Now I knew that I had no choice but to run and never look back.

For Raoul had immediately set off with several policemen to Erik's secret hideaway. Perhaps he would find Christine naked with her lover and divorce her. Perhaps he would be killed. Perhaps Erik would be killed. Perhaps they all would die in a sea of blood.

No matter. It was no longer my concern.

I could only focus on self preservation now. For if Erik did survive this night, he would know who had betrayed him. And he would be out for my blood.

"Miss DuBois?" Mr. Watling said, taking my arm. "I should like to escort you home if you will tell me where you live."

Home. Where was home? I had none now. The only thing close to it was Tennessee.

"My home is very far away. Too far..."

"In that case, might I make a suggestion?" he asked as he escorted me to a coach. "I am staying at the Grand Hotel de Champaigne tonight. Perhaps you would like to join me?"

My eyes widened at his scandalous remark.

Quickly, Watling held up his hands to protect his face from the slap he so richly deserved.

"I mean...to get your own room there," he added hastily with a grin. "Although the other interpretation does have its appeal."

Under normal circumstances, I would have been amused by his naughty remark. As it was, I could only nod grimly.

"Yes, that seems sensible enough," I mused. "Somewhere I could stay for tonight."

With the money I had received from the Vicomte, I could well afford my own room tonight along with passage to wherever I should go.

"To the Grand Hotel de Champaigne," Mr. Watling called out to the driver.

The hotel was elegant and refined. Yet, the luxury was lost on me. I might as well have been staying at one of the shoddiest hovels in Paris.

Brett Watling insisted on paying for my room, despite my arguments that I had sufficient funds.

"I must leave tomorrow to set sail back to the States," he said as he escorted me down the long corridors. "I have some urgent business to attend to in Atlanta. But I would love to meet you for breakfast before I go. May I?"

I nodded but could not quite manage a smile.

"Things will look better in the morning. They always do."

He leaned over and kissed my cheek. I did not recoil from his touch, but I felt as cold as if I were one of the marble statues decorating the hotel.


Once I was finally alone in my lavish room, I peeled off the sticky black velvet gown. I never wanted to see the wretched dress again and wished to throw it out of the hotel window. Tomorrow, I would buy a new dress, no matter what it looked like.

After having stripped completely naked, I took a sponge and scrubbed at my skin fiercely...as if I could scrub Erik's touch off of me...scrub his scent off of me...scrub him out of my memories and my mind forever...

But I simply recalled our wedding night when he caressed my skin gently with another sponge...

I did not sleep a wink that night, although I was so exhausted. The events of the night played over and over in my mind, torturing me.

Never before had I felt such hurt. Not since my father died...


Lying on the bed, I stared out the window of my room, watching the sun come up. It would be a fair day, full of sunshine Yet, the brightness burned my eyes, making me recoil. I longed for the cool dark of night.

As agreed, I met Brett Watling in the dining area of the hotel.

I had little appetite but forced myself to consume some of the tea and scones before me, for who knew what this day would bring?

Although Brett Watling also looked tired from the events of last night, he seemed quite dashing in a white morning suit with a dark blue cravat.

After some small talk of which I could drum up little enthusiasm, the conversation took a sudden turn.

"Miss DuBois," Mr. Watling said after a sip of tea. "I confess that aside from seeing to your welfare, I had an alternative motive for asking you to meet me this morning."

"Indeed?"

"Although I am also charmed by your company, of course."

I merely blinked at his rakish smile. His joking expression faded as he lowered his head.

"Perhaps this is not the most appropriate time to discuss this with you? After what happened with Christian..."

I simply shrugged sadly.

"There is no undoing what has been passed. Please continue, Mr. Watling."

"I have a business proposition for you to consider."

I raised my eyebrows in genuine shock.

"Last night, before all of the chaos started, I was quite impressed with Beauty and the Beast. In fact, I would not be exaggerating when I say that it was the best time I ever had in a theater. So I was wondering...well, I shall just come right out with it...would you have any interest in becoming the director of an opera company in Atlanta?"

"What?"

My teacup fell onto its saucer with a crash.

"I am offering you the position of Residing Director of the Atlanta Opera House. It is a new venture of mine that I have more or less been saddled with. In fact, that was my sole reason for attending the gala," he admitted rather sheepishly. "I know nothing about opera nor do I care to. But Christian suggested that I attend the gala and make inquiries about the matter. From what I saw of you that night, I think that you are the perfect candidate to save me in my distress!"

Despite my depression, I had to smile at his boyish expression.

"I am quite flattered, Mr. Watling, truly I am. But I confess that although I am receiving most of the acclaim for Beauty and the Beast, I did not write it alone. I am really more of a lyricist than a composer. I am not sure that I would at all be suited for such a position..."

"But you know opera!" he stated emphatically. "I could not help but overhear some of your conversations at the gala. You knew your subject more than most of the celebrated operatic stars of the day. And as director, you could hire any composer you wanted to work for you."

I was so stunned that I could say nothing. He was actually serious about this offer.

"But I am a woman!"

"Believe me, I've noticed," Mr. Watling quipped.

"Mr. Watling, let me make myself clear. I had my obstacles even with getting Beauty and the Beast performed. I may have opportunities in Paris despite my being female, but do you really think that they will stand for me in Georgia?"

Watling shrugged as he took another bite out of his scone.

"I am a man who looks at the future, Miss DuBois. As much as our southern gentlemen would like to keep their women all coddled up at home with their knitting, these times will not last. The war changed many things. And especially in the South, people must learn to adapt to the times."

I nodded, seeing his point.

"Very well, but there is another matter, Mr. Watling. One which is even more pressing."

"And that is?"

I took a deep breath and plunged in.

"With the events of last night, I know for certain that my life is in danger. I dare not even return to my home out of fear for my life."

"Are we talking about this Phantom fellow again?" His eyes narrowed.

I nodded.

"If you are in that much peril, perhaps you should turn to the local authorities."

"I am afraid they would be of no use to me. The Phantom has escaped the police time and time again. You see, I was privy to certain information last night which I revealed to Raoul de Chagny last night in order to aid him with his search for his wife. If they have not caught the Phantom by now, he most assuredly will find me. And he will not rest until he has exacted his revenge against me."

Mr. Watling reached out and took one of my hands.

"How terrible for you. I am sorry that you are in such desperate straits."

"Yes," I continued. "I have no clothing. I have no luggage. In short, I have nothing but this dress, an expensive necklace, a check from the Opera Populaire and payment from the Vicomte for my aid. But I imagine that that will have to suffice. I would be happy to accept your offer, Mr. Watling, if you will allow me to make the necessary arrangements to travel with you today back to the States."

"You are as afraid as all that?"

"Yes. The sooner I leave Paris, the safer I shall be."

"So it appears that I am the one saving you," he said with a glint in his eye.

"We are saving each other," I agreed.

"It's a bargain, Miss DuBois."

As we shook hands, I recalled the last bargain of this kind I had made. And emotion overwhelmed me.

But I fought back my tears. I would cry no more for a ghost.