Three more weeks until the opening of Beauty and the Beast…
During that short spell of time, I felt as if I were in a dream world, constantly floating…swinging crazily from contentment to desire and back again.
Although I had to face the fact that my husband would always be strange and intense, I could not help but hope that our "marriage" was responsible for the change in him. He seemed to be relaxed more often. He more readily smiled and laughed during our conversations. His temper tantrums were less frequent, almost nonexistent. His regular meals improved his color and added a little extra flesh on his frame that was not unattractive.
I was pleased when we did not stay as sheltered up in the house. Erik insisted on my buying new gowns in Paris. When I protested about the risks we were taking with his safety, he responded that he would be damned if he would spend the rest of his days staring at those "drab American dresses". That I was meant for dresses of silk and velvet with rich colors, along with delicate undergarments of lace that only the French could make. Sometimes, we would even stop off at our secret little inn along the way and have picnic lunches. The blindfold was dispensed with.
As for writing a new opera together, we never seemed to get too far. Erik would make up a few melodies on the piano. I would comb through books in the library, hoping to be inspired by a certain legend or story. But once he came to join me, our cause would be lost. More often than not, he would get that familiar gleam in his eyes and lead me to our bedroom…
Erik's bedroom, and now my own as well, was sumptuous in its own right. He insisted that our bedding sheets were only to be of satin and silk material for he detested the feel of rough cloth against his skin. In his closet were all sorts of decadent-looking costumes that he must have stolen from various operas. Even the famed Red Death costume that I had heard rumors about. There were more erotic tapestries not unlike those in the music room, although they did not fluster me the way they once had. The room had a dark sensuous quality about it…that usually suited our mood…
As for our intimacies in the bedroom, at first, Erik remained as sweet and tender as on our "wedding night". Yet, after having had a taste of passion, Erik's desire for me became darker. Discovering my own sensuality, I was a willing slave to his experimental cravings. He would make me look at him as I reached sexual climax, threatening to stop if I closed my eyes. He would have us stand naked before our bedroom mirror, making me watch as he stroked my body. He would watch me bathe, sometimes losing control and pulling me out of the tub and into his arms while I was still wet and soapy. Perhaps the most shocking experience was when he tied my wrists to the bedpost and teased me with strokes and kisses until I begged him to take me. Usually, these adventures were so intensely pleasurable for me that I was beyond shame or regret.
He would not hurt me or force me in any way.
Except for one time…
I had been lying on the bed, relishing the delicious languor that I always felt after Erik's lovemaking.
A ticklish sensation ran along my neck.
"Stop that!" I squealed, opening my eyes. Erik was sitting aside me on the bed, naked and holding my instrument of torture, a red rose.
"My beautiful wife," he purred. "You will make the most wonderful Aphrodite."
He was referring to the costume he had purchased for me to wear to the Paris Opera Gala Celebration that was to take place the night before the opening of Beauty and the Beast.
"I shall be the envy of every man there, whether they know it or not, for they shall all want to possess what is mine alone," he crooned as he ran the rose along the tips of my breasts.
"I hate to disillusion you, Erik, but I have no intention of going out in public in that shocking gown."
"What?" he cried out petulantly. "Why ever not?"
I recalled how I had looked in the white silken gown fashioned to be that of a Greek goddess. It was shockingly low cut and revealed too much of my arms and legs. And the material was so thin that I might as well be stark naked in it as there was little left to the imagination.
"I have no intention of going to the gala looking like a strumpet. Blast, Erik, I don't even want to go to the wretched thing as you know how I hate going to parties alone."
"So ask that Deveraux boy to attend you; he seems harmless enough. You must go if you want to remain a success."
With that, he proceeded to draw the rose across my bare stomach.
"And don't be so prudish; this is Paris, not Tennessee. There will be many women there, respectable women, who will be wearing much more shocking garments than that one."
"That doesn't mean I shall lower myself to be like them."
"You would please your husband very much if you did so," he coaxed, stroking the rose along my thighs. "So much that he might buy you some beautiful and expensive jewelry to go with the dress."
"I won't be bribed; and I don't care all that much for jewelry."
With the speed of lightning, he had flipped me over on to my stomach. As I cried out, I could feel him straddling my thighs.
"I have found blackmail to be just as effective."
I shrieked as he ran the rose along the small of my back and buttocks.
"You see, wife, I am very well acquainted with your most sensitive spots and can make you suffer greatly unless you agree."
I struggled wildly but could not break free of his cruel tickling.
"Damn it, fine! If you want your wife to look like a prostitute, far be it for me to…"
Turning me back over, he smiled with a devilish grin. "I knew you would see reason. You have made your husband extremely happy." Then he lowered himself between my thighs. "Shall I show you how much?"
The next day, Erik took me to the Paris Opera House. Since rehearsals often took place during the afternoons, Christine was sure to be there, along with Monsieur Deveraux. I was to ask Deveraux to escort me to both the gala and the opening night performance.
I could now not drum up any enthusiasm for the task before me. Even dressing up and making myself presentable seemed like a chore, despite how handsomely my new sapphire blue gown edged with royal blue velvet suited me.
Erik insisted that in order for my career to progress, I must be seen by important people in the opera world and make a good impression. I knew he was right but I still hated the whole idea. For me, writing was about creating art, not about going to boring parties just to talk and dance with dull people.
Also, to my chagrin, I realized just how attached I had become to Erik over the last few weeks. I seemed to only want to stay at home with him, cuddled up before the fire. Even parting from his side to make this arrangement made me miserable.
"I shall retrieve you in an hour?"
"It won't take that long, Erik. Make it half an hour."
"I have my own errands to run, my dear," he said with a gentle smile. "I am sure that you could spend time at the nearby shops if you are left with spare time."
My petulant mood must have been apparent as Erik added, "Perhaps you can find some more of those expensive undergarments for me to rip off of you."
I couldn't help but smile as he sped off in the carriage.
But my mood soured again as I started towards the backstage area of the Opera House. The more things change, the more they stay the same, I fumed. The way Erik was dressing me up and forcing me to go to this gala, I might as well still be in Tennessee with my mother forcing me to go to balls! And what were these mysterious errands that he had to run anyway?
"Angelica!" Christine's melodious voice called out as she caught sight of me outside of her dressing room. "What a surprise!"
This time, she was a pretty sight in a light pink country dress costume at the beginning of Act One. The white collar and apron accompanying the costume made her a picture of innocence. Her beauty did not disturb me as much since she was no longer a creditable threat to me. At least, I was fairly certain that she was not.
"What is your secret?" she asked as she greeted me. "You look positively radiant, all well rested and glowing. Something in the air must be agreeing with you!"
I could hazard a guess as to why I looked so well. The recollection of Erik's lovemaking last night made me blush.
"I agree most wholeheartedly," a voice said from my right.
Turning, I saw Monsieur Deveraux approaching us. As usual, he looked very handsome with his sandy hair, blue eyes and crinkly smile, seeming particularly stylish in a light tan suit complete with blue ascot.
"Mademoiselle DuBois is indeed a vision," he said as he leaned over to kiss my hand.
Though it was no fault of his own, his touch repelled me. It was all I could do not to pull away from him.
"Have you come to watch our rehearsal today?" Christine asked excitedly. "I would so like your opinion on how the opera is going."
"No, Christine," I shook my head. "I pride myself on knowing when my job is done. Even if I did stay for rehearsal, I would trust the Opera Populaire to put on my work as it wishes. As an author, it is my duty to make my voice heard through my work, no matter who performs the piece or how well it is done."
"Oh, I see." She seemed rather forlorn at my statement.
"And besides," I turned to the man beside me. "My business is with Monsieur Deveraux."
"Well," his eyes lit up with pleasure. "This is an honor!"
"Christian, what mischievousness have you been up to?" the Vicomtess asked with a sly grin. "Watch yourself, Angelica, as this man is an absolute menace!"
Deveraux gasped with mock horror at the idea.
"Well, perhaps I should leave you two alone," she teased.
With that, she pranced onto the stage, ready to carry on with her rehearsal.
"Might I hope that this business regards opening night?" he asked.
I nodded. "Not only that, but also the Paris Opera Gala of the preceding week, if you would not mind."
"Mind? I would be flattered to have you upon my arm. When I had not heard from you, I had feared that you must have thought me horribly forward and would not deign to speak to me again."
"Not at all, Monseiur."
I smiled and did the obligatory eyelash batting. In truth, I had not thought of him at all until Erik had mentioned him the night before. Then I felt rather ashamed of myself. After all, Deveraux was not such a bad sort. He just wasn't Erik.
"And I shall be most pleased to be the one chosen to save a damsel in distress..."
"Distress?" I asked.
"Well, in all frankness, Mademoiselle, this shall finally put to rest all of the unfortunate rumors floating about..." Deveraux said.
"I'm afraid you've lost me. What rumors?"
"Oh, you didn't know..." He paused. "My, this is awkward...I only assumed..."
I felt like screaming at him to dispense with all of the manners and get to the point. But my nice Southern upbringing took over.
"Please, Monsieur, whatever do you mean?"
"Well, you may as well know it now as any other time," he sighed. "You are rumored to be associated with the Phantom of the Opera…"
My heart pounded…
