Page 57 of Love Unraveled
“I should fear for what has hit my cheek, no? But the birds survive the water, so maybe me too?” Sophia laughed, feeling more alive than she had in years. She raised her hand and covered Gaston’s, holding it close to her cheek. “I have survived worse,mon amour.”
Gaston froze, and had he not whispered words of love to her last night, she would have worried she’d overstepped bounds with words of endearment, had misread his intentions. A slow smile crept across his face, and he leaned in. She was anticipating another deep kiss, but he pecked her lips briefly and pulled back. Her need was great, but he refused to return to her, a smile playing at the corners of his lips.
She grabbed a pillow and threw it at him. “You are a tease. You have always been so.”
He laughed and looked to the side. “Behold the great river, Sophie. Behold London.” He swept his hand toward the passing banks. “Behold our home.”
Her heart stalled for seconds and then accelerated, thumping madly in her chest.Our home?
Gaston slid from the bench and onto his knees in front of her. “I would give anything to turn back time and live as we once dreamed. And I would give anything to ask for your hand and celebrate our joining with your friends. I would give anything to show this world that even as I claim you, you own me.”
Gaston’s eyes glistened, and her sight blurred as her eyes watered in response. She bit her bottom lip and waited.
“I want you, Sophie. I have always wanted you. Only you. Yet I cannot give you my name, for my name does not exist.”
Sophia put a finger to his lips. “I am a widow. I’m not chained to propriety.”
Gaston kissed her finger before grabbing it and pressing her hand to his chest. “But I am, Sophie. I want both a wife and a lover.”
Sophia’s joy dropped from her heart and landed, leaden, in her stomach. She’d thought this day was about beginnings, but it would seem it was about endings.
He lifted her chin and stared into her eyes, his as glazed as hers must be. “One day, I will formally stand before all and declare…non, shout…you are Sophie Armand, wife of the Marquis de Lyon. But I cannot wait until that day to be with you.”
Sophia let her joy float freely again. “I need no formality,” she whispered.
“But I do.” Gaston pushed from his knees back onto the bench, turning so he was facing her. “During the time I spent in Scotland withmon pèreand the Count d’Artois, I learned some things.” He raised one finger. “First, I learned the Scots are incredibly difficult to understand.”
She gave Gaston the laugh he was seeking, but it did not lessen the excited tension stretching her nerves.
“Second,” he said, raising another finger, “they are friends to the French, much more than the British, who seem to be enamored of our fashions more than our people.”
Sophia could not argue. Jocelyne’s numerous patrons inevitably wanted to be styled after the French court despite their countries being at war.
“Third, they know how to seal a deal.”
Sophia was confused. What deal was he referring to?
Gaston rubbed a little circle on her forehead with his fingertip. “Unfurl,ma chérie. You are thinking so hardmybrain hurts. Ah, a smile from my Madonna.” He kissed her gently and pulled back. “In Scotland, you need only say you are married to make it so.”
Sophia laughed with joyous delight. He was talking marriage. “Did we not already do so the night you snuck through my window?” Sophia immediately regretted her words, for she could see the years in between crushing Gaston’s enthusiasm. She touched his hand, and he smiled, but it was weighted with sadness.
“Oui, we did, but…”
She was grateful he did not mention Carmine, for the count had no place on the boat today. The count had no place at all except in the recesses of her memories.
“It is called a handfast. We’re not in Scotland, so it will not be legal. But it will be binding in my heart. I promise you, after the war ends, we will stand before the clergy, and we will celebrate our joining with whomever you would like. As for me, I need only you. Here. Now. Saying you will spend the rest of your life with me.”
Sophia could not speak. Her eyes burned, and she bit her bottom lip to prevent herself from bawling likeun petit bébé. For it would not do to be a bride with puffy, red-ringed eyes.
“Sophie?”
She loved the doubt in his eyes, his blatant vulnerability. She nodded, and a smile lit his face. He turned toward the back of the boat. “Monsieur.”
It was all he said, yet the man shouted a command, and the rowers stopped. One got up and shuffled toward them, joining the captain in their small space.
“Sit,mes hommes honorables,” Gaston said casually, and the two dropped onto the bench facing her and Gaston.
“This day, I have asked Sophia Tessaro to marry me, and she has agreed.” He took her right hand in his. “Is that correct,ma chérie?”
