Release Date: February 14, 2014
Genre: Historical Romance
Publisher: Black Lion Publishing
The Frost of Springtime
On a cold Parisian night, Vicomte Aleksender de Lefèvre forges an everlasting bond with a broken girl during her darkest hour, rescuing her from a life of abuse and misery. Tormented by his own demons, he finds his first bit of solace in sheltering little Sofia Rose.
But when Aleksender is drawn away by the Franco-Prussian war, the seasons pass. And in that long year, Sofia matures into a stunning young woman—a dancer with an understanding of devotion and redemption far surpassing her age.
Alongside his closest friend, Aleksender returns home to find that “home” is gone—replaced by revolution, bloodshed, betrayal—and a love always out of reach. Scarred inside and out, he’s thrust into a world of sensuality and violence—a world in which all his hours have now grown dark, and where only Sofia might bring an end to the winter in his heart.
Inspired by the 1871 Paris Commune, The Frost of Springtime is a poignant tale of revolution, redemption, and the healing power of love.
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Sofia saw the memories buried within his eyes. Gunshots.
Screams. Rolling cannons and the faded cries of despair. They lodged inside
Aleksender, battling for his soul.
Sofia rose from the ground and tentatively crouched behind
him. Remaining silent, her hands sunk below the material of his dress shirt and
encouraged him with gentle caresses.
“Disease and death
were everywhere. Men with boils and rashes the size of saucers. Anyway, we
almost managed to escape. It was a good mile away that we were spotted. They
were corrupt soldiers, nothing but hungry dogs with a taste for blood-lust. We
were tied at the wrists and ankles, crammed inside a tent. Whether it was days
or weeks, I cannot say.” Scoffing under his breath, he spat, “The fools
demanded answers. They demanded our plans. Strategies. We refused each time.
Even so none of us knew anything.”
“Oh, Alek. Why didn’t
you tell them? To think you could have avoided so much pain.”
His shoulders lifted
into a dry shrug. “I suppose we took a morbid delight in their frustration.”
His voice was icy, harsh and void of all emotion. “And besides—it was the
prospect of whipping information from our skin that kept us alive. But we were
eventually returned to the camp. Bloodied, battered and burned—but alive.”
Aleksender passed fingertips through his hairline. “Till this day, I have no
idea what changed their minds …” Aleksender sighed and gave an afterthought,
“Word had spread of their rather unorthodox methods, so to speak. According to
rumor, they’d paid dearly.”
“I pray they burn in
hell,” Sofia gasped. “Every last one of them!”
Aleksender laughed,
amused by her goodhearted blasphemy. “Ah, Sofia, ma chérie. You do wonders for
me.” And then a sudden thought came to his mind. “Christophe was there with
me.”
“In the tents?” Sofia
murmured, her heart reaching out to both heroes.
Aleksender merely nodded.
Although she’d never
had the pleasure of meeting Monsieur Cleef, his name inspired a strange twinge
of nostalgia inside her gut. Aleksender had often spoken of his dear friend—a
rather admirable man of big ideas and too little restraint. From what she knew
of the roguish skirt-chaser, she’d always admired him very much.
“Such wonderfully
brave men,” she crooned, caressing one of many scars. “You have a soldier’s
heart.”
Cloaked beneath the
darkness, Sofia’s fingertips moved over his back in hypnotic motions, not
leaving an inch of him unloved. “Do they pain you much?”
“No,” he hoarsely
answered, “they are no bother.” His body trembled within her arms. “Not any
longer.”
Between tentative
kisses and muffled sniffles, she whispered, “To think of the pain you endured.
The cruelty—your suffering.”
Aligning their two
bodies, Aleksender cradled Sofia’s face between his palms and sweetly stroked
her skin. Sofia’s toes curled against the barrier of her slippers. It was
intoxicating. By far the sweetest moment in her nineteen years of life. With a
last kiss, he whispered into her mouth, “Pain is in the mind. And, in my mind,
ma chérie … I was with you.”
Sofia saw the memories buried within his eyes. Gunshots.
Screams. Rolling cannons and the faded cries of despair. They lodged inside
Aleksender, battling for his soul.
Sofia rose from the ground and tentatively crouched behind
him. Remaining silent, her hands sunk below the material of his dress shirt and
encouraged him with gentle caresses.
“Disease and death
were everywhere. Men with boils and rashes the size of saucers. Anyway, we
almost managed to escape. It was a good mile away that we were spotted. They
were corrupt soldiers, nothing but hungry dogs with a taste for blood-lust. We
were tied at the wrists and ankles, crammed inside a tent. Whether it was days
or weeks, I cannot say.” Scoffing under his breath, he spat, “The fools
demanded answers. They demanded our plans. Strategies. We refused each time.
Even so none of us knew anything.”
“Oh, Alek. Why didn’t
you tell them? To think you could have avoided so much pain.”
His shoulders lifted
into a dry shrug. “I suppose we took a morbid delight in their frustration.”
His voice was icy, harsh and void of all emotion. “And besides—it was the
prospect of whipping information from our skin that kept us alive. But we were
eventually returned to the camp. Bloodied, battered and burned—but alive.”
Aleksender passed fingertips through his hairline. “Till this day, I have no
idea what changed their minds …” Aleksender sighed and gave an afterthought,
“Word had spread of their rather unorthodox methods, so to speak. According to
rumor, they’d paid dearly.”
“I pray they burn in
hell,” Sofia gasped. “Every last one of them!”
Aleksender laughed,
amused by her goodhearted blasphemy. “Ah, Sofia, ma chérie. You do wonders for
me.” And then a sudden thought came to his mind. “Christophe was there with
me.”
“In the tents?” Sofia
murmured, her heart reaching out to both heroes.
Aleksender merely nodded.
Although she’d never
had the pleasure of meeting Monsieur Cleef, his name inspired a strange twinge
of nostalgia inside her gut. Aleksender had often spoken of his dear friend—a
rather admirable man of big ideas and too little restraint. From what she knew
of the roguish skirt-chaser, she’d always admired him very much.
“Such wonderfully
brave men,” she crooned, caressing one of many scars. “You have a soldier’s
heart.”
Cloaked beneath the
darkness, Sofia’s fingertips moved over his back in hypnotic motions, not
leaving an inch of him unloved. “Do they pain you much?”
“No,” he hoarsely
answered, “they are no bother.” His body trembled within her arms. “Not any
longer.”
Between tentative
kisses and muffled sniffles, she whispered, “To think of the pain you endured.
The cruelty—your suffering.”
Aligning their two
bodies, Aleksender cradled Sofia’s face between his palms and sweetly stroked
her skin. Sofia’s toes curled against the barrier of her slippers. It was
intoxicating. By far the sweetest moment in her nineteen years of life. With a
last kiss, he whispered into her mouth, “Pain is in the mind. And, in my mind,
ma chérie … I was with you.”
Author Bio
Imagining stories and characters has been Rachel’s passion for longer than she can remember. Before learning how to read or write, she would dictate stories while her mom would jot them down for her. She has a special affinity for the tortured hero and unconventional romances. Whether sculpting the protagonist or antagonist, she always ensures that every character is given a soul.
Rachel strives to intricately blend elements of romance, suspense, and horror. Some common themes her stories never stray too far from: forbidden romance, soul mates, the power of love to redeem, mend all wounds, and triumph over darkness. Her dream is to move readers and leave an emotional impact through her words.
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