Chapter 53 Encore
Hands clasped tight as they rushed toward the dance school exit, Meg heard Erik thank Gilbert and the other men accompanying them before he pulled open the door. As promised, a coach and driver stood waiting for them and he released her hand to step aside. Still wearing her pointe shoes and frowning at the iron stairs, she nevertheless preceded him out of the opera house and down the steps, feeling his hand at her elbow. The cobblestoned alley would have torn at the thin soles of her shoes but before she reached the last step Erik swept her up into his arms and carried her to the coach. Ducking inside, she seated herself and watched him pass something up to the driver. His expression was tight and the grim set of his lips told her more than any words could express. Gathering the collar of her borrowed cloak to her neck she shivered as he nodded curtly to the driver and pulled out his wallet.
"If anyone follows, be sure to lose them," he ordered, handing up a few bills. "I don't care how hard or fast you might have to drive, just do it."
"Aye sir," a gruff voice replied. "And thank you sir!" it added when the total tip was counted.
Erik glanced furtively up the alley, checking for any visible threats to their safety. Then, as if sensing her regard he turned to look into her eyes. A jolt of desire shot between them and in that moment she knew without a doubt that from this point on he would allow nothing further to come between them. The set of his jaw was unyielding, the look in his eyes possessive. Without breaking eye contact he moved in one fluid motion, climbing in and passing before her to sit at her side. She kept her head turned toward him and felt him clasp her hand as another roar of cheering and applause thundered toward them. She decided that Don Juan Triumphant had created yet another sensation but without their cooperation. Glancing toward the door they had just exited, she prayed that no mob would pursue him this time. She felt him shift slightly and heard him rap twice on the roof to signal the driver, sending them lurching into motion.
Taking one last look at the building that had been her home for all of her life, she felt a surge of emotion that was part sorrow and part joyful relief. They sped up the alley and turned onto the avenue, taking them past the front of the opera house. Light streamed from every window and she gasped at the crowds swarming the stairs to get in, as well as the lines of police holding them back. The entire city block was congested with traffic and people crowding toward the opera, reminding her of the mob that had trapped them inside not too many months before. Judging by the size of this additional crowd, she realized the extent of the danger they had faced. It wouldn't take much more than one wrong look, word or gesture and this crowd could easily rage out of control, yet Erik had risked it and managed to bring them through unscathed. Squeezing his hand, she turned to face him.
"Oh Erik, I was so frightened for you—" she breathed, interrupted by the hand that framed her cheek just before his lips claimed hers. She froze, too surprised to react beyond staring at his closed eyes and furrowed brow.
It was a desperate kiss, a combination of fear, gratitude, longing and desire. Quickly recovering her senses she reached for him, gripping him like a lifeline and returning his kiss. With a satisfied groan he pulled her up against his chest, sliding backward and dragging her with him across the seat. She put out a hand to stop the back of his head from hitting the wall of the coach, although it was heavily padded and would not have harmed him. He kissed her greedily, drinking in her response as if he were dying of thirst. She wound her arms around his shoulders, pressing into the hard contours of his body and completely sure that there was no other place on earth she wanted to be.
After several breathless minutes he rested his head back, easing into softly shared kisses as his eyes looked at her in wonder. She could see the glints of light in them with each passing street lamp as he gazed at her in silence, tracing the sensitive skin along her jaw with his fingertips. His touch sent delicious waves of pleasure coursing through her, making her want more. Longing to explore him at her leisure, she raised a hand to ease off the black wig, smiling into his eyes as it fell to the floor. Combing her fingers through his damp, wavy hair she realized how hot he must have been wearing that wig beneath the stage lights. She kissed the repaired bridge of his nose, then the entire side of his face which he had masked, still seeing him standing alone upon the stage to face enemies and admirers. Tracing along his temples and down his sideburns, she caressed his face as he closed his eyes and let her, his hands framing her waist. But when she focused her ministrations upon his lips he gripped her tightly and kissed her with renewed desperation. She teased the fastenings of his shirt as he cupped her cheek in his hand and kissed her eyes, her cheeks and then her lips once again.
She remembered wanting to tear off that black mask once they were together onstage, eager to show the world how little it mattered to her that his face wasn't perfect. But the mask protected his new identify, the one if kept secret would allow him the freedom to go wherever he pleased and not be associated with the phantom. On their way out he'd torn it off and cast it aside without as much as a backward glance, just as she had done with her own mask. Now, he raised both hands to her hair and tilted her head to one side.
"You shouldn't have risked coming out to me," he breathed into her ear, causing her to shiver with pleasure as she gripped his shoulders. "Never have I been more terrified or thrilled than when you did," he whispered, kissing her temple.
She pulled his lips to hers, balancing herself against him as the carriage sped over the bumpy, less maintained road. "I wanted them all to see our love," she breathed. "And by the way, you handled the situation masterfully, in my opinion. I think you amazed them all, handling the crowd as you did. I was so proud of you, I had to be out there to share it with you."
He dropped his head back, his expression touched with regret as he toyed with a tendril of her hair. "That was not how I envisioned our reunion," he said softly.
"Well, I'm grateful to have you back no matter what it took," she said, smoothing a hand down his lapel. "And that the premiere is finally behind us."
He caught her hand in his, gently squeezing it. "Hopefully it settled things, once and for all…"
She touched the cleft in his chin, her eyes holding his. "Do you think we might now enjoy a more normal life, Erik?"
He raised one brow. "That depends upon your definition of 'normal.'"
They hit another bump but his hand tightened at her waist, steadying her. "Normal—let me see…a life without the fear of never seeing you again," she offered as a definition.
He lifted a hand to her cheek. "I cannot tell you how deeply I regret our situation," he told her. "It is not way to begin a marriage."
"You could not have foreseen any of it," she corrected, slipping her fingers into his loosened cravat.
He studied her a moment, his expression troubled. "I owe you an explanation for why I was delayed."
She rested a finger over his lips. "We owe each other nothing but sharing some time alone together," she whispered, holding his gaze. "And plenty of ardent kisses."
He leaned his head back, his smile restrained. "Not too ardent, or I might not be able to stop."
She brushed the corner of mouth with her thumb. "That would be fine with me," she whispered hopefully.
He laughed softly, shaking his head. "May I remind you we are in a public conveyance?" he said gently. "Having experienced that frustration before, I do not care to repeat it."
She slid her hand around the back of his neck, inside his collar. "But I've missed you so," she breathed over his lips.
His eyes fired with longing. "Not as much as I have missed you," he said, kissing her tenderly. But to her disappointment he tucked her face against his neck and held her there. "I do have limits, my love."
His endearment made her spirit soar, yet she had to admit that he was right. "All right, then if that is the case, what would you suggest we do until our arrival?"
He chuckled. "Play cards?"
She buried her nose into his collar and felt him shiver with pleasure. "Tickle each other?" she suggested, touching her tongue to the place just below his earlobe.
"Too dangerous," he groaned, pulling them both into a more upright position. "Consider the fine art of conversation, at least for now?"
"All right," she sighed with resignation and contented herself with resting her temple against his shoulder. He pulled her hand atop his thigh and held it there with his. "I am curious about what happened to you on your way back from the parish…Daniel told us you protected him from an assassin, and that you were swept away by the river."
He nodded. "He was going to either kidnap him or kill him, so I fought the man. We lost our footing and fell into the river, which was at flood stage. The current separated us, and the next thing I knew Prince was nudging me awake at a bend in the river. I saw no one else."
"Prince? You mean he found you, when the police were not able to?"
"It was an amazing feat, now that I think of it," he stated. "I suppose I'm too accustomed to his abilities and sometimes take them for granted. It is true that we seem to keep track of each other…I would not have survived without him."
"Oh Erik," she breathed, winding her arm around his waist. "Had I know all that, I would have been even more hysterical with worry."
He cupped the back of her neck, gently massaging it. "Then it's better you are kept unaware; Leger must be right about that, at least to some degree."
Snuggling closer, she shook her head in bewilderment. "Before that I thought you were just delivering letters and managing the homeless shelter."
"Aaron and Esther manage well enough without my help," he admitted. "And it seems my deliveries involve people far more often than documents."
She looked up. "Daniel's people?"
He sighed and started out the window. "I am not at liberty to say anything more, but I now realize there are others who have suffered more tragedy that I could ever have imagined."
She pulled her hand from his, spreading her fingers over his thigh. Beneath her touch she could feel the strong muscles of his leg, remembering the stab wound he's taken to his other leg. "You didn't say what happened after you woke up, at the river."
"I managed to pull myself up enough to climb into the saddle…the next thing I knew Dr. Arnand was leaning over me in his office, shouting something about patients never obeying orders."
She studied his face a moment. "But have you truly recovered?"
His eyes held hers before he sighed with resignation. "I don't suppose I can hide anything from you."
"No, you cannot."
"I am on medication for vertigo," he admitted.
"Vertigo? she gasped, suddenly suspicious of his abrupt appearance backstage. Had he arrived, as in the past, via the complex trapeze network stretched high above the stage, all the while suffering from vertigo? "Why didn't you tell me? After all, I am your wife—"
"Exactly," he stated, "'wife,' not nursemaid."
"But what if something happened to you?" she croaked. "With no one aware of your illness or the fact that you were on medication, who knows what might have happened—"
"I'll be fine," he insisted.
"Really Erik, you must accept the fact that we are married now, and you are no longer alone!"
Ignoring her irritation, his eyes traveled slowly over her features. "No, I suppose I'm not," he admitted softly.
"Well you cannot stop there," she insisted, "go on: how did you contract vertigo, and where is this medication?"
He patted his breast pocket dutifully. "I was pulled under the current several times, which in and of itself poses no threat, unless of course one has undergone facial surgery."
"Oh no…"
"Once I awoke all I could do was lie prone and fight the nausea," he related. "The inner ear was somehow affected, but the medication began to work quickly. So do not be angry with me for using the ropes, my love."
The horses began to slow down, and he glanced out the window. Meg followed his gaze, studying the outlines of the estates lining the road which lead steeply uphill. "We're nearly home," she judged, meeting his waiting gaze.
"Yes, home," he breathed thoughtfully.
She studied him critically. "You should definitely see Jean, just to be sure everything is healing properly."
"You sound like Dr. Arnand," he said, pursing his lips at her groan of frustration. "All right—I'll think about it."
Nodding to the guard stationed at the back of the house, Erik opened the door for Meg to enter before him.
"Good night," she said, entering as the man touched his arm in warning. "A moment, sir?" he said quietly.
Meg turned, her hands poised at the neckline of her cloak. "Is something wrong?"
"No Madame," the man said apologetically. "I just wish to inform your husband of our schedule."
"I see; well goodnight, then," she said softly, turning to walk into the hallway and leaving them alone.
Erik glanced at the man suspiciously. "Yes?" he prompted.
"No need for concern, monsieur," he stated quietly, glancing into the house to be sure she would not overhear. "My men and I are accustomed to this kind of work, and will ensure the highest level of privacy for you and your wife…especially at nighttime."
"I'm glad," Erik replied, "should any threats arise, do not hesitate to warn me."
"Yes sir," he was assured as he entered the house, the guard beginning to close the door after him. "Oh and sir—we change shifts at 6 a.m., just for your information."
"Thank you—good evening," Erik nodded, latching the door and expelling a tense breath. He turned to see Meg standing in the dim light, not far from the door,
"Six guards?" she whispered, taking the few steps back toward him. "Is that really necessary?"
"Apparently Leger thinks so," he said quietly, touching her upper back. "I have been duly assured of complete privacy."
After a moment's pause she smiled and rose to the tips of her ballet shoes, circling his neck with her arms. "What good news," she sighed, gently kissing his lips. "I wouldn't want our first dinner alone in our home to have an audience," she whispered, slipping her fingers into his hair.
Erik lifted a hand between them to unfasten her cloak, coaxing it off and reaching around her to drape it over the hook. "Neither would I," he whispered back as she did him the same honor. But when he turned back to her she grasped his arm with both hands, pressing against him.
"Come with me," she whispered, guiding him toward the dining room. He could see that the table had already been set. A small vase of fresh flowers sat between the two lit candles which bathed the house with a soft, welcoming light. In the hearth a fire crackled to dispel the chill of an early winter. And even more inviting was a delicious aroma beckoning them to a later dinner.
"Something smells wonderful," he breathed, feeling his mouth water.
"I have a confession to make," she sighed, nodding toward the kitchen. "I enlisted Claire's help for dinner."
"She's here?" he choked, looking past her and praying that her sister was not.
"Don't worry," she laughed, reaching to the top button of his jacket. "We are completely alone, at least inside the house."
He tipped her chin up for a lazy kiss, feeling her tug at his shoulders until he pulled back to remove it. When she started on his cravat he fingered the buttons at the back of her dress, blindly slipping each from its slit. Her fingers worked down his shirt as he bent his head to kiss the graceful column of her neck, already intoxicated by the taste and fragrance of her skin. Once the back was opened the dress slipped low in front, once again revealing the tiny chain she wore beneath her clothing. Straightening, he lifted it between his fingers, capturing her attention.
"I've been very curious about what lies at the other end of this necklace," he whispered, gently bobbing the invisible weight up and down inside the edge of her chemise. Smiling up into his gaze, she unfastened the clasp, drew it out and opened his hand to place it in the center of his palm.
"What else would it be, but the beautiful wedding band you gave me?" she said softly, smoothing a hand over his undershirt. He shuddered in response, holding her gaze. "I've just been waiting for you to put it on."
He tilted his head forward in acknowledgement. "I would be honored," he said, sliding it off the chain and onto the proper finger. "I thought you might like it."
"It's perfect," she agreed, lifting her hand to display its position atop the emerald and diamond ring he had given to her at their wedding. To his dismay her expression suddenly clouded with regret. "I'm sorry to have been so childish about you wearing a ring—"
"You weren't," he interrupted, reaching into his pocket as he captured her hand. In similar fashion he placed his own gold band in her palm. "In fact, I have changed my mind about wearing one," he stated, watching her eyes widen before she gazed down at his ring. It matched hers save for a more modest design, but was inscribed in the same manner. She looked up, eyes filled with questions.
"Go ahead," he told her. "Put it on."
She shook her head. "It should be your choice, Erik, not mine."
"It is my choice," he reassured her, nodding for her to pick it up and place it on his left finger. "I've decided I need a symbol to show the world that I belong to you…just as you belong to me," he told her as she slid it in place. Then he looked down at it, feeling her rest both hands at his waist.
I am taken, the ring proclaimed, not that he needed the reminder. And it just might help deflect any unwanted female attention, the kind of which his new face seemed to attract.
She lifted his hand and planted a soft kiss upon his knuckles. He cupped her cheek, eager to touch the smoothness of her skin. Rising up to kiss him eagerly, she again ignited the desire he had attempted to bank all night. Within seconds she had him dangerously close to abandoning his intended careful journey back to her after their most recent separation. To make matters worse, she pushed off his shirt and tossed it over her shoulder without a care of where it should come to rest. Smiling up at him mischievously, she pulled up his undershirt and planted her palms upon his bare stomach, making his breath catch.
"Do I have your permission?" she teased.
"Of course," he managed to reply, pulling her closer just as he remembered the large window that exposed them to the darkness beyond. There are men out there, guarding the premises outside, he remembered, not willing to risk them seeing anything, regardless of the assurance of privacy he'd been given.
"I'm grateful for such a hasty and liberal decision," she teased, tracing her lips along the low neckline of the thin garment. He cupped her cheek and tipped her head back, loving the soft glow of desire lighting her face.
"Perhaps we should have that dinner now," he choked, forcing both of them to slow down. A movement beyond the glass distracted him, and he turned his back to their view.
"I am quite hungry," she laughed softly, nibbling his chin before she broke away. He watched her rush to the table and pick up a covered serving dish, then nod toward the table. "You can carry the rest on the tray," she hinted in a whisper before padding down the hall in her pointe shoes. "And don't forget the wine," she called back with a giggle.
"What?" he breathed, laughing at her mood and the way that she threw off the mantle of etiquette, just for him.
By the time he entered their bedroom she was waiting by the desk, her hand on the cover. She stretched out her other arm to indicate the curtains she had drawn, then the small fire glowing near the bed.
"You've read my mind," he breathed, placing the tray onto the surface as she lifted the cover for him, allowing a cloud of mouthwatering steam rise from the contents.
"Beef Wellington, with Bordelaise sauce," she announced, her expression twisting with a bit of guilt as she stabbed a piece and fed him. "I know that I said I would cook dinner, but with all the turmoil of tonight's events I thought we should celebrate royally—"
Replacing the lid, he caught her by the waist and swallowed the tender meat. "Come here," he sighed, drawing her into his arms. "I prefer your undivided attention, even to so delicious a slice of beef."
"Then I am happy to oblige," she laughed softly, tugging up the back of his shirt until it lifted from his cummerbund. "But only after a few more bites."
"All right, if you insist," he chuckled, offering her a spoonful of mashed potatoes and gravy. "But I've had my fill of eating alone."
She opened her mouth and ingested the potatoes, smiling and taking the spoon from him to feed him the same. "I share your sentiments completely," she said thickly, her gaze dropping to his lips.
He gave her some meat, noting how the simple flick of her tongue over her lips shot right to the core of his being; worse, she seemed to note the effect.
"Would you like to open the wine?" she breathed, reaching for his cummerbund.
As he turned to unwrap the bottle she worked the satiny length of fabric from his waist, pushing and tugging at him as she did so. By the time the cork popped out she had tossed the garment away and was circling his waist with her arms, kissing his neck as he purposefully set aside the wine. Grabbing her and laughing at her swat of pretended outrage, he pressed her back into the wall, leaning into her as they kissed hungrily. She shoved up his shirt until he pulled it off as she smoothed her hands over his back and bare chest, her touch erasing the lonely days that had separated them since their last intimacy.
Suddenly remembering their last time in his old quarters he vowed that though the former was highly pleasurable in its rushed completion, he wanted this time to be slower and more deliberate. Reaching up to thread his hands into her hair, he took a deep breath and tilted her head up to meet his gaze.
"Would you like your wine now?" he breathed, trying to slow things down.
"No," she panted, pulling at his belt until she had it unfastened, then bending her head to kiss the base of his throat. "Later."
"I'm beginning to think you might have missed me," he said thickly, gently touching the back of her head and glorying in the feel of her lips upon his skin.
"Guilty as charged," she whispered, curling her hands around the back of his shoulders as she looked up with a happy smile. "The only way I could sleep was to come here and try to imagine you were here with me."
He tugged at the ribbon of her chemise, slowly pulling it free. "Ah, the power of imagination," he breathed, tracing a finger along the edge of her dress. "This is lovely, by the way," he said, his eyes following the embroidered patterns along the neckline. "You made it, didn't you?"
Her face lit with pleasure as she nodded. "Just for your premiere, Erik."
He slid his hands slowly down her sides, teasing his fingers over the silky fabric. "It's a work of art," he breathed, lowering his lips to her neck. "And it hasn't all the hindrances which waste time and attention better spent in other pursuits."
She gasped with pleasure. "Your clothing is almost as bothersome," she complained, unfastening the buttons of his waistband. "Which reminds me—I bought you something. I've laid it out for you on our bed."
Having peeled down the top of her dress, he kissed her ear. "Our bed?" he whispered there, making her shiver with delight. "I like the sound of that phrase."
She kissed the muscle over his heart, making him grit his teeth. "You did provide us this wonderful house," she said between kisses. "As well as a very large, delightfully comfortable bed…"
He pulled her head up for a slow and deliberate kiss. "How sensible of me," he breathed, noting the dark well of passion in her eyes. "I would be happy to join you there," he whispered, "if you will lead the way."
Meg threaded her fingers through his hair as he turned his head against her chest, settling more comfortably in her embrace. His breath ticked her bare skin and his long, contented sigh made her shiver with pleasure. Beneath the pillows his arms braced her upper back, making her feel cherished and protected. Tracing the fingers of her other hand down his spine, she thrilled at the solid weight of his body in and over hers. He sighed with satisfaction despite their prolonged exertions, but lifted his head at her prompting to accept her slow, languorous kiss. When she felt she had convinced him how much she loved him, she rested her head back with a smile, noting his gaze of bewilderment.
"Where have you been all my life?" he whispered, his eyes golden in the dim light of the fire.
"Right here," she breathed, cradling his head between her hands, "waiting for you."
His lips parted in just the way she craved, their shape and form seductive and compelling. "I don't deserve you," he said quietly, letting her guide his head back down to her chest. She felt the brush of his lashes like a soft whisper against her breast as he settled once again into her embrace.
"It's the other way around," she sighed, lazily running her fingertips through his hair, "but I haven't the strength to argue about it now."
He chuckled softly, nudging his face up to the side of her neck as he stretched higher. She felt the solid strength of his body with every fiber of her being, alive to his merest glance or touch. But he frowned as if he were too heavy for her and shifted to his side, his arm holding her close and still joined to him. They fell silent, taking joy and comfort in each other's presence. After some time she dared to trace the faint ridges of scarring upon his back, remembering how he still turned away so that she would not see them. Refusing to let it trouble her, she knew she must be patient and wait until he was ready to share that part of his past with her.
He sighed again, closing his eyes and nudging his head deeper into the pillows. She curled her hand around his side and pressed her face against his throat, breathing in the spicy scent of his skin that was uniquely his. Here she felt aloof from the outside world, as if they had somehow risen above its harsh realities. She listened to the sound of his breathing as it slowed and lengthened in rhythm, feeling completely at peace. They had no schedule for the next few days, and she sensed they would spend most of their time here, alone in this beautiful room. No roommates, no police to interfere, no rules at all—
"They whipped me for not performing," he said softly, interrupting her thoughts. Afraid to move, she only shifted her gaze to his closed eyes, waiting with breathless anticipation. "It hurt less than the shame of pretending to be something I was not."
She smoothed her hand from his hip to his chest. "Erik, you don't need to—"
His eyes opened and she saw the pain in their dark green depths. "I do," he breathed, slowly shaking his head. "I've never told a living soul, before you."
She felt his fingers gently stroke her upper arm. "But I thought—Maman—"
"Not even she knows," he said quietly, "…only you."
With that astounding confession, she laid her palm to his cheek and kissed him reverently. His response was desperate and hungry, and it rocked her to the core of her being. In that moment she felt something change in their relationship, molding them even closer together. He had trusted her enough to reveal this painful and humiliating secret, even this early in their relationship.
"I love you, Erik," she said softly, tracing his lips with her fingertips.
He closed his eyes. "I could never share that with you, if I didn't love you as I do."
"I love everything about you," she told him, her heart soaring.
His laughter was only touched with a hint of sarcasm. "You know very little about me."
"I love what I know, and freely admit wanting to know everything else about you," she whispered, poking his lower lip with the tip of her finger. His eyes shot open and he nipped it playfully as she added, "every detail, Erik."
His eyes searched hers a moment, then he stretched back into the bed, his arm holding her close as she moved on top of him. "No, not every detail," he sighed, looking over at the fire as she rested her head beneath his chin. "All you need to know is that I've been miraculously changed, without even seeking it."
"Maybe you were seeking it, but didn't realize it," she offered.
After a moment he hugged her closer. "How did you get to be so wise, my love?"
"Maybe I've just endured the same thing, and can recognize it in you."
He nodded. "The real miracle is being able to forgive."
She felt the gently stroke of his hand along her back. "You forgive the people who whipped you…and the family that cast you out?" she whispered.
"Yes, but it took time," he sighed as if with regret. "There's not one soul I haven't forgiven; I cannot afford it."
Two hours later Erik awoke to gnawing hunger deep in the pit of his stomach. Waiting until his eyes adjusted to the semidarkness, he glanced over at his sleeping wife. The light glowing from the lantern left lit in the dining room was just enough to allow him the luxury of studying her while she slept. His eyes followed along the lovely curve of her lips, barely opened in sleep, up to the delicate lines of her cheek and the long splay of her lashes. She lay curved into his side, her skin glowing in the soft light. Glancing down to the place where she was cradled against him, he dared to touch his fingertips gently to her lower abdomen. As he did he whispered the verses he'd committed to memory ever since Pieter had given them to him at the parish. He felt exhausted after days without adequate rest, aggravated by his near drowning and ensuing illness. But this was far too important a task, and when he had reviewed them he felt at peace, finally resting his mind.
The night had, to his astonishment and tremendous relief, gone better than he had anticipated. He'd done as he'd been ordered, disguised himself with a repaired face, later donned a mask in order to shifted Paris' attention back to its proper place, their precious opera. He had managed to premiere the beginning of what he hoped would be the music he had always been born to write, starting with the revisions made to "Meg's Song." From now on his music was to take another more recently discovered course, and with the premiere behind him he had successfully laid the phantom to rest. Though his probationary work still waited for him, he and Meg had a few days to enjoy each other's company, and that was also off to a tremendous start. Their lovemaking had been fevered the first time, more patient if not lazy the second, and now that they were together in their own home he felt content. There was nothing that he needed upon which his drowsy mind could focus, and he thought that if he should be called home to his eternal rest he could finally do so with a clear conscience. Though he was not ready to do so, at least not yet.
Meg sighed in her sleep and stretched her foot between his, snuggling her head against his shoulder. The simple pleasure of her nearness filled him with an emotion so strong that his eyes moistened and his throat felt choked. As he curled his arm protectively around her waist, he closed his eyes to escape the unfamiliar and overwhelming emotion, sliding back toward the oblivion of sleep.
…Nathan
Erik yawned, squeezing his eyes tighter as he barely recognized the name, but instead of finding oblivion he felt the prod of that name once again. And then he remembered.
Nathan.
It had been a whisper, a sigh, but now seemed like an announcement. Slowly opening his eyes, Erik stared at the play of light upon the ceiling, suddenly aware of having been addressed. "What?" he half thought, half whispered. Moments passed and he had just decided he was mistaken when his thoughts were interrupted.
You
shall call his name Nathan, for he is a gift…
Erik
felt his fingers tingle and shifted his gaze to the place where they
rested, over her womb. Lifting his eyes to stare at her profile, he
saw beyond it, as if into the future. His mind shot to the little
book she had designed, and suddenly he knew, as clearly as if it had
been announced from the rooftops. Tonight, they had made a child...
Nathan…
Meg stirred, tensing as she laced her fingers more tightly through his. Turning her head, she looked up at the tears in his eyes and came fully awake. "Erik?" she whispered, lifting her head. "What's wrong?"
He swallowed and smiled, tightening his grip. "I'm sorry I woke you," he whispered back.
She raised her free hand to brush the hair from her eyes. "Do you need your medication?"
"Not yet," he reassured her, deciding to keep the news to himself, at least for now. "In the morning."
"She studied his face and he smiled for her, leaning over to kiss her gently. "Go back to sleep, love."
She sighed, resting her head back upon his chest as her arm curled over his waist. "You need your sleep too," she sighed, already relaxing against him.
He doubted he could sleep at all after such a revelation...a son, named Nathan. Turning his gaze back to her face, he wondered how she had known, even before he did. Thinking he should sometime ask her about that, his stomach growled, apparently loud enough so that she heard.
She smoothed her hand over his stomach. "You're hungry," she smiled with her eyes closed.
He smiled at the ceiling. "I might be."
After a moment she moved, slowly sitting up to gaze down at him, her expression sleepy but full of questions.
"All right, I'm starving," he announced, lifting his arm to set aside the blankets. Pulling on the black silk robe she'd given him, he slid to the edge of the bed and got up without bothering to tie the sash. Padding across the thick rug toward the food, he lifted the lid and gazed over at her. She was half sitting up, holding the sheet over her breasts as she watched him in silence.
"It smells delicious," he hinted with a smile, hearing her soft laugh.
"Go ahead, then," she smiled, leaning back into the upraised pillow behind her.
"It cannot be helped," he explained, setting the lid aside and picking up a plate. "I've not eaten a proper meal in days."
"Neither have I," she stated with a yawn. "I'll join you, if you don't mind serving."
Wishing she were comfortable enough with him to drop the sheet, he watched her eyes travel appreciatively down his length. For some reason he did not mind being naked in her presence, thinking the acceptance in her eyes had a great deal to do with it, not to mention the desire.
"I would be happy to, madam," he answered with a slight bow, spooning out more food onto the same plate. Resting two forks along the edge, he draped a napkin over his arm and carried it over to her, standing at attention while she settled it over her lap. Another trip later he extended to her a glass of red wine, waiting for her to take it from his grasp.
"I don't want to spill anything," she grinned up at him, lifting the fork toward him.
He bent to pick off the meat she offered and chewed it quickly. "You won't," he stated, seating himself on the edge of the bed and lifting his glass. "A toast first?" he suggested, waiting for her to lift her glass. When she did, she looked up with a smile, waiting for him.
He touched his glass to hers. "To us—and to a brighter future."
"Amen," she breathed, drinking a third of her wine. She handed her glass to him as she cut the tender beef with the side of her fork and fed him, feeding herself between. They shared impressions of the premiere, treasuring each other with their eyes and a few stolen kisses between bites. Upon her order to wake her the next time he did, he promised and finally set aside the plate, pulling off his robe and gathering her back into his arms. They settled comfortably close and lay staring at the fire once again.
After a moment she lifted her head and kissed his repaired cheek. "Thank you again for my song," she said softly.
"My pleasure," he sighed. "…how did you know about it, before tonight?"
"I found it with your other music when I went to your old quarters; thankfully it hadn't been added to the pile littering the floor."
"It was to have been a secret between Mon. Reyer and me, but judging by your choreography I knew that hadn't been the case…your performance was very moving, by the way. We were all entranced."
"I had planned it as a surprise for you," she laughed. "Mon. Reyer had done some orchestration a few weeks ago, but nothing like what was played tonight."
"It seems he had us both fooled," Erik sighed.
"It truly is a beautiful piece, Erik—I'm tempted to think you fancied me that long ago, if I didn't know better."
He kissed her temple. "I think I always fancied you, though perhaps not in my mind," he yawned, gathering her close. "Now go back to sleep—I have plans for us tomorrow, and they involve sunlight."
Erik plunged his arms into the soapy water, scrubbing the last plate as her hands slid around his waist. He turned his head to meet her kiss, feeling one hand slip dangerously low as he sighed into her mouth. "Careful, my love—unless you want to leave these for later."
She slipped in front of him, bracing herself between his body and the sink. "I'm just thanking you for the delicious omelet," she whispered, gasping when he pulled his hands from the water and grasped her close.
The kiss they shared was hot and lingering, and when she turned around and started to wash he lowered his forehead to her shoulder. Her quiet, happy hum frustrated him no end.
"You cannot do that and then assume I'll be able to resume normal daily activities," he groaned, gripping the edge of the sink.
She turned her head and glanced at his tight expression. "It's your turn to dry," she hinted with a smile.
When his arm shot out to grasp the towel she reached over to set another plate in the rack to drain, eyeing it meaningfully. But he was not going to let her get away with teasing him. At least not this time.
"Like this?" he whispered close to her ear, pressing the towel against the wet spot his hands had made at her hip. She gasped, pulled her arms from the water and turned to pull him down for a kiss.
"Exactly like that," she said huskily, winding her ams around his neck.
He thought vaguely of the guards positioned somewhere outside and gentled his kiss. "You and I have an appointment with the bathtub later today," he said against her lips before he straightened and resumed his dish drying.
"Where are we going first?" she wanted to know, but he wanted to keep their ride on Prince a secret for a little longer.
He held her warm gaze, eagerly anticipating riding double with her again, only this time up to the same park where he had been accustomed to visiting at night. This time he wanted to share it with her, in the daylight.
"It's a secret," he mused, admiring the warmth of her eyes and the beautiful color in her cheeks, he let his gaze travel leisurely down over her petite but compact form. Since the revelation of their having conceived Nathan last night, he had begun to imagine her pregnant with his child, an increasingly alluring picture for his imagination. At one time the very thought would have terrified him, and though he had to confess fear for the baby's safety and appearance, he no longer dreaded the possibility.
Her eyes sparkled as he bent to kiss her nose, interrupted by a knock on the front door. Resting his forehead against hers, he sighed with resolve and dried his hands on the towel.
"I'll go," he offered, starting toward the hallway and feeling her gaze upon him as he went. As he reached the door he heard the tinkle of glassware as she apparently continued washing up. "Yes?" he called, pulling open the door and startling his visitor.
There was Mon. Reyer, nervously clutching his hat between his hands, framed by Detective Gilbert and another man.
"I'm so sorry to interrupt," he said nervously, glancing over at Gilbert. "I merely asked to see you at the inspector's office—"
"All meetings are held here, for the time being," Gilbert said with a knowing smile as he glanced into the house. "We'll only take a few moments of your time."
Erik swept out his arm and stood aside to let them enter, glaring at Gilbert before he glanced toward Meg, who stood with a puzzled look upon her face as she set aside the glass and started toward the parlor.
"Mon. Reyer, Detective," she greeted them, extending her hand toward the sofas. "Please sit down; may we offer you anything?"
Gilbert put up a hand, clutching what looked like newspapers in the other. "Nothing for me, thank you," he said as he seated himself. "I do apologize for the interruption."
She nodded and looked at Mon. Reyer. "You, monsieur?"
"No, no, please—thank you," he answered, "I really only wished to give your husband a letter handed to me last night after the premiere," he said, passing an envelope to Erik. "If you'll let me briefly explain?"
His expression guarded, Erik nodded and seated himself opposite both men, holding out a hand to Meg as she sat upon the arm of his chair. He glanced down at his name written across the front. "How did you know where to find us?"
Reyer glanced at Gilbert, who began to explain. "He came to Leger's office earlier, saying he had to get this to you as soon as possible. And since I had a message for you, I thought I'd bring him along."
Erik raised one brow. "How efficient."
"But first and most importantly I need to give you this," he said, reaching into his coat pocket and handing Erik another envelope. "You have quite a lot of fan mail, even after the performance, but this one is from the judge."
Meg slipped a hand to the base of his neck so that no one could see. He opened the judge's note first, scanning its lines before he looked up. "I hope this is not someone's idea of a joke," he warned, holding Gilbert's smile. "If it is I fail to find it amusing."
"It's no joke, monsieur—you have been declared a free man!"
Meg snatched the letter from his fingers as she stood up to read it herself. Then she laughed with joy. "Oh what wonderful news!"
"What prompted this sudden act of mercy?" Erik wanted to know as he leaned forward, eyeing Mon. Reyer's bemused smile.
"Your success last night, of course," Gilbert said, frowning as he went on. "We barely controlled things until you handled everything so competently, and I'm sure you saw the mob outside, angry that they could not get in to see you. The judge decided, along with the mayor's hearty approval, that it would be in the best interests of the city to nullify your sentence and dismiss you from probation."
"In other words get rid of the threat of any future trouble," Erik surmised. "How generous."
"You are free to leave the city if you so desire, and if not simply do everything you can to avoid any semblance to your former self as the phantom of the opera." Gilbert ordered. "It really is for everyone's benefit, and none of us can afford another mob running out of control.
Erik shook his head. "Aren't such matters decided in court, with charges dropped formally?"
"In your case everything has already been done with the greatest confidentiality—the judge was adamant about that. In fact," he said, looking at Mon. Reyer, "everything seems to be falling nicely into place for your future."
Mon. Reyer, pointed toward the letter he had given him. "Please monsieur, you must open it right away; the gentlemen are waiting for your reply."
Erik studied him a moment, then returned his gaze to Gilbert. "What about my wife?"
"She will receive the proper escort, should she wish to return to the opera. The mask was a very good step, Madame Destler."
"The crown would have recognized her by her dancing," Erik disagreed.
"Only the opera conisseurs," Meg soothed; "the mob wouldn't know who I was."
"That's correct, but I think you both underestimate the success of Christine and Raoul stealing all your limelight—the opera was a tremendous success, and their actions last night are the talk of the town."
Meg looked thoughtful, Erik noted as he sat back in his chair, Reyer's delivery still resting upon his thigh. "They have succeeded in bringing opera down to the gutter," he stated.
"She did it for us," Meg mused, gazing at him. "Don't you see, Erik? Christine freed us to live a normal life…"
"I believe you are both right," Gilbert sighed, glancing at Mon. Reyer, who was staring at the note.
Erik nodded and tore open the envelope, noting the formal letterhead from the University of Glasgow, Scotland. He was aware of Meg sitting at his side again, leaning close to read it. He looked up at Reyer in disbelief.
"They want to interview me for a professorship," he said incredulously. "How can that be?"
"As soon as the performance ended, they came looking for you," Reyer said excitedly. "They were quite upset not to be able to find you, but sensed they could trust me to forward their request on to you. The professors are very influential in the musical world, which you probably know already."
Erik looked back at the letter in his hands, reading their names again. "No, unfortunately I do not."
"Proofessor McAvoy is of advanced age and told me of his wish to retire," Reyer said carefully, "but not before finding his replacement."
Erik was stunned. "Me? A professor?"
Reyer nodded. "They both attended the first tour of Don Juan in London, after which they reserved tickets for last night's premiere. They have followed its success over the continent, and have been most eager to meet the composer."
Erik stared at him in shock. "But it states they wish to interview me on Monday, at the opera house."
Reyer's face lit with excitement. "It is an excellent opportunity, monsieur: they don't even care about your credentials, save for your composition. They were particularly intrigued by "Meg's Song," with its unusual chord structure and tone.
"I don't understand," Erik said, looking up at her. "The song prompted no response from the audience to indicate its finding favor."
"They might have been too stunned to respond," she suggested, "or too distracted by Christine and Raoul's 'performance.'"
"Surely the opinion of two professors of composition far outweigh the public's," Reyer suggested.
Erik leaned back, glancing at Gilbert. "I cannot meet them at the opera house."
"Meet outside the city," he suggested. "Leger will have no objections, and frankly he is eager to move on to other matters. We'll make sure you have a police escort."
"Then it's settled!" Reyer gasped, getting to his feet. "I'll inform them as soon as I return—"
"Please, another moment of your time," Erik requested, rising to go to the secretary. "I would like to request that you carry back my written acceptance."
"Excellent!" Reyer stated, turning to Gilbert. "That is, if I may have a ride back with you, sir."
"Of course," he replied, glancing at Meg. "We brought him here."
"Of course," she nodded, smiling cryptically to Erik. He came back to her side, extending the note to Reyer.
"The time they have chosen is fine, but I am requested we meet at the inn at the steeplechase," he answered, raising a brow toward Gilbert.
"We'll see that you all have safe escort there," Gilbert promised. "Just tell me the time."
"Monday at 2 in the afternoon," Erik agreed.
"Be assured that they only delay their return to see you," Reyer added. "So I am sure that whatever arrangements are made will be acceptable; it was good to see you both," he dismissed himself, already carrying Erik's note as he headed toward the door.
"We will have the coach here at half past twelve on Monday," Gilbert stated, smiling cynically. "So don't be late."
Erik escorted him to the door, shaking his hand and Mon. Reyer's. "Thank you for everything, both of you."
Reyer half bowed with a smile. "If I can aid the career of a fellow musician I am glad to be of service," he replied, nodding to Meg. "I will provide them a good reference for you, as well...and before I forget to mention it, I took the liberty of filing a copyright to "Meg's Song," in your name of course."
Erik stared at him, not releasing his hand. "You've gone through so much trouble on my behalf."
"It was no trouble—what those managers and their board did in stealing your rights and royalties cannot be allowed to continue. I just hope you will forgive an old man for being so impulsive."
"There is nothing to forgive," Erik said. "I am on the contrary indebted to you for all you've done."
Gilbert gestured toward the stack of newspapers he'd left lying on the table. "When you have the opportunity to read them, I think you might enjoy today's headlines," he smiled, nodding to Meg.
They left and were already halfway down the walk when Meg came to his side, winding her arm around his waist. Together they stood watching until the carriage drove off, then she looked up and met his puzzled frown.
"This has certainly been an interesting morning," she said, pulling him aside to close the door. She preceded him to the sofa where they sat and unfolded the newspapers together, reading only as far as the headlines: "Phantom Opera Sensation Upstaged by Don Juan," she read aloud, leaning into his side.
"Don Juan Resurrection A Triumph," Erik read quietly, glancing up at her as he repeated yet another headline. "Phantom Finally Laid to Rest."
She laid her head on his shoulder, holding his gaze. "I'm so sorry, Erik…"
A wave of joy flooded through him as he smiled crookedly at her. "What is there to be sorry for?"
She slowly lifted her head, staring at him incredulously. "You're not upset?"
"Hardly," he breathed. "Don't you see, my love? I'm finally free.."
"A man's gift maketh room for him, and bringeth him before great men." Proverbs 18:16 MT
c. 2008 by Christine Levitt
