were a royal mess, resembling a pair of frolicking adolescents. Sofia’s russet curls were glued to her cheeks. She looked wonderfully attractive in her disheveled state. Likewise, Aleksender’s white shirt was plastered to the chiseled contours of his chest and nearly transparent.

  The seasoned lover, the adulterer, and murderer had vanished away. In that moment, Aleksender de Lefèvre’s innocence had been preserved. He trembled within Sofia’s arms, standing before her as no more than a helpless and lost boy.

  Sensing the sudden reluctance that claimed his body, Sofia’s hold tightened, wordlessly reassuring Aleksender. He was slipping away. Sofia doubted that she could bear losing him again.

  “No … no. Don’t do this.” Tentative words from only moments ago were spoken once more: “Stay with me.”

  As a veteran of war and the son of Philippe de Lefèvre, he knew there existed one quality and one alone that measured a soldier’s greatness: the courage to sacrifice.

  “Come. I best return you to Sacred Heart.”

  CHAPTER TEN

  The carriage house was stationed in the farthest corner of the chateau’s magnificent seventeen-acre property. From the side door, it opened to a breathtaking pasture that stretched on forever. Sweeping greenery engulfed the dwelling and shrouded it from wandering eyes. The gardens towered nearby in a lush array of manicured hedges and decorated trellises. Off in the distance, Chateau de Lefèvre dominated the horizon with its dark facade and even darker secrets.

  Several rows of parallel horse stalls lined the small structure. From wall to wall, an intricate blend of hay, rocks, dirt and twigs blanketed the flooring. Long streams of moonlight slanted through splintered panels and illuminated the dust particles that drifted midair.

  Wary of his sweeping height, Aleksender ducked as he entered. Sofia trailed behind him at a steady pace. With each step, she fought to keep her chin high and face proud. Enough tears had been shed. Far more than enough.

  Aleksender gazed at her through lowered eyelashes.

  Dieu. Sofia’s nightdress was sopping wet. It conformed to the delicious curves of her body—the body of a prima ballerina—wrapping her with the intimacy of a lover’s touch. The rise of her breasts gently rose and sank, manipulated by her strained breathing. The nightdress’s material was borderline sheer, its neckline weighed down from the rain. It puckered forward in seductive invitation, exposing the tempting swell of her cleavage. In restless pursuit, a solitary raindrop rolled down the crevice and vanished into the valley of the Promised Land.

  And Aleksender knew he was not fit for the Promised Land.

  He dropped his gaze and muttered a slew of vulgar curses. “You should not be here.” The timbre of his voice was low and brutally sharp. An exotic blend of desire and agony laced each syllable.

  A tense silence stretched between Aleksender and Sofia. Only the drumming rain could be heard as it caressed the structure’s rooftop in a provocative and relaxing melody. Aleksender swiftly moved past her. His eyes were purposefully fixed ahead, steps quick and determined. He needed to ignore his ward. He needed another female.

  And so Aleksender made eyes at Juliet—his lovely and ever loyal white mare. Sensing the arrival of her master, she popped her head over the stall’s inner door and nickered a friendly hello. Almond eyes beaming, Juliet pawed at the ground and bobbed her face from side to side. Sofia’s lips broke into a subtle smile. Seduced by a melody of giggles, Aleksender peered at her—enchanted by the dimple that had embedded her cheek.

  Looking away and fondling Juliet’s velvet muzzle, he crooned, “Easy, ol’ girl, easy.”

  Sofia came forward—wildly jealous of a horse—looking every bit like a charming young lady. Aleksender stiffened as the warmth of her body impaled his back. Her nearness called to him, engulfed him whole, caressed him with an intimate, inviting touch.

  “Remember me, Juliet girl?” Juliet’s head bobbed once more. Yes, she seemed to answer. “And do you remember tossing me from your back?” Juliet remained perfectly quiet, perfectly content. She dared not answer, Sofia very well assumed.

  Sofia draped a hand over the stern rise of Aleksender’s shoulder. He hardened beneath her touch as she gave a tender squeeze.

  “Alek …” More silence. “Why are you betraying your heart?”

  Aleksender shook his face and exhaled a breath he hadn’t known he was holding. “It’s wrong, Sofia. I should have never acted.”

  Aleksender swung past the wooden gate and crossed Juliet’s stall. The ancient closet rattled and moaned as he tugged it open. An assortment of combs, feed and woven bridles lined the interior in meticulous fashion. Careful not to disturb their order, Aleksender jumbled through the various items and settled on a brush. With a soft exhale, he averted his focus back to Juliet.

  Gently, softly, he combed out the creature’s flowing mane. She whinnied lightly and nuzzled his chest, basking beneath her master’s tender affections. Aleksender caressed her with a haunting deftness, stroking her smooth sides, whispering sweet nothings into her perked ear, peppering tiny kisses upon her muzzle …

  “You mustn’t seek me out again.” Aleksender’s voice broke the quiet. His words were soft and airy, barely audible. “I forbid it. The streets are no longer safe. And you shall not put yourself in danger for my sake.”

  He tensed, absorbed in a strain of deep thought. Juliet tossed Aleksender’s hand into the air and gave an impatient whinny. Snapped back to reality, he resumed the ministrations. “Impossible girl,” he murmured against her smooth muzzle.

  Sofia gazed through the panel’s slim openings. Clouds shifted in the night sky and unveiled the glory of the moon. She summoned her bravery, folded both arms over the weight of her chest, and took a tentative step toward Aleksender.

  “It wasn’t wrong.” Her muted footsteps approached. Aleksender’s hand froze midair. “Following your heart can’t be wrong. Not really. I know that—”

  “You know nothing.” Any sliver of peace fled as quickly as it had come. Aleksender slammed the brush down onto the floor; cushioned by the lush hay carpeting, it landed with a muffled bang. In a harsh and unexpected movement, he spun around full circle and latched onto Sofia’s shoulder blades. Nearly crumbling at the seams, she winced as her body was bunched between his fingertips.

  “Alek, please!”

  “Why are you doing this? What do you want from me? What? I have nothing. Nothing to offer you!”

  His mouth was mere inches from her own. The molten sting of his breath bit her cheek as she twisted her neck up and back. “But know this—I will destroy you. I’m no good for you, for myself—for anyone. Damn it, Sofia. I was only at Bête Noire that night because I was looking to bed a damn whore.”

  “Yes. And that was nearly ten years ago. You are not the same man! You—”

  Aleksender shook her body without thinking. Her bones reverberated, rattling and rolling beneath his chilly fingertips. She was limp as a ragdoll, paralyzed in a sudden burst of terror. A lifetime of torment seemed to fuel his anger.

  “Damn you, Sofia. Foolish girl. Don’t you see? I am precisely the same man.”

  Sofia cried out as Aleksender shoved her backward. He stalked over to her, moving like a predator, his pace slow and achingly steady. Sofia inched away from her guardian, overcome with disbelief and mounting despair. In spite of herself, she was trembling. Each breath rose in a choked pant. His awakened madness was a palpable, terrifying force. Never had he spoken to her in such a way.

  She was not daft. He’d killed numberless men during his time at war. And ever since she could remember, he’d always possessed an inhuman strength. Though, he’d always used it to protect and shield her. Certainly not to scare her from her mortal skin.

  “Please, Alek. Please, whatever you are trying to prove, stop it.”

/>   “Just forget me. Forget me, ignorant child!”

  “Child? I’ll have you know, I’m far from a—”

  One step later and Sofia slammed up against the structure’s wooden panels.

  Aleksender towered above her, all heartache and torn emotion, smoldering eyes staring down. Sofia shrieked as he ensnared both of her wrists and enveloped them completely. In a harsh movement, he lifted her slender arms sky-high and pinned her flush against the wall with his strong body. Wiggling within his grasp, Sofia cried out and struggled in vain. There was no escaping. She was imprisoned, trapped within a cage built from sinewy muscle and brawn. Dusty cobwebs tangled around her ankles, their eight-legged widows infesting the silk. The panels creaked and moaned beneath the fragile pull of her body weight. Jagged splinters gnawed at her skin, chewing through her flesh like teeth. There would be blood. She was certain of it.

  “A woman, are you? What? What do you wish to hear? Speak!”

  His eyes burned. She had to look away.

  “No! Don’t you dare turn from me!”

  Aleksender’s free hand wrapped her chin in a rough motion. He twisted her face back, forcing Sofia to meet the potency of his glare. Brilliant specks of gold flickered and flashed, contrasting against those jade irises. He was branding her with his own inner torment. She was sure there’d be bruises in the morning. They would be branded upon her heart, if not flesh.

  “Yes, ma chérie. I am the Comte de Paris and you … you are unworthy of me! Satisfied?”

  “Let me go.” Her voice was no more than a hushed and shaky whisper, nearly inaudible.

  “No,” Aleksender roared, “you let me go.”

  God help him—she would know him as a man. Sofia would know what she claimed to love. His grasp tightened as she squirmed, fighting to break free.

  “Please. You … you are frightening me!”

  “Since my nobility forbids you as my comtesse … care to settle as my mistress?”

  “Do you wish me to fear you? To hate you?”

  Her words passed through him. Aleksender heard nothing save for his racing heart. He was lost within a desperate haze of pained passion.

  “Pray tell, should I take you as my own—here and now in this very stable? Mount you like a primitive beast? No?”

  She struggled against his grasp, shamed and humiliated, cheeks reddening to a scarlet. Aleksender chuckled. It was a low, haunting sound that massaged her entire form. A viscous stream of chills shot through her small body. It surged down to the tip of her ballerina toes and back up again.

  His hold constricted on her wrists, cutting off her blood flow.

  “Come, come. No time for maiden blushes. You cannot fool me. I know you, Sofia, far better than you know yourself. Your body aches for my touches. Even now, you quiver for me. Indeed you fear me just as the common devout fears and submits to his God.”

  Amused, he snickered as she flinched at his blasphemy.

  “But,” he contemplated darkly, “one question remains. Before I make you mine forever, do tell …” Hissed into the tender hollow of her ear, he purred the ugly words, “Should I take you like a harlot?”

  “Stop … stop this.”

  “Ah, you wouldn’t be my first whore, you know.” Aleksender pressed the length of his rock-hard body against her, mercilessly grinding, forcing Sofia to endure his prominent desire.

  Eyelashes lowered, he murmured a dry afterthought, “Nor would you be my last.” His following words impaled her heart. “In fact, had I not saved you that night, I daresay I could be taking you right now.”

  “You are breaking my heart, Aleksender de Lefèvre.” He ignored her detached whisper. “You told me I was not alone. You told me you felt—”

  “Lust. Desire. Filled with need.”

  “You are lying to me. You are lying to yourself.”

  “I have done things, terrible things …” His words were a sensual caress. “Things that would make your skin crawl. And I don’t mean on the battlefield.” His madness was escalating. The sheer force of his vocals radiated from his chest and abdomen, rubbing Sofia’s entire body. “Damn you! You look at me! Look—look at what I am!”

  “First say you do not love me.”

  “I do not love you! Insolent child! You hear me, Sofia—I do not love you! No! You are my poison.” Her eyes flew open. “I do not love you!”

  His tone dropped several octaves—reaching a rich and demonic bass. Sofia scarcely recognized his voice. Her spine stiffened to impossible limits. Her flesh constricted, strangling the ivory of her bones. From head to toe, her body convulsed in a chain of violent shivers. “Never.”

  Aleksender released her wrists and stepped backward. Sofia winced and spun in place, rotating toward the splintered wall. The moon glowed through the wooden cracks and slight imperfections, bathing Paris beneath a peaceful light. But Sofia only saw darkness. An inescapable and immovable darkness.

  Aleksender turned Sofia’s slim form within his arms, aligning her to his chest. He collected her wrists and held them tight. They were red, inflamed and severely irritated. His throat sank into his gut.

  Dieu. What had he done?

  Sofia flinched as he massaged the sore flesh, caressing her skin with gentle circular motions. A powerful combination of sorrow and self-loathing burdened his stare. Muttering a curse, Aleksender pressed his lips against the underside of her wrist. The hiss of damp, cool air was morbidly invigorating. Her nerves stirred at the subtle contact and pulse jumped to life.

  “Forgive me. This was never my intention for you … for us.”

  “And what was?”

  “I don’t know.” He gathered Sofia in his arms and pulled her against the beat of his chest. “I am lost.” His hands caressed her delicate waist, savoring all that was Sofia, inhaling her delicious scent. Roses … wintertime. “I know I do not love you.”

  Aleksender leaned forward, crushing Sofia with his body weight, burying her against the wall.

  “I do not love you.”

  His lips crashed against Sofia’s in a movement he was utterly unable to control. Both hands broke through the material of her cloak in a jarring whoosh of air, grazing her shoulders with his icy fingertips.

  Riding up and over the curve of her hips, speaking into the dewy heat of her mouth, “I do not love you.” Rough, weathered hands skimmed over the tender swell of her breasts and worshiped every inch of her beauty. His tongue dueled with her own, drinking Sofia deep, sucking in her spirit. Her kisses were sweet as nectar, dripping with pure seduction and a virginal sensuality. “I do not love you.” Aleksender’s quivering fingertips tangled within the mass of damp, russet locks. He gave a gentle tug and reeled her closer. “I do not love you.”

  Both hands swept down the elegant column of her throat and enveloped the thin shaft. Aleksender tenderly cupped her face within his palms. His thumbs stroked her cheeks and drew invisible circles along the slates of porcelain flesh.

  Sofia knew he was a broken soul … more so now than ever before. No, she was not scared. His cruelty was entirely wasted. One look in his eyes had confirmed her every thought. He’d never harm her. Although, for reasons she couldn’t fully comprehend, he wanted her to believe otherwise.

  But Sofia saw past his rugged façade. And her heart only constricted for his pain. She felt so helpless, so very trapped. How she ached to heal him! She ached to kiss away all of his scars—internal and external, old and new. She ached to rescue him from the blackened depths of despair—just as he’d done, all those nine years ago.

  No. She could not stop herself. Sofia sighed and slanted her lovely face, deepening their kiss to new limits.

  Yes, Sofia’s heart screamed, she could heal him. He needed only to open his arms, mind, body—

  Aleksender forced himself away. Sofia’s eardrums thundered, slamming against her consciousness in a deafening roar. She could hear her own pulse. Her heart swelled to painful proportions, threatening to burst free.

  Aleksender and Sof
ia harmoniously panted as they struggled to catch their breaths. Eyes blinking shut in despair, Aleksender pressed his temple against Sofia’s. Nestled within the safety of her arms and speaking for the both of them, he recited the tragic confession. “I cannot love you.”

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  Hooves clinked against the cobblestone streets as coaches arrived by the dozens. Greeted by the countless footmen, ladies and gentlemen stormed up the grand staircase and entered Salle Le Peletier in an elaborate and eager herd. Excited chatter and warm smiles swelled the air. It was as though the city had never been under siege, as though the alleyways were not stained with blood and littered with bodies of the martyrs. Tonight, the horrors of the last few months existed as nothing more than a distant nightmare. All of Paris had been flung into a state of euphoria. Everyone was simply high on life.

  Alas, tonight was no ordinary night. Tonight was the debut of La Sylphide, Marie Taglioni’s very own masterpiece.

  A team of four strapping horses halted in front of Salle Le Peletier, their magnificent bodies regal against the black of night. Hushed whispers stirred in the air as everyone anchored their attention upon the newest arrival. The de Lefèvre crest was emblazoned across the coach’s black lacquered door. The coat of arms was an intricately detailed design, featuring a roaring lion, fleur-de-lis, and white dove. After a breathless moment, the comte and comtesse stepped down from the vehicle, arm in arm, joining the hustle and bustle of high society. The crowd parted like the Red Sea, entranced and charmed, every pair of eyes fixed upon the striking couple.

  Indeed—Paris’s new comte was devilishly handsome, though his entire demeanor scarred from war. Those emerald eyes were cold, acute and unwelcoming. They brimmed with cynical mirth as he scanned the surrounding faces. In contrast, Elizabeth presented the perfect picture of aristocracy. Silks and satins draped her body as the elegant knot of her coiffure sensually fell across her neck. Two footmen bent into shallow bows as the comte and comtesse passed through the great doors.