A/N-I'd love to see more about these two. Leroux really doesn't give us enough information! I hope you enjoy this short exploratory piece, from Philippe's point of view.

Infatuation

2018, Riene

.

My dearest Lia,

His pen scratched across the surface of the heavy paper, candlelight winking dully off the gold-embossed crest at the top of the page.

Words cannot express the dismay, nay, the horror I felt upon learning of your accommodations. Such surroundings are not fit for one of delicate sensibilities, such as I feel you must be. I pray you will forgive such an intemperate act, but I have taken leave to procure you another dwelling, a set of rooms above the Rue de S-. They are secure, pleasant and airy, a far better location for one such as yourself. Enclosed please find the key, and know that I ask nothing of you in return. I could not bear to live with myself should I learn that you had been accosted or harmed due to my inaction in this matter. I beg you to keep this arrangement between ourselves, for I would not wish wish any breath or stain to fall upon your character.

Yours,

Philippe, Comte de Chagny

He sat back in the heavy carved oak chair, and raked fingers through rumpled dark hair. To think that he, Phillipe de Chagny, was reduced to this. He, the despair of a generation of eager French matrons and their hopeful daughters, enamored, nay, infatuated, with a woman nearly half his age. He was no better than the men in the Rotunde at night, sniffing about the skirts of the dancers and chorus girls.

But she, she was different. Fiery on stage but quiet, aloof, in private, holding herself above the rest. It had taken him the better part of three months to be allowed to extend his compliments at her dressing room door, and another half-year beyond that to be allowed to take her hand and bestow the briefest of kisses, a mere brush of his lips across her small white fingers. He groaned. She had no idea the power she held over him, sweating at night and aching with want. He was worse than a schoolboy, more wretched than the young men of his brother's set, who could take their ease amongst any woman willing to lift her skirts.

Once he could have done the same, and been done with it. A man had his needs, after all, and women were there to serve them.

But Sorelli...Lia...he dared breathe her name...she was different. He had not touched a woman, much less lain with one, since the night she had raised those great teal green eyes in the Foyer, and he was lost.

He dared hope someday he might be allowed to escort her to dinner, to be allowed to take her hand and tuck it securely in the crook of his arm, to walk with her along that shadowy path in the Bois. He would not dare to call upon her in the little flat above the Rue de S-. He might, perhaps, send around a bouquet of flowers, or perhaps a basket of delicacies from Ladurée. The dear girl could surely find no fault, no presumption in that.

He folded the letter and slipped it into an envelope, tucking it into a drawer. There was no need to leave it lying about under the prying eyes of his servants, no matter how discreet. Discretion could be bought, and he had no wish to be known as a laughingstock.

With a sigh, he blew out the candle and retreated to the large, lonely bed, loosening the heavy corded belt about his dressing gown. He tossed the garment aside and sat heavily on the edge of the mattress. It was all too easy to envision her there, a gown of palest peach slipping from one creamy shoulder, nipples dusky under the sheer fabric, hair falling loosely about her slim body, her lips parted, her small proud head turned toward him with welcome, and her legs, bare...those long shapely dancer's legs with their trim ankles, wrapping around him as he tumbled her back onto the silken sheets, her sighs of pleasure in his ears as he...

Philippe groaned and rolled over, pressing himself against the bed, shuddering. It would be another long night of unfulfilled need and restless dreams until morning.

Poor Philippe has got it bad. At least we know they do become "an item" later on. LLHO has a tragic ending to their story, called Heart Gets Torn, if you want some angst and tears in your life.

Thanks for reading, and please leave a comment.

~R