Do forgive me, dear readers, for posting only once per week . . . got a lot of irons in the fire these days. I hope you enjoy this chapter. I've added plenty of spice to warm up your cold winter nights!
Sojourns9 Perils of Pauline"Mama, Papa!" a barefoot Jon squealed with arms extended, racing toward his parents as fast as his chubby legs could carry him, a harried looking Mademoiselle Caruso trailing close behind.
"I've endeavored to keep socks and shoes on him all day, but he simply will not have it," she explained apologetically.
Erik's amused smile was not the reaction she had hoped for. How could she insist on compliance from the child when his father encouraged such impish behavior?
He rested on his haunches and scooped the boy into his arms. "Erik Jonathan, have you been difficult for Madame Carrie today?"
"No, papa," he answered with a resounding shake of his head.
"Why have you shed your socks and shoes, son?"
Jon studied his papa's face before issuing an answer. "Don't like shoes!" He sat on his father's knee and wiggled his naked toes as proof.
Chuckling, Gabrielle removed her gloves and handed the trio's outer garments to the maid.
"Forgive us, Carrie. I know we overindulge our son's urge to express himself. I've found that with a toddler it's wise to pick your battles. I really don't mind if Jon chooses not to sport footwear in the house.
"But—Madame,
he will catch a chill!" she warned.
"I am always running
around here without shoes and have yet to catch a cold from it. He'll
be fine, really. We do appreciate your dedication to his well being,
however."
How could she explain to the young nineteenth-century woman that one did not catch a cold by simply being cold? That knowledge was not made mainstream until the latter part of the twentieth century.
Carrie made an expression of controlled frustration. It was uncivilized enough for the mistress of the house to go about barefoot, but allowing the boy to mimic her behavior, why it was irresponsible!
Wisely, she moved on to the more agreeable subject of food. "Madame, I have an early supper warming in the oven. If you wish, I can serve it within the half hour. I assume I should set another place for Monsieur Sheffield? She nodded to Paul who had remained by the coat tree, observing this little slice of his new friend's life with quiet fascination.
"Bless you, Carrie. We'll eat right away."
"Very good, Madame," she replied and walked away fussing in French.
Gabrielle turned to the men. "I am starved, aren't you?"
Jon interrupted their answers by leaping from his father's knee. "Come see my dragon!" he said, eyes dancing with excitement, then turned and scrambled back up the hall to the library where Erik had set up a child's desk for colouring and, when supervised, finger painting.
After much "oohing and ahhing" at the two-and-a-half year old's green, pink and black abstract, Carrie called them to the supper and took Jon to wash his hands."
oOo
Over a meal of spring vegetables, pigeons crapaudine accompanied by a fine young chablis, and almond soufflé for dessert, Erik formulated his plan for retrieving Pauline.
Gabrielle had been cutting carrots into bite-sized pieces for Jon, who sat next to her in his high chair. Acting like a pint sized gentleman, he'd spear a slice of carrot with his tiny fork, pop it into his mouth and chew with his mouth closed—at least most of the time. Whenever he abandoned his newly learned manners and began to talk with a mouth full of food, Erik would give him a disapproving glance and remind Jon to "chew, swallow, then speak." The toddler would obey his papa without question, or burst into mischievous giggles. At this point, his mother would take over—Erik did not have the heart to admonish this little boy who exuded happiness in the company of his parents.
"Paul," Gabrielle said turning her attention away from her son, "What I'm not clear on is why you can't simply go to Madame Bonnefoy's, ask for Pauline and encourage her to return home with you. Forgive me if I'm missing something here, but that seems, to me, the most uncomplicated approach," she asked.
"Indeed, it would seem as such, but it isn't. The best way for me to describe the situation is this; when Pauline left England to live with her fiancé, the fiancé whose name I do not even know, mother and father were dreadfully disappointed. Mother, the Lady Sheffield, had expected her only daughter to marry the son of a friend, the Earl of Marylebone. My sister's disgrace, imagined or real, has kept her from seeking my assistance."
"Haven't you told her in your letters that you are her advocate?"
"Remember, Gabrielle, she stopped writing to me months ago."
"Ah, yes—do excuse my denseness, Paul. Traipsing around the eighth ward in heavy skirts can tire a girl out."
"It's been a long day for us all, Madame. The very last letter I did received from her was before Christmas. In it, she begged me not to sail for America and fetch her, as she did not intend to return to England . . . ever. I am her only sympathizer and even that, she does not suspect."
Gabrielle took in the sadness etched on Paul's face. Poor man, how heart wrenching to care about his young sister enough to go against his family, a family so steeped in tradition that Pauline's s betrayal was grounds for abandonment.
She laid down her knife and fork and straightened in her chair.
"I mean no disrespect to your parents, but I cannot believe people still cling to such archaic modes of matchmaking. This idea that it is far better to marry within one's class than to marry for love is absurd! Women were not meant to be tools for barter between families 'I shall grant you my virgin daughter if you will keep her womb filled with heirs, therefore increasing our blood lines and our bloated vanity, provided you are titled, naturally.' Your poor sister, not that this rat she was with was a brilliant choice, but I deduce that she didn't love the Earl; why else would she be so anxious to run away?"
Erik merely watched his wife and sipped his wine. He agreed with her, but he wasn't eager to discuss Victorian values at the supper table.
"No, Pauline did not love the Earl—can't say I blame her. He is a stretch older than she, and not very pleasant, but wealthy—she would have been greatly cared for. To a liberal American woman married to a progressive artist, I imagine we Brits do seem rather dogmatic. Many of my contemporaries see the world differently than our ancestors—hopefully we will encourage others to think more freely, to abandon unfair divisions and prejudices of the classes . . . and of the sexes too, of course," he added with sincerity that Gabrielle did not doubt.
"Here, here, my good man." Erik toasted Paul with his wine glass. "Tonight I will fetch your dear Pauline from her youthful mistakes and tomorrow morning she will sleep within the safely of one of our guest bedrooms."
"Beg my pardon, monsieur, but you cannot just go in and snatch my sister away. They have security in those places, or so I'm told." Paul was worried about Erik botching the operation and being discovered or the both of them killed in the process.
Gabrielle continued the juggling act of enjoying her meal and assisting Jon while listening to how her more-than-capable husband would answer Paul's concerns without insulting the man.
"Monsieur, I was once a master magician, an illusionist. I can appear and disappear into thin air before any one realizes I have come or gone. From time to time, I dally with the art of ventriloquism, too," he added without a modicum of modesty.
"Truly remarkable," Paul said, touching the napkin to his lips and laying it on the table.
"Give Paul a sample of your ability, Erik." Gabrielle knew Erik wasn't keen on command performances, yet she jumped at the chance to watch him display one of his many amazing talents. He caught her eye long enough to give her his silent thanks.
Not wishing to appear boorish in front of his guest or his son, he obliged his wife's request and when the pigeon carcass on Paul's plate began to sing What happiness, what delight, from Mozart's operetta, The Abduction from the Seraglio, Paul Sheffield knocked over his empty wine glass.
Jon, delighted with the jubilant aria, banged his pudgy hands against the high chair's wooden tray and bounced up and down, drawing a smile from his papa.
"I—I am nearly speechless. Astounding—how is it done?"
"With a great deal of practice," Erik answered.
"The big question is; how will you convince Pauline to go with you? His sister doesn't know you from Adam. Good as you may be at snatching women away from their bedrooms, killing her with fright wouldn't be prudent, dear," warned Gabrielle with a smile to temper her words.
"What do you suggest, darling?" he retorted with a flippant grin.
"I'm serious, sweetie. Listen, if I were a frightened and vulnerable young woman alone at night in my darkened bedroom, the hypnotic sound of a beautiful, haunting melody could have the power to render me senseless enough to go into the arms of a stranger. Yes, that could do it for me," she said, peering at him through her dark lashes—her insinuation well received by Erik.
"Truly? My dear, I never pegged you the sort of woman who could be wooed by trickery."
He knew—he'd tried it on her, but Gabrielle was much too strong-minded to fall under the Phantom's spell.
"When we met, I was already a worldly older woman. The song of a virile Svengali couldn't capture my mind. But. . ."
Erik raised his eyebrow at her.
Gabrielle ignored his sassy look and continued.
". . . But a sweet young girl such as Mademoiselle Sheffield, well, a calming tune could be just the thing for her troubled mind—lull her into pacification. What are your thoughts, Paul?"
"Singing, you say? She does love Romeo's aria from Romeo and Juliet, Ah! lève-toi, soleil. But to hypnotize her into obedience—who has such power?"
"Hypnotists do," Erik replied.
"But who—?" Paul squinted at his host and gestured with his fork, "Ah, do not tell me you are, in addition to all else, a hypnotist."
The more time he spent with the Dupuis', the more Paul realized they were not your typical couple, oh no, they were prosaic, almost otherworldly in both mind and method.
Self-satisfaction gleamed in Erik's eyes. "At your service, Monsieur," he said with a slight bow.
"You see, Paul, my husband is proficient in many areas."
"How fortunate for you," he remarked.
"Sixty thrills a minute," she laughed.
Erik leaned forward to hold their attention, "This is my plan. I will approach the house on Canal Street at three am—usually a quiet hour even in that debauched area of town—sing beneath her window and, being certain she is pliable to suggestion, enter through the window and pluck your sister from her self-inflicted hell and bring her here to safety.
"Hell!" exclaimed Jon, striking the air with his fork.
Gabrielle shot Erik a dark look and turned back to her exuberant toddler. "Jon, we don't say 'hell.' It is a grown-up word and a bad one, too. Papa was being naughty."
"Spank papa?" he questioned in all seriousness.
"Should I, sweetie?"
"Yes! Papa bad, spank him," he said, scolding his father.
Erik's gaze drifted from Jon to Gabrielle, a smile of mischief dawning on his lips.
"Indeed, my son, your mother should punish me for my naughtiness."
"Yeah," Jon agreed with a self-satisfied nod of his head.
"Woman, he's picked up more of your slang again—can you not temper yourself?" If she were going to correct him for using common language, then he would scrutinize hers as well.
Gabrielle rolled her eyes at Erik and turned her attention back to Jon, wiping a bit of food from his face.
Caught up in the family's light banter, Paul found he was, for the first time in ages, laughing. It was short-lived, though. Erik quickly reverted to their original conversation and addressed Paul with a somber reassurance.
"As I was saying, I will rescue Pauline and I will not fail."
"Papa rescue Pauline?" In his sweet voice, Jon question questioned his mother. He had no idea who the damsel in distress was, but he sensed danger."
"Yes, dear, your papa is a very brave and good
man; he will help Paul's sister be safe," she reassured the boy,
and placed a kiss on top of his curly, dark head.
"Why don't
you catch some sleep before heading out, sweetheart? Remember,
tomorrow is the day you meet the theatre's new operations manager.
You'll want to be rested." Gabrielle was concerned about her
husband. She did not doubt his abilities, but should something
unforeseen happen to Erik, she would simply die of grief.Erik
lay on their bed reading Chaucer. He shrugged and answered her
concerns without looking from his book. "I could not care less what
that bit of froth thinks of me and I am not the least bit tired. You
know that I am at my prime in the dark hours.""True
dat," she shot back, giving him a knowing look. "I'd like to go
with you.""I know and the answer is no.""Why?"
"Gabrielle—""I can be a lookout for you."He lowered the book and gave her a serious look. "Although you are a capable woman, and a fabulous, I do not need two women to worry about tonight. Stay with our son. He'll need you should anything, which it will not, happen to me. You know I am right.""Your are," she sighed."Come here."She finished putting her clothes in the armoire and walked over to him.He patted the bed. "Join me.""You'll return before daybreak?""Yes. Do not fret, darling," he said, mindful of her cares. "What, me worry?" she rolled her eyes and bounced onto the bed with renewed exuberance, making contact with Erik's solid torso. He let her roll against his outstretched arm and dipped her backwards."Now then, what is this bit about my having no power over you?" He brushed his fingers across her cheek and down the length of her throat, smiling waggishly.
She peered up into his deep jade green eyes and giggled, "Did I say that?""Allow me to quote you from the supper table: "the song of a virile Svengali could never capture my mind.'""Enchanting though your vocal prowess may be, Erik, it is not your voice which renders me powerless."
He snorted and twisted his mouth into a wry grin, "You, Madame DuPuis, are never powerless."Gabrielle yanked on the ribbon of her robe and threw open the flimsy garment.
"Precisely my point," he said before he attacked her naked breasts with hot, wet kisses.She tangled her fingers in his hair while he painted lazy circles around her nipples with his tongue. Suddenly, he sat up to look at her.
"You extraordinary woman, I love you madly.""Ditto . . . well, not the woman part—" she replied, hoisting her body upright to face her husband.Erik laughed into her mouth as she seized his lips for another kiss."One for the road?" she questioned when they finally surfaced for air."One what, my dove?" "Don't be coy."He unloosed a deep, throaty chuckle and she knew that he'd understood.He fell to his side and perched up on one elbow drinking in her body, curvy and golden in the candlelight. Erik knew Gabrielle had been self-conscious about her body—he supposed most women were, but in his eyes she was perfect. Noticing the adoration reflected in his eyes, she could not help but love him even more. Erik made her feel beautiful."So, you'd like a good toss before I leave for the whorehouse—a strategic move, my dear.""If I wear you out, you won't be tempted," she grinned. Erik played along with her ruse and frowned, "But if you wear me out, I'll have no strength left to rescue the girl. How will I fend off potential adversaries?""Charm them with your rope trick—it takes only finesse, not brute strength.""Have it all figured out, do you?" he snorted, discarding his waistcoat and freeing his shirt tails. "Conniving wench." "A compliment from the king of connivers," she retorted, helping him unbutton his shirt. He sucked in a breath when she drew her slender fingers across his pecs and circled his cocoa brown nipples."As for wearing you out, I plan on taking things nice and slow, so very slow. . ." Her voice was smoky, confident; she smiled and pulled the silk cravat from his neck, letting it slip to the floor. "I'm quite fond of slow.""And fast and everything in between, too, as I recall.""True enough."By now Erik was nearly naked. Gabrielle drew a line around the obvious protrusion in his trousers and leaned in closer."Kiss me.""Oh I'll do more than kiss you, my dear.""Hmm . . . promise?"In one swift motion, she found herself pinned to the bed, her husband grinning wickedly."Promise."Gabrielle threaded her legs between his and hooked her heels around his calves, sealing their bodies together.He slid his rigid cock over her damp sex while kneading her breasts and kissing that special tender spot beneath her collar bone.Gabrielle grabbed his taut ass in her hands and massaged it through the fine wool."These have gotta go, Erik.""Damn right." He rose to his knees, stripped off the black trousers quickly and threw them to the floor. When it came to making love, the normally tidy Erik became careless with his fine clothing, letting them land where they may.Gabrielle lay back on the assortment of pillows and giggled at her husband's haste. Erik was so aroused his immense cock had turned dark purple and appeared as if it might burst before he could get it inside of her."I'd like a taste of that handsome specimen," she purred, and flicked her tongue over her lips.A sly sideways grin appeared at one corner of his mouth, his eyes twinkled topaz-green."Then you'd best open wide, Madame," he replied in a silky, lustful tone, crawling to her on his knees and touching his phallus to her lips. Gabrielle licked the pearly bead from the tip and sucked him into her mouth, eliciting a grateful groan from Erik.Cupping his balls lightly with one hand, she wrapped the other around the base of his cock as she suckled him—very slowly."Mmm," she purred against his shaft, letting him know how much she enjoyed his exotic flavor.With his head lolling from side to side, he begged her to go faster and she obliged.Knowing how his girth must be a challenge for her small mouth and being a breath away from filling her with his come, Erik grasped her hand gently. "Stop. Though I adore what you're doing, I want to please you, too."Eager for the same, she agreed and stroked the top of his head while he dined on her delicate flesh."Gabrielle au jus, my favorite dish," he murmured and lapped at her pink, juicy center until she cried for him to fuck her.Erik tucked his hands beneath her hips, lifting them slightly, and thrust into her. "Mon dieu," he gasped, "Every time is like the first with you my tight petite femme . . .""Wait! Grab a French letter from the bedside table . . . just in case you didn't impregnate me during your little S & M session the other evening." Erik sighed loudly—he hated having his lusts interrupted. "Gabrielle, is this really necessary?""Erik— she replied with a testy huff.He withdrew from her and snatched a sheath from the drawer. It took him less than twenty seconds to unwrap the thing and roll it over his still engorged rod. He reentered her with a vengeance.Gabrielle shivered with delight. There was nothing else on earth that felt as good as the bulbous head of his cock breaching her entrance. Erik pushed in firmly, deeply and slid out slowly, all the way to his tip. The leisurely pace was torturous pleasure and Gabrielle whimpered each time her re-entered her. To him, she was the velvet glove that enveloped his harshness. He loved the softness of her skin, the sweet musk of her essence, the way she always welcomed his affection. But tender sensuality gave way to raging need. When she moaned for more, he gave it to her—thrusting into her repeatedly with hard, desperate strokes.Clinging tightly to each other, they rode the tsunami cresting at the junction where their bodies had become one. Gabrielle's orgasm came suddenly, a sweet, hot light radiating throughout her entire body and clenching around Erik's throbbing prick.Submitting to his wife's climax, Erik's mouth slackened and his breathing became a series of staccato gasps. The sheer volume of his release threatened to break through the French letter's reservoir tip.
"Shit, Erik," Gabrielle exhaled against his cheek, "that was spectacular—blinding, in fact." "Um hmm," he mumbled back, his face buried in the soft nest of her hair.Against his own wishes, Erik fell into a quick, deep sleep. Gabrielle stretched her arm as far possible without disturbing him and fingered the clock into her grasp. She pulled out the alarm pin and wound the secondary stem to one am.
-()-
Here's your cold drink of water
