He drew the stool to Anne’s knees, and leaned his weight against her. “You do love and trust me don’t you, dearest?”
“Of course. Why not?” She used a light tone purposely. Her fatigue would permit of no other.
“I’ve never looked at any other woman but you, Anne. I never even notice women on the street. In my audiences they are just so many blank discs that come to life under my music, and then melt back again into the common mass. No, I shall never be a woman-chasing man. You and my music and the poor little child whom between us, we’re going to make a happy little child, will more than fill my life.”
His enraptured expression struck Anne with a pang. Poor Alexis, there was so much more good in him than he had ever been given credit for. That he was neither light nor sensual she had surmised from the beginning. But even she had never plumbed the depths of nobility that lay concealed beneath the child-like and difficult temperament. Perhaps, after all, the future might turn out to be less dark than she feared. She threw her arms about his shoulders.
“We’re going to be happy, aren’t we?” Her voice unconsciously pleaded.
Eyes closed, he snuggled against her.
“Happy? I shall be exultant as a god. As for you, you’re such an angel that my joy may be enough for you! But I shall try, how I shall try to make you happy, too. How proud I shall be of my wife. When people see you sitting in a box at my concerts, they will ask who is that radiant creature? And the answer will be ‘Mme. Alexis Petrovskey.’ ‘Is she not wonderful?’ Men will go mad over you. They will want to fight duels over you with me. But I shall laugh in their faces. For you will be mine.”
“Silly boy!” Her hand caressed his shoulder.
“In another six weeks we will be in Paris together. Anne and music and Paris! I don’t dare think of it! I’m afraid something will happen, that I’ll burst of joy perhaps first!”
“You ought to be able to count on lasting through the next few weeks without asking too much of the gods,” laughed Anne.