Chapter 11

Meg felt a pointed ache inside watching the dancers float across the stage in their pristine satin slippers. She almost felt imprisoned in Gilles's opera box, tracing the sweeping rhythm with her toes under the blue silk of her gown. It was her first visit to the city's famed French Opera House. Gilles had decided to take her to see the company's first perforamance of Gounod's Faust as a gift for her 18th birthday. At first she had been excited and counted down the days until they finally took their seats on the second tier overlooking the stage. But, once the lights were dimmed and the company appeared a feeling of sadness overtook her. It reminded her how much she missed her life at the Opera Populaire. She missed the excitement of dancing on stage in the open, allowing the music to sweep her up in its melody.

"Are you enjoying it?"

She looked over at Gilles and smiled. "Yes, it's wonderful."

He patted her hand and raised his opera glasses scouring the crowd for his clientele. Meg couldn't supress a smirk as she watched him smile and incline his head at Madame Auberge and the other society hens. In the past weeks she had met or had suffered through long suppers with most of them. Gilles always reminded her that she was being watched and that her reputation was his reputation. She felt as if she were being slowly drowned by life in this fishbowl. There was not one moment that she felt she could come up for air. Everywhere she turned there were curious eyes and questions about her past. Gilles had asked that she not let anyone know about her past as a dancer. His demand cut her to the quick. She had never felt ashamed of who she was or what she did as a dancer. Sitting there watching the dancers in free flight, she wondered if leaving Paris had been a mistake.

From behind the red velvet curtain of Madame Auberge's box, Jean watched Meg. He hadn't spoken to her since their talk on the balcony. But, he had made a habit of passing by Gilles's home every day hoping for the chance to see her. Throughout the evening he watched her face intently. He adored the way she allowed herself to be completely taken by what was happening on the stage. Every minute his desire for her made him burn. Thoughts of her in his arms, his fingers twisted up in her buttery locks teased him. It didn't matter that his aunt had introduced him to every pretty face in the city, he couldn't get Meg out of his mind. What would have happened that night on the ship if she had given into him? Suddenly thoughts of the masked man surfaced chasing all of his fantasies away. The memory of being pinned to a wall and then chased away made him burn with resentment and shame.

If I ever see that freak again, he silently vowed, I'll show him. I'll make him wish he never met me...

"You are very quiet this evening," Gilles commented as they rode back to the house on Rue Dauphine.

Meg turned her attention from the city outside the carriage window. "I suppose keeping to oneself is not an acceptable social virtue."

"So you are still angry with me?"

"I think you know that I am. Why bother asking?"

He smiled in a way that spoke of his refusal to take her seriously. To him she was a child with no common sense. "You need to understand that New Orleans is not Paris. Society is different here! Being a dancer in Paris is "charming", but here it is a liability. If my clients knew that you were a dancer, that would damage the reputation of my business. I thought you understood that."

"So when Maman arrives here, you are going to make her lie as well," she shot back.

"Your Maman understands what the real world is like. She knows in order to survive that she has to put her life in Paris behind her."

Meg looked out of the window trying to hide the tears welling up in her dark eyes. Gilles slid closer to her encircling her in his arms.

"Meg, please believe me. I would never hurt you. But, this is how it has to be if you and your Maman are going to live a good life here. I do not want either of you to suffer any kind of rejection or humiliation. I am doing this to protect you," he kissed her forehead then reached into his pocket for his cigar case. "By the way, I am going out to the country to pay a visit to Erik tomorow."

Meg looked up at him, the hardness in her face softened. "Really?"

"Yes and I would love to have your company. But, there is a condition."

"Which is...?"

"Which is that you must forgive me for being pompus and overprotective," he grinned at her and lit his cigar.

A smile spread slowly across her face. "You are forgiven then."