The Frost of Springtime (12 page)

“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 blade 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 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.