Page 31 of Love Unraveled
Gaston both loved and cursed the imperative. The men directly behind him had been discussing movement on the continent. If the talk of Napoleon’s lack of cavalry impeding his ability to gain knowledge of the allies was correct, now was the time for strategic troop movement. Gaston knew the area between Bautzen and Berlin well and could perhaps be of some assistance.
He would like to have stayed to hear more, but Sophie’s smile was tight, and the spirit in her eyes had disappeared.
“Of course,” he said and escorted her from the room. He would go to Liverpool tomorrow and share what he could. Whether a messenger could even get so far east before something further happened was debatable anyway. Besides, while the men talked of things generally confined to more intimate settings, there was nothing treacherous in talking about battles past or potential. He did not sense a traitor there, which was his assignment, not assisting strategy in battle. There was nothing that would not keep until morning.
Sophie was quiet while they waited for the servants to fetch her pelisse and his hat. He remarked on the marble statue in the foyer, similar toDavid, except this well-endowed gentleman was headless, cradling the curly decapitation in his arms.
“It is difficult to know what to stare at, don’t you think?” he said, hoping his joke would bring back some light to her eyes.
Sophie scanned the statue impassively, lingering on the cradled head, but made no comment. She turned from him but not before he saw her eyes glaze with tears. He cursed himself for his insensitivity. While he had seen worse horrors than the guillotine, Sophie feared her mother had suffered its fate, although he’d found no evidence to support such a fear. Her father swore she’d died in prison, and Gaston had no reason to question the man’s word. But Sophie had always remained unconvinced, saying her nightmares told her otherwise.
“Your carriage, my lady.” The footman bowed as they stepped out into the cool night air.
Raimondo opened the carriage door, and Gaston helped Sophie into it. Gaston hesitated, unsure whether she’d meant for him to accompany her or not, especially after his gauche attempt at humor.
“Rejoins-moi,s’il te plaît,” she said, patting the seat beside her before laying her head back against the seat and closing her eyes.
Gaston did not need to be asked twice to join her. He hopped into the carriage, ignoring Raimondo’s scowl as he closed the door. He sat beside Sophie, unsure of what to do. He did not know what had defeated her boisterousness, but something had taken the wind out of her sails. And he’d deflated her further.
“Sophie, my apologies,” he said, watching her face for a sign of what was going on behind that beautiful face of hers. Her expression did not change, nor did she open her eyes. She put her hand on his lap, and he took it in his and held it as they quietly rode the few blocks to her town house.
Gaston got out before the lumbering Raimondo could open the door, and he extended his hand back into the carriage for Sophie. She took it, descending elegantly. She gripped his hand tightly as they walked up the steps to her home. The door opened, and her man stepped aside as they entered. She waved away a footman.
“That will be all, Harris,” she said to her butler. “You too, Raimondo,” she added without looking over her shoulder, where the beast hovered in the entranceway. “I will see you in the morning.”
Still holding hands, they slowly continued upstairs. He had not been further than the library on the ground floor but had noted the ornate staircase leading to the first level. He was exceedingly curious about Sophie’s life beyond the elaborate railing. His heart thrummed loudly in anticipation, contradicting his worry for her.
Her drawing room was richly colored in reds and yellows, the walls covered in paintings as vibrant as Sophie. Although, there was nothing currently spirited about Sophie as she pulled him down onto a large chaise at the far end of the room.
“What is wrong, Sophie?” he asked, letting go of her hand so she could slip out of her pelisse. He took it from her and set it aside with his hat.
She sighed heavily as she tugged at the fingers on her glove, and he followed her lead, removing his own. “It seems nothing is as it appears to be anymore.”
Was she aware he was listening in on conversations? Did she suspect he was a spy? “I’m not sure I understand,” he said calmly, despite the uncertainty swirling through his mind.
“A game of chance manipulated. A gentleman unmasked as a cheat.” She turned to him, and his chest ached at the confusion in her eyes. “A man who was dead brought to life.”
“I was never dead, Sophie.” He took her hand again, relieved she did not suspect his motives tonight. And saddened. While his original intention was to see her hurting as much as he had, he found there was no pleasure in her pain.
“I know,” she said, nodding. “But you were to me.” She sucked in her lips, then blew out a long, audible breath. “Your return has dug up memories long buried, and I must find a new place to set them. That is all. But tonight I am…” Sophie looked at the ceiling before returning her sad gaze back to him. “C’est beaucoup trop.”
It’s too much. Gaston knew the feeling well. He raised her hand to his lips and brushed a kiss across her knuckles.
“Stay with me tonight, Gaston. Hold me while I sleep.”
She said it quietly, and he knew this was no invitation to her bed. Sophie pulled the comb from her hair and plucked out the remaining pins. She shook her head and ran her fingers through her long, thick locks. She kicked off her slippers and drew her legs onto the chaise, adjusting until she was comfortable on her side, watching him all the while.
Holding her gaze, he stood and shrugged from his jacket and waistcoat, laying them over the back of a nearby chair. He walked around the room and extinguished the lamps, carefully picking his way to the far side of the chaise. He sat and tugged off his shoes before curling in behind her. He wrapped his arm around her, and her scent wrapped around him.
She cupped his hand and pulled it to her breast, holding it there fast. Eventually, he could feel the steady rise and fall of the breaths of sleep. It was hours before he would follow. After years of dreaming of it, he finally had Sophie back in his arms. He wanted to savor every minute.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Falsehood flies, and truth comes limping after it.
—Jonathan Swift, “Political Lying”
Sophia stared atthe sliver of light shining on the flocked wallpaper. Still hazy with sleep, it took her a minute to place where she was and why. She sat up abruptly and looked around the dim room. Gaston was not there. She touched the chaise where he had lain. It was not warm to the touch, so he’d not recently left her. The drapes remained drawn, but it was clear the sun was well risen.
