I had a week of fun and now I'm back with a long chapter. I'm crossing my fingers that some of you will be happy about this.
Paladin89
"Goodnight, Mademoiselle, goodnight, Monsieur."
"Are you absolutely certain you don't want to sit with us for a moment longer?" Sabine offered as Gabe lingered in the doorway.
"As much as I would sincerely enjoy speaking with you, I'm afraid that I'm exhausted and would not be one for conversation."
"Very well then." She embraced him lightly and kissed him on the cheek. "Sleep well."
With a weak smile, Gabe retired for the night in the room Sabine had fixed for him. She glanced back at Philippe, who had respectfully turned away.
"If you'll excuse me, Laure always wants a warm glass of milk in the middle of the night."
He nodded once and watched her leave.
Alone, he closed his eyes and yawned, wondering if it was still late night or if had become early morning. It had been so long since he'd last seen her that he hated to excuse himself for the night.
Once she tucked her sister into bed, Sabine returned to the parlor and sat with a blanket over her knees. Philippe had no idea why she needed a blanket. With the doors closed, the warmth from the fire made Philippe constantly wipe his brow.
He studied the portrait of Monsieur Antole Turro and his first wife. They were feeble individuals, both clinging to each other. Even the painting made them look weak.
"How is your tea?" Sabine questioned for the third time since she'd sat down.
He looked at her quickly and offered a close-lipped smile. "It's fine. Thank you."
She craned her neck. "But you haven't had a sip."
"Sabine, listen to me. You shouldn't stay here."
She frowned at him. "We cannot abandon the household, not with Monsieur and Madame Turro out of the country."
Philippe clasped his hands tightly, resisting the urge to scoff. "You cannot stay in a house with no food or heat for long. Think of Laure."
"She's fine. We're together."
"Starving and freezing?"
She pursed her lips. "We've been here so long, Philippe. You must understand…Laure thinks of this as home." Her gaze lowered. "Honestly, we both do."
He inhaled deeply. "Then you do not wish to return to Belmont Manor?"
"We're both very tired. Why don't we discuss this in the morning?"
Philippe leaned back in his chair. He had grown tired of the Turro estate the moment he stepped inside.
"By morning I will return home to take care of Sophia." He paused and waited for her reaction, but she kept her head bowed. "When I assume control over the orchards, I will need someone to stay with my sister."
"I promised Madame Turro that her household would remain in order."
"There is nothing here to keep in order."
"The horses—"
"The two of you cannot care for the horses. Gabe already explained that he must take them tomorrow or the rest of them will starve to death."
"In the morning—"
"You cannot take Monsieur Turro's horses."
Frustrated, he turned away. "Then I suppose the next time I shall pay a visit it will be to dig graves."
"Don't say such terrible things, Philippe."
"There is no choice," he snapped.
She stared at him a moment. "You should concern yourself with your family," she said brusquely.
"And you should concern yourself with yours as well."
"Monsieur Turro knows everyone from Paris and back. If we abandoned his property, how would we ever find employment?"
"The orchards—"
"We could live well for a season and then what?"
"Goodnight." He stood and shoved his handkerchief into his pocket.
-o-
Erik woke in the middle of the night and stared at the ceiling. He heard Fidelio softly snoring near his feet and wondered when the dog had entered his room and jumped on the bed. Sophia must have returned the dog but not bothered to disturb him.
A smile played at the corners of his mouth as he thought of her behavior earlier in the evening. He'd have given almost anything to have seen Madame's expression when Sophia spoke of being ravished. He shouldn't have found it amusing, but it had been far too long since Sophia's playful side had shown.
His fingers grasped the quilt and he sighed, feeling a wave of frustration. With his mind restless, he placed his clasped hands on his chest and listened to the house settle. Sleeping was a lost cause, and after several moments of lying awake, he swung his legs over the side of the bed and walked to the window.
Sophia's windows were dark, her house quiet. He tapped his fingers on the windowsill for a moment as though he expected her to turn up the lamp. It had only been a few hours but he missed her. It felt as though the woman he had first met had returned, as gregarious as ever.
He fumbled through his room and dressed in the dark, carefully avoiding both the dog that curiously wagged his tail and the trunk at the end of the bed he could barely see in the meager moonlight.
He walked quietly down the stairs, his hands touching the hallway walls as he neared the front door. Where he would go he had no idea, but the house suddenly suffocated him and he desperately needed a walk.
Fidelio softly padded after him and he waited, knowing the wolfhound would scratch at the door and wake Madame if he was left behind. The moment the doorknob turned, the massive dog rammed the top of his head into the door and bolted into the night, running directly to Sophia's house.
Erik barely stifled a curse as he gave chase and growled for Fidelio to return to his side at once. A rabbit shot out of the bushes near Sophia's front door and zigzagged through the yard, disappearing under the fence and into the distance. Fidelio, loosing sight of his conquest, sniffed around in circles until he found bread crumbs that someone had discarded.
"You are far more trouble than you are worth," Erik grumbled as he snatched the dog's collar.
Fidelio licked his chin and gave a playful bark. With a pat to the dog's head, he stood and walked toward the orchards.
"To the fence and back," Erik said under his breath.
The night air was cool and damp, and a shiver traveled up his spine. He hadn't bothered to bring his mask or cloak, and by the time he considered the temperature he was too far from home to turn around. Collar turned up, he crossed his arms and took longer strides through the yard. He whistled for Fidelio each time to the dog wandered too far away as they neared the trees.
Suddenly his pace slowed as they reached the orchard. Beyond the trees lay his past, his childhood. He remorsefully gazed at the fence and wondered how Karl Turro had treated his stepmother. He couldn't imagine anyone had ever welcomed Turro's company. The man was a pig-headed brute.
While Fidelio rolled in the grass, Erik leaned against the fence. He crossed his arms tightly and listened to the tree branches creaking in the wind. Goosebumps rose along his flesh and dread welled in his belly as he thought of the shallow grave where he'd buried his stepbrother.
The thought disturbed him, and as much as he attempted to wrap his thoughts around something else, he continued to see Karl's face. He wanted to know what his mother had thought of her new son, if this handsome child was the son she had always desired.
He couldn't remember her ever recoiling from him. Whenever her husband—as Erik was never permitted to call him "Father"—was near, he remembered feeling out of place. But when it was just the two of them in the overseer's house he was merely a child. It wasn't until she'd relinquished him to the gypsies that he'd felt like a monster lurking in the shadows.
"Why?" he muttered to the darkness. "Why did you reconsider?"
He thought of the jewelry box Sophia had found and he shuddered. He didn't care if she never wanted to speak to him again, but he wanted to know why she had given him to the gypsies. If she'd asked him to leave he would have done so quietly. At least he would have liked to imagine that he could have gathered his few belongings and left his home. Abandonment had crushed him.
What would she say if she knew the son she had abandoned had killed her perfect stepson? He attempted to give the face in his memory expression, a voice filled with horror and regret but he couldn't. Even if she hadn't cared for him in the end, he couldn't see her taking pride in Karl Turro. On the inside, at least, Turro was a monster. Surely she must have known.
"You are simply exhausting."
Erik stood suddenly and found himself face to face with Sophia. He blinked and shifted his weight, unsure of whether she was real or part of a dream.
"Excuse me?"
"You and your dog in the yard." She handed him his cloak and crossed her arms. "I was in the middle of a wonderful dream when I heard him rustling in the bushes. Then you yelled at him."
"I didn't yell at him."
"Well, then you spoke loudly to him."
He shrugged. "I didn't want him to wake you."
"You woke me instead. Very thoughtful." She gave him a devilish grin. "I looked out my bedroom window and saw you walking through the yard half-naked."
His eyes narrowed. The damp chill he'd felt penetrating to the bone vanished as their gazes met. He swallowed hard and then glanced away.
"You shouldn't be out here," he mumbled.
"And you should?"
"Men can tolerate the cold better than young ladies."
She giggled softly. "Yes, well, I would have returned home at once, but I doubt I could fall asleep and find my dream."
He grunted, and for a moment they were both silent.
"I haven't remembered my dreams in a long time," he said at last.
"I almost always remember what I dream. Philippe says it's because I always eat something heavy before bed, though I don't see how my stomach dictates my dreams—and I don't eat anything heavy before bed."
"How do you remember your dreams?"
She clasped her hands. "I'm not sure. I don't think about it before I go to sleep or when I wake, it just happens."
He nodded, finding himself appreciative of her company. "What did you dream?"
She looked away and giggled again. "Well, I was in the parlor and you were sitting at the piano."
Her voice trailed away and she covered her mouth. Brow furrowed, he waited several seconds for her to continue but she did little more than sigh to herself.
"And that was it?" He took a step closer and leaned against the fence.
Sophia inched closer until her shoulder touched his. "I was sitting beside you."
He forced himself to nod, wondering what exactly was worth remembering.
"You were…well…close to me." Her body pressed to his, her coy gaze meeting his.
"Like this?" His throat was so dry he could barely speak.
"Almost." She wriggled beneath his arm and settled into his warmth. Inhaling, she rested her head against his chest and closed her eyes. "There. This is better."
He sat very still, his body rigid until he grew accustomed to her sitting close to him. He spread his hand and gently caressed her shoulder, fascinated by the way she snuggled into his chest and sighed.
"I will accompany you tomorrow if you'd like," she offered.
He glanced down and brushed his lips against her soft hair. "To see your brother?" he mumbled.
Her arm reached around his back and gave him a gentle squeeze. "To be with you." She glanced up and smiled. "And to beg Philippe to return home so that he can entertain Aunt Anne, which I know he's simply dying to do."
"She loves you," he said.
Sophia lifted her head. "She has a strange way of showing her affection sometimes. I don't know what has come over her."
"It's me."
Her eyes narrowed. "I don't understand."
"Neither do I." His hands balled into fists and his jaw tightened. "I don't know why she would employ you here on my behalf. She must have known, must have feared—"
"Feared what?"
He searched her face, studied her parted lips and innocent eyes. The heat of her soft body was far too much to tolerate and he leaned closer, consumed by her presence. He wanted to kiss her on the mouth, but at the last moment he lifted his chin and kissed her forehead. Disappointed, he closed his eyes and released a soft sigh.
"Yes, I do suppose she would fear that you'd kiss my forehead," Sophia said with a nervous laugh. She glanced up, her gaze trained on his lips. "And I think she might go into hysterics now."
Before he could question her, she leaned into his chest and kissed him full on the lips.
"She'd be furious," he murmured.
He felt her smile as he kissed her back.