I nodded. “But he didn’t believe me. Otherwise, he wouldn’t have sent me off to care for Josephine, as I did every day while he napped. While I was out for those precious stolen hours, Philippe drank the rest of the laudanum. When I came back, he was dead.”
I looked down at my gloved hands, twisting in my lap. “I kissed him before they took him away, Erik. That was the last touch of a man’s lips that I felt, still warm because he hadn’t been gone for long. After that, my cousin Francois sold the house in Baincthuin. He sold my jewels and my books. He sold everything but Josephine and my clothes. He made me come with him and his riding troupe, because my father had appointed him as my guardian unless and until I married. He still controls the income from the allowance my father left me; I see none of it.”
I looked up at him. “That is all.”
“Claire, I have known only one woman’s kiss, and that one was quite ... reluctant. If what I ask of you now is refused, I will understand. Please, Claire. I want you to feel a man’s kiss again.”
With that, he lowered his mouth to mine. His lips were warm and gentle, but I could not imagine why I was surprised. Had I expected such beautiful lips to feel hard and cruel? I could not say. I slipped one gloved hand behind his neck, caressing the occiput of his skull, and returned the kiss with an ardor that surprised me. At last I broke away.
“How long, Claire? How long has it been since he died?” His voice was raspy with desire.
“A little over a year,” I replied.
“Then perhaps,” Erik whispered, his breath warm against my ear, “It is time to shed your veil of mourning and kiss me again.”
As I turned my face up toward him, his gloved hand caressing my jaw, the carriage rumbled to a halt and the driver called out. “Mademoiselle, we’ve arrived at the modiste’s.”
CHAPTER 5
Cursing his timing, I called out my thanks and alighted from the carriage to make my first purchase -- but not without first drawing my own hand along Erik’s freshly shaven jaw. I was no timorous virgin, and his kiss had enflamed me. I felt none of my usual caution or reluctance, only maddening desire.
Inside the modiste’s, I could barely keep my mind on my task. Fortunately, I had a list inside my reticule. New stockings, that’s right. Some beautiful lacy ones, instead of the practical worsted I had planned? I imagined Erik’s gloved hands rolling them down after removing my round garters and shuddered a bit. His kiss had affected me more than I’d imagined possible. I gathered my wits about me and selected one pair of each.
I looked longingly at a window display: a beautiful evening gown in sapphire moire bengaline with a deep bertha neckline. I lifted its hem and examined the stitching, wishing I had use for such a piece. Not only was the price out of my reach, but I had no opportunity for dining out or attending the theatre. I sighed wistfully and returned to the carriage with my small package of ribbon, stockings, and so on.
“I saw you admire the gown in the window,” Erik’s voice came from the darkened carriage; he had drawn the curtains lest he be seen. When I closed the door after entering, there was no light at all.
“It is beautiful,” I admitted. “But I’ve no need for a dress of that nature; I haven’t the opportunities to wear such a gown.”
“You like beautiful things,” he whispered.
“Of course,” I responded in surprise. “Most people do.”
“Then how can you bear to look on me,” he responded, still whispering. As the carriage moved away, he opened the drape to let the light in and reveal his unmasked face to me.
The left side of his face, his entire mouth, and jaw ... all were so handsome that they would take the breath away from an angel. The right side, though, was discolored and twisted. A port wine birthmark discolored skin so thin and fragile that lumps of misshapen bone and delicate blue veins could be seen through it. His left eye was fringed with thick black lashes; the right was barely lidded and sunken in the socket, but was the same soul-filled green-gold as its twin. The right side of his nose was also damaged, the soft nare non-existent.
“Look on this monster, and tell me again how you care more for the soul than the face,” he said in a ragged voice.
“One moment,” I said. I rapped on the roof of the carriage to get the driver’s attention. “Instead of going on the green-grocer’s just now, could we take a drive around the Tower site? I have so few opportunities to go for a drive. I should like to take my time.”
The driver called his assent, and I looked back at Erik. I did not drop my eyes, nor did I cower in fright.
“Well?” His mouth was twisted in that cynical smile again.
“Erik, I don’t know where to start. I know about Madame de Chagny ...”
The moment I mentioned the Comtesse, I was sorry. Something in his face closed away from me, and yet I could not take the words back.
“She was beautiful ... is beautiful. And she was a child. I have seen so much more of life.” I reached out to touch the damaged side of his face. “This does not frighten me, Erik. Not in the slightest.”
He leaned his cheek into my gloved hand, and surprised me by pressing his lips to my wrist through the buttonhole of my glove. I emitted a small moan of pleasure at the gesture.
“You enjoyed that.” He drew away from my touch and slipped his mask back into place. “I have never known a woman, but I have read many texts from the Middle East. Some of them tell of ways to pleasure a woman.”
He moved to the other side of the carriage then, and the moment was gone. Unfortunately for me, the feeling of his mouth on my wrist was not.
“The Tower,” he mused as he looked out the window. “Eiffel’s monstrosity will be the ruination of this City. Mark my words, mademoiselle; when the twenty years for this permit is gone, the people of Paris will demand that this eyesore be razed to the ground.”
We finished our errands, his to the green-grocer and the baker, and to the music shop for staff paper, and I to the saddlery for new reins and the cobbler to collect a pair of boots I’d had repaired. We spoke of small things, simple pleasantries, for the remainder of the outing.
When we returned to the Opera Garnier, I thanked Erik for his kindness in lending me his coach and his company. He bowed over my gloved hand with a grace that would have made nobility look crass, and pressed his lips to my knuckles.
He straightened then and said to me, more gently than I could have imagined possible, “Claire, the pleasure was mine. You have given me something I never dared to dream possible, and I mean to repay you for it.”
I could not imagine what he meant by that. I curtseyed to him and went up the stairs to my room.
I unlocked my door and had just put my purchases down when I realized I was not alone.
CHAPTER 6
“Giraud,” I snapped, “What are you doing here? How did you get in?”
The stable hand sneered at me. “Think you’re so high and mighty. Won’t give me the time of day, and I see you getting out of some dandy’s carriage. You’re no better than you should be, that’s what.” He was drunk.
“Giraud,” I repeated, “How did you get in here?”
“Had a key made, didn’t I?” His laughter was cruel. “I’ve heard a man’s voice in here, Claire. I know you’re no ice maiden. Just needed some warming up, didn’t you? I’ll make you come around.”
He advanced toward me and I flung my reticule at him, hoping to buy some time or to make him realize the foolishness of what he was about to attempt. Unfortunately, being short has its disadvantages, and my room was not large. Giraud slammed his hands into my shoulders and pushed me into the wall. I cried out for help.
“No one will hear you, Claire. Just like no one heard you when Pierrot tried to kill you. I’ve sent them all away. Now there’s no one to distract you. Not your fancy horse, and not your fancy man with the carriage.”
He set his foul mouth to my neck and was hiking my skirt up when I heard the snick of the mirror sliding back. Giraud was
intent on his actions and noticed nothing. My eyes widened as Erik entered the room, an odd-looking thin rope in his hands. He motioned me to be silent, pulled Giraud away from me quickly and slipped the garrote around the would-be rapist’s neck.
“You’ll leave her alone, or I’ll know the reason why,” he whispered, as he tightened the strand. Giraud’s eyes stood out as he desperately tried to breathe. Erik frog-marched him over to the door and pushed him out, releasing the garrote and locking the door behind him. Giraud fell down the stairs, cursing. I had no doubt he would think the entire scene a drunken dream.
At least, that was what I hoped.
I attempted to right myself. The bodice of my best dress was torn, my bonnet knocked askew, and my skirt was in a state of deshabille.
“I will change the lock myself,” he said, still examining the door. He then turned around to me. “Claire, did he hurt you?”
“No,” I whispered. “I’ll be fine. I think.”
I sat down on the bed and unpinned my hat.
“My dress is ruined, though. And what is that ... that ... thing?”
I indicated the gut string that he wound up and slipped into the pocket of his coat.
“It’s a Punjab lasso,” he responded. “I’ve become rather expert with it over time. One day, I will tell you about my time as the shah’s assassin in Persia, but not now. Our priority right now is your well-being.”
So, the rumors that the Opera Ghost was a murderer were true. I found myself grateful for his skill at that moment, but it gave me pause to realize the true complexity of the man who stood over me.
“You will not ride tonight. I will send a note to your cousin, and to the fools who manage my theatre. You need a night to rest.”
I could see there was no arguing with him, so I didn’t even try. I just sat there fiddling with the torn bodice of my dress, willing the fabric to return to its previous state of wholeness.
Erik opened my armoire and pulled out my breeches, boots and loose shirt. “Put these on,” he said in a tone that would brook no resistance. “I’ll return for you.”
With that, he stepped out of the room and the mirror slipped back into place.
CHAPTER 7
I changed my clothes as requested, shoving the ruined dress into the back of the armoire; I would ask my modiste to make it into a skirt.
After a while, Francois knocked at my door, calling to me.
“Claire, I have a note here that says you are indisposed. It’s signed O.G., of all things. Is this a joke?”
“Francois, there are some things that I am not at liberty to explain. I am not able to ride tonight. Perhaps you should ask Giraud why.”
I opened the door to my cousin, whose ire was apparent. “What do you mean?”
“This afternoon, when I returned from my errands, Giraud was in this room. He tried to force himself on me, Francois. I will not be riding tonight.”
“But what of this O.G business?” Francois demanded. He did not seem particularly concerned about my well-being, which annoyed me.
“You are right, cousin. It’s a joke.” I smiled grimly. “Now, I would really like to be alone. Could you please see to the horses for me?”
“Of course, Claire. And I will see to Giraud as well. I’ll sack him for his insolence.”
“As you will, Francois. As you will.”
I closed the door behind my cousin and locked it. I then sat on the bed and allowed my fear to show. I cried great, racking sobs. The only man with whom I had ever made love was Philippe, and he was gone. With him, I had thought, had gone that side of me. Erik had awakened something inside me today and Giraud tried to take that something by force.
I curled up into a small ball on my bed and let the tears and sobs soak my pillow. It was thus that Erik found me when he returned.
At first he sat down next to me, his weight causing the bed frame to creak. He stroked my hair and sang quietly to me in that beautiful voice I knew so well, hearing the nightly serenade I had believed belonged to one of the Opera chorus. He then laid down next to me, wrapping his body protectively over mine. His hands were ungloved, with long, slender fingers ending in manicured nails. He caressed my face and continued to croon in much the same manner as I did when comforting a frightened horse.
“Come with me,” he whispered eventually. He stood up and offered me his hand. “I have seen your home; now you will see mine.”
I followed him through the open mirror, which slid back into place behind us. We were in a corridor that disappeared into darkness, moving inexorably downward. Erik carried a small lamp in one hand; he held my hand with the other. I marveled anew at the silent grace in his every motion. He wore loose trousers and an open shirt with his white porcelain mask in place, hiding his disfigurement.
We arrived at a small boat slip and Erik helped me into a tiny skiff. Using a gondolier’s pole, he pushed off from the little dock. I saw discarded props along the side of the underground lake, and marveled at the unusual trappings of Erik’s daily life.
A portcullis raised in the distance, and the boat glided through. It dropped behind us and I realized that there was some kind of a timing mechanism involved; there were only so many minutes to get through before one might be trapped under the heavy metal grate.
We landed at another boat slip, and Erik handed me out of the little craft.
“Welcome,” he said quietly, “to my palace of music.”
I looked around in amazement. There was a dining table, set for two; a music area with a violin, a piano, a pipe organ, and sheets of music spread all over the top of every surface there. A beautifully appointed bed was off to one side, with coverlets made of velvet and silk.
“I wonder, Mademoiselle Claire, whether you would join me for dinner? Perhaps you would like to change first?”
I must have goggled at him, for his laughter was rich.
“Just here, if you please,” he said, moving aside a curtain to reveal a dressing room. On my way past him, I noticed several sketches of a beautiful young woman whom I assumed was Madame de Chagny. He clearly still carried a torch for the girl, and for some reason that pained me. I pretended not to have marked the drawings at all.
Inside the dressing room were the beautiful sapphire gown from the modiste and a pair of matching slippers. An elegant corset, of black silk embroidered with roses, black lace stockings with red garters, and a sheer lawn chemise with only the tiniest straps were also laid out.
“For you, Claire,” he said quietly.
I turned to smile up at him. “Erik, I wonder if you would mind assisting me.”
His smile turned cynical for a brief moment. “Am I always to play lady’s maid for you, Claire?”
I slipped my boots off and undid the breeches I wore. I stood, in nothing but my shirt, and unpinned my hair so that it fell to my shoulder blades.
“Erik, I suspect there is nothing maidenly about you.”
I was surprised at my own hoydenish behavior -- but not enough to stop it.
His movement to kiss me was swift and his breathing harsh as he plundered my mouth. I wrapped my arms around his neck and he lifted me easily. I locked my legs around his waist, and then broke the kiss as he shifted his hands to hold me up.
“My dress, my dear; I’ll make us late for dinner,” I smiled.
“Curse the dress,” he groaned. “I could take you right now.”
“I know,” I replied. I unlocked my ankles and slipped down to stand before him. “But, I don’t want it to be like that with you,” I whispered as I caressed his cheek.
He turned his back to me then, his breath ragged.
“Put on the new chemise and hold up the corset for me to lace, Claire.”
I did as he asked and he laced me up expertly. I sat down on a stool to don the stockings and slippers, but Erik knelt before me.
“Please, allow me.”
He rolled a stocking and slipped it over my left foot and heel. Before continuing to unroll it, he ben
t forward to trace the edge of my anklebone with his tongue and I shivered, my eyes closed to greater savor the pleasure of his touch. He rolled the stocking the rest of the way up my leg, fastening the red garter around my thigh and draping the lacy stocking top over it in a perfect fold.
On my right foot, his thumb traced a gentle caress at the instep, followed by a soft kiss ... and then the stocking was rolled up and gartered in the same fashion. Gently he slid the beautiful blue slippers on to my feet.
“Your gown, Mademoiselle,” he said, slipping it over my head and lacing it up the back. The dress perfectly flattered my curves, framing my bosom in black lace, and showing a deep expanse of pale décolletage. I could hardly believe my eyes as I looked into the mirror.
Everything was beautiful, except for my tangled hair. I raised a hand to it self-consciously.
“Did you think, Mademoiselle, that I was finished?” Erik gently brushed my hair, easing the tangles loose, until the chestnut mass fell freely to my shoulder blades.
“Now,” he whispered from behind me, “lift your hair away from your neck.”
Around my neck he placed an exquisite necklace of deep blue stones, the center teardrop piece nestling perfectly between my breasts.
“I have one more thing for you,” he said, and opened another jeweler’s box. In it was a sapphire diadem that he settled expertly into my hair. I looked like a queen, and could hardly believe my reflection in the mirror. I looked at Erik’s reflection behind me, and saw a single tear course down his beautiful, perfect left cheek. I turned to face him.
“They are gifts for you,” he whispered.
“I don’t know how I can repay you.”
“You have already given me more than you know.”
“That’s the second time you’ve said that, Erik. I don’t know what you mean.”
He knelt before me, taking my hands in his to kiss them. “Claire, you have given me hope.”
He stood again, and gestured toward the dining area.
“I hate to keep a lady waiting, but I must dress for supper.”
THE SEDUCTION OF GABRIEL STEWART Page 3
