by Colette Gale
“Christine? Have you seen Christine?” Erik asked the moment he was in the house, even speaking over Maude's explanation.
“I have seen her and spoken with her. She is well. Your hands are freezing, Erik, and you look as if you are ready to collapse. Sit.” Maude pushed him toward a small pallet in the tiny one-room building.
When she would have gone to the fireplace, Erik stopped her. “No. The smoke will alert them that this house isn’t empty; I don’t need a fire. Now tell me of Christine.” He knew he didn’t want to hear it, but he must.
“She is not injured or hurt in any way,” Maude told him, reaching under her cloak. “Here. Eat something, you foolish man. And here is some wine too. You’ll be no good for her if you’re weak from hunger. Why did you not take anything with you when you left Paris?”
She produced a packet of cheese and beef, wrapped in cloth, and then a hunk of bread along with a small bottle of wine.
“Thank you for meeting me,” he told her, forcing his attention to the matter at hand now that he knew Christine was uninjured. He would suffer through the details later. “You have had no problems?”
“Indeed, no. All has gone smoothly. The morning after the fire, I left Paris as we’d planned, and came here to the town. I sent word to Rose and she met me, then brought me back to recommend me as an upstairs maid.”
“You did not tell her why,” Erik said.
“No, no, she knows only that the Opera House burned, and that I was in need of a position, at least for a time.”
“Other than Rose, no one knows who you are?”
“Not at all. I have been very discreet and quite busy,” she added, looking at her red hands with obvious annoyance. “I’m not used to such work. But, Erik, we will have to move quickly. Philippe will not be held at bay by his brother for much longer.”
“Raoul has been protecting Christine?” A mixture of relief and jealousy poured through him. Christine with Raoul was hardly a better image to dwell on than Christine with Philippe; although with Raoul, she was at least likely to remain free of scars.
But what else might she give to him, the Vicomte de Chagny? Her heart? What would become of her love for Erik now that she was away from the Opera House and her poor accommodations, now that she was housed in the luxurious château with all of her wants and needs attended to…maids, clothing, all the food she could wish for, a chamber to herself, jewels…a man who could walk the streets in the day, and escort her to parties and soirees and to the shops in Paris…a man who did not let fear make him cower in the darkness for a decade?
The cheese crumbled in his fingers, scattering on the floor before him. It would be much easier for Christine to choose a man of light. Better for her. What sort of future could she have with a man who remained in the dark?
“Stop it, Erik,” Maude snapped as though reading his mind. “You have come too far to give it up now. I vow to you, she is the stronger of the two of you at this moment—much to my surprise. I thought she would be wailing in the corner, frightened like a little kitten—but no, she is determined to do what she must until you can come for her. She truly loves you.”
Maude was right, of course, and he was annoyed with his momentary lapse. “I know she does,” he said quietly, suddenly desperate for Christine. Erik forced himself to take a bite of cheese. It tasted little better than paper, but it was sustenance. And he trusted Maude like he trusted no one else, for she’d been as much of a mother as he’d had since his own had died nearly fifteen years ago.
It was Maude who’d helped him find sanctuary in the depths of the Opera House when he’d finally had to get away from the Chagnys. She had been against his love for Christine from the beginning; if she was supporting it now, it was the right thing.
Maude touched his hand; her fingers were warm on his skin. “You’ve been so used to hiding from the comte and his threats that it’s no wonder you hesitate.”
“But it has been ten years since he forced me into hiding—ten years of living underground because of something I didn’t do. The images of the bodies of those three women—no, girls, for they could not have been more than fifteen—have never left my mind. It was abominable what he did to them.”
“What proof does the comte claim to have that would implicate you for those crimes?”
Erik shrugged, taking another bite of the cheese. “I have not seen it, of course, but who would believe the innocence of a hideous monster over the wealth and power of a Chagny?” he said angrily. “I’ve wondered every day whether I should step out into the world and take my chances, try to take back even the mean life that I had and at least be able to call it my own, instead of cowering in the darkness because of my wicked half brother. I think of these years I’ve lost because of my fear of him and his wealth and power and I berate myself for my weakness.”
Maude closed her fingers around his wrist, her touch so comforting to a man who’d had little affection. “Strong in mind and heart, so strong in so many ways, you are, Erik…but one great weakness, one thing you haven’t been willing to risk—your freedom, or going back to a life of ridicule, and loss of yourself. That’s not so surprising, nor is it a great failing. Who among us would not do what we must to keep our persons free?
“You were young, then, remember, Erik? You could not have been more than seventeen, perhaps eighteen, when you had to take refuge. And what was your life like before then? Full of derision and pain…it’s no wonder you made the choice you did. No wonder.”
“Even now, when the thing I love more than anything is at risk, I hide. I scuttle in corners like a beetle and rely on you to bring me news, and on you to speak to her, to soothe her.”
Maude looked at him, an unfamiliar glint in her eyes. “Erik. Do you need me to tell you that you are doing what you can? No, I don’t think so,” she said, shaking her head. “I help you because I love you, and because I want you to have something right in your life, after all the years of anguish. When the time is right for you to come out of the darkness and fully into the light, you’ll do it.”
He had finished the cheese and now took a drink of wine to soothe his suddenly tight throat. No one had ever spoken to him with such kindness or confidence. “Thank you,” he said, with a short nod. Then he threw off the mantle of doubt and darkness that had come over him, and put his agile mind to work.
“I know all of the ways to enter the château, but I’m certain my brother will be expecting that,” he said. “He’ll be watching for me. We’ll have to find some way to get Christine out. Tell me…does she spend most of her time…alone? In her chamber? Or…” He took another drink of wine, his fingers tight on the smooth glass bottle.
“She dined with the Chagny brothers and the comtesse last evening, but today she has spent much time in her chamber, alone. Although I do not expect that will last for long, for as I said, Philippe is becoming impatient.”
“The moment Raoul’s back is turned, he will do what he wishes.” Erik bit into the last of the bread. “Christine must escape before then…There must be a time when Philippe will be busy or otherwise distracted from her presence.”
“I heard mention that he expects visitors tomorrow. Perhaps when he is busy meeting with them—”
Erik was already nodding. “Yes, yes. That will be a good time. Philippe will make the grand gesture; he and Delia will dine with them…but what of Raoul? If he is there, Christine will likely be on his arm at the dinner table.”
“Raoul must return to Paris tomorrow morning, something related to his enlistment and upcoming voyage.”
Which meant that Christine would be without her protector. “Then we must do it tomorrow,” Erik said. “Do you know when the guests are to arrive?”
She was glancing out the window. “Late in the morning, I hear. The comte directed the staff to prepare a large dinner for them.”
Erik nodded. “Good. Raoul will be gone and that will make it easier. I’ll need you to make a distraction that will call the guards’ att
ention away from her escape—a fire in the barn would do it. The horses will be out to pasture, but the fire will be a threat nevertheless.”
“I can attend to that,” Maude agreed.
Cesar nickered nervously, his ears cocked and flickering, his feet prancing in the small cottage. Erik reached to pat him on the haunches. “Easy, boy,” he murmured, wondering if he’d sensed a wolf. “Take care on your return to the château; there have always been wolves about, and they have little fear.”
“I will indeed.”
He turned his mind back to the details. “If the fire is begun in the stable during dinner, that will pull Philippe from his meal and his guests. Start it a quarter hour before the meal is to be served, back in the upper loft. By the time it’s noticed, it will be a full-fledged blaze. Have Christine slip from her room through the passageway I told you of, and she can leave the estate on the south side, farthest from the barn. Cesar and I will be waiting there for her.”
“I’ll do that.” Maude took his face in her hands, something she’d never done. Her fingers were cool on his bare skin and, on the other side, pressed the leather of his mask into his nerveless face. “Have a care, Erik.”
He nodded, and allowed her to draw him into an embrace. “Thank you, Maude. Thank you for all you’ve done.”
At the door of the cottage, he stopped her, listening. The faint rustle he thought he’d heard wasn’t repeated, and after a long moment of watching and waiting in silence, and noting that Cesar remained calm, he said, “Go now and beware the wolves.”
“Au revoir, Erik,” she said. And she was gone.
TWENTY-ONE
* * *
"Christine.”
The sound of her name wavered through the lull of sleep, and Christine opened her eyes, her heart pounding when she realized someone was in the dark bedchamber with her. It was a frightening moment before she ascertained that it wasn’t Philippe, or even Raoul. She smelled lilies.
“Madame?” Her voice was low by design and from sleep, but before she could say another syllable, a hand was pressed over her lips.
“It is I, oui…Now listen closely. I have seen Erik—this night, in the village.” The hand tightened when Christine would have spoken to demand how he was, and where he was, and every little detail she craved. “Hush! He is well, and nearby. We have planned for you to escape tomorrow.”
“Tomorrow?” Her voice was crushed by the hand, but Christine's lips formed the word in delight, nevertheless.
“While the comte is visiting with his guests, there will be a fire in the stable. As all rush to battle it, you will go through the door through which I have come, there in the closet, and make your way to safety.”
Christine pulled the woman’s hand from her mouth to whisper, “You will not come with me?”
“I cannot…I dare not be complicit, in the event that I am still needed within these walls after. Erik will be waiting for you on the far side of the château, away from the fire. You shall flee to safety. Do you understand?”
Christine nodded, the hand holding her mouth easing away.
“Now, I shall tell you the path you must take for your escape.” Madame’s voice remained low and smooth as she described the route Christine would take through the secret passageways and out near the servants’ entrance, which was on the opposite side of the château from the stables.
“If there is a secret way out, why can I not go now?” Christine whispered, pulling herself half-upright.
“The château is guarded on all sides because the comte expects Erik to come for you. That is why tomorrow, when the stable is burning and the comte is busy with his guests, will be the best time for you to escape unnoticed. The guards will be busy with the fire, and you will slip from the small entrance near the side.”
Christine nodded, but she had another concern. “But if the château is guarded, how did you come to meet with Erik? Did the guards not stop you?”
Madame’s low laugh was rough. “They have no interest in the comings and goings of a servant. It is you, or Erik, that they watch for. And, indeed, there are enough servants who venture into town in the evening to have a drink at the inn that it is no cause for speculation.”
“And so tomorrow, I shall leave this room through the secret passageway.” Christine smiled in the dark. Tonight will have been the last night she must hope that Philippe would be denied his obvious desire. Tomorrow, she would have no more worries of it. She would be with Erik.
“Indeed, and none will know you are missing until much later. And then you and Erik will leave, and start a new life somewhere where his face will not give cause for horror or hatred or accusation.”
“Thank you, madame,” Christine said, squeezing the woman’s hands. “Thank you.”
The ballet mistress slipped from the room soon after, and Christine rolled to her side in the large bed.
Tomorrow. Tomorrow she would be with Erik again, and away from this house of eroticism and salaciousness and danger.
~*~
Sunlight streamed through the window, and Raoul was standing, tall and gilt-haired, next to her bed when Christine opened her eyesagain.
“Raoul,” she gasped, awakened from a lush dream with a raven-haired man, a very different man from the composed, elegant one who looked down at her.
“Good morning, Christine,” he murmured, his eyes glinting with an expression she’d become much too familiar with. “How lovely you look, all tumble-haired and rumpled in your bedclothes. But there is dark under your eyes, mon ange. Have you not slept well in your soft, large bed?”
“The bed is very comfortable, Raoul,” she replied, looking up at him and trying to recall, trying to find, the kind young man she’d befriended those years ago…the one who’d dashed into the surf for her scarf. Not the one who looked at her as though he wished to devour her completely without taking a breath. Not the one who’d brought her to this place against her wishes.
Not the one who’d forced her to choose captivity to save her lover.
He sat, and his slender weight rocked her ever so slightly toward him; then his fingers moved, sliding up along the bare arm that she’d curved, fist toward her throat, on top of the bedding. The dream of Erik had left her aroused, and wanting, and her heart was still slamming from being pulled so abruptly from that sensual world to this…this room that crackled with apprehension and uncertainty.
He positioned a hand on either side of her shoulders and his fingers pressed into the pillow next to her, causing him to tilt closer. “A bed is much more comfortable when it is shared,” he murmured, his face moving toward her.
Christine’s breath caught as she resisted the urge to push him away. Last evening, he had attempted to seduce her after dinner—which had been served at a regular dinner table, unlike the night before—but she had managed to hold him off by claiming an aching head.
Raoul hadn’t argued, but Christine had not missed the knowing expression on Philippe’s face as he watched from his chair in the parlor. He clearly knew what she was about, and his countenance told her that such prevarication would not work on him. The determination in his face had made her even more apprehensive, particularly after Raoul announced that he would be leaving the château the next morning.
Today. Leaving her alone with Philippe.
Suddenly, Raoul’s proximity was the lesser of two evils.
“When will you leave?” Christine asked Raoul, closing her eyesagainst the hungry expression on his face. Would there be time between Raoul’s departure and the arrival of Philippe’s guests for the comte to visit her bedchamber?
“Do you miss me already?” he asked, lifting his foot to straddle her body trapped beneath the bedclothes. Before she could reply, he lowered himself toward her, kissing the exposed flesh of her shoulder.
His lips were surprisingly hard, mauling her sensitive skin, causing Christine to twitch and jerk away even as his touch pulled desire from her. He followed her, his hands moving to cup her shoulde
rs and keep her in place, and his breath coming faster against her shoulder, moist from his mouth. “No,” he murmured, his voice shaky. “Christine, I need you.”
He nibbled her shoulder with his lips, the edges of his teeth grooving into her skin, and she felt his weight settle closer to her. Trapped beneath the heavy bedclothes, she was in a cocoon between his legs, unable to kick or shift away.
“Raoul…”
“My ship sails in two days. I’ll be gone for a year, and I’m not going to leave without you as my wife,” he said, raising his face so that she could see his eyes. “I love you.” He dipped toward her, covering her lips with his, sliding one hand down to move the blankets from her breast. “My brother wanted me to marry the Le Rochet girl, but I cannot. I will make a short trip to her father today to break the betrothal, and then I will come back for you.”
When his fingers touched her nipple, still sensitive from the arousal of her dream, Christine felt the jolt of pleasure; and as he kissed her, his tongue slick and strong, tangling with hers, her eyes closed. She felt the memory of desire rise again, and then his hands sliding over her breasts, pulling the lace of her night rail away, releasing them to the cool room. Her lower body was still trapped, and Raoul had moved, lowering his hips so that his cock pressed down into her sex through all the layers of blankets.
He was breathing heavily, and when she opened her eyes she saw that his were glazed and odd, determined in a way that caused her a pang of nervousness. Still, he kissed her, holding her shoulders in place again, arching his back so that he could move his lips along her jaw and down over the delicate skin of her throat. His mouth was light and wet and harsh and sensual all at the same time, and Christine couldn’t move away from the sensations, the unending trickles of his lips. She felt jumpy and achy all at once, and her eyes fluttered as she fought to keep them open, to focus on the ceiling above instead of the feel of his mouth on her skin.
