Naturally I had problems. Sorry about the snafu!

Paladin10

Sophia wasn't sure why Erik was so angry. She bit her lip and stood in the hall with her ear against his door, wondering if she had done something wrong during her first piano lesson.

While she waited she could still see him in her mind as he crouched on the floor, his right hand covering his face, his left rummaging through broken porcelain, glass, and food. She had studied him a moment, while his frustration grew, while his hands trembled so much that he dropped more on the wooden floor than into the rubbish bin.

The new master was so focused on his task that he didn't notice Sophia examining his hairline, which started out straight and neat on the left side and pulled back in an exaggerated curve on the right side. She hadn't intended to stare, but since he wasn't looking at her, she had seen no harm in it.

Her heart had drummed with sympathy, as she expected he had no idea that his hand wasn't high enough, and that he had planted his thumb in the middle of the reddened, hairless patch above his temple.

She wondered what kind ofan accident he had suffered.

Sophia shifted her weight and sighed, giving him a moment to answer her knock. She hoped he wasn't upset with her. The previous night had been pleasant—awkward, she reminded herself, but still enjoyable. The music he played was passionate, so filled with anger and intensity, drenched at times with something she couldn't quite describe. She could do nothing more than close her eyes and listen, imagining what he envisioned when he wrote each symphony, each aria, each concerto.

At the end of the evening he apologized for not giving her an opportunity to practice, but she replied that she had been thrilled to merely listen. With a curt nod he had walked from the parlor and retired for the night.

He had barely said a word while they sat side by side. He cleared his throat between pieces, muttered the title under his breath, and continued to play. Once he was gone she could still feel him in the room, the lingering presence of his genius.

The last thing this man wanted was sympathy, she told herself. She imagined his life was filled with people tiptoeing around him, looking at him warily and avoiding a direct gaze. She knew from experience how humiliating it was to have her brother insist that she couldn't do anything because of her eye, or the other women in the kitchen giving her duties a child could accomplish.

She would not treat him differently, as long as he returned the favor.

Sophia took a deep breath and knocked again.

"Monsieur—"

"I'm fine," he growled.

"My left foot," Sophia muttered.

She could hear him rummaging about the room. It sounded like he was shuffling through papers, though several times she heard him cursing, which made her blush.

"I have a towel for you," she said to the door. "Are you still bleeding?"

A long silence followed, one she assumed was caused by his pride.

"No," he said, hesitating. "Not really."

Sophia smiled to herself. She had cleaned Gabe's, the horse master's son, hand late in autumn when he cut himself on a piece of tack. He had fussed something awful while she washed it out and made certain stitches were not needed. All the while, through each exaggerated sigh and weight shift, she knew Gabe had been fascinated by her womanly ability to care for him.

"May I see?" she asked as gently as she could.

She heard the lock turn but the door remained closed. Sophia waited a moment, her tongue rolling around the inside of her mouth. After it appeared he was not going to open the door for her, she reached for the doorknob.

Sophia nearly fell into the room, as Erik opened it at the same time she turned the doorknob. Instead of catching her, he hit her with his shoulder and roughly took hold of her arm, lifting her off the floor, which made her yelp in surprise.

In an instant he released her and turned away, folding his arms over his chest. Sophia chuckled softly, attempting to lighten the mood.

"I make quite an entrance, wouldn't you say?" she asked.

He glanced at her from over his shoulder but said nothing, which she had grown to expect from him.

Sophia cleared her throat. "Would you like me to check your hand?"

"There's nothing to see," he answered, turning enough for her to see he was masked again.

"Oh."

He turned to face her again but didn't look her in the eye. "It's…superficial."

"Oh," she said brightly, craning her neck to see the injury.

He held out his hand to show her his blood-stained fingers and the shallow cuts.

Sophia touched his fingers and turned his hand over, examining both sides. His skin was cool to the touch and he shook slightly, which Sophia assumed was in anger of being treated like a child. Still, he didn't protest her doting over his injury.

"It doesn't appear bad at all," she said with a nod of approval. "Mere scratches, really. Like something from a feral kitten." She chuckled softly. "At my parents' old vineyard there was a cat that had kittens in the shed and I went in to" She caught herself on the verge of becoming too comfortable in his presence and stopped. "…Oh, I suppose it's not important, really."

When she glanced at his face he was staring at her with such intensity that Sophia couldn't help but stare back, her light green eyes set on his gray-green gaze. He looked as though he were in tremendous pain, though Sophia hadn't seen any cut deep enough to cause concern.

"Monsieur?" she questioned, gently cradling his long fingers in her hand.

Almost immediately he tucked his hand beneath his arm and turned away from her again, muttering something she couldn't understand.

"Then if you are not injured badly, lessons will resume tonight?" Sophia asked.

He stiffened at her question, glancing at her briefly, his brow furrowed. "You wish to continue your lessons?"

Sophia nodded readily despite Erik looking away from her. "I enjoy music."

Erik said nothing. He still watched her from the corner of his eye, his head titled down, his lips parted.

"If you wish to continue teaching me…"

He nodded at last. "Twice a week," he said gruffly. "If time allows."

"Oh, after dinner I am free to take lessons…or…or did you mean to say when your time allows?" she asked, blushing deeply. She clasped her hands behind her back and stared at her feet. "I apologize for being so presumptuous."

The door opened before Erik replied. Sophia turned to find her brother standing with his hands behind his back and his eyes burning a whole through her chest.

"Visiting?" Philippe asked.

"No, I was…there was…I brought tea—"

"I heard you drop the tray."

"I didn't," Sophia stammered, glancing at Erik for assistance. His eyes were trained on Philippe, his jaw set in a scowl.

"Sophia, your duty here is complete. You may return to the kitchen," Philippe said gruffly.

"But tea—"

"I will bring tea myself since your…condition…prevents you from such tasks."

Sophia bowed her head, her cheeks burning from his words. She slipped through the door, but not before Philippe took her by the arm. "Monsieur Turro is paying a visit after supper. Make yourself presentable. This may be your last chance to receive his attention."

"I—"

"There is nothing left for you to say, Sophia. Go," he commanded, releasing her arm.

Monsieur Belmont's door closed before Sophia could protest. With a sigh of frustration she returned to the kitchen, dreading Monsieur Turro's visit.