Chapter 84 In Vino Veritas

Downing his third tumbler of whiskey, Raoul flinched as the needle pierced his flesh yet again. He was determined not to make any noise as the doctor sewed up the large gash on his arm and cursed himself for not having the same control when he'd been fighting the 'Phantom'.

He snorted contemptuously at the ridiculous term. But what else could you call a man - and how he hated to use that term for him - who skulked in the shadows and spread tales of horror about himself merely to frighten young, innocent girls into his arms. The liquor burned his throat and stomach as much as his anger. "Another," he said to the doctor, offering his glass.

With a sigh, the small, balding man refilled his drink, then set back to his work. He pushed his spectacles back up his nose and moved nearer to the few candles upon his table that Raoul sat next to and leant his arm along. "Try to keep still."

"Try to keep quiet," Raoul growled. "I'm paying you enough." He couldn't help taking out his impotent rage on this man, the humiliation of that morning still rankled. He'd grunted and gasped like a woman, whilst his opponent had not even made a sound. The memory of such tightly reined control unnerved him completely. The Phantom had fought like an animal, yet not even made one grunt of exertion.

When faced with such an unrelenting attack, how could he not have ignored every rule and fought back with equal rage, even if to do so went against his breeding? And not only that, but he'd let a woman stay his hand and control his actions. What did it matter if that woman had been Christine? He was still shamed beyond words at his own actions. No amount of cheap whiske y could mask that fact.

On their ride back to the Opera House, he'd demanded to know why she'd ridden off with someone she professed to be terrified of. She'd insisted, of course, that she hadn't known he'd taken the place of her driver and that he would never have hurt her. He'd silenced her protests by reminding her that he seemed to have no compunction to that fact in his own regard, considering blood was flowing freely down his arm, soaking through his shirt.

Caring not that she was still white-faced and shaking, he'd marched her to Mme. Giry's quarters and left her in the ballet mistress' care, explaining quickly that her precious 'genius' had tried to kill them both. Injured though he was, he was determined to be back to the Opera House as soon this was finished. And he'd be damned if he'd be falling asleep again tonight.

He thought for a moment on the ridiculous tale the ballet mistress had told him of the bounder's history. Truth be told, it thoroughly disgusted him to know and he had no sympathy at all for such a man. No matter what he may have been through in his miserable life, it still didn't give him leave to have anything further to do with Christine.

The knowledge that she'd snuck past him though, without waking him, was gnawing away inside. Was this why she'd begged him to bring her back for the ball? So that she could seek out this other man and perhaps continue a liaison that had started well before he'd asked for her hand? Was this why she'd seemed happier to have a dress arrive than to accept his engagement ring? Was this the reason she'd hung it around her neck and had not placed it on her finger as it had been before? Yet when she'd danced in his arms that night it seemed the happiest she'd been for months. Was that because of him, or because of where he'd taken her back to?

With cold clarity he remembered the sound of her voice as he'd lifted his sword to kill his rival. And yet her silence had been deafening regarding his own wound. Where was her protestation then? Who exactly was this man to her?

"You do know that dueling is illegal and has been so for almost three hundred years?"

The doctor's quiet voice broke through his unsettling thoughts. "And?" he asked, looking the man straight in the eye. Philippe had told him this doctor existed many years ago, but Raoul had never dreamed there'd come a day when he'd need his services. Quiet and discrete - if you paid him enough - Philippe had said.

"Over a lady, no doubt?" the doctor asked, enjoying Raoul's discomfort as he jabbed the needle in a tad further than was absolutely necessary and finished off his stitches with a flourish.

"That is none of your business, Monsieur" Raoul answered, rolling his shirtsleeve back down and shrugging, painfully, into his jacket. "I expect your confidence on this matter," he looked pointedly at him as he began to unfold notes from his pocket and place them on the table between them. "Not even my brother is to know that I've been here, or why."

"But of course, M. le Vicomte," the doctor smiled, nodding his head for a moment. "It is perhaps for the best though," he continued, packing up his things and quickly placing the money into his inner jacket pocket. "That you found out the kind of woman she is before you became more involved than you already are? For if she's free with her affections to others - "

"Take it back." Raoul pressed the end of his sword into the doctor's dirty cravat, his eyes blazing, his right hand steady and strong.

The doctor dropped the few instruments he'd been holding and backed up, his eyes wide with fear. "I'm sorry, I only meant - " he spluttered.

"Take. It. Back," Raoul repeated, growling out the words.

"I take it back; I take everything back." Beads of sweat broke out all over the smaller man's brow as he waved his hands frantically in a sign of complete surrender. "A more virtuous lady, you could never find, I'm sure."

"The lady in question is to be my wife, Sir," Raoul said, sheathing his sword and regaining control of his temper. "So I'll thank you never to question her virtue again."

He ignored the man's obsequious apologies as he strode out of the dank little room and slammed the door after him. Catching his breath against the cold as he walked back onto the street, he knew he should take his own advice. Christine was blameless in all of this. She couldn't help it if this madman was obsessed with her. She had a kind and trusting nature and was entirely too young to understand what his true intentions had always been. He'd obviously tricked her with fairy tales and fantasy and she'd been too trusting, too naïve to see through his lies.

But if he could follow her to her father's grave, would he also follow them back to the Dechanet's? Or to their own estate, once they were married? The fiend wouldn't stop, not when his lust for her ran so deep he was willing to fight like a wild animal to keep her. They'd never be rid of him while he still lived. But how could they ever hope to find him in that cavernous building, when he'd lived there since he was a child and never yet been discovered?

There was only one thing that would draw such a monster out from the shadows. That was to put what he wanted right in front of him. This 'Phantom' must be stopped. Permanently. Or he and Christine would never know peace.

Without realising, his feet had carried him straight back to the Opera House. He stopped and looked up at the building as yet more snow began to fall. Within the hour all of Paris would wake to start another day. Yet as dawn struggled to break through the thick snow clouds, the gargoyles and statues above him seemed to leer through the shadows, mocking him in the foggy darkness. For an instant it seemed as if the whole building was trying to keep Christine from him, as if the very stone itself was telling him to leave, to stay away.

"Like hell I will," he said defiantly, marching up the steps and straight through the main doors.