Disclaimer: Well, blast it! Why couldn't I have dreamed him up? Why not? Woe is me...

Chapter 14: The Lover Scorned

Raoul de Chagny stood at his balcony window, his arms on the railing, his eyes unseeing as all of Paris bustled about in the piercingly clear morning light. He could see her face so vividly in his mind...still hear her agitated breathing, her shrill voice, raised in anger at him, the Vicomte, who adored her with a passionate intensity...

Unexpectedly, he belched. Bringing a hand up to his forehead, fruitlessly attempting to erase the pounding ache there, he began to wonder, in a dazed sort of way, why he was standing on his balcony, staring out into the blinding daylight, enduring the noise of the city. He turned, as wearily as a very old man, and shuffled back into his bedroom, where he collapsed on the bed, after nearly tripping over two bottles of the very finest bourbon that the city so generously provided.

He, the Vicomte de Chagny, known to be one of the richest young men in all of France, had gotten as drunk as the proverbial skunk the previous night. He was just another young suitor rejected by the woman of his dreams...

He belched again, and groaned in utter disgust, throwing an arm over his aching head. Just then, he remembered to be grateful that Maman was in the country on holiday. Otherwise, she would surely have been apprised of the matter quite speedily.

A knock on the door put a temporary end to his gloomy thoughts.

"I am not in!" He smiled briefly at his own ridiculous attempt at humor.

The door opened abruptly, and his butler strode in without announcing himself. Raoul sighed. James had suitably British aplomb, but, having attended his master since the tender age of five, considered himself an uncle of sorts.

"Raoul! You simply cannot continue with this...this..." He sputtered, unable to proceed.

"This what, James? You will not convince me that you have never been spurned by a woman in your entire life!"

James winced as the barb hit home, but did his best to conceal its effect from the young man.

"But, my dear boy, you are neglecting your duties at the château! This is totally irresponsible! Forget this woman, and seek another! You are young, and very much desired by all the gently-born ladies in Paris! Indeed, your maman her ladyship says..."

"I am not at all interested in what her ladyship says, and don't "dear boy" me! My heart will have no other woman! It belongs completely to Christine Daae!"

James shook his head as he walked further into the room, and saw the discarded bottles on the floor. Bending to retrieve them, he could not help smiling to himself as he recalled his own identical behavior, years ago, in London. He remembered his own despair when Claire, the most beautiful girl in the lower East End, had calmly told him that she had chosen another...

Straightening, James pulled the little smile from his face, and brought back his stern look.

"Really, Master Raoul, this will not do at all. I will instruct Cook to prepare some tea, and you will drink it when I return with it. The tea will settle your stomach, and soothe the headache. Then, you must make an effort to be up and about, do you hear?"

"Aye, aye, sir!" Raoul sighed, the corners of his mouth twitching. Honestly, James was worse than Madame de Chagny now! He had become an old mother hen.

There was another knock on the door.

"Who is it now?" Raoul could not help but allow his irritation to seep into his voice.

"If you please, sir," a very young voice was heard through the door. "There is a message for you."

James went to the door, and opened it. A young footman stood there, with a slip of paper in his hand. James took it, and thanked the footman, then shut the door. He could not resist opening the message. As he read it, his eyes began to open wider and wider, of their very own accord.

"Well, James, what is it? I know very well that you are reading it, so tell me already!"

James swallowed hard, and shook his head in disbelief.

"She wants to see you, Master Raoul! She...begs your forgiveness, and adds that she would be most honored to..."

He was unable to finish, for the Vicomte bounded from the bed, and tore the missive from the butler's hands. Attempting to hold the paper without too much shaking, Raoul ran his eyes over it hurriedly. He had to re-read it three times in order to absorb its meaning. When he was totally satisfied that he had truly understood it, he looked up at James, who was staring at him expectantly.

"Kindly lay out my clothes, James, and have the carriage brought round. I must see her at once!"

"But she is requesting your presence this evening, Raoul! Surely you can wait until then!"

The Vicomte glowered at him.

James was about to add something, but then decided that his opinion would be most unwelcome at that particular moment.

"Yes, Master Raoul," he muttered, turning to an armoire located next to the balcony. As he opened the door, he was astounded to hear Raoul launch into an aria from "Lucia de Lamermoor".

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"Well, where is she?" Goupreaux bellowed, while Carlotta and her clique giggled delightedly.

Goupreaux turned on the haughty soprano. "So! I am not surprised to discover that this was your doing, you arrogant excuse for a diva!"

Carlotta's face reddened, and she spluttered in rage. "I am most certainly not responsible for this, Monsieur! How can you possibly entertain the notion that I would do anything to harm Mademoiselle Daae?"

"Oh, I can definitely entertain the notion, Carlotta!"

She turned away, pouting. "Well, then, we simply must continue the rehearsal without her, Monsieur!"

Carlotta's adoring little clique simpered.

"Where is she? Richard and Moncharmin will have your head for this!"

At that point, Meg Giry, her eyes full of tears, ran from the stage, on her way to Christine's dressing room.

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Christine had looked at the message with a frown. Raoul was requesting that she see him, letting no one know that she was doing so. Could this be a ruse? It made no sense for him to reply to her own message in this manner. She had, after all, begged his forgiveness, requesting that he see her. Could this message really be from someone else? Her heart fluttered. From Erik, perhaps? Was he testing her? He must have heard the news by now. She had immediately let it be known that she had supposedly changed her mind about the Vicomte. In fact, she had made sure to tell Cherise, whom everyone knew could not keep a secret. She had breathlessly whispered to the young ballerina that Raoul de Chagny would be making the official announcement very, very soon...

She had come to an immediate decision. She would ignore the message. If nothing happened, she would know that it had not been sent by Raoul at all. He was probably even now on his way to the Opera House, in response to her previously sent letter.

She looked at the paper again.

"Meet me at the Tuileries tonight, after sunset. Tell no one of this. I await you impatiently, my love. Yours, Raoul"

If Erik wanted to meet her, why did he not use his own name? Perhaps he was, indeed, testing her. But then, perhaps the missive had been penned by Raoul. She sighed. She was supposed to be leading suspicion away from Erik, was she not?

She glanced at the small clock on her mantlepiece. It was nearly noontime. She had more than enough time for this meeting, if she chose to go. First she would attend to lunch. There was a new restaurant, on the Rue de Marbouse, that she had been meaning to investigate. After that, she would go to the rehearsal.

Staring at her reflection in the mirror, she hastily made a different decision. She would go to the park. If the message had truly come from Raoul, then she would have to go on with her charade. If it had, in fact, come from Erik, then she would have to do her best to explain the situation to him.

She picked up a brush and ran it through her abundant tresses a few times. After giving herself a quick visual inspection, she turned, noiselessly slipping out of her dressing room.

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She had never meant to stay at the restaurant for such a long time, but then she had unexpectedly run into a long-time admirer.

The Count of Duchesne had reserved a table for himself and his cousin, the young Albert de Maurier. They had asked her to join them, and she could not politely refuse, even though she was mortified by the Count's obvious interest in her as a woman.

He gallantly insisted on paying for her meal, in spite of her repeated refusals. Both the meal and its accompanying conversation stretched out to the point that she knew she would never make it to rehearsal if she did not attempt to leave soon. She was unsure as to how to do this courteously, without offending the Count.

Smiling, she raised her wine glass, which had already been re-filled at least three times, in a toast to the Count and his cousin. They both smiled in return, quite pleased. The Count was most especially pleased.

"May I request the pleasure of your company at dinner this evening, Mademoiselle Daae?" He was utterly smitten. The cousin snickered, nodding his head.

Christine ducked her head in heated embarrassment.

"I am so sorry," she murmured, "but I already have a previous engagement. I cannot cancel it, as the person involved wouldl be quite disappointed."

"Ah! Then I trust there is another admirer on the horizon! I am not surprised to see that I have competition, Miss Daae. Why, it has been rumored of late that the Vicomte de Chagny is quite taken with you. Is that not so?"

She ran her fingers lightly around the rim of the wine glass, not lifting her eyes to his. Then she sighed, composing a smile, and looked up.

"Yes, that is so."

"And might I guess that your 'previous engagement' involves him?" His smile was quite wicked now.

Christine blushed harder. "Well, yes, in a manner of speaking, sir. If you will please excuse me..."

The Count's face darkened briefly. "I am loath to allow your loveliness to slip away so soon, Mademoiselle. I would like to secure a promise from you before you take your leave."

"A...promise?" She stared at him,puzzled.

"You must have dinner with me, in the very near future, and I will not accept a refusal."

"Oh...very well, then, I suppose..."

"Mademoiselle! You do not seem very pleased at the prospect, I see!"

She had never felt so embarrassed in her entire life, and could think of nothing to say.

The Count sighed dramatically. "Ah, yes, well, it does appear that the Vicomte has a rather strong hold on your emotiions at present. The invitation stands, nonetheless. He will simply have to tolerate it, will he not?"

She smiled nervously. "I...really must...leave now, or I shall certainly be late, Monsieur. I do have rehearsals to attend, you must know."

His smile was dazzling. As she started to stand, he swiftly went to her chair, and, taking both of her hands, helped her up. Then he bowed, placing a gentle kiss on her right hand.

"You have given me a most enchanting afternoon, Mademoiselle Daae. I really must insist on seeing you again. My footman will be sending you a formal invitation as soon as I return to my chambers to write it."

"I thank you for your kindness, Monsieur."

She smiled at the cousin, who had also risen, and now took up one of her hands to place a kiss upon it.

"We are looking forward to your next performance, Mademoiselle." His eyes shone suspiciously, and Christine groaned inwardly. What had she done to attract so much unwanted attention?

"My carriage will take you back to the Opera House, Mademoiselle."

She was instantly alarmed. "Oh, but that won't be necessary, sir."

"Well, I shall call a carriage for you, then. I understand. You would not want to be seen arriving with me." He winked at her.

The Count offered his arm. Christine had no choice but to take it, trying to ignore the countless pairs of eyes that she was aware were on the two of them. They walked to the restaurant entrance, followed by the young cousin.

She could not possibly arrive at the Opera House in time for the rehearsal now. It was already quite late.

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The man slipped behind a bush near the entrance to the park, hoping that there would be no moon tonight. Enveloped in his black cloak, he was confident that he would remain unseen. He wanted to take no chances, after all.

Tonight he would know, tonight he would be sure. If she responded to the message by coming to the park, he would know that she had in fact betrayed him. Her fate would then be sealed, for he could tolerate no rivals.

Although the sun would not go down for at least another hour, his impatience had been such that he had felt compelled to leave for the park much earlier than he had intended.

The sun began its slow descent as he waited, flexing and unflexing his fists. Why, he wondered, had he decided to subject himself to this torture?

After what seemed to him an excruciatingly long time, he heard the sound of horses' hooves clattering on cobblestones, as well as the low, sharp command to come to a stop. By this time, it was pitch black. There was a quarter moon tonight, but it was cloudy as well, so it was more than dark enough to suit his purposes. Peering toward the park's entrance, he was able to discern a dark silhouette that could only be a carriage. Then he heard the muffled conversation between the coachman and his passenger, a female.

Presently he heard someone walking toward him, while the carriage waited.

He heard a soft rustle in the carpet of grass, a whisper of shallow breaths. The man waited, his own breathing having grown quite difficult. He purposely coughed once, so as to announce his presence.

"Raoul? Is that you?"

That trilling, musical voice was unmistakeable.

Erik, the Phantom of the Opera, closed his eyes in agonized pain. He was sure that, in all the years of having suffered the onslaughts of humanity's scorn and ridicule, he had never experienced anything worse than this.

He now knew exactly what he had to do.