Author's Note:

Chapter Twenty One

A shiver ran down Raoul's spine as he stared at her as she went back to the wardrobe for a shirt.

"But, no. I stayed my hand until you were born." She gave him a sweet, loving smile over her shoulder as she sorted through his clothing. Raoul fought the urge to have everything washed before wearing it again. "My darling, beautiful boy. Everything he wasn't. My sweet Raoul. To imagine something as ugly as that--thing coming from my body.

"But you, you were my proof that God had not forsaken me." She added a shirt to his suit, still smiling. "I was still young and trusting then. Never trust a servant, Raoul. I've always taught you that, and this is why. They're greedy, no matter how generous you've been with them in the past. It's never enough."

"I've never forgotten the lesson," he said carefully.

"Good." She patted his cheek. "I'll go check your bath."

Raoul watched her glide across the room, feeling like he saw a beautiful stranger and not his mother. Bile rose to the back of his throat and he swallowed it down. He'd always known that attractiveness was important to her, but was it truly all-encompassing? He followed her to the doorway where she poured his favorite scent into the water and tested the temperature.

She didn't appear to be anxious to continue the ghastly tale, but Raoul didn't think it was the end. "Are there any particular servants I should beware of, Maman?"

"Oh, they're long gone, thankfully, and smart enough not to ask for any more money. That nurse and the gardener. They were well paid to tend to him and be certain it looked like an accident. How difficult could it be? For all that he was always strong, he was still a boy, after all. And they were right on the ocean, how difficult could it be? All they needed was a rowboat and have him wash up so your father would be able to weep and bury him. But no, no. They had to get greedy and sell him to the gypsies. Incompetence should never be tolerated, Raoul."

"Never," he agreed. His voice sounded hollow to his own ears, but she didn't seem to notice.

Maman smiled and shut off the bath water. "You were always my salvation. You know that, don't you? I'll tell everyone you won't be long. Don't disappoint me."

"I wouldn't dare."

She swept out of his room, gently closing the outer doors behind her.

All Raoul could do was stare after her.

How long it took for his thoughts to come back, he didn't know. He'd heard it, but it was beyond unbelievable. His mind could not accept it.

All the years Papa frantically searched for his lost son--all because the boy wasn't pretty enough?

Do you only love me because I'm beautiful? Is that all the meaning I have to you?

How could any mother arrange to have her own child killed?

Raoul tried to imagine standing over a son of his, helpless in his crib, wanting to kill him because of something as minor as a discoloration on his face that would not go away. Tried to imagine hating a child so much, he'd pay someone to commit murder. Yes, he'd wanted his brother dead, but that was for offenses already committed, not because he was unsightly.

He shivered again. His mother was a monster.

He finished undressing and climbed into the now-warm-not-hot water, submerging his entire body and soaking his hair.

Perhaps that was too harsh. She couldn't be a monster. She loved him, for whatever reason. She loved Papa. They both loved her.

But she'd paid servants to have her young son killed.

She'd talked about it just then, as if it was a secret he should have known from the cradle. Was it possible that she'd told him when he was too young to understand or remember, and always felt he was her ally in such a tragic event? That, somehow, he was part of her conspiracy?

Which would explain her reason for confiding in him after his bungled assassination attempt, to reassure him that she approved. That her luck had been no better.

Raoul dropped his face into his hands and didn't want to fight the tears.

She was a monster. He hated her, despised her, wanted nothing to do with her.

And yet he still loved his mother.

He rinsed his face and turned the tap back on to warm the water so he could finish his bath. His breathing still came ragged, but his mind was clearer.

Returning to the gala was the next thing on his agenda. He had to talk to the Colonel and, if possible, to Erik. He would keep his mother happy for tonight, but no longer. And Christine –

Christine. How many times had he challenged her—how could you love a man as evil as that? She could never explain it, only said that it was so. And he'd never understood.

Now—now, he understood.

Dear God in Heaven, he understood.

He'd tried valiantly to rescue her from a fate she didn't need rescuing from. He'd almost kept her from the life that would make her happiest. She wouldn't be happy during his time in the Ivory Coast, wouldn't want to safari or explore or any other adventure that he'd always wanted to pursue. No, he owed her a great apology.

There had been enough pain in this family, thanks to his mother's actions all those years ago. But Raoul couldn't merely allow himself to be seen as a comrade now that he realized it.

It had to end, and he had to end it.

XXX xxx xxx XXX

Christine had fallen asleep in his arms, but Erik was too restless to lay in bed and hold her. He rose, pulled on his trousers, and went back to his rooms. He could hear the music still playing in the gala echoing down the hallway. Rejoining the party occurred, but disinterested him. Let them enjoy their gossip. He had no stomach for it and it would still be there in the morning and for years to come. Gossip was nothing new. He'd survived and thrived against much worst.

Erik closed the door and paced around his room. Like his room in the Paris townhouse, this was a storehouse of memories and gifts from his 'missing years'. A treasure trove he no longer resented but simply did not know what to do with. Like so much of his life of late.

What he should be doing is deciding where to take Christine on their wedding trip. He'd thought Vienna, but was not sure if she'd enjoy it as much as he dreamed she would. Perhaps, they should simply discuss it over breakfast in the morning, while the rest of the house was still abed.

The knock on the door caught Erik by surprise. He donned the dressing robe over his trousers and padded over in bare feet to answer it.

Raoul stood there. He had the air of a drunkard about him, though Erik could smell no alcohol on his breath. No, not a drunkard, but a man who'd had his world shattered around him and was still grasping at the shards.

"Are you going to press charges against me?" Raoul asked.

Erik regarded him for a moment. The Darkness still flared, still tempted, and he saw it clearly, but he was too weary to take the step necessary to fall into its grasp. "Are we still at war?"

The viscount considered. His eyes were hollow, there was no fight left in him. Erik didn't need the answering shake of his head or the quiet but firm "No" that followed.

"Then I have no reason."

Raoul nodded and turned to go.

Erik watched him for a moment, suddenly aware that he should talk more with Raoul. That there were things they should understand between them. That, for Christine's sake as well as their own futures, they should make some honest peace between them.

And, once again, words failed him.

Raoul disappeared from sight down the stairs.

XXX xxx xxx XXX

Christine startled awake, surprised to find herself alone in the bed. It was still early, barely dawn. Everything around her was silent, but she swore she'd heard someone move in her room.

"Erik?"

She slipped out of bed, grabbing her dressing gown against the slight chill of the evening air. The embers in the fireplace still gave a faint glow, giving her enough light to see she was alone. She navigated the strange room to the door, reaching for the knob, but stopped when she stepped on something odd. Opening the door for more light, she found a note on the floor.

At first she thought it had to be from Erik. After all, who else wrote notes? But it was unsealed, not something Erik ever did. She stepped into the doorway to take advantage of the lamps in the hallway to read.

My dearest Christine,

Tonight, I have come to understand many things I've never imagined possible before. Foremost among them was how you can truly love my brother. I pray, for your sake, that he truly loves you as well and that your lives together will be long and contended, for I doubt that I will return to Paris, or even France. My fortune and fate lies elsewhere and I mean to find it.

Please forgive me for leaving like this, but I see no other way to restore some semblance of grace or happiness to you and my family. By the time you read this, I will have already left the estate for my assignment in the Ivory Coast.

I have been a fool in so many ways, I cannot beg enough forgiveness for, but as long as you are happy, Christine, perhaps that is forgiveness enough. I remain

Your brother-by-law and friend-by-love,

Raoul

Christine wiped away tears. Raoul, gone? How could he just leave like that, with only a note? What had happened after she'd followed Erik to the wine cellar?

Yet, judging from the tone of the note, it was something no one else would be able to explain to her but Raoul. She wished he would've stayed to talk, at least. She couldn't imagine that the count would have disowned him, or that Erik would've allowed that to happen. No reason for him to leave, unless he'd already planned on it.

That did sound like Raoul.

She remembered his excitement when he spoke about his upcoming duties in Africa, how he looked forward to having time for a safari or two and all the world they'd get to see in their travels after they were married. How they'd never have to ever return to France again. That was the life he'd wanted, and now it was free to pursue it as much as he desired. Raoul had never wanted to be chained down to a name, a place, perhaps not even a single lover.

Whereas that was all Christine had ever wanted.

As odd as it seemed not to have him close by, she felt he'd made the right choice for himself this time.

"Be happy, Raoul," she wished, and meant it.

Gathering her robe tighter around herself, she walked across the hall to Erik's room and let herself in. She'd expected darkness, but every light blazed throughout the chambers. It made her smile a little, remembering the seeming thousands of candles he'd had lit in his underground lair the times she'd been there. While he ruled the darkness, he always craved light.

No one stirred in his rooms as she looked, but heavy winter bed curtains were pulled fully shut. She drew closer, actually surprised to hear the sounds of gentle snoring from within.

"He sleeps?" she whispered to herself in honest amazement. Even last night, when he'd spent the night in her bed before traveling here, she'd gone to sleep to his quiet song and woke to his smile. How odd to realize that he needed sleep like any other man.

Christine pulled back the bed curtain slightly to look at him.

He sprawled on his back, completely naked, one hip and thigh barely covered with the edge of a blanket. His head lay in a cradle of pillows carefully arranged to support his deformity securely, yet comfortably. It would take a little more engineering to arrange his bed so there would be room for her to stay the night. She was certain he was genius enough to handle the task.

She put a knee on the mattress to join him. Erik was awake instantly, sitting up, ready to strike and protect himself. Christine drew back slightly, startled, but he stopped his attack instantly.

"My pardon," he muttered.

"Perhaps I should sing something as I enter your room?" she teased as she crawled over to sit beside him. The joke raised a slight smile. She gave in to the temptation to smooth his hair back from his eyes. "Raoul's gone."

"I had nothing to do with it."

The instant denial made her chuckle. "As if you would. He left me a note. I didn't see one under your door."

"I would doubt that he jotted me a note." Erik leaned over and snapped open the curtains to allow in light before taking the note from her.

Christine allowed her gaze to travel down his body and take in his nonchalant glory. "Is it totally wicked of me to want to lick every inch of you?"

He glanced at her over the top of the page. "You should refrain yourself since it could ruin your voice."

She dropped her robe and stretched out against him. Skin to skin felt natural and still totally naughty. She loved the sensation. "Countesses don't sing professionally."

"And what reason have I to compose if you will not sing?"

Christine didn't know what thrilled her more—the fact that he'd compose again or that he didn't want her to leave the music she loved. "It would be a total scandal, you know."

Erik laughed outright and tossed the note aside. "After last night, my Angel, mere scandal would be a step up for me."