in the crook his arm, and gave a defiant
grumble. Persistent snoring filled the coach. Aleksender smiled to himself.
He’d never heard a more charming sound.
Brushing fallen locks from her eyes, he leaned forward and whispered
against her forehead, “Come, come. Time to wake, chérie.”
A lush hood of lashes fluttered open, exposing the
piercing blue of her eyes. She rubbed her
nose till it glowed a delightful pink. “Hullo.” Her
lips lifted into a lazy smile as their gazes merged together. Aleksender was
enraptured. “You know … I was just dreaming about you.”
Aleksender cleared his throat. His fingertips slid from her scalp and
landed in the safety of his lap. “Ah, is that right?”
Her smile melted away within the following silence. Tiny fists crawled
up the length of Aleksender’s chest and lost themselves within the coat’s thick
folds. She gave an urgent tug, drawing him several inches closer … closer …
dangerously close.
The heat of their bodies mingled as one. With each breath, Aleksender
drank in the sweet essence of roses and wintertime. His mind swam with
unorthodox visions and desires. He inclined his head, lost to the power of her
nearness, entranced by everything that was his beloved ward.
“Alek, my Alek …”
Each word infused Aleksender with a delicious and undeniable warmth.
Intoxicated by roses and wintertime, he found it difficult to speak, difficult
to think. Breathless, he swallowed and met the haunting blue of her eyes.
“Please,” she dreamily murmured, “I want you to kiss me again.”
CHAPTER
SEVEN
Several days had
passed since Aleksender and Sofia’s improper encounter, each one blurring
seamlessly into the next. And he found that the nights were no different. Alas,
it seemed that Aleksender’s existence had transformed into a single, suspended
moment.
Lavished in scarlet curtains, rich upholstery and
rosewood furnishings, the master bedchamber was fit for royalty. Decked
with exotic perfumes and dazzling jewels of all shapes and sizes, a vanity was
centered before the grand oversized mirror. A solitary candle glowed,
encircling the countertop in a ring of light, painting the walls with its
wavering shafts. Elizabeth sat in front of her lovely reflection, looking every
bit like a porcelain doll.
A solemn and bloodless porcelain doll.
With a distant look beaming from her eyes and a subtle frown at her
lips, she stroked her shiny hair and hummed beneath a hushed breath. Long
streams of candlelight complimented her beauty to perfection. The illumination
outlined her curves while a sheer chemise hugged her body like a lover, leaving
very little to her husband’s imagination.
Aleksender sat on the edge of the large canopy bed. A pair of leather
suspenders dug into his skin, straining against a firm slate of muscle. Fitted
trousers hugged each thigh and a cream-toned dress shirt swallowed up the
cummerbund waistline.
Studying the glamorous reflection with a haunting attentiveness,
Aleksender watched as Elizabeth embarked on her nightly ritual.
He surprised himself and thought of his mother.
Comtesse Victoria de Lefèvre had tragically passed away during
Aleksender’s tenth year. Her death had been painfully sudden, though he could
recall nothing of the accident. According to his father, a spooked mare and
unhinged carriage wheel had been to blame. Aleksender, too, had been in that
carriage—and had survived the incident by some twisted stroke of luck. Even in
Victoria’s absence, Philippe had expressed an endless devotion to his late
wife. First hand, Aleksender had witnessed the transcending power of love, a
fidelity that knew no boundaries, time and again.
Aleksender shook away the memories and returned to the moment.
Within Elizabeth’s emptiness he saw himself. And the cause of her
heartache was no great wonder. Yet, here she sat—radiating with the innocence
of a girl, daring to steal a glance of him every few brushes. Mimicking all of
the correct
grumble. Persistent snoring filled the coach. Aleksender smiled to himself.
He’d never heard a more charming sound.
Brushing fallen locks from her eyes, he leaned forward and whispered
against her forehead, “Come, come. Time to wake, chérie.”
A lush hood of lashes fluttered open, exposing the
piercing blue of her eyes. She rubbed her
nose till it glowed a delightful pink. “Hullo.” Her
lips lifted into a lazy smile as their gazes merged together. Aleksender was
enraptured. “You know … I was just dreaming about you.”
Aleksender cleared his throat. His fingertips slid from her scalp and
landed in the safety of his lap. “Ah, is that right?”
Her smile melted away within the following silence. Tiny fists crawled
up the length of Aleksender’s chest and lost themselves within the coat’s thick
folds. She gave an urgent tug, drawing him several inches closer … closer …
dangerously close.
The heat of their bodies mingled as one. With each breath, Aleksender
drank in the sweet essence of roses and wintertime. His mind swam with
unorthodox visions and desires. He inclined his head, lost to the power of her
nearness, entranced by everything that was his beloved ward.
“Alek, my Alek …”
Each word infused Aleksender with a delicious and undeniable warmth.
Intoxicated by roses and wintertime, he found it difficult to speak, difficult
to think. Breathless, he swallowed and met the haunting blue of her eyes.
“Please,” she dreamily murmured, “I want you to kiss me again.”
CHAPTER
SEVEN
Several days had
passed since Aleksender and Sofia’s improper encounter, each one blurring
seamlessly into the next. And he found that the nights were no different. Alas,
it seemed that Aleksender’s existence had transformed into a single, suspended
moment.
Lavished in scarlet curtains, rich upholstery and
rosewood furnishings, the master bedchamber was fit for royalty. Decked
with exotic perfumes and dazzling jewels of all shapes and sizes, a vanity was
centered before the grand oversized mirror. A solitary candle glowed,
encircling the countertop in a ring of light, painting the walls with its
wavering shafts. Elizabeth sat in front of her lovely reflection, looking every
bit like a porcelain doll.
A solemn and bloodless porcelain doll.
With a distant look beaming from her eyes and a subtle frown at her
lips, she stroked her shiny hair and hummed beneath a hushed breath. Long
streams of candlelight complimented her beauty to perfection. The illumination
outlined her curves while a sheer chemise hugged her body like a lover, leaving
very little to her husband’s imagination.
Aleksender sat on the edge of the large canopy bed. A pair of leather
suspenders dug into his skin, straining against a firm slate of muscle. Fitted
trousers hugged each thigh and a cream-toned dress shirt swallowed up the
cummerbund waistline.
Studying the glamorous reflection with a haunting attentiveness,
Aleksender watched as Elizabeth embarked on her nightly ritual.
He surprised himself and thought of his mother.
Comtesse Victoria de Lefèvre had tragically passed away during
Aleksender’s tenth year. Her death had been painfully sudden, though he could
recall nothing of the accident. According to his father, a spooked mare and
unhinged carriage wheel had been to blame. Aleksender, too, had been in that
carriage—and had survived the incident by some twisted stroke of luck. Even in
Victoria’s absence, Philippe had expressed an endless devotion to his late
wife. First hand, Aleksender had witnessed the transcending power of love, a
fidelity that knew no boundaries, time and again.
Aleksender shook away the memories and returned to the moment.
Within Elizabeth’s emptiness he saw himself. And the cause of her
heartache was no great wonder. Yet, here she sat—radiating with the innocence
of a girl, daring to steal a glance of him every few brushes. Mimicking all of
the correct
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