"I should have known that I could not let my guard down around you! So I suppose you've sent for the police?"

I sighed with frustration. That was what Brett did not understand. How could I talk of love with Erik when he was constantly so difficult?

"Do you see any policemen around?" I snapped, lugging the bucket over by the wash basin.

"What is that?"

"Ice cold water."

"Where did you get that?"

"The Opera House."

"Damn it! I warned you not to…"

His speech faltered as I proceeded to take off my dress and corset.

"Yes, Erik? You warned me not to…?" I bit down a mischievous smile at my cruel teasing, secretly shocked at how I enjoyed flaunting my body in front of him.

Wearing only my shift and pantalets, I took a large sponge and let the cold water run down my face and shoulders, seeping into the fabric of my undergarments. But it was still not enough. I cupped the water and splashed it on my face, uncaring how soaked my hair and shift got, not minding that the water was creating large puddles on the floor.

"Oh, this is heaven!" I sighed. "Forgive me for my unladylike behavior, but it is worth the loss of decorum to feel almost human again."

"To hell with manners," he grumbled. "You are my wife now! That does look quite…pleasant…" I could hear the strain in his voice, although I was not sure if he wanted the water, me or both. Well, at least I had succeeded in distracting him from going off into another rage.

"There's plenty here. You should sponge off while the water stays cold."

Hesitantly, Erik arose from the bed and made his way to the basin, removing his shirt. For a second, he had reached up to take off his mask but then hesitated.

"You can take it off, Erik, if you want to. I don't mind. Your mask must be awfully annoying in this heat."

Erik shook his head silently. He never ceased to surprise me. Why was he being so shy about his face now after his actions of the other night?

"Here, I'll turn away so I can't see you. But let me sponge off my feet first…"

"Very well."

After I had finished, I handed him the sponge and turned away as promised. I could not help but grin as I heard his low throaty groans as he enjoyed the cold water.

While I sat quietly upon the bed, I peeked at him. His back was turned to me.

Once again, I noticed his long ugly scars.

I thought of the cage, of what Brett said about Erik striking out like a wounded animal…

Perhaps he has to learn to love and be loved. You must give up your pride and forgive. Tell him you love him.

How does one heal a wounded animal? You stroke and pet the beast until he is tame. Or until he bites you…whichever comes first.

Tentatively, I stood back up and inched towards him. He must have sensed my movements for he stopped scrubbing with the sponge and was as taut and still as a statue. Swallowing back my fears and doubts, I wrapped my arms about him and kissed his scars.

"Oh, Angelica, how I've missed you so…" he sighed softly as I felt his body relax.

My heart melted with his words. I pressed my forehead against the flesh of his back while my wandering fingers ran through the hair on his chest.

"I have missed you too, Erik. So much…" Now was the time. My lips softened, the confession of love on the tip of my tongue.

"How is your back?"

I blinked in confusion.

"What?"

"You said your back hurt from the straw mattress. If you like, I could rub it for you."

"Well, actually…" I was about to tell Erik that my back was perfectly fine. I should not allow him to distract me from my purpose.

Before I could tell him that a massage was not necessary, he had placed his mask back upon his face and turned to me with a gentle smile, his eyes soft. I squirmed with pleasure at the thought of his strong elegant hands upon my back…

"Yes, Erik, I think I should feel much better if you did."

Inwardly, I cursed myself for being so weak but trembled with anticipation as I lay upon my stomach on the bed.

He slowly began to knead the flesh of my neck, shoulders and back as he hummed a melody. I recalled the time when I was sick and he had done the same thing. Only then I was too ill to appreciate it. Not only was his voice magical but his hands were as well.

"Oh, if I were a cat, I believe I would be purring right now," I admitted in a shy whisper.

"Purr away, pretty cat…" he responded. "My sweet pet with such soft and supple skin…"

After a few moments, he moved my hair to the side and kissed the back of my neck.

I gasped at the feel of his lips as yearning for him invaded every part of my body…in the small of my back, in my breasts, between my legs, everywhere.

When I felt the weight of his chest pressed against my back, I could not restrain a trembling moan.

"Your husband needs you so much, Angelica," he whispered in my ear before licking my earlobe. "Please do not deny me…"

I was surprised to hear him ask for a change rather than command, although I was already so deeply under his spell that I could not conceive of refusing him.

"I would not deny you, Erik. I am your wife now."

"Do you want me?" he asked silkily as he buried his face in my shoulder.

"So much so I think I shall die of it…"

Turning over, I reached out to him and stroked what I could of his face before pulling him down to kiss me.

Erik had not been so sweet and gentle with me since the early days of our 'marriage'. He seemed to be holding back somehow as if he were afraid he would hurt me. He ignored my urging pleas and took his time, thoroughly exploring me with his mouth.

Could those low guttural sobs of decadent pleasure be coming from me? From the little miss who sat alone in Memphis ballrooms?

After we were finished, we could have slept for only a few minutes or a few hours nestled together…I did not know.

Although my body was singing, I moaned with self-disgust at my lack of will power. My confession of love had certainly not gone off as planned. I was entirely too addicted to his seductive sorcery for my own good.

"Is everything alright, sweet?" Erik asked as he held me close against his chest, stroking my hair.

"Yes, Erik."


"What is this?"

"Mmm…?" I moaned, still half asleep. Turning on my side, draped only in a sheet which was tangled upon the bed, I saw Erik sitting at the table, wearing only his breeches and looking through some papers.

"These papers on the piano. Are these lyrics?"

"Yes, nosy…that was just an idea I had been experimenting with…"

"I am very pleased that you are writing again, Angelica. Are these for an opera as well?"

"Yes," I sighed. "I suppose so. But it is a horrid muddle. I have not gotten very far with it."

"What is this one about?"

"I thought to base it on an Edmund Rostand play, Cyrano de Bergerac. That is if I can get the rights to it. Have you read it?"

"No, but I have heard of it. Why didn't you tell me?"

"Well, the subject hadn't exactly come up. And, in any event, I don't think you would be interested in it."

"Why wouldn't I?"

"Well, for one thing, the main character has a very long nose and is ashamed of his looks. He is in love with this beautiful woman named Roxanne and…"

"Ah, you do not have to go on. You thought I would find it too similar to my own life?"

"Well, yes."

"And you think I am as overly sensitive as all that?"

"Well, yes."

Erik let out a large laugh which practically made the walls of my small room shake. "Perhaps I am. But I should like to read it anyway."

"I have a copy of the script on top of the piano. I've been meaning to read it again."

"Why don't we read it together? We could assign parts and read it out loud."

"I suppose we could."

"But first we should eat something. You have become entirely too thin, my dear. You should take better care of yourself."

"I could say the same for you," I answered back as I lazily arose and slipped on a chemise and pantalets. "Unfortunately, the cupboard is quite bare. I could go to the market and make some purchases if you trust me enough to allow me to do so."

After a moment, Erik nodded.

"I suppose starving to death is the only alternative."


At the market, I purchased perhaps more than I ought to have. Bread, cheese, fruit…and I even thought to get a bottle of wine, although I was not certain if it was the sort that Erik would like.

When I returned, we proceeded to eat quite heartily before reading the play. At first, our conversation was a bit awkward. But then we began to discuss other stories which could possibly be turned into operas. Fairy tales, Shakespearean dramas and comedies, legends…

As we read Cyrano de Bergerac, Erik became more and more entranced with the story. At one point, he interrupted our reading to point out that he quite liked the Cyrano character and the style of Rostand's writing. And then he became silly and started reading the other characters in funny voices. At first, I was rather indulgently tolerant of his antics, but later I giggled so hard that I had tears in my eyes. And the more I laughed, the more encouraged and outrageous he would be. He could have been a marvelous stage actor.

When we reached the part of the balcony scene, where Cyrano's poetry is being read to Roxanne, Erik stopped mid-sentence.

"Is something amiss, Erik?" I asked.

He placed a finger to his lips, his eyes lost in a faraway look as if he were hearing some imaginary voice in his head...

"Do you have paper and a pen? Quickly!..."

So excited was he that I scrambled about to find what supplies I had. At once, he began humming and scribbling notes frantically.

"Your lyrics?…" he asked.

Immediately, I gave him the papers.

He began to study the lyrics feverishly. Then he moved to the piano with his notes and proceeded to play a string of notes. At first, it was just a strand of a few notes pulled together which he repeated over and over. Then more flourishes were added. The melody, which grew longer and richer, started to take shape.

"How do you do that?" I asked in amazement.

"Ssshhh…it just comes," he replied as he was lost in his world of melody.

I stood behind him and dreamily watched the play of his hands on the piano, closing my eyes to take in the lushness of his composition. How can such gorgeous music come out of his soul and onto the piano so easily? And what a soul to make such sounds…

I thought on the horror of his life. The lifetime void of compassion. Always hiding under a mask, always buried away in the bowels of the earth whether in the catacombs of an opera house or in a forest. The abuse heaped upon him and the vengeance he wreaked in return. Yet out of all of that, he had the ability to create such unimaginable beauty. Renowned opera stars, exotic homes filled with art, exquisite operas, songs to melt the stoutest heart, intoxicating passion that had turned a wretch of an abandoned wife into a woman who now knew the importance of life and love…

And I did love him so!

Abruptly, the music stopped. Realizing that I must have said aloud my thoughts, I placed my fingers over my lips. But the words were out there floating into space.

I could not retrieve them but I could repeat them.

"I love you, Erik…I love you…"

There! It was done now…and all I could do was wait…


Dear Readers, I am now off to go out of town and visit some relatives until Sunday. Perhaps I can update while I'm gone, but I will not know for sure. I am sure some of you will be miffed at me for leaving off with such suspense, but I do have my reputation as "Queen of the Cliffhangers" to uphold. LOL!