a canticle, in prelude – pt. 2

I smiled at the brazen way she addressed me; the attitude she summoned while her posture became that much more rigid. Had she appeared in her bedclothes with robes thrown atop her slender curves, I might have believed her to be irritated with my presence. I would have apologized and walked back to my meager room several miles away, opting to waste away the hours depleting paints I could not afford to replace.

She did not come clothed to chase off a midnight intruder, though. Her dress, while not as ornamental as the one she wore for her sitting, was still a proper woman’s gown, designed for appearances. Loose-flowing curls of dark hair spilled all over her shoulders and cascaded down both front and back. “Bonsoir, ma chère,” I said, words flowing in a daze, eyes drinking from the sight before them. Still, I managed to summon a smile. “I didn’t expect to see you out here.”

“Then why did you come? Hmm?” Her words shot like fire; her foot tapping with impatience. “Peintre, don’t treat me like I’m stupid. You were looking for me again, just like you were last ni … .”

She gasped and caught her words, placing one hand over her mouth. I laughed. “Ah,mademoiselle, so that was you hier soir! I knew I saw candlelight.”

When she stood even straighter, her cheeks growing flushed in the moonlight, I summoned the boldness to drift closer to her. Placing my hand on the gate beside her, I reclined against it and looked her in the eyes. My voice lowered to a whisper. “Why did you come out, ma chère?”

She closed her eyes, turning her head away. “Je ne suis pas ta chère.”

“Non,” I said leaning closer to her. My voice lowered to a whisper. “Not yet. But I’m an optimist.”

The proximity of her body and mine made it hard to ignore when I continued staring at her, as though willing her to look at me again. Just as I opened my mouth to speak once more, I saw her eyes flutter open and her chin raise to point her face up at me again. The fires of wrath in her gaze cooled to a look of intrigue.

I smiled, lost somewhere between temptation and prudence, wondering what kind of cad she would think I was if I kissed her right then and there. Her lips looked warm and inviting as she spoke, her tone of voice betraying her words. “You have a lot of nerve for a commoner. Assuming you have a right to place a claim on me.”

“I’m imprudent and persistent.” I winked. “And a little stubborn. You might not want to take my hand and join me on a walk.”

Extending my hand to her, I watched as she looked down and caught her breath. I left the invitation poised before her as I finished, “Then again, maybe you might. I promise you la Seinewill not disappoint. La lune is still very bright and the sky is clear. I believe I saw a few stars twinkling in anticipation of you coming outside. Surely your father cannot contend against la lune et les étoiles if they desire to see you.”

Her jade-colored eyes raised to meet mine. Soft, silken skin settled into my hand, her fingers caressing my palm in a tentative manner as my grip closed around her. I coaxed her away from the gates, starting to walk for the street. “Come with me, ma chère. You can tell me why you hesitated to speak to me last night.”

She took her hand back as we commenced our stroll. Mine drifted to my side while her arms folded loose across her chest, her body not certain yet how to relax. She stole one last glance at the estate before looking toward the horizon. “I didn’t want to talk to you.” The words sharp, she nodded to herself. “You were making such commotion with your humming that I came to see what all the fuss was about. When I saw it was you, I simply went back inside.”

“Your lies are as pretty as your smile.”

At once, she stopped walking, facing me with jaw clenched and cheeks flushed. “How dare you call me a liar!?”

I laughed. “Ma belle chère, you came outside. If you saw me here last night, then why would you come outside again tonight unless you really wanted to talk to … .”

She did not allow me to finish. With one swift movement, she turned and stormed back in the direction of the gates. “Chère!” I yelled, jogging after her. “Attends un peu, amour.”

“I am not your amour,” she said through gritted teeth.

I grabbed her shoulder, both stopping her and giving myself the chance to circle around to her front. “Please,” I said, looking her in the eyes. I sighed. “Je suis désolé. Le peintre pavre forgot his place. Don’t make la Seine suffer because of my foolish mouth.”

When she huffed and looked away, I relaxed a little. Her eyes remained set on the ground for a few moments until her gaze rose to meet mine, her eyes narrowing. I didn’t know what she meant to do until she turned back in the direction we were headed, her footsteps swift. Apathetic over whether or not I could keep up with her. I jogged after her. At least she was walking away from her parents’ estate.

Within seconds, we strolled side-by-side again and although she refused to look at me at first, it slipped her mind in time that I had vexed her.

A few short minutes later, we were speaking once more.

I drifted into safer conversation. I asked about her estate and her childhood, listening with my arms crossed behind my back in a pensive manner as a story floated past her lips. She both loved her life as an aristocrat and loathed it; found freedom in it and absolute isolation, at the same time. All of the things expected of her. The suitors that came around and her father’s intentions to secure a better position through marrying her off to the best noble. It carried us all the way to the river, where we paused to admire the view.

The scene one I often wished I had the liberty to paint, it did not disappoint her. The glow of the moon shimmered on the waters of the Seine, the ripples disrupting the perfect reflection of celestial harmony above us. Stars placed in the heavens, arranged by the master artist. They too shone their light onto the water.

I looked at her in time to see her mouth agape with wonder.

It provoked a smile. I drifted closer to her, my hands still behind my back, but my fingers itching to touch her shoulder and draw her close to me. She looked at me as if aware of my observation, but shifted her focus back to the water. “C’est magnifique,” she whispered.

“Oui, très beau.” I nodded. Raising an eyebrow, I smirked. “You’ve lived in Paris this long without seeing this? You never escape?”

“Non. I have seen la Seine, but not like this.” She shook her head and sighed. “Je ne sais pas, Julien. Out here, I have nothing.”

Walking past her, I jogged to the bank and sat by the edge. Pivoting to face her, I pointed at the water. “You have this, chère.”

“La Seine?” She furrowed her brow at me.

I laughed. “Oui. La Seine … la lune, les étoiles. La Paris!” I patted the ground beside me. “You have the ground and the air, ma belle. The night and the world around you. You have a life. Une grande vie. You can choose to do anything with it.”

She shook her head. Her feet led her closer to where I sat as if on instinct. “Non, Peintre. Not in Paris, I can’t. The King’s court knows mon père. If I tried to go anywhere, they would arrest me and take me back.” She sat beside me and sighed, her eyes almost glassy with melancholy as they remained fixed on the water.

“C’est une belle nuit,” she said, her voice soft. A wave of emotion forced her to swallow against it, and directed her eyes toward mine.

I stared at her, frowning. In retrospect, I cannot recall when I drifted close to her, I only knew those loose, raven-colored curls touched my hand when it brushed against her cheek. “Just as soft as I imagined when I painted you,” I said. My eyes studied her face. “As I saw you blush, I thought, ‘Mon Dieu, her skin must be like silk.’ Yours was the most difficult portrait I have ever finished.”

“Pouquoi, Julien?” she asked, in an octave just above a whisper.

I leaned inward. “Because you tempt me, amour.”

“How do I tempt you?” Her body leaned closer to mine.

I smiled. “I spent so much time wanting to do this.”

Her eyes shut to slits as mine did the same. I felt her breath hit my face and when our lips touched, my lids shut all the way, the tentative caress more than I dared hope she would permit me. The kiss did not remain a half-lived union, though. As my palm shifted downward, fingers fanned out from cheek bone to neck, her mouth opened to accept me in. I captured a far deeper embrace. La belle princesse kissed me back and temptation never ached at me so much as it did in that moment.

Parting was painful, but necessary. She backed away, her eyes opening with mine, one stare intersecting with the other in the same drunken manner. “I need to return home,” she whispered.

“Stay for a few moments longer,” I said. “And I will walk you back to ta maison. D’accord, chérie?”

She nodded and said nothing more. Together, we sat by the bank of the Seine, my hand finally resting on her shoulder and her body leaning against mine. Sides touching, neither of us spoke for several minutes until we rose to our feet and departed.

With a longing, plaintive gaze, I watched her sneak back into the estate and cross the grounds as inconspicuous as possible. She stopped shy of the lavish home, though. The moonlight caused her eyes to shimmer like jewels and I smiled while thinking of her taste still on my lips.

“Don’t worry, chérie amour, I will be back.” I nodded to her fading figure. “I would sooner die than to let you go.”

Story Beginning | Part Three

~ by peterdawes on April 22, 2009.