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Back The Empress Save as PDF
Chapters (68)
  1. Cover
  2. Dedication
  3. 1853
  4. PART I
  5. ONE
  6. TWO
  7. THREE
  8. FOUR
  9. FIVE
  10. SIX
  11. SEVEN
  12. EIGHT
  13. NINE
  14. TEN
  15. ELEVEN
  16. TWELVE
  17. THIRTEEN
  18. FOURTEEN
  19. FIFTEEN
  20. SIXTEEN
  21. SEVENTEEN
  22. EIGHTEEN
  23. NINETEEN
  24. TWENTY
  25. TWENTY-ONE
  26. TWENTY-TWO
  27. TWENTY-THREE
  28. TWENTY-FOUR
  29. TWENTY-FIVE
  30. TWENTY-SIX
  31. TWENTY-SEVEN
  32. TWENTY-EIGHT
  33. TWENTY-NINE
  34. THIRTY
  35. THIRTY-ONE
  36. THIRTY-TWO
  37. THIRTY-THREE
  38. THIRTY-FOUR
  39. THIRTY-FIVE
  40. THIRTY-SIX
  41. 1854
  42. PART II
  43. THIRTY-SEVEN
  44. THIRTY-EIGHT
  45. THIRTY-NINE
  46. FORTY
  47. FORTY-ONE
  48. FORTY-TWO
  49. FORTY-THREE
  50. FORTY-FOUR
  51. FORTY-FIVE
  52. FORTY-SIX
  53. FORTY-SEVEN
  54. FORTY-EIGHT
  55. FORTY-NINE
  56. FIFTY
  57. FIFTY-ONE
  58. FIFTY-TWO
  59. FIFTY-THREE
  60. FIFTY-FOUR
  61. FIFTY-FIVE
  62. FIFTY-SIX
  63. FIFTY-SEVEN
  64. FIFTY-EIGHT
  65. FIFTY-NINE
  66. SIXTY
  67. ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
  68. ABOUT THE AUTHOR

He moved his hands up the featherlight edges of her puffed sleeves, felt her hands press against his waist and his body press against hers. He realized then that this was the closest to alone they’d get all day. His heart sped up, this time a fluttering, flying thing instead of an oppressive weight. Perhaps they could sneak away somewhere, find a voluminous curtain, a hidden grove, a dim doorway where hungry lips and exploring hands would go unseen.

As if she were reading his thoughts, Elisabeth tilted her head toward a small, decorative door, camouflaged along one wall, matching its wallpaper, its golden highlights. Her voice was low when she asked, “Where does that door lead?”

He raised his eyebrows in wonder. He knew where the door led:

To quiet. Reassurance. Possibility.

And her lips on his.

FIFTY

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ELISABETH DIDN’T KNOW WHERE THE DOOR LED, BUT SHE knew what she wanted to do. What every inch of her body cried out for. As many minutes as they could find wrapped up in each other, skin to skin, lip to lip, hip to hip.

His mouth opened, soundless, looking from her to the door and back. She smiled, grabbed his hand, and ran toward the door, a portal to their own world. If anyone were watching, it would be a scandal. But the servants were busy with their own tasks, the composer swept up in his own moment.

Franz led her through the door and closed it behind them, the room a dim collection of furniture ready to be trotted out for the next event. A storage closet, really. Not so different from kissing behind curtains.

She stood between piles of chairs, and he stepped to her, their bodies close again. He tipped her face up with a gentle finger on her chin, studying her as he leaned slowly in.

Their first kiss was tentative—all laughter and smiles against each other’s faces. The second: hungrier. Her hands pressed into his hair, moved slowly along the edge of his ears; his hands traced the curves of her. What would it feel like to have his hand there without the corset, the yards of fabric?

He pulled back from the kiss, slowly, traced the contours of her face with his fingers, from cheekbones to chin. She leaned into the sensation like a cat basking in sunshine. Why was this moment so much more real than any other moment of her day? It was like she’d been hearing everything underwater and now she’d emerged to a world full of sharp, distinct sound. Like she’d been straining to see through fog and now the sun had risen—bright—burning it all away. She could almost cry with the relief.

When Franz spoke, it was an echo of her thoughts. “When I’m with you, I feel like anything is possible.” He kissed her on one cheek.