The Frost of Springtime (9 page)

Sofia’s cheeks heated,
blushing
a shade of red
that rivaled the table’s vase of roses. Then she glanced into her lap and neurotically
toyed with the napkin.

“Sofia? What is it, ma chérie?”

She sighed and shook her downcast face. “Oh, it’s nothing worth speaking
of.
Really.”
She fetched the menu and buried her face
behind it. “Mmm … roasted lamb? How wonderful that sounds right about now!” she
mindlessly babbled, nose crinkling in time with her words. “You know, last
Christmas, during the seige, they served animals from Bois de Boulogne’s menagerie.
Poor things.
Can you imagine it?”

Aleksender chuckled low and hooked two fingers around the menu’s
border, yanking the makeshift shield from her grasp.

“You know you can tell me anything,” he said. She smiled and gave a
hesitant look. “So? What’s on your mind, ma petit?”

“Sometimes … sometimes it feels as though I’m trapped between two
worlds.” Aleksender nodded as she spoke, understanding deepening his eyes. “At
Sacred Heart, I’m one person, and at Salle Le Peletier I’m someone else
entirely. It’s a strange thing. The future is so obscure.”

Indeed, after Sofia had been rid of her mother’s abuse, Aleksender had
sheltered her from society’s cruelty and malice. He’d spent a small fortune
building Sacred Heart, one of Paris’s most prestigious convent homes.
Sofia—alongside dozens of other young girls, many of whom had been
orphans—were raised within those conservative walls.
Such a thing had
proved to be both a blessing and a curse. Aleksender had yearned to gift wrap
the world and all of its possibilities for her taking. He’d kept her safe
within Sacred Heart’s walls, brought the prospect of God into her life, and
cleared her way to stardom.

Unfortunately, within the Paris Opera, the road to success is often
paved with ridicule and disdain. Prostitution and the performing arts were
considered to be close equals. If not for Aleksender’s loyal patronage and
social standing, Sofia would have never been fit to set foot in a place such as
Sacred Heart.

“Be true to
yourself
,” he whispered, settling
against the seat. “That’s the best any of us can do.”

Lost in thought, Sofia shook her head and breathed the words without
taking notice. “But only with you do I ever feel most like myself.”

The waiter came forth at that precise moment, which proved to be a
small mercy for the both of them. His face was long, lean and severe. Sofia was
overcome with the temptation to make him laugh.
“Bonsoir.
Are the two of you ready to order? Or would you care for a few more moments?”

“No. No—we are quite ready,” Aleksender replied.

“Wonderful.
For you, mademoiselle?”

Aleksender and Sofia ordered their dinners: two servings of tossed
greens, plum pudding and roasted lamb. Afterward, the waiter departed from the
table, leaving them alone once more. Sofia demurely lifted her glass in a
toast. Aleksender followed suit as the grin returned to his lips.

“To many more moments such as these,” she declared with passion,
tapping their glasses together.

“Many more moments.”

All at once, a lively melody swelled the bistro. Hand in hand, couples
ventured to the dance floor by the dozens, sending a colorful swirl of skirts
whirling across the room. Sofia’s eyes brightened in anticipation. Setting down
her stemware, she rose to her feet and held out a hand for Aleksender’s taking.

He cocked a stubborn eyebrow and crossed both arms across his chest.
“You’re sorely mistaken, ma chérie. In no way shall I be dancing tonight.”

“Oh, come now, you stubborn mule of a man. It would do you some good.”
Sofia gave his shoulder
a firm yank
. “Please?”
Relentless, he stayed rooted in his spot. “Oh, fine then. You’ll know where to
find me.” Sofia gave a small sigh of defeat and spun on her heels, making way
to the dance floor. She stood off on the sidelines and watched the happy
couples with a faint smile.

After a few moments, a handsome young man approached Sofia and offered
his forearm. Smiling wide, he arched into a chivalrous bow. “Would you care to
dance, mademoiselle?”

“Why, yes. I would adore it!” And without another word, she was swept
into the gentleman’s arms and across the brandished floorboards.

•

Aleksender sulked from his spot in the corner. That boy—that foppish
peacock strutting as a man, his mind amended—was holding Sofia far too
intimately. And she appeared to be enjoying herself far too much. The two of
them waltzed this way and that, laughter beaming from their eyes, dancing like
a pair of bunny rabbits during breeding season.

Boasting locks of gold and elaborate garb, the boy resembled a cross
between Prince Charming and a cherub figurine.
Something that
felt remarkably like jealousy blackened Aleksender’s insides.
He latched
onto the neck of his stemware, erupting with the need to destroy something.

Instead, he bellowed a low grunt, downed a mouthful of wine with
mutinous fervor,
then
chased the burn with two more
helpings. Aleksender shoved the forelock from his eyes as he surveyed the
display with an unsettling intensity. A curtain of chocolate tresses fanned in
the air as Sofia was tossed into a spin.

Much to Aleksender’s horror and disdain, their bodies realigned once
more and shuffled together. Enraptured by Salle Le Peletier’s prima ballerina,
many of the patrons paused their dinning to watch the apparent show. Damn it to
hell. Aleksender had been afraid to accept Sofia’s dance proposal. He’d been
afraid to get too close to her.

But this was exceedingly worse.

The young man slid a palm down Sofia’s back in restless pursuit …
stopping a few meager inches from the curve of her bottom. Aleksender bit back
an obscenity and scrubbed a hand over his face. The suitor dared to tug Sofia closer.
If that wasn’t quite enough, he swiped a swarm of curls from her neck, bent
forward, and whispered against the rim of her ear …

Aleksender could only guess what those words had been.

Enough.
As if charging
straight onto the battlefield, he leapt to his feet and crossed the room with
determined steps.

“Pardon me,” Aleksender muttered as he cut in, his form towering above
the two of them with ease. “I think I’ll take it from here.” None too happy,
the young man stepped aside with a chivalrous bow and vanished into the crowd.

Sofia’s face broke into a triumphant grin. “Why, whatever happened to
me being sorely mistaken? I thought in no way shall you be dancing—”

Her words dissolved into silence as Aleksender reined her into his
arms.

•

Despite being a seasoned dancer, Sofia felt very clumsy and unsure of
herself. She stumbled over Aleksender’s feet as he whisked her to one side—then
stumbled again when he swung her body full circle.

“You are dancing like a circus monkey,” he muttered against her neck.
Her pulse jumped to life at the words. Coming from Aleksender’s lips, they
sounded like an endearment rather than insult. His deep baritone stoked her
imagination, igniting a fire deep within her soul.

She chided him with a playful slap to the shoulder. Feigning injury, he
released one of her hands and groped the material of his dress shirt.
“The pain.
The agony!”

“Oh, come now!”

Aleksender’s broad chest vibrated with mirth. He tugged Sofia back into
his embrace and held her jarringly close. Chills swept through every inch of
her body. Thick cords of muscle flexed and tightened beneath Sofia’s touch. One
of his brows curved into an arch that begged to be challenged.

Sofia tapped her bottom lip in contemplation. “Perhaps, it’s you and
not me.”

“Hmm?
What’s that?”

“Who’s at fault for this dreadful
dancing.
”

“Ah, I see. Is that so?”

“Precisely.
You’re not at all
an agreeable partner.”

He perked a brow in amusement. “So … I’m the monkey?”

Sofia splayed a palm across Aleksender’s chest and threw her head back,
body rolling with laughter.
“No, not the monkey,” she
corrected, simultaneously catching her breath.
“The
circus monkey.”

Intoxicated by the surrounding euphoria, Aleksender and Sofia lost
themselves within the crowd and laughter.

Aleksender wrapped Sofia in one of his arms and swept her across the
polished floorboards, fighting at every step to keep up with the waltz’s
dizzying pace. His hands were firm and strong against her back, sending a chain
of shivers down to Sofia’s tiptoes and then up again. An abundance of curls
nearly brushed the ground as he lowered her into a deep curve.

Everything fell away. A rare sliver of happiness flooded her entire
being. In the same breath, the music slowed like a dying heartbeat and settled
into an intimate tempo.

Aleksender came forward until their two hearts beat as one.

Poetic words from a familiar story flooded Sofia’s thoughts …

Press closer, little nightingale, or the day will come before the rose
is finished …

Sofia settled against Aleksender’s warmth and successfully molded their
bodies together.

The Nightingale pressed closer against the thorn till it pierced her
heart …

His breaths fanned across her forehead, branding her forever. She
leaned in closer … closer … closer still … letting the moist flesh of her lips
ghost across Aleksender’s skin. Jet-black hair fell in thick waves, curling a
few inches above the meticulous folds of his collar.

Bitter was the pain … wilder and wilder grew her song, for she sang of
the love that is perfected by death … Love that dies not in the tomb.

They were no longer ward and guardian. They were a woman and man, two
lovers in the midst of a groundbreaking revelation.

And indeed—the truth had bloomed before daybreak.

•

Aleksender gazed out the window as the coach calmly maneuvered through
Paris’s sleeping streets. The various monuments and buildings resembled
monsters crouching amongst shadows.

The blunderbuss knocked against his thigh, parroting the coach’s
unsteady movements. Aleksender absently skirted his fingertips across the
musket’s polished wood. The silver barrel shone beneath the moonlight like a
beacon, illuminating the engraved words
de Lefèvre
. Aleksender traced
each letter with a stinging ache in his heart.

Ready to ward off any dangers, he secured a fist around the
blunderbuss’s finely carved handle. Alas, he would gladly kill for his ward.

Sofia was presently nestled up against his shoulder, all softness and
overwhelming femininity. Her presence was intoxicating … wondrously calming.
Lustrous shafts of moonlight bathed her slumbering form and highlighted the
delicacy of her features. Aleksender studied Sofia’s profile in admiration, in
awe of how much she’d matured in so short a time. He struggled to see the little
girl he’d once adored.
But too much had changed.

God above, everything had changed.

A few erratic curls twitched in her sleep as they were manipulated by
deep and dreamy breaths. Aleksender gazed down at her, filled with a startling awareness.
She looked so beautiful in her sedated state.
So content and
so very precious.
A cluster of freckles dusted the bridge of her
upturned nose. Aleksender balled his hands into two fists whilst he fought the
excruciating need to acquaint himself with each and every one.

He sobered as she stirred the slightest bit. Rosebud lips parted in
speech—only to mutter a volume of unconscious nonsense.

With all of his heart, Aleksender wished the carriage ride would never
come to an end. Minutes later, his insides darkened as Sacred Heart Convent
slipped into view.

Aleksender arched his shoulder and nudged Sofia from her dreams. She
stirred once more, buried her face in the crook his arm, and gave a defiant
grumble. Persistent snoring filled the coach. Aleksender smiled to himself.
He’d never heard a more charming sound.