A Place in This World
CHAPTER 18
Erik and Michél had just come back from what had been a very pleasant dinner experience. They had decided to go public for a change and entered one of the more refined establishments in Paris. The host greeted them both with a genuine smile and seated them at the best table in the restaurant. They ordered drinks and then dinner and were enjoying a light-hearted conversation when two attractive women, probably in their mid to late twenties and obviously of the upper class, approached them. Erik paid them no mind; he assumed they were both interested in Michél.
He was lost in thought when he happened to glance up and see Michél staring at him inquisitively.
"What?" Erik asked with a wave of his gloved hand.
Michél gave a slight grin, "These ladies would like to know if they can join us for a drink."
Erik was amused that Michél would even ask his opinion on the matter.
He gave a slight laugh and replied, "Michél, if these ladies wish to get to know you better, then by all means allow them to sit. I can go back to the hotel and give you a little more privacy."
Erik began to rise and leave the table when a voluptuous figure stood between him and the exit. He was taken off guard slightly and leaned back to avoid colliding into her.
She looked up at him with a very strange yearning in her hazel eyes. "I do not know your full name, only that you are called Erik; but I would like the chance to get to know the man behind the mask."She leaned into him and boldly brushed her ample breasts against his masculine chest. "You are a legendary figure in Paris, Monsieur. Please sit back down and allow me the privilege of your company." She toyed with the front of his shirt, flaunting her feminine wiles in front of him; if Erik did not know better, he'd think she was flirting with him.
Her voice caressed him like red, silk sheets against his bare skin. Erik was frozen in place!
What on earth was she doing? No woman had ever been so intimate with him, not without him coaxing her with his talents. He found himself reacting to her in some very uncomfortable ways. His wretched body betrayed him, a rare but bothersome occurrence thanks to his formidable control. He reached up and loosened the tie around his neck. Was it getting hot in here? As his body betrayed him, Erik struggled to calm himself down before he had to leave in a rush with his interest becoming more and more apparent.
None of these thoughts surfaced on his perfect face. He bowed elegantly and pulled the chair out for her to sit. He sat down next to her and proceeded to have a very stimulating night. She knew all about him and yet wanted to spend time with him. Erik would have lassoed the moon for her if she asked it of him. He actually felt like a normal man.
Her name was Adele. She had wanted to meet him for days know, since finding out that he was innocent and also seeing him around town and finding him very attractive. Unfortunately, he had also discovered that she was married; albeit unhappily, to a mouse of a man who treated her abhorrently. Erik continued to be polite toward her advances, but made it quite clear he was not interested in her as anything more than dinner partner. He was flattered though. Why such a beautiful woman would seek him out in any way and for any reason was beyond him.
OOOOOOOOOOOO
"I do believe I will turn in for the night Michél. We must get a fairly early start in the morning." Erik said matter-of-factly, while heading for his room.
Michél could not help but jest with Erik a bit, "How did it feel having a married woman want you as her 'boy toy'?"
Erik shot daggers at Michél with his eyes. "She did not want any such of a thing. She was just being friendly."
Michél continued with the bantering, "Erik, come on."Michél still found it hard to believe how oblivious Erik was to his own beauty. "Surely you could see how attracted she was to you…my goodness; she was practically drooling all over you! You are forever underestimating how handsome you are; and you have impeccable taste in everything, you're rich enough to rival the royal family, and you are a genius…there is nothing more that a woman could want!" Erik lifted a perfect eyebrow and smiled a lop-sided grin, shaking his head at Michél in disbelief. Michél would not be swayed, "Women are going to be flocking to you in droves now that you are available to the public eye."
"Did you eat something that has caused you to have delusions?" Erik placed both hands on Michél's shoulders and peered into his eyes, mockingly examining them as a doctor would. His tone became sarcastic and his eyes lost their glow, "You have lost your mind, Michél. Women find me repulsive and disgusting; she was just being friendly, like I said earlier. I am glad however, that she chose to share her evening with me…good night." Erik inclined his head slightly, bidding Michél good night, entered his bedroom and quietly shut the door.
Michél sat forlornly thinking about Erik's self-imposed celibacy. (If he didn't put that mask up as a shield against the outside world, he could be a bonafide ladies man; he alone keeps them away. He could have taken Adele and quenched the carnal need that I know he fights daily to control. She would have gladly yielded to him with no tricks, no singing with a hypnotic voice, no magic, and no illusions; just the sheer attractiveness of his face and body. She was certainly offering…when will he see it?)
He mournfully stood and had just taken the first few steps towards his room when he heard the knock on the door,"Who on earth…yes…who is it?" He mumbled under his breath.
Michél was greeted by Margarite's perky voice, "Michél, it's Margarite. I have others with me. We are here to talk to Erik."
The locks on the door were unfastened and Michél propped the door open, placing himself between the suite and the hallway. His eyes immediately glued on Alastair; he noted the noble manner about him along with the noble clothes and overall appearance of the man.
"Margarite, I know that by social standards it is not very late; but Erik has a very early day tomorrow, he has turned in for the night. I think he said all that he was going to say earlier." Michél retorted, not taking his eyes off the man that stood to the right of Raoul; he looked so familiar.
Margarite's pleading tone intruded on Michél's examination, "Michél…please, you won't regret it."
Michél consorted with himself for a few minutes, knowing that Erik was not one for entertaining strangers. He reluctantly walked back into the room and held the door for them to enter.
He stopped Margarite and addressed her, although everyone could hear what he was saying, "We've not long been back from dinner. We finally sat in 'LaRouge' and ate and drank like normal people. Erik was approached by a beautiful woman that would have gladly, and may I say eagerly, taught him the joys of the flesh…but his infuriating self-loathing wouldn't allow him to see how attracted she was to him. He just says that she was being polite." Michél shook his head, still not believing the blindness of his friend. "How could he not see it, she was all over him."
He turned and headed into the vast hotel suite. He knew nothing of the thud of Christine's pensive heart or the jealousy that threatened to spill over her eyes in the form of jaded tears. (Stop it Christine, he is not yours; you betrayed him, denied him, and…he no longer wants you in that way…) Christine looked down at her clenched fists and tried to calm her erratic nerves, (I'm going to die a little bit every time I see him with another woman…and I am sure that there will be many.)
Erik had just finished donning his black silk sleeping pants; he had removed his shirt and was ready to slip into the bed when he heard voices in the front room. He was curious and stood at the door listening. Recognizing Margarite's insistent voice; he pulled his black silk robe on, not bothering to tie the belt. Being unable to locate his slippers, he decided to forego them and he quietly opened the door and headed for the front room.
"…can you just go get him Michél? This is Lord Alastair Lauchlan, Third Duke of Berwithshire, he wishes to speak with Erik." Margarite pleaded.
Everyone's back was to the hallway except Alastair's, he alone saw the tall, dark figure that headed towards them like a panther on the prowl, bathed in shadow. The voice that emanated out of that shadow brought tears to Alastair's eyes; such vibrant, heavenly beauty could only have been passed to him by one other person, Brianna.
"What could I possibly say that would be of any interest, in the slightest, to a Duke?" All turned toward the mocking voice and Christine and Margarite stood gazing at the Adonis before them. Neither one had ever seen Erik out of his usual pristine suits of clothing. He always dressed in a manner that covered just about every inch of his body. Casual was usually not in his vocabulary.
The sight before them caused both ladies to question why he would ever want to cover such perfection. Christine had to pry her eyes off Erik and rest them on the floor, or she would totally embarrass herself. Margarite had no such misgivings, she openly admired Erik's broad, muscular chest with fine black hair dusting it in all the right places. She followed that dusting of hair to his abdomen; finding it tight and defined with an enticing path of the same dark hair teasing its way into the top of his black, silk pants.
Margarite and Christine both followed that line with greedy eyes and watering mouths, and found themselves wondering about what secrets lay hidden at the end of it…the pants hardly left anything to the imagination, hugging his slim waist snuggly and cradling his narrow, manly hips. His thighs were powerful but lithe, making his movements graceful and elegant.
(Be still my beating heart...even his feet are sexy! A girl could get addicted to looking at this for very long!) Christine blatantly shook herself out of her daze.
Margarite was a similar stupor and quivered with a sexual charge. (And I thought I had long since lost interest in such things…maybe there is hope for me yet!) Margarite smiled a surreptitious smile and averted her eyes elsewhere. Thankfully, Raoul was blissfully unaware of Christine's sinful assessment of Erik. He was too busy watching Alastair react to Erik.
Erik was equally unaware of the affect he was having on the women. He imperturbably ambled up to the small group, glaring at Alastair with something akin to repugnance in his eyes. Alastair was unaffected by the look that Erik bestowed on him. He was too lost in joy to care. His son, the exact representation of Brianna, stood before him; the eyes, the perfect complexion, the cheekbones; but most of all, that voice. Of course, there was evidence of Alastair staring back at him too; the cleft chin, the thick, black, wavy hair and his full lips; the lips that had been the envy and desire of many women. It was all Alastair could do to keep from embracing Erik in his long-to-empty arms.
Erik, being a perceptive person, could see that Alastair did not just have a passing interest in him. The look in the older man's eyes told a far more intimate story. He decided to tone the loathing down a bit and let the man have his say. Erik extended his hand in greeting, "I apologize, your grace; the aristocracy has not always been kind to me." Raoul shifted uncomfortably, but Erik glanced at him with a brief smile, putting him at ease.
Up and to this moment, Alastair had not spoken a word. He really had no idea what to say. He had rehearsed this scene in his mind thousands of times, but everything he had rehearsed seemed to pale compared to the moment before him. He avidly shook Erik's hand, noting the strength that was contained in it. Erik's keen eyes surveyed the ring on Alastair's right hand, noting its resemblance to the one he possessed, although he could not fully see the crest. Pushing the thought aside, Erik invited him in to make himself comfortable.
Alastair, weary of conversing in French, decided to address Erik in heavily accented English, "I have rehearsed this moment in my mind a thousand times, but I stand here at a complete loss for words."
Erik immediately noticed the accent with which the man spoke; it bore into his mind, conjuring up memories long forgotten, "You are from Scotland, are you not?" came the question, in equally accented English. Erik dipped his head to the right and narrowed his eyes slightly to emphasis the question. Alastair could not believe how well Erik spoke his native language, albeit with a French accent.
Alastair could go no further; he could not even bring words to form in his throat. What was he going to say? I mean, how does one relay such a story? He lowered himself onto the couch, placing his face in his hands and tried to think of some way to convey to Erik the past of which he had no memory.
Erik did not know what to do either; his gut instinct told him that this man held some level of importance in his life, but Erik had learned long ago not rely on his instincts, they were what had told him that Christine could love him. Why did he have the feeling that his life was balancing on a hidden cliff, headed toward an unseen precipice?
Margarite, knowing the full weight of situation, though not understanding but a few words of English, braced her hands on Erik's arms and forced him to sit. She unfolded the entire story before him in French, trying to leave nothing out. She repeated, almost verbatim, the chain of events that Alastair had given them concerning Erik's abduction and subsequent torture. She did not go into detail about his mother or his sisters. On occasion, Alastair would embellish on the details, to make his point; but Margarite transferred the majority of the details.
Erik's eyes began to sting from unshed tears, his skeptic nature had put a wall up around his heart as Margarite told the incredible story. He creased his eyebrows and regarded Alastair through narrow eyes. When the story telling ceased, Erik stood up and headed for the window. All eyes followed him, eager to see what his reaction would be. He looked down at the street below, deep in thought.
His reserved voice echoed off the walls, "I am supposed to believe that after almost thirty years, my father has come waltzing back into my life on the eve of my soul-searching journey to present me with an incredible background of events that constitute my life?" His shoulders were rigid and his arms crossed his chest, Erik was very leery of anything that seemed too easy or too good to be true…for it probably was.
The similarities that Erik noticed between him and Alastair could easily be written off as coincidence. It was not unusual to share common traits with people you had not relation to. But why? (Why would a seemingly very intelligent man who has visible signs of wealth and prestige construe that I am his long-lost son? I am certainly no fulfilled dream of what a father would want for a son. People want beautiful children; children they can brag about and openly praise.) Erik felt his heart wretch deep within him, the wall had crumbled slightly at the possibility that Alastair could be his father; but the prospect was just ludicrous.
"I cannot allow myself to believe the preposterous story that you have related to me. You could not possibly believe that I am your son."Erik slowly turned to Alastair with deep sadness in his eyes and a soft, beautifully sad tone to his voice. "I am sorry to have wasted your time, your grace, but you will have to continue your search elsewhereIn those expressive eyes, Alastair saw the hurt and rejected boy that he knew he would see; but that boy was buried deep in the hard, impassive man that was sending him on his way.
Erik had so long dreamed of the opportunity to find some link to his past. He had accepted the fact that if he wanted to find anything, it would his efforts that would do it; he knew that no one would be looking for him. Who would want him?
Alastair was just the sort of man that Erik would want for his father…but he did not deserve to think of him as such. He was not ready to accept the sliver of hope that was invading his well-guarded heart; he would not allow the pain of disappointment to break down his defenses once again. He reinforced the wall around his heart and slammed all doors shut, dead bolting them against all invaders.
Alastair knew that this was it, the decisive moment. The only thing that he could think to do was present the picture that MacNera had drawn of Erik when he was five. The picture was perfect in every aspect; including the intense, unearthly beauty of Erik's left profile.
Alastair pulled himself to his full six-foot, one-inch height and proudly made his way over to Erik's side. He unfolded the crinkled parchment to reveal to Erik what could have easily been a self-portrait, one of the many that Erik had drawn over the years. Erik immediately saw the eyes, which bore into him from years gone by. The same sadness that stared back at him every time he ventured to look into a mirror was piercing his soul as he stared at the drawing Alastair held before him.
Erik's beautiful, soul-searching eyes closed in blessed relief. His countenance softened and tears pushed their way out of his long-lashed lids. The fortified wall around his heart came crumbling down like the Biblical Jericho wall, as acceptance of the truth invaded his soul. There was no doubt that the face staring back at him from the drawing was that of him, almost thirty years ago. Renunciation was futile and Erik was too intelligent to not see the truth when it presented itself.
Margarite watched with eager eyes as the unrelenting, hard-shelled man that she had come to know and love, became the loved and adored son of a father who doted on him. Erik allowed his mind to float back in time; further back than he had ever allowed before; back before MacNera and the Gypsies had twisted a small boy into the image of a monster. Erik looked into his father's eyes, feeling so unworthy of the love he saw residing in them. Caring nothing for pride or protocol, Erik fell on his knees and curled at his father's feet. Wrapping his strong arms around Alastair's legs, Erik wept.
Chapter 19 preview – Family at last