Page 54 of Love Unraveled
He leaned in and kissed the top of her head, and her stomach fluttered in response. Still, she remained silent.
“You asked me earlier what it was I wanted. I told the truth, Sophie. I want you and only you. But I would like to amend it, if I may?”
“Of course,” she said calmly, although now her heart had joined her fluttering stomach and not in a good way.
“I want your truth. Your honesty. I want you to hold no secrets from me.”
Gaston’s eyes bored into hers. She squirmed uncomfortably, her brain momentarily clogged. She swallowed, and her thoughts began to swirl again. Could he know? But how? Her conversation with Jocelyne? Even if he’d overheard them, it would make no sense to him unless…
She pivoted on her stool, and he stepped back in surprise. “In the carriage, you turned my question back on me and asked me what it was I wanted from you. I did not have time to answer, but I want what you want. Us together. Wrapped in honesty, comforted by truth.”
Gaston broke eye contact and ran a hand over his face, walking away from her but quickly returning. “I overheard you and Jocelyne. I would know what you were talking about.”
Sophia crossed her arms and eyed him. “And you went out Sunday morning and made no mention of it. I would like to know where you went.”
“I went for a walk, Sophia,” he said smoothly.
“And the flowers you sketched? Why did you not show them to me?”
He quickly covered his surprise. “I am not an artist. They were not worthy of sharing.”
“So honesty is not attainable.” Sophia got to her feet and marched past him into the sitting room.
“Apparently not,” Gaston said, fast on her heels. He grabbed her arm and spun her around. “What did you forbid Jocelyne to tell me?”
Sophia’s heart pounded fiercely in her chest. He had definitely overheard them. It was now or never. She either had to tell him or walk away from him.
“That we spy,” she said, pulling her arm from his and stomping over to the decanter. Hands shaking, she pulled the stopper and poured a brandy. Gaston stepped behind her, and his hand prevented her from raising the glass to her mouth.
“For whom?” His voice was so quiet she’d think she’d imagined it, was imagining the entire scene, were it not for the heat of his body pressed against hers and the firm grip on her hand.
“Who do you think, Gaston?” she said, suddenly exasperated. Did he believe she’d spy for the revolutionists who’d taken her mother? For the man who’d used those revolutionists to declare himself emperor? The man who’d taken both Gaston and her father from her? She pulled from his grasp and spun around.
“And you, Gaston, who do you work for?”
*
She knew. Hewas certain she was not fishing. She had knowledge of his activities. What she knew, how she’d acquired the knowledge, was all irrelevant right now.She knew.The band around his chest loosened. For better or for worse, there would be no pretense between them. But he needed clarity first.
“Tell me, Sophie,” he said as steadily as possible considering he longed for her to say the right words. For if he had misread her meaning, they would not only be on opposite sides of this war but of life. He did not lightly take on the role as traitor to France. It was not a case of revenge, although there often was a satisfying element of vengeance. His father had been a royalist at heart, born and bred. Gaston was somewhere in between. The short-lived constitutional monarchy had been, to him, the ideal. One thing he was sure of was that one didn’t overthrow a monarchy to have a man appoint himself as ruler. He despised the little emperor.
He could see the moment the fight left her and she decided to tell him. His breath stalled as he waited for her answer.
“I help England.”
Her eyes were dark. He could only imagine the myriad of worries dancing behind them. He cupped her cheek.
“As do I, Sophie. As do I.”
He pulled her close and held her as tight as possible without crushing her. He wondered if she could feel the hammering of his heart, sense the happiness flowing through his veins. For the first time in sixteen years, he considered joy as one of life’s possibilities.
Chapter Forty-One
For a few seconds they gazed silently into one another’s eyes—and what had seemed impossible and remote suddenly became possible, inevitable, and very near.
—Leo Tolstoy,War and Peace
“And the masquerade,where you knocked me to the ground. It was an important night, and my idea.” Sophia was enjoying regaling Gaston with some of her escapades. She took a sip of brandy and eyed Gaston over it.
