-1A loud thud awoke Erik, sounding like a heavy bag of potatoes hitting the floor. Jumping up in his seat he drew in a breath and glanced about, trying to defog his tired mind. Evelyn was tangled up in the blankets, half hanging off the bed, her upper back lying on the floor, the rest invisible in the torrent of blankets. Her messy red curls lay spread upon the floor, framing her pale still sweaty face, the cheeks flushed in fever.
Erik stood groggily and walked over, half trying to cover his laughter at her. She cast an embarrassed, angry look at him and struggled to untangle herself from the red sheets. Instead of helping her Erik watched, a cat-like gleam in his eyes.
"Now…qu'est-ce que tu fais(what are you doing)? That can't be overly comfortable," he commented with a snide snicker. The woman frowned in frustration and glowered at him. Oh, she was still very mad at him. That's right; he needed an apology.
"Monsieur! S'il te plaît, stop laughing at me and help me out of these infernal sheets!" she exclaimed angrily, crossing her arms angrily over her chest. Erik smirked, stifling more laughter to comply easily. Slipping one hand under her shoulder he used his other to tug the sheets loose. Her body still felt warm, not as hot but definitely not at normal temperature.
Instead of letting go Erik picked her up fully, sliding a hand under her knees. She was heavier than Christine but with more ample curves. Evelyn frowned at him still but murmured a quiet 'thank you'. She was actually grateful to her fever at the moment; if the flush of sickness had not been there, he might have noticed her blush. Carrying her over to the table he pulled a chair free with his foot and set her down.
Evelyn rubbed the back of her goose-pimpled arms at the sudden loss of the warm blankets, even though her body felt heated. She didn't want to admit it but having him hold her in such a way brought back many unwanted, painful memories. Fixedly not looking at him she stared at her hands, waiting adamantly for him to say something.
"Mademoiselle, I am sorry for my earlier words," Erik apologized, having to force it from his throat. He sat down across from her, studying the etches in the tables surface. "I am not used to human company and am not accustomed to dealing with…day-to-day courtesies. S'il te plaît, I did not mean to loose my temper."
Evelyn watched him, contemplating, for a few moments before smiling. Internally she felt an invisible pen scribbling away an entry on non-existent paper, scratching away her feelings and pain. It folded up neatly into a tiny note and then was tossed to the back of her mind to fester with the rest of her hurts. It was a way to deal with almost any emotion.
"I accept your apology. And please excuse my rude curiosity yesterday. I shouldn't have pried," she returned courteously, graciously smiling and hiding all anger she might have felt before. Looking down at a sudden draft that chilled her legs she realized she was still in the filthy wedding dress. Many rips and dirt smudges adorned it now, along with the odor of sick-sweat and the sewers. She crinkled her nose in disgust. "Monsieur Erik? Do you have any spare clothes? This one is ruined and it would be improper of me to be in a man's presence in such a manner."
Erik hid a wince and nodded stiffly.
"Je m'en fous(I don't give a damn) about what is proper or not but if it would make you more comfortable then you may certainly have a change," he replied coolly. From a crate under the table he collected a slightly dusty dress. He quickly handed it to her, not wanting to look at the gown. Along with it he gave her a clean chemise and underskirt. He could not bear to feel the material at the moment. Before he had taken Christine to his lair for the first time he had agonized over the dress, trying very hard to make it beautiful. She had never worn it or even looked at it.
Evelyn held the garment out at arms length to examine it, her eyes widening in appreciation. The material was a dusty rose color, faint but pretty, a soft cotton, smooth to the touch. A darker silk ribbon tied in the back along with a row of tiny pearl buttons. It had a square cut collar that hung about the region of the bosom, embroidered with tiny rose imprints. The sleeves were short, just barely falling down the arm, loose and fluttery. The skirt had a faint bloom to the shape, hanging delicately, like the weeping branches of willow trees.
"I am afraid it was not made for a corset or any of those silly contraptions. Through that door you will find the bathroom. Use what you will. I shall find something for dinner," Erik directed distantly, pointing to the door by the fireplace then swinging on a heavy black cape that had been laying across the back of his chair.
Before Evelyn had time to thank him or even say a word he turned and left through the other door, closing it behind him. She listened to the sound of keys jangling and a lock clicking into place. For a moment she panicked, standing to attempt rushing to free herself. A wave of dizziness hit her like a club, forcing her to sit and calm herself. What would he gain from hurting her anyway?
Heaving a sigh Evelyn looked down at the dress, running her finger over the gown with faint adoration. Did he make this? It was so lovely, so lively and unique; she was almost afraid she was not good enough for it. No, she knew she wasn't.
Weakly standing Evelyn forced herself to walk toward the bathroom, determinedly shaking the intruding darkness of a wobbly faint. Suddenly she caught the scent of herself and crinkled her nose. Mon dieu, she needed a bath!
Pushing the door open with a little effort she breathed in a smell she had never encountered before. The room smelled of sweat and a rich, exotic cologne that seemed to permeate the very air she breathed. She could taste it on her tongue, a seductive flavor that seemed to come from some world beyond anything she had ever imagined.
What on earth was this smell? Why had she never known of it, this smell of sandalwood and cinnamon? Evelyn took it all in with a deep breath and sighed, embarrassed at the slight tingle it produced on her skin and in her belly. Louis never…
Stepping into the room more firmly she forced her foggy mind to focus on her surroundings, despite the heady aroma. A washbasin stood at her right, supporting a medium sized mirror. Clear water stood still in the porcelain oversized tub with tendrils or steam rising up and dancing in the cool air.
Off to the far end of the tiny room stood a screen, shielding off the lavatory. Next to the bathtub sat a wooden basket, filled with bottles of oils and soaps. Evelyn closed the door behind her, leaning against it as she took in her surroundings.
Timid Erik would return, she ran her palms along the tattered folds of her dirty dress. For a moment she fumbled with the clasps in the back, trying to twist her arms behind her. With a successful cry she slid the gown off, letting it pool about her slipper-clad feet. Supporting herself on the basin she peeled off her ruined shoes, tossing them to the side of the door. After about five minutes of struggling she relieved herself of the corset her wedding gown had forced her to suffer.
With weak legs Evelyn went over to the tub, clasping the cold sides, damp with perspiration and steam. Shakily she lifted a leg and slid the foot into the hot, scorching water. Letting a hiss escape her lips she stepped in completely, relishing the heated heaven. Sinking down she found the tub deep enough to allow the water to rise above her breasts.
The water turned her skin a fresh pink color compared to the dry, pale flesh that was still untouched. Sleepily she pulled out the loose pins in her matted curls, tossing them to the ground. Resting back she sighed, letting her green eyes slide closed. When her hair touched the water it floated easily about her.
Staring up at the steam wisps Evelyn dazed, trying hard not to sleep. Her mind whirled back to the last few days and she felt sudden tears sting her eyes. What was she to do? Father would send her back to Laterr, so would the servants and so called friends she once knew. They were all greedy bastards.
Who could she trust? She had no money, no home and now was wanted by the most powerful marquis in France. The only person she had trusted was gone. Surprisingly, the first thing to pop into her mind was Erik. She frowned slightly, pondering that. As she thought about him, the more she wanted to know who he was and why he was down here. He saved her; why she didn't know. There was nothing she had to offer. There was no profit. And yet he rescued her without expecting anything.
Heaving a frustrated breath Evelyn dunked herself under the water. Oh, bother and damnation!