Sorry I haven't been current with my "thank-you"s. I'm quite attached to each one of your reviews. They and you inspire me to go on and write each chapter. I check constantly to see if they are any new reviews. So, please feel free to keep it comin'!

Katherine: You've become quite a friend and I anticipate both your emails and reviews:hug:

brigand, Captain Oblivious, erikslove16, Princess Persephone, HPROXMYSOX, L.B. the Daft Penguin, daferretgirl, La Romantique Perdue, Spunky-hyper-girl, Sue, Renee17, Dominique Vida, Jen Lennon, Golden-Haze, Blissful Rose, phantomlover22, Icedevimon13, ellina HOPE, charity, DragonheartRAB, Mademoiselle Justicia, and Misty Bryer...Thank you, Misty, for your appreciation of my favorite lines... I love y'all and hope you'll continue to read, review, and love this story!

Your obedient servant,

"Shye Mareck"

Erik watched in helpless horror as Garrick's muscles were seized by another spasm. Lockjaw had set in just as he suspected it would. The only thing the boy's stomach could tolerate was milk and light cream. The young man's body convulsed with each spasm, but he remained conscious. Erik administered light doses of opium tincture so the boy could get some sleep here and there. Five days had passed since the boy had been attacked. Erik hadn't left the boy's side in the last two days. A medical journal lay open to the page describing the symptoms and treatment of lockjaw or tetanus, as it was called. Keeping the patient calm with spirits was the only prescribed treatment outside of the administration of plenty of liquids to avoid dehydration. The journal was another example of Meg resourcefulness and the unintentional generosity of a retired doctor, living upstairs. The average length of the illness was between fourteen to twenty-five days. The most crucial, being the first fourteen. If he could survive the first two weeks, everyday afterward increased his chances of survival. The journal stated that only four in ten of those infected survived the first two weeks, and three of those lived through the next ten days.

Erik sat on his mattress, minus his formal coat and vest, with his legs stretched out in front of him, staring at his boots, when Meg walked in. His own muscles cramped from the lack of exercise. He almost didn't hear her come in. Her coming and goings had become so common place that he didn't even question her right to be there anymore. She placed a tray of hot food and a book on the cedar chest and retrieved the dirty dishes from lunch.

"Can you get away later tonight to stay with Garrick?" Erik asked. "I have some errands to attend to." It still bothered him that he was so dependant on another person, but even more so that he was dependant on a woman. He was angry with himself, but inadvertently, found that he was angry with her as well. He tried not to show it.

"I think so, but it will be late. I hate to be gone too long before Mother is in bed. About ten-thirty or eleven o'clock, I think."

"Good."

"How is he doing?" Meg gestured toward Garrick.

"Ask him. He can talk and he knows better than I." Erik stated irritably. Meg repeated the question to Garrick, after giving Erik a look that bespoke her own irritation. His moods must wearing on her, as well.

"Better, I think." Garrick forced the words out, though he could just barely move his mouth.

"I brought some liniment. Uncle Alec uses it for his gout. I thought it might help. Where do you need it the most?" Meg asked the boy.

"My legs," was the thin reply.

"I'll do it." Erik cut in. Watching her massage the camphorated oil into Garrick's aching muscles would do nothing for his own maladjusted back and sour disposition.

"I brought something else. It's a novel, the French translation of The Last of the Mohicans by James Fenimore CooperAunt Clair likes American authors. You might even read it out loud to Garrick."

"I'll think about it." Erik responded. It was a good idea, he admitted, grudgingly and silently. Meg left without adding further comment.

Erik helped Garrick eat, then helped himself to what was left of the food. Afterward, he rubbed the camphorated oil on Garrick's limbs, neck and back. It did seem to help the relax the muscles. The gratitude in Garrick's eyes was good for Erik as well. It wasn't often that he experienced such a look.

He adjusted the oil lamp for a brighter flame, propped himself against the wall while sitting on his own bed and began to read. He continued until Garrick's eyes drooped in fatigue, then he closed the book. It surprised him a little that he had enjoyed the story as much as he did. He'd been a little prejudiced toward the Americans, perceiving them to be ignorant as well as arrogant. He was sufficiently humbled by the experience that he made a mental reminder to read more American literature.

He was reflecting on the book when Meg entered again. The time must have passed much more quickly than he thought. Garrick was asleep, but Erik knew it wouldn't last for long. The spasms would return and the poor boy would be racked again with pain. He didn't rise immediately, but watched Meg openly as she closed the door behind her.

She wore a light blue dressing gown of sheer lace and satin. It was a pretty thing; not too revealing and yet he wished, guiltily, that it was. He wondered briefly if she wore it for his benefit. Errantly, he wished that she had, but was not so foolish as to speak of it. Straight blond hair hung over one delicate shoulder. Every time Meg walked into the room, she brought a presence so sweet and provocative that he felt his gut tighten with desire. He needed to get out of the house, before he was so lovesick that he wouldn't be able to form a logical thought in his head.

"Did you change your mind about leaving?" Meg asked him when he just sat there looking at her.

"No, but I think my backside in numb from sitting here so long that I don't think I can move."

"Let me help." She said, standing in front of him and reaching out with both hands. He grasped her out stretched hands and used the leverage to pull himself into an upright position, bringing them face to face.

They stood, hands clasped, face to face, each waiting for the other to break the contact. Neither moved, until Erik lowered his head slightly and Meg closed the distance between them. Lips met. Erik kissed her. Freeing his hands from hers, he stroked her hair, burying his fingers in the softness. His lips moved to her brow, then he pulled her close, wrapping her in a tight embrace. Her head fit under his chin, and her cheek was pressed to his chest. An ache in his heart rose to form a lump in his throat. The joy of promise was suffocated by the bitterness of regret. He knew that he would indeed regret taking the encounter any further.

In the last few months, he's had many opportunities to wonder at what kind of man he was. Christine had done that for him. He'd been forced to ask himself some hard questions, like how far would he have gone in trying to force her into loving him? What kind of life could they have had? In the end, there would have been nothing but bitterness and hate between them. He would never stop loving her. Christine was his angel, ethereal and exquisite, but Meg was real. He felt her heart beating next to his, breathed her scent and felt her softness. She had risked her own safety to protect him. There was no chance that he would hurt her now, at least not deliberately. And she would be hurt if he allowed her to believe that they had a future together. Gently, he pushed her away.

"I must leave." His words reverberated huskily in his chest. Without looking at her, he gathered his coat and hat and left without another word. Sappy words of goodbye and 'it's all for your own good' were better left unsaid.

Erik found blissful solitude on the banks of the Seine. A sliver of a new moon hung in the sky surrounded by glittering starlight. It was a chilly night, yet the cool breeze did nothing to quell the heat radiating from him. He'd been running for several miles, but still had more energy than he knew what to do with. His life lacked purpose, leaving him with an abundance of potential and ability and nowhere to apply it. He'd lost some interest in his designs since Garrick was attacked. He had no place to work on them and his mind was distracted.

Who ever said that idle hands were the devil's work shop, knew what they were talking about. No one else would be so pleased with the thoughts that formed in Erik's brain, when he was in Meg's presence. He found thin consolation that sin lie not in temptation but in the act of sin.

Erik collected his mail, before returning to the basement room. A letter from the realtor confirmed that the Chateau de Bagen was still on the market and could be sold immediately. In the morning, Meg would make the final transaction for the purchase of the Chateau de Bagen, then it would be his. Garrick was still in no shape to make the journey. It would take at least a day to make the trip by carriage. Again, he thought of abandoning the boy, but something inside of him taunted him as being a coward. What kind of man was he that he would do such a thing to a loyal assistant? He would stay until Garrick could travel safely. It occurred to him in a startling revelation that he'd changed. It wasn't too long ago that he would have selfishly deserted anyone and everyone to seek his own comfort and preservation.

Christine had done that for him, he decided. He had learned that real love is not a selfish thing, but a gift of such a nature that it freed a soul to exist wholly on its own. Love was not a trap that forced fidelity but a voluntary power that bound one eternal soul to another. His bond with Christine was not weakened by his feelings for Meg, he discovered somewhat surprised. His love for Christine had set her free to find her own happiness. He would have to do the same thing for Meg, even if it hurt both of them in the beginning. He would survive on the knowledge that it was for her better good.

Erik's good intentions were almost forgotten when he found Meg asleep on his bed. The candles cast her in a golden glow as she lay on her side, her pale hair spread out like a gilded halo in contrast to the dark lashes resting on her cheek. Erik hesitated to wake her but the alternative wasn't such a good idea either. It wasn't that he didn't enjoy seeing her asleep on his bed, but more the opposite. She woke in a daze when he touched her shoulder.

"How is he?" He asked, inclining his head toward Garrick.

"He was awake a little while ago. I just drifted off, I think." She said, dreamily and snuggled back into the soft mattress.

"Wake up, Meg. I have to talk to you about something." Erik said, trying to sound earnest without sounding desperate. "I need you to go to the bank in the morning and get the money to purchase the Chateau de Bagen."

"Oh, yes." She smiled at him and raised her arms over her head, stretching languidly. "We're buying a house." She sighed happily.

"We're not buying a house. I'm buying a house. You're helping me buy a house." He said slowly, trying to imprint his version on her subconscious mind. She didn't hear him. She was already asleep. It was two o'clock in the morning, so who could blame her. Erik shook her again. "You need to go back to your own bed, Meg. This is my bed." He whispered, not wanting to wake Garrick.

"But I'm so tired...I want...to...sleep." Meg said, drifting off again. Erik thought of carrying her up to her own room. It was an unlikely venture. He would wake half the house in the process. The alternative was to lay down beside her and try to get some sleep himself before Garrick woke again. That option wasn't really an option at all. He would get no sleep at all and neither would she.

It was a cruel thing to do, but Erik was running out of ideas of how to wake her. Dipping his fingers in the pitcher of water, he flicked the drops of moisture in her face. She flinched, as he expected, coming fully awake. She glared at him.

"What did you do that for?"

"You wouldn't wake up."

"There are other ways."

"I know. I thought about them all and this one seemed like the safer choice. Can you walk to your room now?"

"Of course. How else would I get there?" She was still put out by the rude awakening.

"I thought about carrying you, but, like I said, the water was safer."

"Hah! You wouldn't do it anyway." She challenged him deliberately.

"You are trying to bait me, but I'm not going to bite that one. Go to bed, Meg. I need you to go the bank this morning and withdraw the money for the chateau." His comfortable use of her shortened name came as a surprise to him. He'd just only recently gotten to know her well enough to realize that it fit her better than her formal name. He thought back on the time that he'd told her that it was a name for a little girl. She was certainly a grown woman and yet the name still applied perfectly. It carried an implied innocence and down-to-earth sensitivity, that was uniquely hers.

She rose and fixed him with a stare that told him she was still unhappy over the way he'd woke her. It was better that she be angry, he decided. It was easier for him to take than her sleepy smiles and contented sighs.

He lay down on his mattress after she left, trying not to think of her. It was impossible. She was everywhere. The cedar chest, the candelabras, the mattress, the smell of lavender... all of it carried a reminder of Meg Giry.

UUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUUU

Meg was at a loss to figure out how she was to make a visit to the bank and still put in the expected appearances in her mother's company. They had been invited to tea by one of Aunt Clair's many associates. It was part of Meg's initiation into the Paris elite. It was with regret that she told Erik that it was impossible for her to make the transaction that morning when she delivered his breakfast late.

"Mother and Aunt Clair are expecting me to attend a tea this afternoon. But I promise that I will do it as soon as possible." She said.

"Do not wait too long. It will be sold quickly at that price and I have waited a long time for this house." He said, turning away from her so she did not see his bleak expression. It was a useless attempt. Meg heard the desperation in his voice.

"How is Garrick?" She changed the subject.

"I don't know. He is still breathing and he is weakened by the cramping. I have given him so much laudanum that I fear he will become addicted if I give him anymore. But at least he can rest and it keeps him from feeling too much pain." Erik avoided eye contact with her and she suspected that his patience was wearing thin. It was undoubtedly a new experience for him to tend and care for another so devotedly. She was learning that behind the mask was a sensitive and courageous man.

"I will think of something soon. I will make the transaction late this afternoon, after we return. I just hope it will be soon enough." She promised. He nodded his agreement, still not looking at her.

The tea party was as dry as the biscuits served and Meg fought back repulsion each time her gaze landed on her intended suitor, Horace Claudamere. Meg chastised herself for judging on appearances, but he was just plain ugly. His crooked, yellow teeth were especially bad, and his ruddy complection was oily with great cavernous pores. She tried to pity him, but he leered at her so openly that she shuddered involuntarily.

"Are you planning to continue your career in ballet, Mademoiselle?" Monsieur Claudamere clumsily picked up his tea cup, sloshing some over the edge down onto a white table cloth, and slurped it noisily.

Meg tried not to visibly cringe as she replied, "No."

"Pity." An askew smile smeared across his blotchy face.

"Our Meg will be concentrating on being a lady..." Aunt Clair was interrupted by another crude slurping sound. Even Madame Claudamere, Horace's mother and the Giry's hostsess, looked at him in dismay. It was clear to everyone, but Horace, that he was a gross disappointment. Even Madame Giry didn't speak of him after they left a whole hour before their designated departure time.

It was just half past two when the three women returned home, unwilling to mention Horace Claudamere again. Meg managed to hand the carriage driver a note, unseen by Madame Giry or Aunt Clair, requesting him in just an hour's time at the House of Clureoux. The two older women didn't seem very interested in Meg's plans for the rest of the afternoon and she only hoped their plans didn't include her. When Aunt Clair announced her intention to rest after such a disastrous tea, and Madame Giry agreed that it was a good idea, Meg went to Erik.

He wrote down an account number and a brief note of how much she was to withdraw, along with a note to the banker. He also wrote down the address of the realtor's office and gave her a sealed letter to give to the realtor.

"Thank you, Meg. I am forever in your debt. Hurry now, and be careful." Erik said earnestly, looking into her eyes. Meg nodded, not trusting herself to speak. She had never seen him so vulnerable. The chateau meant so much to him. He'd trusted her with his bank account and his dream. There was only one thing left after that, his heart. She would hold out for the prize.

The carriage arrived exactly on time. She went to the bank and picked up the money with little trouble. The banker looked at the letter Erik had written, then at her with curious interest, but said little above the necessary communication. The transaction at the realtor's office transpired in a similar manner. Meg was feeling triumphant when the carriage stopped at the boarding house. The Chateau de Bagen was Erik's now. She was smiling when she pushed open the door to the House of Clureoux.

"Margaret Adele Giry. Where have you been?" Madame Giry faced her daughter in the foyer, Aunt Clair and Michelle behind her. Meg froze. She quickly tucked the envelope that held the deed to the Chateau de Bagen inside the folds of her cloak. "What have you got there?" Her mother held out her hand to take the envelope.

"It is private, Mother. I know that you will be angry. I don't expect anything else, but I have a right to something of my own." She started to go upstairs to her room. It would have useless to expect that Madame Giry wouldn't follow her.

"I have tried to do what is best for you, Meg." Madame Giry said in a controlled voice, after closing the door to Meg's room. "If you are seeing a man, I have to know about it. Even if you aren't seeing a man, I have to know where you've been for the last two hours."

"No, Mother, you don't." Meg countered in a similar voice. "I am going to be married to some bourgeois pig if you get your way, so I ask that you mind your own affairs this time."

"You have always been a good girl, Meg. I don't doubt your morals, but if you have a lover, it will only complicate things for you. I have never approved of women taking lovers, but if you must, at least be discrete. I realize that all this is very difficult for you, but please do not throw your future away on a moment of passion!"

"Is that what you did, Mother? Did you throw your future away when you married for love?" Meg argued boldly. She had nothing to lose and she was tired of being treated like her desires were of no consequence.

"We are not talking about me, nor will we. My life has not been my own, not since I had you to support and you will not behave this way to me. I will not have it! Now, we will put this ugliness behind us and try to be civil to one another." Madame Giry left, closing the door behind her with a meaningful snap.

Meg did not dare venture down into the basement room with her mother watching her so closely. They did not speak to each other, but the communication wasn't lacking power. Meg knew her mother suspected something and couldn't be too far from the truth. It would be impossible for Meg to get away and give Erik the deed anytime soon.

Dinner dragged and she thought of Garrick and how she was going to get him and Erik something for their evening meal. Michelle seemed like a possible ally. Meg decided to talk to her after dinner. However, Madame Giry, possessing an insight that even Meg had underestimated, kept both girls busy with invitations to Meg's debut that would take place in a week. It was dreary reminder of her uncertain future. No more was said of Meg's mysterious adventure that afternoon and she was beginning to understand a little more about the hypocritical nature of her future marriage.

Her mother strongly suspected that she had a lover, but it had absolutely no bearing on her upcoming introduction into the marriage market. Vaguely, she knew that once she was married, it was expected that she would take a lover. Even her mother had more or less accepted it. It was a disappointing revelation to Meg that her mother would even consider such a degraded compromise for love.

The household retired even later than usual that evening. Meg lay in her bed, staring into the blackness, thinking about Erik. He would be going mad with anticipation and worry. She tried to shut out the images him that presented themselves to her mind. Memories of the way he'd held her and kissed her so tenderly resurfaced each time she tried to bury them under the knowledge that he would be leaving soon. Sitting cross-legged on her bed, she balled her fists and pummeled her pillow. It was singularly unsatisfying. The sound of rain against her window only heightened her sense of exhilaration.

She could take the suspense no longer and jumped out of bed and lit a candle. With the deed in gripped tightly in her hand, she left her room. It was all she could do not to run down the stairs to Erik. The stairs seemed to creak louder than ever, but Meg could not force herself to deny her own longing another moment. It had been too long since she'd seen him and he would be expecting her. She hoped that he'd had not panicked and given up on her.

Erik stood in the center on the little room, when she entered and Meg saw the tension drain from him as she waved the envelope containing the deed. She went to him, elated that he was still there. He caught her in an embrace that threatened to crush her and his lips sought hers in a fierce passion that betrayed his own desire.

"I should have known that you had a hand in this, Erik." Madame Giry said from the open doorway. Erik raised his head to meet the gaze of the woman who spoke, but did not release Meg.

"Mother!" Meg gasped.

"Go to your room, Meg. I will take care of things from here." Madame Giry said firmly.

"What are you going to do, Adele? Send for the police?" Erik demanded caustically.

"Not this time, Monsieur. I am just asking you to leave. Meg is not going to be a substitute for Christine. She will be married to a gentleman who can give her what she deserves, a family and a home." Madame Giry spoke coldly and Meg shuddered at her bitter tone. It possessed lifeless quality that Meg had never heard before.

"But Mother, you do not understand. I don't want to be married to the likes of Horace Claudamere or another pig of the same mold. I would have a home with Erik. He's bought a house." Meg flinched as Erik stiffened and released her suddenly, turning away.

"Go with your mother. She is right. I will leave immediately." He said turning back to her and taking the deed from her hand. Meg released it to him, willingly.

"Who is this?" Madame Giry gestured toward Garrick who lay weak and pale on the mattress.

"It is Garrick, a friend of Erik's. He was attacked by a police dog and has been fighting for his life." Meg interjected.

"He is my assistant." Erik corrected her. "He is making an excellent recovery and doesn't require your concern.

"Madame Giry?" Another voice from the doorway demanded their attention. It was Michelle. "I think the baby is coming...now!"

"Come with me, Meg." Madame Giry's tone gave no more room for argument and Meg obeyed. The three women left without another moment's hesitation.

Meg was not allowed in the room where Michelle was giving birth. The midwife arrived sometime after Michelle's announcement and went immediately to Michelle's room. Madame Giry remained with Michelle through the entire ordeal, while Meg paced out in the hallway. She didn't dare to see Erik again, though she thought of him as often as she thought of Michelle. She may never see him again, but at least he had the deed to the Chateau de Bagen. He would have his home and she knew where to find him. The thought warmed her a little.

Uncle Alec and Aunt Clair sat in the parlor with the retired doctor, who shared stories of tragic and difficult births. Meg could hear their conversation, even though she wasn't even in the room with them. She wished that he would choke and die before he said another word. Meg didn't need to hear his repertoire of experience if he was a part of so many disastrous results. She was grateful that it was a midwife that attended to Michelle instead of the doctor who so eloquently betrayed his incompetence.

She was sitting in the hallway, on the floor with her knees drawn up and her head resting on them when she heard Michelle cry out with pain. Meg cried for her. Michelle was so young and brave. She'd been through so much. Meg sent up a silent prayer on the younger girl's behalf. Please, God, let her live and let the baby live, she mentally rehearsed. She was still praying when she heard the tiny voice of Michelle's baby. It was muffled and weak at first, but continued to get louder and stronger with each breath. Meg sent her heart felt gratitude to the deity she'd been praying to.

Madame Giry emerged from Michelle's room with the swaddled infant. She placed the baby in Meg's arms. Meg looked into her mother's eyes and saw tears of joy. It came as a bit of a surprise that Madame Giry didn't even closely resemble the woman who had confronted her and Erik just hours earlier. There was a softness that Meg remembered from when she was a little girl. There was none of the prejudice that Meg might have expected for the bastard offspring of the murdered stagehand. A deeper understanding of her mother filled Meg with such profound love and respect that she felt humbled and ashamed for her mistreatment of her earlier. The woman was far more complex and inherently decent than Meg had previously suspected.

"It's a girl." Madame Giry spoke, her voice choked with pride and emotion. "Take her down to meet the others, but don't let them touch her. She is still so tiny. We don't want her to catch anything from them. Michelle will want to see you, so don't be too long." Meg nodded and did as she was told.

Aunt Clair cried softly when she saw the tiny girl. Uncle Alec and the doctor grunted, in monosyllables, their approval. Meg went to Michelle's room and saw the younger girl surprisingly alert though a little pale. Meg wasn't sure what she expected, but seeing Michelle in high spirits wasn't even close to what Meg had in mind. Meg was sent out of room, by the midwife saying that it was time for the baby to be fed.

The sun was making its appearance now and the house was alive with excitement as the news of the newest member of the household was announced. Jacques was delighted at the word that he was to make a special celebration in honor of the birth. Aunt Clair was acting like the doting aunt, that she was. Meg stole down into the basement room when everyone was engaged in the morning breakfast.

Erik was gone, as was Garrick and some of the comforts she had bestowed on them. She noticed that the book was missing and smiled. A scrap of paper with a note written on it lay on the cedar chest with a pile of paper bills. The note was a brief expression of gratitude and explained that the money was for the baby.