Paladin88

The news saturated his mind and left him numb. Karl Turro was supposed to have been nothing more than a cruel man who deserved death, not a family.

Erik closed his eyes and attempted to remember Karl's face, to pick apart his features and sort out what commonalities they shared in their appearance. Tall, dark hair…but there was little more he could think of that would make them brothers. He knew he wanted no part in claiming Turro as his brother.

"Do you know when she remarried?" he questioned.

Anne Giry sat forward and frowned, her features softened. "I thought you'd know by now. You've been here for months—"

"Do you know when she remarried?" he asked again, this time through his teeth.

"She didn't say a word to me and there was no husband at her side when she paid a visit to Paris." She paused and tilted her head to the side. "Though I do recall her stepson was with her. Handsome young man, but very rude. He sighed impatiently while we chatted. I didn't care for him at all."

"Karl Turro," he muttered.

"You've met him?"

He didn't answer, and in the stillness he heard the floor creak and knew Sophia listened from the hall. It angered him that she eavesdropped and yet saddened him that she was so far away.

"She seemed very nice," Anne commented.

"She was." He stood and grasped the doorframe to steady himself before he walked from the room with Fidelio at his heels.

Sophia stood at the end of the hall with her hands clasped behind her back. She frowned and shifted her weight but made no attempt to hide her presence. With no words for her, he lowered his gaze and attempted to walk past her, but she grabbed his shoulder and he paused.

Through the growing numbness, he felt her head against his shoulder and he inhaled—the first time he remembered breathing since Madame Giry had told him that his mother was now a Turro.

"Sophia," he whispered.

Her tone was gentle and reassuring as she suggested he return to his room for the evening. Madame argued with her for a moment from the doorway but Sophia ignored her aunt's words and pushed against his back until the stairs appeared before his eyes and he somehow managed to walk to the landing.

He'd killed his stepbrother. A thousand times he silently reminded himself what he'd done, yet still there was no grief and certainly no regret. There had been no other choice…or had there been? Perhaps if he had known they could have come to an accord.

"It's highly improper," Madame whispered loudly from the bottom of the stairs.

Erik was vaguely aware that Sophia had left the room. Fidelio licked his knuckles until he lifted his hand and placed it atop the dog's head. Karl Turro would have killed Sophia if he'd been allowed to live.

"A girl your age should not be in a grown man's room at this hour."

"I shall leave the door wide open."

"Babies can be created with doors left open."

"I prefer to make mine with the door shut and locked."

"Oh! Your mother is restless in her grave!"

"Aunt Anne, honestly!"

A moment later she stomped up the stairs with a full plate of cookies, a cup of tea, and a jar of honey.

"What you need to do is rest." She untied his cravat, swiftly apologized for her actions, then rebutted her wordsand helped him out of his overcoat.

He shivered as she hung up his coat and then returned to his bedside. At last the world cleared and he stared at her.

"Did you know?" he asked.

She shook her head.

"Did you ever meet her?"

Hesitating, she pursed her lips and nodded. "I knew her, but not well. She was always very kind to me, but I had no idea that she lived here. I'd never seen her before she married Monsieur Turro. It never crossed my mind that she had the same name as Monsieur Turro's second wife, mostly because I only referred to her as Madame Turro."

He blinked at her, then glanced down at his opened shirt. Sophia cleared her throat and fidgeted with her hair.

"Well, now, I suppose you are capable of…well, yes."

"Did you like her?"

Sophia gently placed her hand over his. "She seemed quite pleasant." When he didn't speak, she blurted out, "now, I sincerely believe that you need your rest."

"I could stay awake until the end of time."

"Well, that's simply ridiculous." Her gaze continued to linger at his open shirt collar. "Utterly and completely…um…ridiculous to ever…think…such an…idea."

"I beg your pardon?" He glanced down to see what was wrong and when he stared at her again she had turned away, her cheeks bright red.

She tapped her fingers against his knuckles and sighed. "Yes, well, I should leave if you intend to retire for the night. No use in harassing you."

Despite her words she didn't move. Her hand gently squeezed his and she gave a dainty cough.

"I've grown fond of your harassment," he said under his breath.

"Well, that's for the best since I do seem to enjoy harassing you."

"Sophia!" Madame hollered. "What are you doing up there?"

"I've been ravaged!" she shouted. "Twice, Aunt Anne. Oh, it is simply horrible!"

He shot forward and put his hand over her mouth. "Have you lost your mind?" he snapped.

She nodded, her eyes wide and mischievous.

"Come down here at once!" her aunt ordered.

She pried his hand away and stood. "No," she shouted. "I must see if it is equally terrible the third time!"

"Sophia!" Erik and Anne said in unison.

Fidelio reared up and barked at her, clearly mistaking her shouts for a game. She shooed him down the stairs and Erik heard Madame shriek as a dog the size of a horse galloped toward her.

He smiled at the thought of the old woman scampering to safety.

"Ah, there it is," Sophia said as she reached the doorway.

He stared at her as he stood. "Excuse me?"

"A smile. It's been quite a long time since I've seen one from you." She grinned, gathered her skirts, and disappeared through the doorway.

With a sigh, he closed and locked the door and dressed for bed. The tea she had delivered had gone cold and the cookies were of no interest. His brow furrowed as he plucked the jar of honey from the tray and wondered why she'd included it.

There was no telling what was on her mind. At first she'd seemed gravely concerned, the next she appeared hungry as she stared at his neck.

He opened the jar of honey and dipped his finger inside. As he tasted the sticky sweetness, he envisioned her finger coated in it. She made him lose all sense of the world when she was on his mind at all, but the images honey had conjured threatened to keep him awake all night.

At last he set the jar down and blew out the candle. Tomorrow he would pay the Turro Estate a visit.

-o-

"You shouldn't say such things," Aunt Anne snapped as she followed Sophia into the kitchen.

Her insides were still aglow and nothing could bring her down from the little wisp of cloud she managed to cling to as she descended the stairs.

"I know," she sighed.

"Men will get ideas, which only lead to improper urges."

She glanced at her aunt before she searched the kitchen for something to occupy her mind. The stove was spotless, the counter bare. With nothing to do, she crossed her arms. "He's not like that."

"All men are the same. They're all after one thing."

"No, they're not."

"You'll have him in such a state that he won't be able to control himself."

She whipped around and sighed. "He's—"

"Then what will you do when he's worked into a frenzy and he can't stop himself? You'll thank me one day when he keeps his hands off of you."

Wicked thoughts filled her head, but rather than argue she merely turned away. It would take much more than her words to earn his hands on her, especially after the sharp and dismal turn the evening had taken.

She pushed her hair behind her ear and bit her lip. The image of his cravat tossed aside, overcoat removed, and the first two buttons undone gave her a shiver. He'd clearly had no idea why she stared at him—which she knew was on account of his face. The scars, however, only marred a fraction of the man on the outside. Now, it was a matter of understanding whether the scars on the inside could be healed.

Her heart began to race. What he hid behind his mask was of little concern. Her mind's eye continued to return lower her focus point, to his collar bone and neck. She could still see the sparse covering of chest hair. Should she have dared to wonder how far it extended? No, she told herself, but her decision did little to clear her mind.

"Sophia, are you listening to me?"

"No," she sighed. "Not at all."

Her aunt shook her head. "I know him, child."

Her frustration could no longer be contained. "Do you? Because I thought for certain that you haven't spoken to him in years."

Her aunt backed down. "I know more about him than you do. Please, you must understand that I want what's best for you."

"Then I beg you, Aunt Anne, don't harass him. It pains me to see you badger him."

"Sophia, that's quite enough."

"Yes, it is. I'm tired. Good night, Auntie. Sleep well."