Here is a little chapter to give us a little more depth into the character of Christine. Enjoy.

SHOW ME THE WAY TO LOVE

CHAPTER 6 - Her Little Corner of the World

Christine resisted the urge to slam the giant door to her room; her mood was almost as gloomy as the Commodore's at this point. How did she let it get so out of control? She fought against her own nature all the time; it seemed she was always speaking her mind and there had never been a point in her life when she had wanted to blatantly and openly challenge a man of the Commodore's bearing.

She mentally berated herself and pulled the cap from her head, yanking her hair in many places as she did so. She threw it on the bed and roughly removed her clothes, preparing to take a bath. She strode into the washroom and felt her pensive attitude ease a little bit. She smelled something absolutely heavenly and noticed the soap that awaited her attention.

She reached for it and relished the scent that covered her skin as she slowly and sensually eased the small bar over her body. She had never had such luxury before. Christine did not question where it had come from; not really sure she wanted to know. There had never been a place in her life for niceties and girlish whims. After leaving her childhood prison, there had not been the money for such things and Dr. Hanson had had no money for those things either.

Her long hair hung out over the back of the tub, falling over the floor like a silky blanket. She closed her eyes and inhaled the floral scent of the soap. She seldom felt like a woman these days, so this was a wonderful experience for her.

The tub was deep and made of the finest porcelain; and Christine hoped they did not object to her bathing often - she intended to take advantage of all the luxury that she could. After dozing for about an hour, Christine pulled her hair around and washed it - using the soap that was made available to her.

That monumental task took a few minutes and she arose form the tub feeling refreshed and rejuvenated. She wrapped the long towel around her curves and went to the impressive vanity. What a beautiful masterpiece it was; dark cherry wood with marble inlay and a beveled mirror. Christine ran her fingers lovingly over the ornamental piece and wondered from where it came.

She picked up the intricately carved, silver brush and admired it as well. Unused to such things, Christine was out of her element, but determined to adjust. She slowly and sensuously drew the brush through her thick, long, silver tresses and then pulled it into a single long braid that hung down to her backside. She turned around in the chair and took in her surroundings.

Her room was more than she would have ever expected it to be. Wesley had carried her luggage and various other items into the room and placed them upon a large, beautifully carved table. The attention to detail was absolutely stunning through the room; the plaster molding surrounding the ceiling and floors was something Christine had only heard about, but never seen. The spacious area was lightly populated with soft feminine furniture - a fact that stunned her - considering there were no women of status in the house.

The room was a soft yellow with the light blue furniture lined in gold. To Christine, it looked like something out of a fairytale; something a princess would have had in her room. Christine could not help the sad smile that covered her face as she remembered the stories her father had read to her when she was very small and before he had died.

She shook those thoughts from her head and arose to walk into the closet, where Anne had placed her clothes. She wrinkled her nose at the thought of putting the rough material over her soap-softened skin. She longed for lighter clothing, but there had never been the funds. Perhaps someday she could replace them with something more appropriate for her new job.

The deprived woman inside her desired to wrap herself in the finer things of life. She had never owned a beautiful dress or had a reason to wear one. She had always been told she was too tall and curvy to look good in a dress, and she had believed it. Would the Commodore even notice if she made more of an effort with her clothing?

Just thinking about his broad, thick shoulders and his chiseled, handsome features made her heart speed up. He was the epitome of everything she wanted in a man, along with being incredibly aggravating. She could not remember a time when a man had actually spoken to her without commenting on the oddity of her coloring or the unladylike way she spoke her mind. There had been numerous times throughout her life that she had been approached by men - not because they wanted to get to know her for the woman that she was - but because her enormous height, abundant curves, and strange coloring made them think she was a whore.

One of the most attractive things about this position - other than the Commodore himself - was the fact that the Commodore could not see her. She did not intend to let her guard down for any reason, he would never have a reason to think she was anything but normal - as long as she had anything to do with it.

Finding this position had been an answer to unspoken prayers; a way for her to escape the box that women were often put in and expected to accept without question. After escaping the clutches of her step-mother, Christine had not anguished over her lack of funds or station. She did odd jobs for anyone who would have her, careful not to get caught up with the wrong people. Thankfully, she had come upon Dr. Hanson fairly early in her young life and he had taken a fatherly interest in her. Under his tremendous tutelage, she had learned a great deal about medicine and discovered that she possessed a natural instinct for healing.

A few years passed and Dr. Hanson passed away, leaving Christine with few options. He had been a brilliant doctor, but a penniless one. He had made it clear in the five years she studied under him that he considered her his daughter and all that he had was hers; his one chance to marry - years before - had ended tragically with her death. He never made that commitment again. Christine had filled a giant void in his life and she had been more than willing to do so. His death had been a complete surprise; and unfortunately, he had nothing to pass down to her.

She had been more than eager to answer the call when the war broke out, throwing herself into the service of Britain with a vigor she had thought she did not possess. There had been many opportunities during that trying time to prove her strength and capabilities; especially to herself. She had seen things she had never thought to see, things that were forever imprinted on her; proving her worth many times. She had even studied and learned under Florence Nightingale, a woman who taught her the nursing side of what she had learned from Dr. Hanson.

There had been so many reasons to quit - so many faces that would never fade from her memory. There were times, deep in the hours of the night that she still heard the wailing and moans that often kept her awake for hours on end during the war. Peace was a hard thing to find in the midst of choas. Giving a dying soldier a warm hand to hold onto while he slipped into the arms of his Creator was an odd sense of purpose; but one that she had done many times. Having such an experience had left its scars, but they were constructive scars; unlike the ones that had been made by her childhood.

This job was a Godsend, in ways she was not yet ready to admit. She emerged from the very modern washroom after taking a very relaxing bath. The staff was very efficient when the Commodore was not lurking about. He apparently scared everyone with his looming presence and gloomy disposition; someone really had to teach him to live again. Not that she was really certain he had ever really learned how to live.

The room was opulant in its design. The windows matched the others in the house; Italian design, ten feet from floor to ceiling with intricate designs in the woodwork. The plaster work around the floors and ceilings was the best that any place had to offer and each room was equipped with a black Italian marble fireplace. The wallpaper was beautifully designed and each room had a different pattern. The whole manor, once it got cleaned up, would be almost unmatchable among the upper class homes in Britain.

Christine carefully looked at each piece of art and every tiny nic-nac that decorated the room. She had never seen such variety in a house; each one a testimony to its creator's talents. Such wealth had never been a part of her life; her step-mother had seen to it that she never had luxuries of any kind; she had horded her father's wealth and used it to make the lives of so many people miserable.

Tears filled her eyes at each thought of her father. He had been the only person in her life to offer love and peace; and he had abandoned her at the age of seven. Death - the most painful and permanent form of abandonment. The nightmare that followed had been almost unbearable, so she had left as soon as she was able to find a way out; left with only the clothes on her back and no money.

The advertisement in the paper had been like finding a pot of gold at the end of the rainbow; and all the details involved had only sweetened the pot. There were so many things in her life that she could have regretted, but they had all led her to this moment - this place - and there was nothing that would keep her from doing what she knew needed to be done.

Looking at the bed filled her with complete warmth. She had never had such a large space to sleep all to herself and she was anxious to sink into the soft, overly-stuffed mattress and inhale the scent of clean laundry. She removed her robe and slipped between the sheets, feeling much like a small child experiencing such things for the first time. She could not supress the silly grin that covered her face as she breathed deeply and stretched her tight muscles. She felt like she had been offered a new start in life; a start that she had every intention of taking advantage of.

The window was left open to allow the coolness of the evening breeze to penetrate the heat that the sun had left behind, and Christine relished the sounds that crept into her room. She was happy at the moment - an emotion she had seldom experienced in her life; despite the fact that her employer was slightly on the grumpy side and seemed impervious to her nonexistent womanly wiles. Gage was adorable and deserved the best she had to give - and maybe through him, she could reach Erik.

She turned over on her side and cuddled closer to her pillow. The thoughts in her mind were finally of something other than dying men and hateful family members; a wonderful gift that allowed her to slip into a deep sleep filled with images of a green-eyed, broad shouldered man, who had no concept of his affect on her.

Somewhere over the course of the next couple of hours, Christine must have fallen asleep. She eased awake to a sound that seemed out of place in her world. It took a few minutes for her to realize that she was not in her world. The sound was above her, and the noise was the distinct fall of steps across the wooden floor. It was not that the floor creaked or made any other unusual sound, it was just the quiet stirrings of a sleepless man.

Christine still felt the gnawing wound in her heart that had not gotten any better since she had insulted him at the dinner table. It was not unlike her to do so, she had long since decided to express her opinion and go for the things she wanted in life - never mind the consequences.

She slipped on her gossamer robe and quietly slipped out of her room. The house was eerily silent and she was still not familiar with the entire layout; but she knew that it was the Commodore's living quarters above her - the entire third floor - it almost made her laugh. The candle she held illuminated the area around her nicely and she easily pushed her way up the stairs toward the restless source of the ghostly sounds.

She stood before a massive door; beautifully carved with intricate designs of an Italian nature. Her heart was pounding frantically in her chest and she was trying to convince herself that she had lost her mind and her nerve would soon follow. However, she found her hand raising to the door and sending a quiet knock resounding through it.

It never crossed her mind that it was inappropriate for her to be asking entrance to a man's room in the middle of the night - or at any time, for that matter. She only knew that she needed to apologize for arousing his anger and suspicions at the dinner table.

Erik was not certain he had heard correctly. The knock was an unexpected sound, and he was certain he had imagined it. He could not seem to wish away the nausea and unease that had kept him awake for most of the night; not that he could have slept anyway. Sleep was a stranger to him for the most part. He drifted off occasionally, but he never succeeded in sleeping more than a couple of hours on any given night. His head constantly ached, something the doctor's had told him would be a part of his life until the day he died - pending a miracle.

The knock sounded again and Erik knew he was not imagining it. He silently approached the door and opened it with confidence. He could not see her, but he could sense her presence and he caught the scent of Lavender on the air. He had noticed it yesterday when they had been introduced, but the last thing he wanted to do was feel any attraction toward this woman.

"Commodore...I heard you stirring and thought that I would come and keep you company for a few minutes. I could not sleep, and I want to talk to you."

Erik lifted the dark wing of his brow and stepped aside to allow her entrance. He found the situation intriguing, if not unusual.

"Miss Darcy, it is highly improper for a young lady to come into a single man's sleeping quarters at any time, let alone in the middle of the night. Did not your mother teach you such things?"

Christine smiled, despite her irritation at being treated like a child by this infuriatingly beautiful man. He stood before her in nothing but a pair of sleeping pants and a loose robe thrown over his stunning form. She was unwilling to allow her eyes to drift over his bare skin, even though she knew he could not see her; something told her that he would sense her appraisal.

"I assure you, Commodore, I have never been mistaken for a lady - and I have never claimed to be one." She stated with a bite in her words. "As for my mother; she died when I was born."

That made him frown slightly, but she did not seem affected by the sadness of that admission, so Erik brushed his frown from his face. She had admitted to not being a lady and not having a mother to teach how to be a lady...not that he minded. If she were a lady, this conversation would not be taking place.

He had not seated her yet, but was standing with his arms crossed over his chest as though waiting for her to get to the point of her visit. His reaction to her admission to not being a lady was not what she had expected. There was a strange, quirky smirk over his full lips that had her thinking he admired her spunk.

"May I inquire as to the purpose of this rousing visit?" He asked, still holding his lips in a smirk.

"I came to offer my apologies for earlier...at the dinner table. It is really none of my business..." If possible, his brow rose even further as he reacted to the shock of her apology. "...I tend to insert my thoughts whenever they occur to me and this has gotten me in trouble on more than one occasion - as I am sure it will continue to do in the future."

Erik was speechless; he had never met a woman like her before. She clearly admitted to not being a lady - in the traditional sense - and now she was apologizing for some of the behavior that had branded her with such a label. He tried to keep his reaction to a small quirk of his brow, but he was strangely aroused by her lack of refinement.

He bowed his head slightly, acknowledging her efforts and turned from her to the giant fireplace in the corner.

"I accept your apology, and I will offer my own. I tend to overreact to things; things that may seem rather mundane to others. So please..." he turned toward her once again; his eyes fixed on her in with deadly accuracy and a strange, warm glow, "...forgive my outburst."

Her quiet sigh assured him that she had heard him and was considering his offer.

"All is forgiven, Commodore. Tomorrow is another day and I understand that Gage will be leaving for a few days. Do you have any preferences as to what my activities for those days are to be?"

He had not considered it, hoping that she would have turned right around and left as soon as she saw him; but some deficiency in her character had encouraged her to stay. He headed back toward the door, easily bringing their meeting to a close.

"No, Miss Darcy, I have no preferences...I am sure you will find plenty to occupy your time."

He opened the door and she walked through it, turning to regard him with big, wondrous eyes. He was a certainly intimidating with his masculine arrogance, but she found him completely irresistible. She leaned toward him, unaware that her scent was wrecking havoc on his senses.

"Good night, Commodore; sleep well."

He did not dwell at the door, but closed it quickly and firmly. What in heavens name had come over him? He would not - simply would not - allow himself to be attracted to this woman. She threatened all that he held dear and would just as soon cut open his chest and stomp upon his beating heart as to be near him. He firmly brushed aside any inclinations he had toward her.

You are not attracted to her, you beast...you know better than that. You are hideously scarred, blind, and no woman can tolerate you.

Erik shook the thoughts from his head and tried once again to fall into a dreamless sleep. Once sleep took over though, he was certainly not without dreams.

TBC