Disclaimer: I do not own the characters from The Phantom of the Opera, much to my regret. All new characters and the plot are my creations, however.
A/N: There is a small bit of nudity in this chapter (when Christine nurses the baby.) I hope I have written this tastefully. Please read and review, and many thanks to those who do.
NO ONE BUT HER
Chapter Three—You Have Come Here
She woke with a start, her heart pounding, her mouth like dust. Pressing a hand to her chest, she inhaled and exhaled slowly and felt her heart slow its frenzied beating. At that moment five-week old Annaliese gurgled happily and Christine smiled. In the next instant her heart stopped then resumed its frantic pounding when she heard a man chuckle softly. In the faint early morning light she saw a man in a black cape leaning over the baby's crib.
"I suppose, little one," he spoke softly to the baby, his voice amused, "that no one has told you how beautiful you are." Suddenly the baby's forehead puckered and she grew still. "What, ma belle? Oh, do you see this?"
Christine must have moved or made some sound because abruptly the man's gaze whipped to her. She sagged in relief. It was Erik. Reaching for her robe, she made her way to the crib, now able to see that the baby was staring intently at something hanging from a chain around his neck.
When he straightened she saw the object swing back and rest on his chest. It was a ring. Her ring, she realized with a start. The engagement ring Raoul had given her four years ago, which she in turn had given to Erik just moments before she and Raoul had fled the burning Opera House. Annaliese made a soft grunting noise and Christine picked her up, turning her to check her diaper.
"Why, Christine? Why would you do such a thing—give Raoul's daughter my name?" With her standing so close to him, he could smell the wildflower scent of her hair, and the waves of longing that crashed over him made his voice harsh and cold.
"I'm sorry if you're angry, but—"
"Angry?" He laughed shortly and turned away. "No, not angry. I am—honored, and—humbled." He faced her and she saw the sheen of tears in his eyes. "That is one of the nicest things anyone has ever done for me."
"Oh, Erik, I—"
The baby began to fuss and Christine shifted her onto her shoulder, rubbing tiny circles on her small back. Taking that as his cue to leave, Erik raised his hands to pull the hood of his cloak over his head.
"Please don't go." Christine's voice was barely audible over the baby's increasingly angry cries.
"I must. Already there is enough light that someone might see me." When she didn't respond, he looked up and saw that she had retreated to the bed and was opening her gown to let the baby nurse.
Transfixed, he watched the tender scene for several long moments, the only sound in the room the baby's enthusiastic suckling. Then Christine glanced up and saw him still standing there. A rosy blush spread over her cheeks and neck as they stared at each other. Oh, God, if only the both of them were mine! he thought hopelessly.
Without realizing he had moved, Erik found himself at the side of the bed. As he had that night weeks ago, he went down on one knee and slowly reached out, this time gently caressing the top of the baby's head with his fingertips. Her hunger satisfied for now, she fell asleep in her mother's arms.
Her hand trembling, Christine touched his cheek, wiping away a tear that had traced its way down to his chin. When he raised his eyes to her, she gasped softly at the love she saw shining in their blue depths. In shocked silence she watched as he pressed a kiss to the baby's cheek, then rose gracefully to his feet. Before she could guess his intent, he leaned down and kissed her ever so gently on the lips.
Without another word he turned and walked out, closing the door behind him with a faint click.
Tears rolled unheeded down Christine's face and she whispered, "Oh, God, help me!"
A few days later a package arrived by messenger. Inside it was a carved wooden baby rattle in the shape of a cat, and a tiny diamond ring—an exact duplicate of the one he wore on the chain around his neck. Christine clenched it in her fist and paced her room, muttering to herself. "Why, Erik? Why are you doing this to me?"
"Marie, you must help me. You must tell me where Erik lives. I cannot go on like this. I have to speak with him." Christine sat in a rocking chair in her bedroom a month later, nursing Annaliese.
The older woman sat nearby, idly turning the cat baby rattle over and over in her hands. "He has been gone to England, to see a surgeon," she told the younger woman quietly, "someone who has had success in removing scars."
At that Christine looked up sharply. "Has he returned? Did he tell you what the doctor said?" Annaliese stopped nursing and Christine moved her to her shoulder, patting her tiny back to make her burp.
"I know only that he has returned. I have not spoken with him." Marie smiled as the baby burped loudly, and she stood to take the child and lay her in her crib. She let the baby grasp her fingers and for a moment they played tug-of-war, until the baby's hold loosened and she fell asleep.
"His house is the last one on the road to Marseilles, a small brick house with large evergreen trees in front of it."
Her heart pounding, the next afternoon Christine pulled the buggy to a stop, grasping the seat of her three-year old son's breeches just as he tried to jump out. "Stephen, sit still and wait for Maman and your sister," she admonished him gently. Seeing his bottom lip poke out, she sighed inwardly. Her son had a fearsome temper at times; she prayed today would not see a demonstration of it.
As quickly as she could, she gathered the baby and took Stephen's hand in hers. "Let's see if the man who carved your horse for you is at home, all right?" They walked up the brick pathway to the front door and Christine knocked, but no one answered. Seeing that the path led around the side of the house, she and the children followed it.
Absently she noticed the flowers blooming in window boxes and tried to imagine Erik planting them. The bright mix of colors complemented the warm buff color of the brick and in the warm sunlight, they smelled wonderful. For an instant she closed her eyes and savored the blend of fragrances.
Happy barking made her eyes jerk open in time to see a large mixed breed black puppy come racing toward them. She grabbed Stephen and held him tight against her leg. From the back of the house she could hear Erik, angrily calling to the dog. Obediently it sat in front of her, tongue lolling from one side of its mouth, eyes bright and hopeful.
"Rascal!" Upon hearing his name, the puppy leaped up and ran back to Erik, happily jumping on him, pulling a reluctant laugh from him. "Down, Rascal. Down. Good boy! Sit—sit! Good boy!" He rumpled the dog's ears and thumped him on the side.
Frozen at the sound of his laugh, Christine was too late to stop Stephen from running over to join man and dog. She stared at Erik, amazed and a little irritated at her reaction to the sight of him in dark trousers and a blue chambray shirt, the sleeves rolled up past his elbows to expose tanned, muscular forearms dusted with dark hair. He looks . . . wonderful. And . . . content.
At the sound of steps, he looked up, shocked at the sight of Christine and her children standing before him. Just as the boy reached them, he took a firm hold on the pup's collar, murmuring "Sit."
Suddenly shy, Stephen stopped several feet away. "Oggie!" he said, making Erik hide smile at the garbled pronunciation.
"Doggie," he said carefully, one hand still on the pup's collar. Slowly he crouched down beside the dog and reached out for the boy's hand, placing it on the top of Rascal's head between his ears. "Touch him gently. This is Rascal. Rascal, this is Stephen."
Rascal's tongue swooped out and nearly caught Stephen on the chin. After a moment, the child giggled delightedly and turned to his mother. "Oggie!"
Fighting tears, she nodded, and replied, "Yes, love. Doggie." She swallowed, then said, "Please don't be angry, Erik. I told Marie I had to speak to you and she told me where you live. I've told no one else."