The Frost of Springtime (19 page)

CHAPTER
SEVENTEEN

All of Salle Le
Peletier’s one-thousand seats were empty and silent. Stale remnants of perfume
and whispering fans hung in the air, lingering from the previous night’s
performance. And those ghosts from evening’s past seemed to amplify the
auditorium’s stillness.

The stage, however, was very much alive.

Marie Taglioni stood before Sofia as the tight coils of her coiffure
fell sensually across her frame. All beauty and grace, she floated across the
stage, demonstrating a series of complex bends, pirouettes, soubresauts and
jeté jumps with ease.

Mind racing, Sofia studied her teacher’s footwork with a detached
awareness. She inwardly chastened herself, struggling to anchor her attention
upon the task at hand.

But thoughts of him filled her mind, body and soul. Ever since the
rooftop, she’d become a ghost, barely present, her mind constantly a million
miles away.

This is how I can heal.

Had he spoken truth? Could she heal Aleksender—just as he’d healed her,
all those years ago? Her heart grew heavy at the thought of his despair. Much
like herself, he was severely scarred—inside and out.

Pain is in the mind. And, in my mind, ma chérie … I was with you—

A startling thwack resonated as Madame Taglioni’s walking stick crashed
onto the floorboards. “Come now, child! You really must try and focus!
Now, back in position.”

Sofia blushed at the scolding and arranged her feet into first
position. “Forgive me, madame. It shan’t happen again.”

Madame Taglioni arched a fine brow and circled Sofia with a hawk’s
astuteness. “
Rond de jambe en l’air … oui,
excellent display
,
Mademoiselle Rose
… grand rond de
jambe …
and finally
—grand rond de
jambe …
”

But it was no use. Sofia’s thoughts took flight within moments. All at
once, a strong awareness overcame her. She arched her chin and glanced up—up
into the blackened depths of box two.

•

Salle Le Peletier was cloaked in darkness an hour later. Aleksender
lounged in box two as a gnawing sorrow consumed him. In the midst of the chaos
and heartache, this little corner of the world had become his sole escape over
the last few weeks. Being in Sofia’s presence was cathartic and wonderfully
calming. Only after seeing her face did the ghosts of his nightmares no longer
haunt him. Years ago, Aleksender had found a semblance of comfort in the arms
of countless whores.

But now everything had changed.

Mon Dieu, they both had changed. When she danced, he saw it—a distinct
sadness weighed heavily upon Sofia’s spirit, a sadness that wasn’t so different
than his own. She wore it like a morbid badge. And he ached to lift the burden
from her shoulders. He yearned to replace those shadows with light.

The door knob lightly jingled and rattled. Delicate steps resounded,
escalating to a steady drum roll. Somehow, someway, Sofia knew he was here, and
had come for him. Aleksender tensed against the seat’s plush backing and
fastened both eyes shut—confident his mind was playing him for a fool. Or that
he’d finally gone mad.

Nimble fingertips whispered along the expanse of his shoulders, one and
then the other. They kneaded the strain in his muscles, replacing discomfort
with pleasure, melting all of his troubles away.

Aleksender exhaled a soul-deep groan and relaxed beneath the hypnotic
ministrations. Two delicate hands joined together at the base of his neck,
slipping down, down, down—passing over each side of his body and then back up
again. Erratic breathing wafted at his nape in an airy tease.

It was a fantasy. It had to be a dream, another cruel dream from which
he would too soon awake. Her tentative touches, the scent of roses and
wintertime … the sweet tone of her voice as she reassured, “My Alek, I am here.
I am here for you.”

I am here.

Aleksender swallowed and inclined his head against the seat rest.
“Sofia?”

“Shh.” Ever so slightly, she bowed forward, brushed away fallen
hairpieces, and pressed a kiss to his forehead. Her lips lingered upon his brow
as she cradled either side of his face. “I want you to just relax.”

He stared up and muttered a helpless sound. Sofia closed his eyes with
a sweep of her palm. Her fingertips eased over his chest in soothing,
calculated strokes. The erratic beating of his heart was fierce beneath her
hands.

Hesitantly his eyes blinked open. He was afraid she’d fade away, afraid
she’d transform into a dark shade of reality like in his dream.

“Sofia?” His beautiful voice was laced with varying degrees of pain.
“What are we doing?” He swallowed and shook his face. “What are we going to
do?”

The slightest grin formed on her lips. She gazed into the haunted depth
of Aleksender’s eyes and reached for his soul. “Be true to ourselves.” A
silence overcame them both. “Don’t you know? That’s the best that any of us can
do.”

Aleksender reflected her smile, yet the agony in his brow only deepened.

Sofia straightened her posture and eased to the door. A beacon of light
stabbed the box before the soft sound of footfall faded away. Wrestling with
his thoughts, Aleksender stared into the surrounding blackness, numb and alone
once more.

Yes. This was how they both could heal.

•

A sunset lit the vast sky, wrapping Paris within a gossamer robe of
blood red. Aleksender admired the spectacle as Elizabeth lingered close behind
him, her figure wedged between the balcony’s two double-doors.

It had been several nights since the traumatic episode of his
nightmare. Elizabeth’s fears had gradually faded away and dissolved into a
determined compassion. His suffering had penetrated her soul as she’d lay awake
each night, witnessing the tragedy of war before her eyes.

As much as she desired, after that terrible occurrence—a true brush
with death—she dared not disturb him again. And, during their waking hours,
neither Elizabeth nor Aleksender mentioned the recurring dreams that continued
to plague them by night.

“Oh, Aleksender,
mon
amour …”

“Elizabeth.” A satin robe was fastened around her chemise, its elegant
tail trailing behind.

“Won’t you come to bed?” A dull silence swelled the air. “What is it? What
is on your mind? Please. Will you not open your heart to me … or at least try?”

Aleksender’s posture visibly tightened. Elizabeth sighed and stepped
onto the balcony. She came beside Aleksender, demurely folding her hands atop
the stone banister.

“Forgive me. I’ve been terribly restless.”

“Yes, I’ve felt the same,” Aleksender said.

“The evening is still quite young! We could take a stroll through the
gardens. If I’m not mistaken, the roses are in full bloom. Or, if they aren’t
to your fancy, we may—”

“Hush now.” Aleksender collected Elizabeth’s hand and brought it up to
his lip, pressing his mouth on the underside of her wrist. Her pulse leapt
beneath his touch. “Just find some rest.”

Tonight, he’d be true to his heart.

•

A drifting haze obscured Aleksender’s vision, transforming the simple
walkways into something hauntingly surreal. He surged Juliet forward at a
steady gait, in tune with every curve, twist and bend. Draped beneath a heavy
cloak and the fall of night, he appeared as just another shadow … just another
tragic secret.

Aleksender held his breath as the dwelling seeped into eyesight.
Resembling a storybook cottage, the structure was beautiful in its bare
simplicity. A little white fence rimmed the border, its tattered pickets
swaying in the wind. Swollen streams of smoke ascended from the chimney. And
every foot of the premises had been designed by none other than Aleksender—a
phenomenon that had emerged from the tenderest depths of his imagination.

In the front yard, a charming water garden buzzed with life. Nature’s
music filled the air as the bullfrogs croaked, crickets sang out their merry
songs, and fishes waded beneath the glassy surface. They darted in a playful
dance, gliding in every direction.

Aleksender dismounted and tethered Juliet to a nearby tree branch. An
oversized crucifix was bolted to the front door.
Sacred Heart
Holy Convent and School
was carved just below the emblem. Aleksender stared at
the lettering as his gloved hand rapped at the wood.

Muffled footfall resonated from within the home. Sister Catherine
appeared after a brief wait. At the ripe age of sixty-five, she ruled Sacred
Heart with a quite strict and severe disposition. Aleksender had always fancied
Sister Catherine. Despite a rather stern façade, she possessed an unparalleled
kindness.

“Monsieur de Lefèvre! Many a night I’ve prayed the good Lord would
embrace you in His safekeeping.” She paused to cross herself in a graceful
motion. Her eyes grew heavy, weighed down with a mixture of sympathy and
admiration. “Monsieur, I am deeply sorry for your loss. We have all mourned le
comte’s passing, blessing his soul to the heavens.” Sister Catherine stepped
forward, offering her comfort with a tentative touch to his forearm. “I am
overjoyed to see you safe and well.”

“You have my gratitude.” In truth, Aleksender felt far from gracious.
Her condolences unsettled him. And all at once, a dark memory shadowed his
mind.

Be not afraid, my child, of those who kill the body. Fear him who
destroys both body and soul in hell.

Aleksender cringed at the distant imagery, fearful that the truth was
finally fleshing out, fearful that the emptiness would soon be replaced with an
unimaginably dark revelation.

What, precisely, had happened all those years ago?

Heart and mind racing, he searched his surroundings for distraction. “I
am pleased to find the premises in such fine condition. I take it the young
ladies have been progressing well?”

“Yes.
Wonderfully so.”
Sister Catherine
pressed a hand to her breast. Her eyes fell shut as though absorbed in prayer.
“Your humble charity, your kindness.
You have blessed their
lives in every way. You, monsieur, have given them a true gift.”

Growing increasingly uncomfortable at her praise, Aleksender cleared
his throat and raked a hand through his hairline. Sister Catherine’s gaze
fluttered open. Tears filled her eyes as a gentle smile touched her lips. She
observed Aleksender’s hardened features with a small, almost knowing grin.
“Well. I suppose you should like to have a visit with Sofia?”

“If she is not in prayer.”

She appeared minutes later. Aleksender stood paralyzed as he drank in
the immaculate sight that stood before him. How beautiful his ward looked,
dressed in a chaste white dress, her porcelain skin glowing beneath the
moonlight. Lush, brunette curls were fastened back, tumbling down and over her
slender shoulders, cascading to the very small of her waist. A scarlet ribbon
was knotted about her hips, its material tied into a voluptuous bow. The shade
presented a charming contrast to the tea gown’s creamy tone. And Aleksender
longed to tug the bow loose and
unwrap
Sofia like a
present. Pale lace, as delicate as the wings of a butterfly, outlined the
gown’s edges, equipping her with a haunting degree of femininity.

And the modest cut did nothing to curb Aleksender’s desires. He could
not bring himself to move. Alas—he could barely bring himself to draw breath.
She was nothing less than an angel. And, tonight, she would be his.
Once and for all, completely and utterly his.

A powerful intimacy pressed in the silence. Aleksender’s heart sank.
She resembled a bride.

Sofia stared up at him beneath her lashes, completely infatuated.
Drenched in varying shades of black, his tall form camouflaged with the night,
those green eyes glowing with unmistakable passion. She scanned the impressive
span of his height in wonderment. Aleksender was handsomer than ever. His
breeches were deliciously snug as they framed the lean muscles of his legs.
Provocatively draped over his backend, the tail of his double-breasted coat
fluttered about in the breeze, accentuating the tender curve. And a cloak hung
from the crook of his arm—its lush material folded up like a blanket.