Page 6 of Love Unraveled
What freezings have I felt, what dark days seen!
What old December’s bareness everywhere!
—Shakespeare, “Sonnet 97”
Sophia adored thatRaimondo was enjoying the garden. He was not required to cultivate roses, or do anything else botanical for that matter, but he’d taken to it and was much more relaxed for having done so. He, too, had walked away from everything to come to England, and he’d done it for her. For the count, really, but Raimondo did not make such a distinction with his loyalty. The count had loved her, so Raimondo protected her as though she was the count himself.
“What color will it be?” she asked, running her finger over one of the many buds.
“I am hoping this one will be a deep red. I am trying to createscarlatto, but it is not easy.”
Sophia clapped her hands. “My favorite color.” Of course, she was aware Raimondo knew scarlet was her favored shade of red, but she was genuinely pleased he wanted to make her happy.
Raimondo’s face changed: a curtain drew over his indulgent expression, and a fierce scowl took its place. He grabbed Sophia and pushed her behind him. as he hunched like a lion ready to pounce, his knife was now a weapon. Sophia was not new to the unexpected, yet her heart rate accelerated as she peered around Raimondo’s bulky frame. And then it stopped. She was certain it did. It stopped along with the world, and the moment froze in time.
It was not because a man had gotten so close to her. Nor was it because Laurence had a gun to the man’s head. It was the man. A man she’d thought long dead.
“Gaston,” she whispered, and the world spun anew, her heart now pounding in her chest and echoing in her head. “Gaston,” she said again as she stepped out from behind Raimondo.
His dark eyes held hers, but she could not read his expression. They stared at each other, and then a corner of his mouth tilted into the crooked smile she so loved.
“Oui, Sophie,c’est moi.”
Sophia could not recall crossing the distance between them, but she was in his arms, and he was holding her tightly and pressing kisses to the top of her head. Her mind raced, grasping for some indication she was dreaming. A new dream, for none had ever been like this—so real she could feel the muscles on his back and the warmth of his body against hers.
He pulled back, and she was reluctant to let him go lest the dream slip away too. He brushed a stray hair off her face, tilting his head so he could see her better. “MaSophie” was all he said before pulling her close again. But she’d seen the tears glaze his eyes and was now fighting her own. This was not fantasy.
Laurence cleared his throat, reminding Sophia of his presence. She could sense Raimondo lurking close by as well. She stepped back from Gaston, keeping her eyes on him as she did so, afraid he’d disappear.
“I must assume this is a welcome intruder?” Laurence raised an eyebrow at Sophia, and a smile played on his lips. He looked so much like his sister, Catherine, when he smiled. Catherine, who for her own protection, could not know Laurence was so near. So many secrets. So many ghosts from the past. And her ghost was standing here in the flesh.
“Si.Oui. Yes.” Her three languages tumbled one over the other, her mind scrambled. She could find no more words as she stared at Gaston, his dark gaze holding hers. It was all too much to take in and more than she was capable of explaining.
Laurence slowly uncocked his already lowered gun, put it in his pocket, and flashed a full smile. “I’ll not ask any questions…now. But curiosity may triumph over my gentlemanly discretion. Would you like me to stay?”
“It is not necessary,” she said, shaking her head, her eyes still locked on Gaston’s.
“You know where to find me.”
Laurence might have directed that at Raimondo, not her, but Sophia did not look to see. The sound of Laurence’s footsteps had faded into the distance before she turned her attention from Gaston. Her emotions now under control, she turned to Raimondo.
“Vai via,” she said. “Per favore,” she added, softening the order to go away.
Raimondo grunted but did as instructed. She knew he would go tell Stefano, and they would both be nearby whether she wanted them to be or not.
“Come,” she said.
Bursts of memories flashed through her mind as Gaston stepped forward and put his hand in hers. Shouting, gunfire, and a boy standing stiff as a statue. Perhaps she’d been too young to understand his fear, but she’d known he would not be safe if he’d stayed there. So she’d done the only thing she could think to do. She’d brought him home. And he’d become hers.
Her thoughts were dizzying, and she was lightheaded.Hers. But he’d been lost to her. Could it possibly be he was now found?
*
Gaston walked quietlyby Sophie’s side, his mind still trying to grasp this turn of events. He’d meant to confront her on his terms, to throw her betrayal in her face, and to finally extinguish the fire of his love for her. But her face—mon Dieu!—her face when she’d seen it was him. His heart had stopped beating, or perhaps it had begun beating for the first time in many years.
They climbed the steps, and the door opened. The tall, thin man Gaston had glimpsed many times from his hiding place under the willow tree stepped to the side, his face impassive.
“My lady,” the butler said with the stiffness Gaston had come to know in the English. The man glanced briefly at Sophie’s hand clasped in Gaston’s before returning his attention to Sophie.
