The French Revolution, the Napoleonic Wars, and spies—all rolled into a Regency era happy ever after. Here's a sneak peek at Sophia's story.
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 had not 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 leapt 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 re-hook 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 one another. 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 by mia zia—ma tante." Sophia caught herself and switched from Italian back to French for it was the language they shared. "Tante Giorgia despises 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 sensed someone beside her. She'd turned and blinked over and over. She could not accept what her eyes told her was true. He spoke quickly and quietly, and she'd given her address and specific directions to her bedroom before he 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 had come to detest 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 is Régiment de Bourbon. For my father. And for yours."
"Papa?" She sat straighter, all thoughts of seduction flown from her mind. She'd heard nothing from her father in months. " Have you word of him?"
"Non, ma douce, I have heard nothing directly. But the Directory was annulled and the fair election overturned. In September. Many were shipped to Guiana. I am trying to find out if your father was among them or if he is still in Paris. Perhaps, he is in hiding?"
There had been news of Napoleon's Coup d’état, but she didn't see how it could affect her father. "But Papa, he is not in the government. He is writing for the paper."
Gaston turned to face her, cupping her cheek. "The royalist newspapers were shut down. Many journalists were shipped with the deputies."
"Non." Sophia shook her head, fighting the tears stinging her eyes.
"I am sorry, mon amour. You must face the possibility. It is why I came."
"I don't understand…"
"The last time I saw your father, he made me promise to come to you should something ever happen to him."
"But why?" Sophia swallowed her agony. Surely, Gaston was assuming the worst. Her father was a clever man. He had managed all the atrocities that had come before. An overturn in government could not be harder to navigate than the slaughter they had escaped.
"Because he knows nobody can love you more than he does…except me." Gaston pressed his forehead against hers. "And he's right."
Gaston held Sophia for few minutes while she grappled with the concept of her father sent somewhere far away. She did not cry easily, and she would not cry now. Not for a maybe. A possibility. It was equally likely he was not amongst those banished. He might still be somewhere in France or gone somewhere else for safety. She knew for certain he would not come to Venezia. Her aunt might report him.
When her thoughts were composed and her emotions reined in, she pulled away from Gaston. He watched her, his brow furrowed in concern.
"I am not glass. I will not shatter." She flicked a strand of hair back over her shoulder. "And what does Papa think you might do for me?"
"Take you away with me."
"Where?" She asked it calmly, but her insides quivered with excitement. Her aunt had become intolerable. Other than trips to the market, Sophia's life had become one lonely dull day followed by another. And to be with Gaston? It was a dream come true.
"He would see you in England, if I can manage it."
"England! But it is so far. And I speak the language like a bébé."
Gaston ran his hand over her cheek and lifted her chin. "Then you must learn it, ma chérie. For you will live there until it is safe to return to France."
It was all so much to grasp. Her father gone. Her leaving Venezia. Gaston. "With you?" she asked.
"For a time. But I must do my part. I will return to the régiment."
Gaston was going to take her to England and leave her there. Alone. The past three years had taught her everything could change in a moment. She knew what she must do to ensure his commitment to her remained constant. She loved him too much to risk losing him.
"You will marry me." It was a statement, not a question, and it got a slow smile from Gaston.
"Oui, ma beauté, I will marry you at the first opportunity. Your father has given me his permission." He leaned in and kissed her, and this time the kiss was not chaste. She was panting when he pulled away.
"I don't remember you kissing like that," Gaston said.
"I was a child. I am a woman now." She smiled at his scowl, a sense of triumph easing the sorrow of his news about her father.
"You have practiced?"
Sophia laughed at his fierce expression and the growl in his voice. Oh, yes, she had power now she did not have before. Although, in truth, she'd not tried to use it until this moment. But she was not going to tell him.
She daintily shrugged her shoulders. "Perhaps, un peu." She pinched her thumb and forefinger together to show him the little bit, and he growled again. She fell onto her back, pulling him with her, and demonstrated again she was more than ready to take on the task of being his partner. When she clawed at his shirt, he pulled back.
"Sophie, non."
"Oui." She boldly ran her finger down his shirt and teased the band of his trousers. "We are to be married. Besides, I have always been yours. And you, mine."
She tugged him to her again, confident he would surrender. And she was right. Later, lying in the afterglow of their first lovemaking, he shared his plan.
"Count Tessaro has arranged a rendezvous tomorrow night with a local fisherman. You must go about your day, act as you normally do, and pack only a few things. Dress plainly."
His chest warm beneath her cheek, he stroked her arm as he talked. She snuggled closer, drifting in contented happiness. The bed dipped and Sophia opened her eyes. Gaston was fully dressed and pulling on his boots. She sat up, pulling the cover to her chest. How could she have fallen asleep?
"My sleeping beauty awakes." He tugged on the second boot and shifted to face her. "Midnight. Be ready. There will be no time to spare."
Excitement and fear coursed through her. She did not want him to leave but knew he must. Tears stung, and he lifted her chin so she looked him in the eyes.
"I will return. I promise."
He kissed her one last time, and she watched as he opened the window and disappeared. The wind rattled the pane and she got out of bed, the marble floor cold against her feet. She opened it and peered outside, but she could see no one. "Je t'aime," she whispered into the darkness before latching the window and crawling back into bed. She held the pillow against her as though it were Gaston. His scent still lingered, and the pungent smell of the stable he had slept in was now a comfort.
A few more hours, and there would be no more goodbyes.
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