The Frost of Springtime (35 page)

EPILOGUE

Summer
of 1875

Slow and steady,
The Nightingale
skimmed across the
pristine waters of the Pacific Ocean at a leisurely pace. The sails swelled as
gusts of wind whistled through their linens, carrying the vessel through an
endless glassy haze.

Resembling something out of the pages of a storybook, the view was
beyond breathtaking. Shades of orange and red illuminated the horizon. Blankets
of white clouds mingled with the surrounding colors, artfully swirling in every
direction.

And up above, tucked high in the crow’s nest, a couple intimately
embraced.

Sofia sighed as her lashes fluttered shut. Flooded with pure
contentment, she settled deeper into the beloved arms of her husband. They’d
wedded two years earlier, and had been traveling the vast ocean ever since.
Evenings were spent on Coney Island’s gilded stages, while the nights were
reserved for Aleksender’s embrace.

The divorce had not been by any means easy to come by. But, in the land
of America, with the proper circumstances and finances, such a thing was far
from impossible to obtain. Elizabeth and Aleksender had concluded their
fifteen-year partnership on understanding if not delicate terms. A year and a
half after, hand in hand, she and Comte Richard de Lefèvre had joined them on
board for the ceremony. And a bundle of unsent letters had accompanied their
presence.

Granted, Elizabeth hadn’t been entirely forgiving of Aleksender’s ways.
She’d rather taken a decadent satisfaction in granting herself the freedom to
love openly. Likewise, witnessing the pains of love and war firsthand had
allowed Richard to open his mind and disregard his insecurities.

During La Semaine Sanglante, Aleksender de Lefèvre was reported as a
casualty of the fires and mayhem, and only those whom mattered had known the
truth. Thanks to Sister Catherine and some strange stroke of fate, he’d survived
that final night in Sacred Heart Convent. Marked as a widow shortly after,
Elizabeth had managed to live free from the stigma that came with divorce. And,
for the four of them, it had been the beginning of a new life.
A fresh start and redesigned destiny.

In all likelihood, one of the noblest things Aleksender de Lefèvre had
ever done was run away.

Standing intimately near to Sofia, his raven hair danced freely in the
wind’s breath and skimmed the wide expanse of his shoulders. Condensation
curled the tips and sparkled like teardrops, dampening the lush forelock across
his brow. His cotton dress shirt fluttered about, whipping with the audacity of
a high-flying flag. Half of the claps had been left undone, exposing strong
slates of bronzed, sun-kissed muscle. A pair of dog tags and Sister Catherine’s
crucifix shone beneath the sunrise.

Breasts molded against the silky material of his dress shirt, Sofia
rotated within the circle of his arms. She set a long kiss upon his chin as her
fingertips whispered across his flesh. Aleksender returned her smile. His eyes
blinked shut. Pure contentment flooded his body.

Sofia’s lips curved with devilish intent. She undid the clasps of her
dress—snap, snap, snap—allowing the material to slide from a pair of scrunched
shoulders. It fell down to her belly, exposing a sheer layer of cotton. She
flexed at the knees and crouched before Aleksender’s form.

The front of his trousers was in view. Rows of golden claps were kissed
by the morning’s sunrays. The material puckered and strained, manipulated by
the impressive bulge that lay beneath. Sofia caressed him through the linen.
Aleksender stiffened as a wild moan escaped from his throat. One hand fisted in
her curls. The other grasped onto the wooden railing to better stabilize his weight.

“Yes, chérie.”

Sofia unfastened the clasps at a maddening pace and released Aleksender
from his confines. He was magnificent wrapped in her little fists. She moved
both hands up and down, up and down, coaxing a melody of groans, moans, and
pleas from his lips. Her tongue joined in the
dance,
swirling and licking, skimming his length from base to tip, tip to base.
Aleksender’s head lolled back in acute pleasure.

“Take me in, darling,” he demanded in a silky smooth baritone. “Take
all of me.” Sofia relaxed her throat and obliged with a complimentary moan.
With a firm tug, the final clasp of his trousers came undone. Sofia ran her
fingertips up and over his finely sculpted thighs as they fell to his knees,
claiming her prize, teasing him with the heel of both palms.

Consumed by overlapping sensations and the surrounding beauty,
Aleksender went feral and loss control of his body. His fingers twisted against
Sofia’s scalp as his breaths shortened to erratic grunts. Splinters that were
embedded in the wooden railing bit at his flesh. Sofia increased her tempo and
massaged the smooth planes of his chest, moving down the broad length of his
back, caressing the endless scars that had branded him for so long.

Far, far too long.

Climax claimed Aleksender in a sudden and sweet rush. Trembling from
head to toe, he chanted her name like a sacred prayer.

Sofia rose to her feet and embraced Aleksender in the circle of her
arms. Her nude breasts molded against his chest as they held each other for
countless moments. He recuperated from his spent passion as his breathing
steadily grew more regular. Staring into the limitless horizon, Sofia brought
her lips against the column of Aleksender’s neck and whispered, “I am with
child.”

Shuddering within Sofia’s arms, he increased the pressure of his hold.
His head spun with a pinnacle of emotions.

“And should it be a boy, well, I’d like to name him Philippe.”

Sofia stepped back and swept the forelock from Aleksender’s eyes. She
was startled to find he had begun weeping. Surrendering to a smile, he sprawled
an unsteady hand across her lower abdomen and brought her impossibly nearer.

Fierce passion ignited both of their souls—a passion nearly fourteen
years in the making. Sofia gasped as he pinned her body against the jutting
pole. Aleksender drowned her beneath his kisses, caressing every curve of her
body, his arms strong, steady and sure. Sofia sagged against him as she grew
weak at the knees.

“My Alek, my beloved …”

He whispered the eternal vow, his voice beautiful and soothing, every
word spoken like a lullaby, “I am yours and you are mine.”

•••