The Frost of Springtime (15 page)

Joanna sobered and returned to her flirtatious nature. A sly grin
stretched her lips from ear to ear, racy and decadent. “Now, now, Aleksender,”
she playfully scolded, fingers meddling with the dangling cravat. “You shan’t
be jealous. If you’re feeling jilted …” She leaned into his heat, eyes never
leaving his. “Well, I am more than willing to compensate for my wandering eye.
How ‘bout I share you with one of my girlfriends?
Hmm?
As I recall, last time there was plenty of you to go around.”

The husky accent of Joanna’s voice dissolved into silence.

The semblance of a smile curved her lips as she glared over
Aleksender’s shoulder. “My, my, what have we here?
A
dazzling, little forest nymph?”

Indeed, his scandalous ways were widely known through Paris. All of
France knew precisely who and what he was. And Aleksender had never cared a
thing for his reputation—
instead,
he’d always enjoyed
his fiery liaisons and exploitations with a cynical sort of satisfaction. In
the carriage house, he’d tried to unveil his inner demons to Sofia. And now the
very thought of Sofia witnessing the truth of his character was unbearable.
Aleksender could have wept with the shame of a lad who’d been caught with his
hand shoved in the cookie jar. Aleksender slowly rotated his body, overcome
with a wave of nausea.

His mouth instantly went dry. Joanna … the opera … Elizabeth and his
brother—his ability to draw a coherent sentence—everything—faded away.

Sofia was breathtaking. His eyes drew to her lush bosom, behaving on
their own accord.
Mon Dieu.
Indeed, between the
shimmering fairy wings and plunging neckline, the costume was a paradoxical
blend of scandalous innocence. The urge to fondle her creamy skin—to cup those
magnificent breasts within his palms, to feel the weight of her derriere
pressed in his clenched hands, to wind all ten fingers through her private
curls, to join their bodies in the most primitive of ways—was almost too much
to bear.

Sofia’s widened eyes sobered Aleksender, anchoring his senses.

Why? Why was he doing this?

Jealously was the very least of Sofia’s feelings. Such a thing was far
too petty of an emotion. How could he be so cruel?
So heartless?
Was this just another way to illustrate his ruined soul?
Another
method to drive her away?
Was his outburst in the carriage house not
enough?

“Alek!”
Joanna piped, arms
knotted over her breasts, nerves growing visibly restless. “Why, your daughter
is even more adorable than you had described her to be!” Joanna gushed in her
most condescending tone. Sensually stroking the rise of his shoulder, she
melodically chimed, “To shame! Where have your manners gone to? Aren’t you
going to introduce us?” Joanna gasped as Aleksender spun round in a harsh and
unexpected movement. His eyes were cold, ruthless and unfeeling. In spite of
herself, early stirrings of fear bloomed inside Joanna.

“Leave us.” The deep baritone of his voice filled the slim hallway. Joanna
stubbornly knotted her slender arms and gave an adorable pout. “Leave us now,
or, on my father’s grave, I shall make you sorry for ever crossing me.”

Joanna coiled a rather possessive hand around Aleksender’s neck and brought
her lips against the rim of his ear. “You may play the ‘good and chaste comte’
to your heart’s content. But, at the end of the day, you and I both know who
and what you really are. A hungry wolf in sheep’s clothing.
Nothing
more, nothing less.”

Those words troubled Aleksender more than Joanna could ever know.

Joanna took a delicate step back and bowed her head. “It was a
pleasure. I must say you are positively charming.
Quite
unfortunate that your foster father here insists on cutting our meeting short.
Perhaps you can pound some sense into him. Lord only knows, I have …”

With a last smile, Joanna strutted down the corridor and out of
eyesight. Aleksender watched the vile creature vanish with a burning hatred
inside his veins.

“Sofia, I—” The words came too late. Aleksender’s voice was absorbed by
Salle Le Peletier’s rosewood door.

•

Dangling beneath a swirl of clouds and paisley blue, the grand
chandelier shined like the sun. It was twenty minutes into the second act when
a colorful swarm of ballerinas skirted across the wide stage. Each dancer
appeared more poised than the last, and the collective ensemble was a
breathtaking vision to behold. A soothing and mystical melody swelled the
rafters to their limit.

All of Salle Le Peletier was entranced. Eager to get a closer peek,
ladies leaned over the railings of their boxes and balanced whispering fans
between fingertips. Nodding in appreciation, gentlemen filled their lungs with
smoke, juggling cigars and spectacles by turns.

Richard glanced over his shoulder at the sounds of creaking wood and
footfall. Aleksender inclined his head as he entered box two and nodded his
greeting. Nothing had changed. The tension from their luncheon still weighed
heavily in the air. Neither Aleksender nor Richard dared to utter a word for
several moments.

Elizabeth also remained static and soundless, both eyes fixed on the
spectacle below. A delicate, lace fan was sprawled across the cushion of her
lap, entirely disregarded.

“You nearly missed her variation,” Richard muttered beneath a hushed
breath, cautious not to disturb Elizabeth. “What in God’s teeth kept you so
long?”

“Nothing,” Aleksender replied as he claimed a seat between his brother
and wife.

“Nothing?”

“Business affair in the parlor.”
As if assessing
his alibi, Elizabeth stole a glance of Aleksender from her peripheral vision.

“Ah.” Richard gave a curt nod and flashed a pristine smile. “Very well,
then.” He crossed both legs knee-high and leaned into Aleksender after a brief
silence. “Speaking of propositions,” Richard drawled into Aleksender’s ear, his
words nearly inaudible, “Mademoiselle Rosalina made me a rather indecent offer
not one hour ago. I was searching for you in the parlor when she approached me.”

“Cunning whore.”

Elizabeth’s head snapped up, alert to the direction of her husband’s
curse.

“Yes. Yes … I must say—I share in your sentiment.”

Richard gazed at Elizabeth and admired the delicate silhouette of her
profile. His heart ached at the vision. He never could understand Aleksender’s
rakish ways
nor
his fascination with creatures such as
Joanna, and his brother’s sudden disdain for the wretched woman was less than
satisfying.

Surely, there would be another mistress to fill her shoes.

As for Elizabeth, her pain was palpable.
Painfully
so.
Could Aleksender not feel it? Was he truly so blinded?

What emptiness, Richard secretly pondered, was Aleksender attempting to
fill?

Without warning, the stage cleared and darkened for the second act
variation. A collective hush swept over Salle Le Peletier as the prima
ballerina claimed centerstage. The spotlight illuminated Sofia’s limbs,
drenching her beneath an immaculate shawl of gold.

A distinct sadness radiated from each of her movements. Aleksender’s
body visibly tensed. Each hand gripped onto the armrest with the force of a
manacle. Unblinking, he leaned slightly forward, eyes never parting from Sofia.

Richard shook his head, seeing nothing but his own tangle of inner
thoughts.

He would have given everything for Elizabeth’s love.

CHAPTER
TWELVE

The streets
hollowed out as the ladies and gentlemen steadily retired to their homes.
Silence descended and Paris was returned to her sedentary state once more.
Cloaked beneath the fall of night, Aleksender paced outside of Salle Le
Peletier’s backstage exit.

He couldn’t part from Sofia on these terms. During the third act
climax, just before the sylph’s wings had crumbled and fallen away, Aleksender
had muttered a pitiful excuse and prematurely departed. “Elizabeth …
forgive
me. I must wrap up a business affair in the parlor,”
he’d stupidly offered. The devastation, the utter heartache that had radiated
from Sofia’s performance, would haunt him forever.

Salle Le Peletier’s ancient wooden door swung open to reveal his ward
in all her loveliness. No longer the sultry fairy of an hour ago, she was
dressed conservatively once again. An abundance of curls was tied back in an
elegant knot, a dark cloak wrapped her body, and both cheeks were rosy from
hours of exertion. Aleksender thought she’d never looked more beautiful than in
that moment. Roses and wintertime flooded his senses as she whisked by.

Distracted and unaware of his voyeuristic presence, Sofia took no
notice of Aleksender. Trembling within the bitter cold, eager to free
herself
from thoughts of
him
, she tightened the
cloak about her body and rushed down the five cobblestone steps.

She did not get far.

By the second step, she knew she was far from alone. By the third step,
she heard the muttered whisper of a cloak. By the fourth step, a masculine
figure emerged from the shadows. The lean frame of his body blocked her pathway
with ease. Sofia tilted her head as her eyes ran down the man’s form. The
pounding of her heart returned to its normal pace. He was a complete stranger.

A top hat crowned his head, the fine material cushioned by a bountiful
swarm of blonde curls, the burgundy smoking jacket striking in the night.
Sparkling, green eyes bore deep
into her own
. The
bulge of his Adam’s apple bobbed about like a buoy at sea as he swallowed.

Sofia cleared her throat and arched her fine brow. “Pardon me,
monsieur.”

“Oh! Do forgive me,” he squeaked, awakening from some trance. Graceless
and pitifully awkward, he removed the hat, curled it against his chest, and
dipped into a slight bow. When he finally spoke, he stumbled over his words,
sounding far more boy than man, eyes glowing with star-struck awe.
“Mademoiselle Rose, I am quite possibly your greatest admirer.”

“I’m flattered,” Sofia said with a smile, complete sincerity in her
voice.

“If I may say, I watch you as often as I can. Never could quite find
the courage to make an introduction. But, after tonight …” He inhaled a long
sigh and boldly inched closer to Salle Le Peletier’s prima ballerina. “Tonight,
I knew I had to meet you. I would have never forgiven myself. I confess—your
performance sent me to tears.”

“Thank you, monsieur. You are most kind.” Wearing a smile that could
only be relief, he took Sofia’s hand in his own and guided her down the fifth
and final step.

“I am Manuel. Manuel Dumont.” A new confidence empowered his voice.
Manuel shuffled both feet as his fingers curled around the rim of his top hat,
absently bending the luxurious velvet. “I was hoping, that is, if I may …”

Sofia smiled reassuringly, well aware of what he was about to inquire.
It was charming. The young man’s declaration warmed her heart and temporarily
lifted her from the prison of her thoughts. And no matter how fleeting, such
freedom was a beautiful thing.

“Yes?”

“Mademoiselle,” he firmly proclaimed, the pale hue of his complexion
reddening impossibly more. “Might I call on you sometime?”

“No.”

The single syllable resonated. Uttered from beneath a low, slick bass,
it seethed with an authority that dared to be tested. Manuel merely rolled back
his shoulders—perhaps in an attempt to gain an inch or two—and fumbled toward
the lurking shadow. “Now, look here, monsieur—”

Sofia grasped onto his forearm and vainly struggled to lure him back at
her side. It was no use. “Please, no—I beg you to forget him.”

“Leave us,” growled the disembodied voice, “now.”

Manuel straightened out his lapels and extended a pointer finger. As if
compensating for some other deficiency, he angled his chin ridiculously high.
“Say, I don’t know what you’re about, monsieur, but your interference is quite
uncalled!”

Reluctant admiration welled inside Aleksender’s gut as the young man
refused to back down and stupidly shuffled forward. Such valiancy would have
made any mother proud.

“You speak big words for a little boy.” Aleksender’s shoulders quavered
with dark humor.

Sofia wedged between the two males, movements uncharacteristically
clumsy, as she attempted to erect a flesh and blood barricade. Aleksender’s
erratic breaths misted the air, shrouding him in a fierce cloud.
“Alek—please.
Just stop this.”

Aleksender latched onto Sofia’s slender arm and moved her aside.

“Now, listen here, monsieur!” The boy took a moment to secure his top
hat, lest it tumble into the gutter. ”Unhand the good lady or I shall inform
the gendarmes!”

Pure, impenetrable silence.

Then Aleksender surprised the both of them and did the unexpected. He
laughed. Alas—he tossed his head back and roared out his amusement, stabilizing
himself with the banister. He laughed till tears blurred his vision, and then
he laughed some more.

“You are a monster.” Sofia’s whisper sobered Aleksender, anchoring him
back into the moment. He brushed away his mirthful tears and inched over to the
youth.

“Insolent, stupid, child.”

Manuel eased backward, one of Aleksender’s steps matching three of his
own, skirting away like some unfortunate hermit crab—a poor hermit crab who was
about to be boiled and poached—immediately regretting his gallant show of
chivalry.

“Why, did you not hear? Nearly a fortnight ago a whore was gutted and
thrown into the Seine without your gendarmes so much as blinking an eye.”

“What? No. I—I was unaware—”

“Please. By all means—go inform them. Inform them that the noble
comte
is about to take Paris’s precious ballerina against a
wall.”

“How dare you!” Exasperated and pushed beyond her limit, Sofia held
nothing back and full-on attacked Aleksender. Two tightly wound fists plummeted
into his chest, one after the other—

“Are you quite through with your tantrum?”

Sofia fought to catch her breath and reclaim the slightest sliver of
composure. She was far too angry to form a coherent sentence.

“And you,” Aleksender said, continuing to advance on the boy. “Where’s
your bravado gone to so suddenly? Shall I take it you are through making a fool
of yourself?”

Sofia grabbed hold of Aleksender’s cloak and twisted the wool between
her fingertips. A pinnacle of emotions ignited her soul.
“Stop!
You hear me, Alek! Stop it now! Stop this, or I shall never forgive you for your
cruelty.”

One step later and the youth found
himself
pinned up against the stairwell. The
comte’s
final
worlds were nearly a whisper, making them all the more ominous. “Go. Go inform
the gendarmes. Better yet, go inform the entire military of Versailles. Inform
them and see if they give a damn.” Aleksender latched onto the scruff of
Manuel’s shirt and hurled the boy onto the ground like a pup. He slammed into
the cobblestones face first. A ring of blood blossomed, encircling his left
knee and sullying the trousers’ fine material. “Now get the hell out of my
sight.”

Sofia sank beside Manuel and draped a hand over the curve of his
shoulder. The rugged broad cloth was ruffled and severely torn beneath her
fingertips. Sofia took a breath and counted to ten.

God above, she’d never been angrier.

“God, I am so sorry for this. Are you badly hurt?”

“I’ll survive.” Retaining as much dignity as he could possibly muster,
Manuel picked himself off the ground, collected the prized top hat, and
smoothed out his smoking jacket. He swiped away a stream of blood with his
cufflink. “You, mademoiselle—you will be all right?”

This—this—was the sort of man who was worthy of her love.
Kind, patient and gentle.

“Mademoiselle?”

Still seated, Sofia glared at Aleksender and answered Manuel’s inquiry.
“Yes. I’ll survive.”

“Very well.”
Manuel was
swallowed up by the shadows as he
departed,
each of
his steps leaving Aleksender and Sofia a little more isolated.

Aleksender outstretched a hand after a moment of stillness, offering
Sofia his aid. The stale gesture only irritated her further.
Aleksender—a
gentleman?
She scoffed at the very notion. He was far from gentle!
And much more monster than man.
“No,” she spat, shoving a
swarm of loose tendrils from her eyes, “I need nothing from you.”

She rose to her feet and stepped dangerously close to him. Their
breaths consummated in a duel of swirling clouds.

Aleksender reached out for her cheek only to have his hand whacked
away. “Do not touch me. Don’t! Don’t you dare touch
me!
”

“Sofia—”

“You have no right! I am not ten years-old any longer! And I’m most
certainly not some shiny toy, some porcelain doll, which you can play with at
your leisure whenever the time happens to suit you best.”

Aleksender speared his fingertips through his hairline before
attempting a reply. “I’m sorry. I didn’t intend for Joanna to be there. I only
wanted to speak with you.”

“You have done more than spoken. Now, I ought to be on my way. Do
pardon me—” Aleksender blocked her body
with his own,
preventing any escape.

“I have tried to shelter you,
God,
I have
tried to shelter you from everything, from myself. I—”

“Perhaps, I don’t wish to be sheltered! I tire of you elevating me onto
this pedestal!” Aleksender stared at Sofia as if she was speaking in a foreign
tongue. “I am sorry if this kills you to hear, but I am not the delicate,
little Sofia that you fantasize me to be. I am not a butterfly whose wings will
crumple and fall at the slightest touch.”

“He wanted you in his bed,” Aleksender growled. “Damn it to hell if I
would allow such a thing.”

“That is hardly your concern. You have no special claim on me. I am not
yours to command. And besides, not all men are after the same thing.” The words
were a painful jab and devastating for Aleksender to stomach.

“Ah,” was his cool reply—the figurative mask securely in place. His
body slinked forward till their chests rubbed together. “But you are. Have you
forgotten? I am your guardian and you my ward.”

“No. You know what you are?
Jealous!”
A long
silence followed after. Sofia shook her head and inhaled a strained breath.
“You are hurting me, Alek. I can only bear so much.
Being
around you.
Seeing your face.
Hearing your voice.
I care for you. I care for you more than
anything. But I can only endure so much.” The last of Sofia’s words died on her
tongue. “As you said, things have changed between us. And you …” She took a
step forward, voice lowering to a compassionate whisper. The heat of her breath
fanned against his cheek. “I know you. You are better than this.”

Aleksender gazed deeply into her eyes, entranced and unable to turn
away.

“What you’d said about Versailles—that was the first time you’ve
mentioned the war since your return.”

“Some things are best left forgotten.”

“Forgotten? How—”

“I try to remember the war as a distant nightmare.”

Sofia’s fury equaled her pity, and her love overshadowed her hatred.
She clasped onto one of his hands and brought it up to her cheek. He’d begun to
tremble. “You cannot do that to yourself. You cannot shut out the world. It
will only destroy you from the inside out.”