Page 1 of Love Unraveled
Prologue
Promise us the sun forever as well as the night;
Yes. Forever the night. Promise me that.
—Marceline Desbordes-Valmore, “Let Us Cry”
1797
If Sophia hadnot known he was coming, she would have assumed the tapping was the wind shifting the far-too-loose latch on her window. But she’d been waiting for him for hours. Truly for years. Her heart pounded ferociously against her chest. He was here now. As he’d promised.
She leaped from the bed and pressed her ear to the hall door. There was no sound other than a repeated tap, tap, tap behind her. She flew to the window and threw back the drapes, the shadow of Gaston’s willowy body all she could make out of him in the darkness. She unhooked the latch and pushed at the window. Gaston caught it before it blew too far to the side and banged the pillar. He threw one long leg over the sash and pulled the window closed as he stepped fully into the room.
She reached past him to rehook the latch, catching a whiff of him as she did so. “You stink,” she whispered, scrunching her nose.
“And you,ma chérie, smell like a garden of roses in summer.” He tilted his head to kiss her, and raindrops fell from his hat, chilling her bared shoulder.
She pushed him. “Well, you smell like a wet dog,” she said even though excitement raced through her veins.
“More like a wet horse,” he said but shook his entire body exactly as a dog would do, splattering Sophia even more. She laughed out loud. He stepped up to her quickly, covering her mouth with his hand. “Fais attention, Sophie. Someone will hear you.”
Sophia bit his hand playfully, and she could see the flash of his teeth in the dim light. “There is a hook on the wall there. Hang your things.” She strode to the window and closed the drapes again, then returned to her bedside, fumbling for the tinderbox she’d left there.
“Let me.” His breath was warm against her ear as he took the box from her, and she regretted its loss when he leaned away from her to blow on the tinder. She set the wick to it, and the candle slowly took. After she set it on the table, she turned to look at him.Mon Dieu. Sophia still could not believe he had come.
“You are so beautiful my eyes hurt.” Gaston ran the back of his fingers down her cheek, along her neck, and across her shoulder. Her flesh tingled in their wake.
“Embrasse-moi.” Sophia puckered her lips and closed her eyes, and Gaston obliged her request for a kiss. His lips were soft and gentle, but she wanted more. She tried to probe with her tongue, but he kept his mouth closed to her. She opened her eyes, and he grinned. Sophia slapped his arm, and his grin grew bigger.
“You have not changed.” Gaston chuckled and looked around the room, then pulled her toward the chairs by the fireplace.
“Non, it is too cold to sit by an empty grate. Come.” Sophia tugged him in the opposite direction, back toward the bed.
“Sophie.”
He said her name like a warning, and she ignored it. She did not fear Gaston. It was Gaston who should fear her. Sophia had waited three years for him, and she was not about to sit politely in chairs across from each other. She was going to be held, and for the first time in too long, she was going to be loved. She would settle for no less.
She let go of his hand and climbed onto the bed, feeling powerful, knowing he was watching her. She leaned forward, daringly showing the rise of her breasts, and patted the bed.
Gaston shook his head.
“But we must speak quietly,” she said, tapping the bed again. “And I am chilled,” she added, tugging at the counterpane and pulling it over her lap as proof.
Gaston sighed heavily. He perched on the edge of the bed and removed his boots before crawling in beside her. She was disappointed he stayed on top of the coverlet, but it did not defeat her. She would woo Gaston before night’s end, and they would be bound together forever.
“I should not stay long,” he said, taking her hand in his and running his thumb over her palm. “It would not do for me to be caught here in your bedroom.”
“It would not do for you to be seen anywhere bymia zia—ma tante.” Sophia caught herself and switched from Italian back to French, for it was the language they shared. “Tante Giorgiadespises the French even more now that they occupy our cities.”
“But you are French,non? She cannot possibly detest all French.” Gaston squeezed Sophia’s hand.
“She does not acknowledge that part of me. It is like Papa never existed, and she sees only the daughter of her sister.” Sophia shrugged. “Still, she gave me a home when I had none. But I do not wish to speak of her any further. It is you and only you I want to hear about.”
Gaston had suddenly appeared at the market that morning. She’d been examining a basket when she’d sensed someone beside her. She’d turned and blinked over and over. She could not accept what her eyes told her was true. He’d spoken quickly and quietly, and she’d given her address and specific directions to her bedroom before he’d disappeared into the crowd. It had felt like a dream, but it was not. For there was nothing imaginary about the warmth of his hand or his thigh pressed against hers, exuding a heat no blanket could block.
“Have you come with the army?” Sophia hoped not, for she detested the bold soldiers who considered her there for their taking. She had learned quickly not to leave the house without a chaperone and a male servant for protection.
“The only army I fight with isle Régiment de Bourbon. For my father. And for yours.”
