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Paladin106

The night was cool and crisp, still Erik took his time escorting Sophia back to her home. He used each stolen moment to run his fingers the length of her spine and brush his palm over her shoulder.

"You should stay with Citrine tonight," he said, though he wanted to tell her to stay with him. "It will ease Madame's worries."

"I'll be fine." He wasn't convinced, but she patted his hand and smiled. "If I were to stay with Citrine I'd keep her up half the night."

He nodded, secretly wanting her to keep him up half the night—or the entire night. Nothing sounded more appealing to him than an entire night spent in her arms, followed by a content morning of watching the sun rise. Already his imagination painted a vivid picture of her hair fanned out on his pillow and her chest rising and falling with each gentle breath. How beautiful she would look with the sun on her face, adding a hint of rouge to her alabaster complexion.

"Are you tired?" Sophia questioned.

"No," he answered quickly. Far too quickly, as though he anticipated much more than was actually offered—which he realized too late was nothing. She'd only asked a question, not invited him in, and even if she had there was nothing to anticipate.

"You seem…distant."

"Distant?"

"Either you're tired or you're not listening."

He scratched his face beneath his eye to bide his time, since now there was no correct answer. Despite very little experience with women he sensed he shouldn't tell her he hadn't been listening.

"Perhaps I am a bit tired."

"Me, too. I suppose this is good night then."

"Soon," he murmured, his gaze trained on her parted lips. He wanted to kiss her again, to wrap his arms around her and hold her close. "Soon, but not quite yet."

Sophia chuckled. "I think we've both had a bit too much of each other, Monsieur."

She was wrong, but he didn't say a word. He decided not to waste his breath to try to convince her otherwise. Instead, he pressed his hand to the small of her back and smiled before gently kissing her lips one last time. He couldn't imagine ever kissing another woman, ever protecting and loving another human being, as much as he cared for her. Now, beneath the moonlight and inky shadows, he knew without a doubt he could never have enough of her. Each kiss, each embrace led to the need for more touching, more tender loving.

"Good night," he said against her soft, welcoming lips.

She pressed her palm against his chest and rubbed ever so gently, which was enough to gain the upper hand and leave him speechless. Judging by the look in her eye, she realized what she did to him, how she stirred him in ways he never imagined. But also by the gleam in her eyes he knew he'd awakened her as well, though he wasn't quite sure if it was satisfying or merely frustrating to her.

"Good night."

With that she was gone and he was left wanting. Still he smiled and stared at the door, barely able to comprehend the past twenty-four hours. Not only did he have a past slowly coming together, but he also had a future. At last he felt somewhat whole and worthy—and human.

As he returned home, he thought continuously about what she'd said regarding the wedding night. There was a spring in his step as an unbidden image passed through his mind of Sophia with her dark hair draped by a stark white veil, eyes the shade of an evergreen, lips pink as juicy strawberries.

"I'll go home and write a sonnet," he chided himself.

It did nothing to remove the thoughts of Sophia turned suitor to fiancé, to wife. But in the same moment where he found hope, he also found a wall of doubt. Not long ago he'd thought of another woman as the perfect little wife. He didn't want to think of Sophia in terms of the woman he loved or the woman he loved now, because there was no one else.

This changed his course, and instead of returning home he walked past the front door, around the side of the manor, and down a muddy path toward the orchard. In seeing him pass by, Citrine released Fidelio, who whined and sprinted through the yard until he was happily at his master's side.

They walked up a path consisting of more mud than solid ground. Even in the darkness he could see the trees swelling with new buds which would give way to fragrant blossoms. Again he saw Sophia in his mind's eye, this time with a pale pink flower tucked behind her ear, or a bracelet of dried flowers on her wrist.

He looked down at the wolfhound, who was gazing up at him.

"I love her, Fidelio," he said.

He could have sworn the hound smiled back at him and in his own canine way replied, "I know."

-o-

"I will not stay up half the night with you," Sabine said rather sharply as she bustled around the drawing room and straightened everything she could find.

Philippe stood behind her with his arms at his side as he made every effort to keep from balling his hands into fists. He failed miserably after only a few moments. Consequently he also failed to keep his jaw from tensing.

"I'm here to help," Philippe offered.

"Help who?"

"Monsieur and Madame Turro," he answered carefully, knowing if he said he was here to assist her she would probably dismiss him at once.

"Then you should see to Monsieur Turro at once. He would be glad for it."

"For what?"

"Your company. You know he's always thought of you like his son…the son he never quite had."

"The successful son he never had?" he asked dryly.

"Hush. The walls here are thin." She turned away and straightened her skirt, then her hair. The slight touch of fingers to the pile of hair on her head convinced him it was for his sake. Perhaps she didn't want him there, but if they were going to be in the same room she'd look good in his presence.

"You cannot honestly believe I'm serious."

"Serious about what?" She trained her gaze on some of the ugliest decorative bowls Philippe had ever seen. They did, however, match an otherwise completely gaudy red and gold accented room.

"About my success. Unless one considers it a rise in status to go from owning a winery to being a composer's butler."

"Are you complaining to the lady of the house's maid?"

He shifted his weight. "I'm not complaining, merely stating that I'm not the successful man you think I am."

A chuckle escaped. "Well, forgive me for mistaking you as the emperor of France."

"Besides, when I look at you I don't think of you as a maid."

"A servant, then? One without even a title in the house."

"No," he snapped, tired of these games. He wanted a real conversation, one that took place in comfortable chairs with a fireplace at their disposal and a service cart not far away.

"What do you really want, Philippe? To raise another man's child as your own? To take on yet another burden? Think about it, Philippe, if only for a moment. I am not your sole burden."

"You're not a burden to me."

"No, I can care for myself easily enough, but with my life comes my sister's life and my child's. That is my family. Already you have a sister to care for."

"She's a grown woman." He swallowed, barely able to believe his own statement, regardless of whether or not it was true. He'd have to think about that later on. "Look at me when I speak to you."

She did as he requested and folded her hands behind her back. Lips pursed, she waited for him to speak.

"I think of you as a friend because that's what we were in the past, Sabine. Perhaps they are foolish thoughts, but I want to see you as you were last year, when you worked for Belmont Estate."

"I'm not what I used to be," she said in a half-voice.

He knew precisely what she meant and it made his gut tighten. Parts of her had been stolen away not only physically, but emotionally. For the first time he looked at her, really looked at her, and barely recognized her face.

But he recognized enough.

Gently, as though he did not wish to intrude, he stepped forward and offered his hand. She stared at it briefly, tears pooling in her eyes.

"Don't do this to yourself," she whispered.

"You don't need to worry about me."

"Yes, I do, because you never worry about yourself."

He grasped her wrist and pulled her closer. She was exhausted, run ragged from her duties in the household and her duty of caring for her little sister. If he could help it, she would rest more and tend to her own needs. "My only concern is you."

She settled in his grasp, placed her head upon his chest, and muffled the sobs that were accompanied hot, wet tears. She was finally able to cry.