Chapter 55 Sacrilege

"Oh marvelous," Andre said with an angry sigh, re-folding the newspaper and placing it down upon the table before him. So the rumours they'd heard last night as they'd celebrated into the early hours of the morning had been true. Christine Daae was nowhere to be found. How preposterous of the newspapers to think that foul play was the cause. Everybody knew she'd merely wanted to dine with someone other than her new patron.

"Sour grapes, that's all this is," Andre said, holding up the newspaper and waving it in front of his valet's face while the man poured more coffee into his empty cup. "She probably declined all interviews with this wretched reporter. As she should. Sensible girl."

"Would you like anything more to eat, Sir?" Alain asked, ignoring Andre's blustering.

"Though these divas are certainly living up to their name," Andre continued. "First that Giudicelli woman storms out; now this one has insulted the Vicomte. Yes, I'll have more eggs please. And now," he said, going back to his earlier ranting, "they're saying 'foul play' is at work."

"Shocking, Sir," Alain said, his tone not quite hiding the boredom he felt.

"Precisely," Andre agreed. "No, actually - no more food. My stomach is all a-quiver now. Damn women." He frowned grimly as he finished off his second cup of coffee.

"Then perhaps the mail, Sir?"

"Yes, yes, bring it here." He rifled through the numerous letters of congratulation, placed the unpaid bills in his pocket for Firmin to attend to later, then stopped at the last item. Taking it slowly from the pile, his frown deepened with confusion. A black-edged letter. "How odd," he muttered, placing the note in his jacket pocket as he rose from the table. "Have my carriage ready in five minutes. I'll be back down presently."

Walking swiftly from his dining room, nodding curtly to Alain's deep bow, Andre took his stairs two at a time. He stopped at his bedroom door, composing himself for a moment, before knocking softly and opening it no more than a few inches. "My dear," he called gently, "are you awake?"

Brigitte lay within his bed, her naked back towards the door. She closed her eyes tightly at the sound of his voice and willed away her tears. Taking a deep breath, she forced a shy smile, pulling the blankets up around her. "Yes," she answered. "Come in."

Andre smiled widely as he closed the door behind himself and went to sit on the edge of his bed, next to her. "How are you feeling?" he asked, taking one of her hands into his and stroking the infinite softness of her skin.

"Slightly fatigued," she replied, fluttering her eyelashes as she sat up.

"I have to get back to the theatre," he said, lifting her hand to his mouth and kissing it. "But you rest here as long as you need." He indicated a handle at the side of the door. "Pull that when you're ready and one of the maids will come to draw you a bath and help you get dressed."

"Thank you," she smiled, smoothing back her hair with the hand he'd kissed in case he should take it again.

"No, my dear," he said, leaning forward. "Thank you."

She responded to his kiss enthusiastically, wrapping her arms around his neck, opening her mouth to his questing tongue immediately. She felt his right hand move to her now uncovered breast and pulled away with a simpering giggle. "You'll never get to the theatre on time if you do that."

Brushing his thumb over her tightening nipple, he pursed his lips with frustration. But the darling girl was right. Firmin would be apoplectic enough this morning with Mlle. Daae's disappearance, without his tardiness adding fuel to the fire. "Yes. Of course," he managed.

"And besides," she smiled, placing his retreating hand back upon her breast. "We have tonight to look forward to."

His heart raced at the thought. She was such a delectable little creature. Who'd have guessed that he'd find such a suitable candidate for a wife the very first day he'd spent at the Opera? And the difference in their ages didn't seem to bother her a bit. Though his tired muscles ached with the exertion she'd put them through the night before, he felt sure he'd be able to find the necessary energy later that day for another round. "That we do, my treasure," he smiled, placing a chaste kiss upon her forehead as he stood up from the bed.

She waved him off with another smile as he left the room and shut the door. As soon as she was alone, her face fell. Oh God, what had she done?

She slid out of the bed to stand upon the floor, her feet sinking into the deep carpet, and winced at the dull ache between her legs. Pulling a blanket off the bed to wrap around her naked body, she walked slowly to the door and pulled at the handle there.

Within moments a knock came at her door. Settling her shoulders back, she opened it slightly to regard the young maid coolly. "I should like a bath to be drawn up please," she said imperiously.

"Right away, Mademoiselle," the maid replied, curtseying.

She shut the door again immediately and went into the bathroom adjoining the main bedroom. She stood before the mirror and looked at herself for a long moment, taking in her pale skin, the marks upon her neck and shoulders that Andre had left. The pain in her eyes.

She doubled over, falling to her knees upon the tiled floor as she threw up repeatedly into a chamber pot.

Even when the contents of her stomach had been thoroughly emptied, she continued to dry heave until she sat back against the nearest wall. It felt as if a thousand knives were tearing at her flesh and ripping her heart to pieces. What she wouldn't give to take back the last twenty-four hours.

Pulling up her knees she folded into a foetal position, trembling uncontrollably, trying to calm herself. It had all seemed so simple. The new managers were obviously rich; she and Roxanne would be well taken care of. They'd never want for anything; they'd be out of the chorus at last. As the night had worn on and the champagne had taken its blessed effect, they'd paraded with their managers to salon after salon, with Roxanne growing bolder and more outrageous all the time. It had been pure self-preservation to turn her own attention to the sweeter, kinder Andre and let Roxanne take her rightful place firmly pressed against Firmin. There were never two more perfectly suited than her mercenary friend and her coldly pompous new manager. They were each as ruthless and predatory as the other.

Though the ache between her thighs reminded her that Andre hadn't been as gentle as she'd hoped, she knew his timid lovemaking was infinitely preferable to the coarser way Richard Firmin would've taken her.

"You must keep yourself chaste," she said miserably, recalling the many times the man she truly loved had said those words to her within the confessional. "Oh God…"

She slid down onto the cold floor, pressing her hands and face against it, wanting nothing more than to die. She was a whore. She was nothing more than a whore.

The knock upon the bedroom door broke through her anguished thoughts. She didn't want to get up. She didn't want to have to face them. They knew. They all knew. Even if he did marry her, they'd still know how the marriage had been achieved. She couldn't do it, she couldn't -

No. She had to do it. The choice had been made. Time was not about to run backwards to save her now. "Get up," she said harshly, forcing herself to push up from the floor with her hands. "Get up!"

Holding onto the towel rail on the wall above her, she rose from the floor, the blanket pooling around her feet. "This will be your house. She will be your servant," she said to the reflection in the mirror across from her.

She reached up behind the bathroom door and removed Andre's robe from the hook there. Wrapping it around her body, she luxuriated in the silky material. "This will be yours," she whispered fiercely. "Furs, silks, diamonds. Everything you want. He'll give you everything you want."

Walking haughtily from the bathroom to answer the servant's knock at last, she left behind the simpering child who longed for a love she'd never have and moved like a practiced courtesan through her new home.