The Frost of Springtime (8 page)

The driver dipped his head in understanding. The walls seemed to shrink
as Aleksender tugged the door shut and claimed a seat beside Sofia. After a
moment, he pounded the rooftop with his fist and sent the coach rolling into
motion.

Scone lanterns flashed across the scarlet walls, bathing the lush
interior with gentle glows. The wide expanse of Aleksender’s shoulders filled
the space with ease. Each bump in the road connected their bodies together—and
each collision made Aleksender’s cheeks a flaming red. He adjusted his posture,
attempting to erect a barrier between him and Sofia without luck.

Dark curls tumbled down and over her shoulders as she pulled back her
hood. Aleksender studied her beautiful profile, allowing a comfortable silence
to fill the coach.

Sofia swept the curtain aside and glanced into the empty and dimly lit
streets. Beyond the coach’s scarlet curtains, a father and son waded through
the darkness in a protective huddle. Mindful of their seedy surroundings, the
man shielded his boy with a watchful eye and sturdy hand to the shoulder. Sofia
eased against the upholstery. A cloud formed within the pit of her chest and
shadowed her heart. She bowed her head, aching with multitudes of pain.
Unbeknown to her, the subtle motion sent a tear rolling down the slope of her
cheek.

“Sofia?”

“Yes?”

Aleksender closed the space between them without a moment’s hesitation.
He lightly touched her chin and rotated her face toward his own. Worry creased
his brow as his eyes deepened in concern. His thumb pad massaged the arch of
her chin in slow, tentative circles. “What is it, ma petit? You know it pains
me to see you cry.”

She smiled at Aleksender’s words and took his hands in a solid grasp.
She stared down at their united grip, thumbs drawing invisible circles along
the cool silk of his glove.

“My Alek, I … I’m so sorry.” She smiled though her tears and continued
to caress his hand. A whirlwind of curls slid down her shoulders, framing her
body with the elegance of a gossamer shawl. “You know that I loved your father
dearly. And you meant the world to him.”

Aleksender wrapped an arm around her slender shoulders and tugged Sofia
firmly against his body. “You truly are an angel.”

She peered up at him. Their faces were intimately close—mere inches
away—mouths sharing the same intakes of air. “All those months I thought I’d
lost you.” Sofia gazed into her lap as her complexion turned a ghostly white.
“Our parting was nearly my death,” she confided through an unsteady whisper.

Aleksender swallowed and shook his face. “You could never lose me.
Never.”

Sofia tightened her grasp on Aleksender’s hand. “Sometimes I fear I
shall wake up and you’ll still be gone.” Freeing him, she turned away and
stared into the black of night. “And when I imagine what you went through, the
things you must have seen …”

Aleksender settled against the backing with a low groan. He removed his
top hat and laid it in the cradle of his lap. Meddling absently with the stiff
velvet, he said, “I had lay awake many of those nights, thinking of you. What
you were doing.
Whether you were safe.
Being so far
away—knowing that Paris was under siege, that I had no way to protect you—it
was easily the worst part.”

Sofia smiled at his words and fiercely swiped at her tear-stained
cheeks. “Well. I daresay Sacred Heart was one of the safest places in all of
France.”

Aleksender nodded and exhaled a sigh of relief. “That’s what I’d
depended on.”

“So in a way, even though you weren’t here, you still had protected
me.”

Sofia’s palm slid across the upholstery. Her pulse leapt to life as she
threaded their fingers together. Beyond the window, the world crept by in a
steady blur. And, for the two of them, the light of Paris appeared brighter
than ever before.

CHAPTER
SIX

Although Rue
Saint-Honoré lay on the outskirts of the city, it seemed to be a whole other
world away. Gas lamps flickered, their lights strong and sure, bathing the
cobblestones with collective glows. More ladies and gentlemen were stationed
outside of Voisin’s doors than throughout the whole of Paris put together.
Within this corner of society, the starving children, grief-struck insurgents,
and shady rat sellers were nonexistent … nothing more than a distant nightmare.

The coach rolled to a jarring halt. All at once, a hush descended as
the ladies and gentlemen turned their attention to the rich vehicle. Unused to
such excitement and crowds, the horses whinnied unhappily and pawed at the
cobblestones.

“Ah, here we are.
Monsieur, mademoiselle
,
” the
driver announced.
“Voisin of Rue Saint-Honoré.”

Wary of his sweeping six-foot-two frame, Aleksender inclined his head
as he stepped from the coach. He fished a hand inside his coat and deposited a
healthy amount of francs into the driver’s palm. “I suspect we shall be an hour.
Two at the most.”

An indulgent grin formed on the man’s chaffed lips. He nodded and
pocketed the coins. “Yes.
Of course, monsieur.
Take
all the time you require.”

Aleksender returned to the coach’s door, straightened the askew rim of
his top hat,
then
reached through the portal. Delicate
fingertips wound about his hand as he guided Sofia into the street.

“Oh! I remember this place!”

Aleksender chuckled, charmed by her enthusiasm. “Yes. I imagined that
you might. Come.”

Together, they crossed the threshold and entered one of Paris’s finest
eateries. The lush surroundings were intoxicating. An exotic blend of rich
scents mingled in the air. Twin chandeliers glittered on either side of the
restaurant, romanticizing everything beneath the illuminations. From a far
corner, the faint hum of music swelled Voisin’s walls and breathed life into
the establishment. A moderately sized dance floor occupied the middle of the
room. Reflecting a swirl of colors, its floorboards were brilliantly polished
and alive with countless embracing couples.

Bending into a slight bow, the meticulously attired maitre d’ stepped
forward to peel away Sofia and Aleksender’s garments. The man’s wig was
powdered a pristine white and slickly combed back without a strand out of
place. With a muttered pardon, he handed Aleksender’s hat and coat to the
nearby footman. Then gloved fingertips stripped away the material of Sofia’s
cloak, exposing two smooth slates of porcelain flesh—one and then the other.

Aleksender instantly hardened at the vision.

“Monsieur le Comte, Mademoiselle Rose,” the maitre d’ said through a
genuine smile, “how wonderful it is to see you again. Would you prefer a seat
by the window?”

Aleksender cleared his throat, wrenching his eyes from Sofia’s bared
flesh. “That shall do just fine.”

Sofia tensed as Aleksender rested a hand across her lower back. His fingers
spanned the entire length with ease. Aleksender increased the pressure of his
touch and guided her in his footsteps. Her entire body broke out into goose
flesh … every last hair stood attentively erect. His hands were large and
strong, roughened from his labor out-of-doors. She could feel the warmth of his
skin through the thin barrier of silks that separated them. Thumb and
forefinger curled against the small of her back and sent chains of awareness
surging through her veins. There was nothing inherently intimate about the
gesture. And Aleksender had certainly touched her in this way half a million
times, and yet something was different.

Undeniably and frightfully different.

“If you two would care to follow me.”

Sofia was jolted back into the moment as Aleksender gently urged her
forward. They shadowed the footsteps of the maitre d’, bodies connected in a
transient, barely-there touch. Sofia’s heart fluttered as she basked in the
pleasure of his nearness. She felt remarkably safe, secure and complete.

A wave of silence crashed down as they wandered past the endless rows
of patrons. Her flesh tightened at the burn of over three dozen scrutinizing
eyes. And, for a horrifying instance, she swore all of Voisin could read her
thoughts.

She and Aleksender settled into parallel seats and exchanged the
briefest of glances. The maitre d’ unfolded a napkin with a suave flick of his
wrist and laid it across Sofia’s lap.
Voisin
and flowered swags
were embroidered in the damask, awarding the linen with a hint of elegance.

Sofia played with the fringe, unsure of how to act around Aleksender,
unsure of exactly what to say. She ached to ease his pain, but was clueless how
to do so. The situation was delicate and demanded a gentle approach. Indeed, it
required wisdom well beyond her nineteen years. Would he favor a distraction?
She cautiously wondered. Or, perhaps, he’d prefer meaningful conversation—the
opportunity to express his sorrow and voice his burdens?

“Your server shall be with you in but a moment,” the maitre d’
announced, interrupting her thoughts. “In the meantime, allow me to fetch drinks?
A finely aged wine, perhaps?”

Aleksender nodded. With a last smile, the maitre d’ drooped into a bow
and departed from sight. A pregnant silence filled the air. Only the cheerful
rhythm of clinking silverware alleviated the quiet.

Then light chatter and the melodic drumming of hooves wafted from the
window, each sound carried by a mild spring breeze. Tickled by the wind, an
abundance of lacy curtains twitched against the wooden pane. Enticed by the
sensuous sounds, Sofia gazed outside and into the star-filled sky. Beyond
Voisin’s walls, the night was an oily black and entirely moonless.

“You are so beautiful.” Aleksender’s words were sultry and soft—little
more than a whisper. For an instant, Sofia wondered if she’d imagined them. Her
eyes snapped from the window and settled upon his strained features. A
distinct, pained passion embedded his gaze.

No, his expression quickly confirmed—she hadn’t imagined those words.

Silence swelled between them like a palpable force.

“Th-thank you,” Sofia awkwardly stuttered.

Aleksender offered no response.
The corner of his lip
merely quirked into a subtle and almost shy smile.

“Mademoiselle, monsieur …” The maitre d’ shuffled forward and
interrupted the moment. A slender bottle of wine was cradled in his hands and
held at a slant, allowing light from the chandelier’s crystals to illuminate
the scripted label. “
Cidre de Normandie
.
Compliments of the house.”
He poured a serving for
Aleksender and Sofia, filling the hollow glasses with waterfalls of chilled
wine.

Then he withdrew a pair of menus from his apron and arranged them atop
the embroidered cloth. “Enjoy your supper.
Au revoir.”
With a quick nod, the maitre d’ departed from the table and continued on his
way.

Sofia’s stomach growled as she eyed the delectable columns of entrees.
Aleksender cocked his brow, which caused her blush to significantly deepen.
“We’re not a moment too soon, I see. Err, I hear.”

Sofia gasped and leaned forward. Eyes beaming, she drew back her arm
and swatted Aleksender with the menu. He laughed at her teasing and dodged the
assault by sheer inches. The robust sound filled the room to its rafters and
warmed Sofia’s insides. Seduced by the playful banter, several patrons
exchanged murmurs and glanced over their shoulders.

More laughter bubbled inside Sofia as a fond memory came to mind.
Shoulders rolling in a fit of giggles, she pressed a palm to her lips to better
stifle the sound.

Aleksender studied her with keen interest, his own smile quickly
forming. Such laughter was contagious—and he was far from immune to his ward’s
charms.

“What, pray tell, is so amusing?”

“Oh, I was just thinking. When I was a girl—remember what I’d do to
your poor dinner guests?”

Aleksender stretched against his chair with a small chuckle. He cradled
the wine glass and gently swirled it, stirring the liquid to life.
“Mmhm.
How could I forget? You, chérie, were always right on
cue. Alas, as soon as Grace would begin—”

“I’d slip beneath the table—”

“—and fasten the guest’s shoelaces together. Each and every time,”
Aleksender finished with a sly wink, tipping the wine glass against his lips.

Sofia felt her cheeks warm as she eyed the sculpted skin of his mouth.
It was lush and full with the slightest hint of a smile. A few beads of wine
clung tantalizingly to the flesh. “I suppose I deserved a proper flogging,” she
admitted, the flush rapidly spreading down her neck. “But you’d never hear of
such a thing—even when Elizabeth insisted otherwise. Why is that?”

Aleksender lifted his shoulders with a dry shrug. He worried his bottom
lip between his teeth, sucking away the rivulets of wine. “You were happy. Not to
mention adorable. And besides, such antics never harmed anyone.”

Sofia shrank against her chair with a guilty smile. “Expect for that
one time.”

“Ah, yes, that one time. Those damnable knaves wouldn’t step foot in
the de Lefèvre chateau ever again.”

Sofia sipped at her wine. She hid a growing smile behind the stemware.
“Well, how was I supposed to know the knot would be impossible to unfasten, and
that they really couldn’t stand each other’s company? Goodness. How could a
husband and wife loathe each other with so much gusto? Why, I thought binding
them together would force them to kiss and make up!”

Aleksender chuckled and folded both arms over his chest. “Innocent
little thing, you were. You assumed every match was made purely from love.”

“Well, it served the old toad right, anyhow. He just wanted to scurry
on back to his mistress.” Sofia smiled once more, her delicate shoulders
rolling with giggles. “Your father got quite a kick out of it. More than once
he caught me red-handed, you know. Oh, I was quite afraid of what he might do,
but he simply lifted the tablecloth and winked at me. He winked, all while his
snobby guests were ready to blow their tops. Can you believe it?”

Sadness and pleasure crossed Aleksender’s features by turns. Then his
lips lifted into that rare, crooked grin. It was a grin that warmed Sofia’s
insides—a grin she had come to love nine years before. “Indeed, I can,” he
whispered. “Sounds like him.”

“He was an exceptional man. And I see him in you. I always have.”

Aleksender swallowed as something remarkable stirred within his chest.

Sofia absently gazed forward, a nostalgic smile curving her lips. When
she spoke, her voice quavered with emotion and fond memories. “But what I’ll
always remember most is the stars.”

“The stars?”
Aleksender echoed,
transfixed.

“When I’d wake up from a nightmare, you’d point out the constellations
and tell me each of their stories,” she whispered, locking his eyes. “You
showed me peace, showed me that beauty could be found within darkness. You,
Alek, gave me reason to be happy.”

“I wouldn’t have had it any other way.” Lightening his tone, he cleared
his throat and poured himself another helping of wine. “And I hope that hasn’t
changed. You’re still happy?
Still at peace?”

Sofia nodded, though her eyes subtly flickered in disagreement.

“And you? Are you happy?” The simple question rendered him speechless.

“I have my moments.”

“Such as now?
Such
as this moment?”

He responded with a sharp nod. Then he cleared his throat once more and
nudged the menu aside.
“So.
Tell me. How is Salle Le
Peletier? I take it things have been faring well?”

“Yes—” She briefly hesitated. “For the most part things have been quite
well. In fact, I made prima ballerina just last season,” Sofia said as she took
a delicate sip of wine.

“And you deserve nothing less.” Aleksender’s crooked grin transformed
into a true smile. Romanticized by the surrounding candlelight, the gesture
reeked of sensuality. “In all these years, you’ve never ceased to amaze me.”
Aleksender raised his glass in a silent toast. Sofia followed suit and clapped
their stemware together. A sweet chime rang out as the glasses shared a kiss.