Their bodies were still tangled together when Helene opened her eyes. Her entire body ached and her ankle seemed to strain against the tight bandage.
Erik's arms were around her, one hand heavy and possessive on her hip.
The candle had burned so low and the dying light gave a luminous glow to the sheen of cooled sweat on his skin.
I want to stay here forever...just like this...in this bed...in his embrace.
With a raspy sputter, the candle flickered out and she wondered why her own face was damp with tears.
His hold on her tightened and his lips brushed against her cheek.
"Thank you, my sweetness," he whispered and those dreams...the dreams that had tormented her every day since that first frightening encounter with the Opera Ghost came back to her.
"Oh, bless the night," she thought, curling closer to him.
-----
In the morning, she found a gown laid out on on the chair. An afternoon dress of fine burgundy wool. Beneath it lay a silk chemise.
She was alone in the bed, but the smell of fresh coffee drifted through the velvet drape.
She sat up and tested her ankle. It hurt, but it was not unbearable and she managed to dress without calling for him. Like the nightgown, the clothing was just a bit too small...and she knew it was meant for Christine...and never worn.
She found her ebony comb lying on the armoire beside the spent candle and she did her best to twist her hair into a neat coil.
He was at his desk when she ventured out of the bedroom. He rose when he saw her and reached for her, one gloved hand gently cupping her jaw...so careful not to touch her bruised cheek.
"It's time you returned home, Comtessa," he said, not concealing the craving in his eyes.
She leaned against him, hiding her face against his black cravat.
"Let me stay with you, Erik. For a little longer."
"No, Helene. There is a carriage waiting for you outside. You need to go back...for now. If you are gone too long, they will search for you...if they come here..."
She understood. The world probably thought him dead in the fire...she would not betray him.
Despite her protests that her ankle was not troubling her, he would not let her walk.
He carried her through a dim passageway and up a flight of stone steps. Minutes later, she found that they were in the theatre's foyer.
He set her down, but kept her close for a moment.
"Will you come back to me?"
She answered him with a kiss and he pressed a key into her palm.
"You need not use the trap door this time," he said, his hands cupping her breasts through the tight dress, "go to the Rue Scribe. There is a door there."
"I'll return as soon as I can. I promise you, Erik," she said, reluctantly pushing herself out of his embrace.