A/N: I want to thank E.M.K.81 for her continued support; and the extra mile she went to help me with this particular chapter. It was so much fun! I really hope we can continue behind the scenes!

Erik had suggested they wait to speak until they reached home; not wanting their conversation to slow them down. He didn't wish to remain out in the teeming public longer than he already had; for the stares had been getting to him… the murmurs he was convinced were aimed at him had been even worse. It had been chipping away at his good humor bit by bit. Then, of course, there had been…

He shook his head as he helped Arabella into the boat and begin to guide them across the lake. He didn't want to think about that vague glimpse… that face and frame that surely had to have been a hallucination. Just one day after he'd decided to at least try to open himself further to Arabella, and he was fantasizing about Christine walking through the streets! He hoped to God Arabella didn't intend to interrogate him on his changed mood from that morning. He didn't want to admit to what he thought he'd seen… didn't even want to think about it in his own mind. The wave of affection that had finally returned to him the previous evening had not ebbed... and it filled him with guilt every second he acknowledged his daydream in the world above.

They had carried everything into the house together, and much of their necessities went straight to the kitchen. Arabella left her box of mystery clothing on the chair by the fireplace; before coming to where he was putting bread into the warmer of the stove – the small biscuits she'd bought that morning for breakfast surely wouldn't have filled her to satisfaction. She would need lunch…

She said nothing at first, but picked up a jar of milk and opened his ice box to put it away. It was only once her face was blocked by the ice box door that she finally spoke.

"Erik…"

His shoulders tensed at the nervousness in her voice. He knew she'd picked up on his change in mood out in the street; and she'd seemed upset herself... but he'd merely attributed her seeming nervousness to his own agitation. He hadn't realized she really did seem perturbed.

"What is it?" he asked quietly, slowly releasing the bread and closing it into the warmer. He had a habit of keeping the stove eternally warm - so that at least the kitchen was never cold. Then, still tensed for her next words, he took a head of lettuce from the groceries; jugging it briefly for self-distraction.

"I don't think I came back alone."

He scoffed; giving the lettuce an even higher toss while he rapidly worked a lightning-fast train of thought that went through a tunnel of confusion.

"Of course you didn't." he stated simply. "I'm here."

"No…" She gave a nervous laugh, staring into the ice box long enough to make him wonder if he needed to fetch another block of ice from the Ice Cellar of the Opera House. "I mean… when I came back from … wherever I was. I didn't come back… alone."

"I don't understand…" Erik admitted reluctantly, resting the lettuce against one thigh in the most casual stance he thought he might have ever taken. His brow furrowed in concern beneath the mask; but he didn't want to enhance her nervousness by taking his normally tense pose of folding his arms restrictively across his chest. He waited for her response; while she finally closed the ice box and turned to the table laden with groceries.

"There's… a voice…" she admitted, looking at him in sidelong glances and lightly fingering the basket of meats he would need to put away. After a moment she placed a finger to one temple. "In my head…"

"Voices… in your… head…" Erik almost lost his hold on the lettuce, and he quickly tossed it into the vegetable bin. Then he returned his full attention to her. "I don't understand, Bella… what voices?"

"Not many voices." She corrected quickly – as though any voice at all in her mind beyond her own was less impactful. "One voice… I… I think that because I was dead I can hear him…"

"A male voice, then…" Sighing, Erik tried to distract his sudden intense concern by digging through more vegetables. There was another confusing emotion there… and it astounded him when he realized it was just a hint of jealousy. Just like when Nadir had first been getting friendly with her… "Do you recognize it?"

"Yes." Arabella admitted instantaneously. He waited patiently for a long moment, making no move to finish with the groceries while she thought of how to put her next words. When she spoke again, her admission came out in such a rush he wasn't entirely certain he'd heard her correctly. "It's Adnah… his voice, his personality… it's him."

Once his mind caught up with her rush of words, Erik forgot entirely about the meat and the vegetables. He forgot about everything – even Christine – for just one moment; as his hands found the nearest chair and gripped the back of it in white-knuckled hands. What he saw momentarily turned into little pinpoints halfway across the small kitchen table, until he could get control over himself and keep from throwing the chair clear across the room.

As it was, the bottom of the chair legs squealed as he yanked it several inches closer. It struck the extreme side of his pelvic bone, and he focused again in just enough time to realize that Arabella had taken one single step to put distance between them.

She'd been prepared for hostility... and the single face that her first reaction to him had been one of fear put a sliver of silver pain somewhere in his chest around his heart He didn't want his gypsy dancer to fear him. So many people feared him... He didn't want her to be added to those ranks.

He slowly took a deep breath, closing his eyes. He tried to rationalize what she was telling him; instantly wanting to shove away any thoughts that this was even possible. He wanted to deny any form of the supernatural could exist in such a way… but how fair would that be to Arabella? She was proof that the supernatural existed. Even if the source of the voice was not otherworldly... he had to take her old gypsy superstitions into account. he couldn't chafe at them as he once had... for he knew Arabella had never taken the majority of them nearly as seriously as the rest of her tribe. If she believed this was a ghost... he had to tread carefully.

"Are you… are you sure?" he asked. "Are you certain it isn't just… your own thoughts speaking in his voice? I… I mean… sometimes I think my own conscience speaks in that interfering Persian donkey's voice…"

"I had considered it." Arabella reached cautiously towards the basket of meat, picking up a bound sausage and moving it to the counter. Clearly, she ideas on what supper should be. It also served as a good distraction from the terrible conversation. "He echoes my thoughts… my emotions… At first, I thought it was only my own mind. But only Adnah can be that scathing. I mean… I am hard on myself… but… even at my worst I don't say some of the things he does…"

After another moment of thought, Erik gritted his teeth.

"Why?" he demanded. "Why is he there – here?"

"He won't tell me." She admitted with a shrug that wasn't half as casual as she wanted it to be. "He's just… there. He isn't… cruel… exactly… just… he's himself. At first I thought he was there to torment me… because of what happened-"

"He blames us for what happened to him." Erik interrupted, beginning to pace angrily. "Of course! How dare he? He's the one that-"

"-I didn't say that!" Arabella held up both hands pleadingly in defensiveness. He had been careful to pace on the side of the table opposite her; but clearly she still felt it necessary to protect herself slightly. "Erik! I didn't say he was here because of that! He actually takes responsibility for what he did. There is no blame – just the simple fact that yes, you took his life and we hid that fact together. He doesn't blame us for the fact that we did it."

"Good!" Erik's hands were tight fists now, and he began to shake his arms to try and loosen them. "So… why is he…?"

"He won't say." She reminded him. "Maybe he doesn't know – just like I don't know who sent me back or how. But he's been in the same kind of isolation I was in for over thirty years. He's not particularly nice… but he isn't trying to outright torment me… He's just being the same tactless boar he always was … something almost anyone could understand and deal with. I can understand him talking to me… even if what he says isn't always nice."

"So he's … haunting you…" Erik had grown still now, and one hand rose up until one of his loose fists pressed to his forehead in thought. "What does he say to you?"

"It doesn't matter." Arabella waved a hand, trying to dismiss it. "It's nothing that hasn't already crossed my own mind in one way or another."

He didn't think he liked that… Not one bit… The idea of an inescapable bully running rampant through her head was outright alarming.

"We need to get rid of him, then."

"Happily." She held her hands up to him in offering. "Tell me how."

He thought a very long moment. Finally, though Erik sighed and shook his head in surrender. He didn't know where to even begin. He hadn't paid enough attention to superstition and religion since his catechism.

"You asked me before I went dress shopping who I was talking to…" Arabella's slow words brought him back to harsh reality.

"Don't talk to him anymore." Erik urged intently. "Don't encourage him."

"I can't always help it, Erik. He can respond to things I don't even think in words."

"Dear God…" Shaken, he wiped one hand down over his masked face; tempted to remove it but deciding he still wasn't ready. Every time this temptation hit; he remembered how Arabella had teased him about going without his mask for her entire first day back in the world of the living. But... he just couldn't remain that easy about it. He couldn't put aside the years that stood between them.

He simply sat there, watching as Arabella played at housewife and continued to put the groceries away. And why wouldn't she be more at ease with the subject? She'd been dealing with a ghost in her head for… how long had it been? Four days? Five? That... or she was trying to give him the space he clearly needed to digest all this bizarre information.

To again think of Arabella inescapably enduring Adnah's bullying enraged him… but he recognized it for the helpless kind of anger that it was. There was nothing he could do to protect her from a ghosts' voice… not until he'd done more research… Where did one begin to research exorcising a ghost? Did the religion of the ghost matter? Did...

The lunacy of that thought made Erik almost chuckle from the irony of it. A week ago, he hadn't believed in ghosts. He'd barely believed in a life after death. Strange... considering he firmly believed in a fiery lake of never-ending torment. Maybe that was because he sometimes lived in that Hell.

"You were in a very good mood this morning." Arabella pointed out once the table was clear. The change in topic startled him. He wondered just how long he'd sat stewing in his own bitter thoughts. "What upset you while I was in with the seamstress?"

"Your torment just before going in isn't enough?"

"No…" Arabella smiled faintly, teasingly. "You were concerned for me… but not on such an edge. Did something happen?"

He thought about the beautiful blonde frame that had been walking down the street as he approached the shop. He didn't know whether his body wanted to blush or go pale from the memory. He didn't want the memory. It only compiled his agitation.

"I'm… just… not used to waiting around out in public." He offered. "The streets were getting busier... and…"

"And you never expected Christine to be so close to the Opera House."

Erik jerked almost violently from his seat, rising almost to his feet and staring at Arabella. Dread filled him. The idea that he had been mostly lying to her and she knew was mortifying. Even worse was knowing that what he'd seen had not been just a fantasy. He'd seen Christine ... and simply watched her walk away!

Well… why wouldn't he? He'd let her go. He couldn't go after her in the street and expect anything good to come of it. His love of Christine had been quite literally insane. Hadn't he assured her and Nadir - quite recently - that he was willingly to let Christine live her life completely apart from him? Just because it hurt like Hell... that didn't mean he could simply toss those words aside - even if it was clear neither of them had believed him.

"I… I'm sorry…" he rasped as she looked at him with pained accusation. "I wasn't trying to lie. I mean… I thought it was just my mind playing tricks on me… I thought she was no longer in Paris. I didn't want to burden .. But then again; why wouldn't she be here? That pompous prat of hers-"

Realizing the hatred building in him because of Raoul, Erik forced calm into his being.

"Her betrothed has a very nice house in the city." He finished much more lamely.

"I know… I've been there with you."

Erik winced. Of course she had been. How could he keep forgetting that? He wondered what her reaction to had been the night Raoul took that cowardly back shot at him. He wondered at her reaction to a lot of what she'd witnessed through the years.

"Erik…" She walked over to the table, placing her fingertips on its surface as she leaned over and looked into his face. "I know you still love her. I know it still hurts. You were only humoring me last night. A little peck on the chin isn't going to replace what happened between the two of you. I can't live up to that. I'd be stupid to try."

"Bella…" He was surprised how much she clearly found herself lacking. It hurt that he'd brought her to such a level just by loving Christine. "it is not that I do not love you…"

He nearly flinched at the violent flare of hope that rose in her eyes. It physically hurt - seeing the hope that she was so clearly trying to suppress within herself. The sight of Christine had shaken far more than his sanity. It had shaken Arabella, too… But he was saying he loved her – finally – when all this time he'd said he didn't know what they were together. How could she not react to those words being said after knowing how close Erik had been to reconnecting with his so recently lost love – and her rival?

Her rival...Oh dear sweet Jesus...

"Bella…" he began again, much more carefully. "You were my dead wife for so long… I love Christine – yes! There! I said it – and doesn't that make you happy?"

He paused, trying to smother the bitterness in his tone.

"I just… I love you both so differently. There is no comparison to be made… You can't compare yourself to her. There is no point. You cannot be her. But… on the other hand… she could never be you."

He lifted a hand as though he were going to reach across his tiny table and touch her shoulder, but ended up just putting his hand down again, flat on the surface of the old wood. It rested closer to where her hands were... but they didn't touch. He didn't dare touch her. Not now. Not while thinking about Christine... and he was always thinking about Christine.

"She was my chance at a life of normalcy… But she couldn't… she… It's why I had to let her go, Arabella. I was destroying her… just like I ruin everything I touch. She didn't want me… what woman ever really could?"

"Damn it, Erik!"

He was so stunned by her sudden cursing – he almost couldn't react when both her hands actually slammed angrily down onto the table top. He stared at her though his mask, his eyes wide. Something had flickered on her face… something that he recognized as distracted thought. Had she been listening to something? Was Adnah talking to her? Is that what that look meant? He took half a step back as though to escape her anger; confused by her anger and that strange look that crossed her face.

"I want you!" she continued in a quieter but just as intense voice. In another moment he saw how her face had filled with color… how her eyes seemed to glimmer. It wasn't really anger… It only manifested as anger… but she wasn't feeling anger. He had to wonder how much about behavior she thought she'd learned from him over the years. This was a reaction more akin to his personality – not hers. "You aren't the boy I knew anymore. You've done terrible things. How you act sometimes terrifies me… But I want you! The part that scares me isn't enough to chase me off! When it isn't outright dangerous, it's actually exciting! As twisted as that is, the idea of being with you now… excites me!"

"I didn't mean…" Erik stammered a long minute, his hands moving without any real purpose or ability to appropriately express his feelings and thoughts. Exciting? His warped, twisted nature was exciting?

Her years of watching over him had come from a place of such selflessness… such a place of pure and overwhelming love that he could never understand it. He'd accepted that part of her being with him already. But to think he excited her was too much to take. Had being with him all these years somehow warped her? Would she wake up some day and realize how demented it was to love and accept a murdering monster like him? How much had he bent her?

"You deserve so much better…" he realized helplessly. He'd always known this - even thirty years ago. But thirty years ago; it was his looks alone that had truly made him feel such a blow. Now... there was so much more!

"Oh God… Erik… not this again…"

Arabella strode around the table, reaching out to seize his arms in her hands. Erik flinched back. It wasn't that he didn't want to be touched – or that he didn't like being touched. It was simply that he was so unused to a harmless hand… He'd forgotten what it was like to be touched with any form of kindness - even with some of Christine's more recent benign touches. Her touch had felt like razor blades simply because of the context of them.

The moment Arabella's touch sank in, though… everything about her sank in. Even though he wore his shirt and waistcoat, he could sense the rose-petal softness of her fingertips. He could smell her skin and hair… It was the exact opposite of the night before; when he'd felt virtually nothing. He held his breath, struggling to deal with the sudden rush of emotion and sensation in him.

"I decide who deserves what I have to give!" she insisted, her face inches from his. "Not you! Forget what that stupid girl taught you! I'm sure she loved you - in her way - Erik; but she took every ounce of leftover dignity from you and tore it to shreds! She made you feel like you had to suffer for love! I hate her for that! Suffering what you do in love isn't in order to earn it – it's to protect the person you love! It's to bring them joy. It is not to lower you to a level that makes them feel benevolently superior!"

"You mustn't say you hate her…" Erik offered almost meekly. Somewhere in his mind, it had finally clicked fully into place that he was making Arabella suffer… that she was now in the same position he had been in with Christine. Instead of a handsome aristocrat as her rival, however, Arabella had a lovely soprano from a much different world. "I don't hate her… she's a good girl. What happened wasn't her fault…"

"Erik, do you hear yourself?" Arabella demanded. "I don't doubt that Christine is an essentially good person. But she hurt you. She took something that should have been mine; and used it to manipulate you! She tore your mask from your face and was rewarded for humiliating you with submissive devotion!"

"Submissive?" Erik had thought he was stunned into silence by her rant… Hearing her claim that Christine had taken something of hers struck an unnerving chord of familiarity in Erik – although he had no idea exactly what she was referring to. She certainly hadn't meant him, specifically… But her description of his love of Christine suddenly seemed obscenely humorous. He knew it was unwise… but he couldn't help the reaction. "I was commanding her left right and handing out threats-"

"-And she freed herself with a kiss." His fiery gypsy princess spat out furiously. "Your first kiss… from someone so lost that she didn't even know her own mind by that point! All she knew by then was that you wanted something from her… and like any young woman warned about men… she knew just what to do!"

"Bella - try to remember what I'd put her through that day!" Erik pleaded - reasonably enough, he thought.

"Did I say I blame her? How can I blame her? I know it isn't all her fault! I know that! But… but…"

He didn't speak again – knowing that his amusement had affected her far more than his earlier self-hatred. He could only gape at her. It left far too much time for his already distracted mind to soak her in. The warmth of her hands seeping through to the nearly mummified skin on his arms was starting to get to him. The flush of her cheeks and the moisture in her eyes was nearly hypnotizing… She was all but heaving with her emotion.

Honestly… she was a little glorious in that state...

"I hate her, Erik." Arabella admitted; pulling him partially back into the seriousness of the present moment. "And don't try to tell me not to. I can't control what I feel. I doubt I will ever feel anything but hatred for what happened to you because of her."

This hate-filled woman was holding him – however impersonally. She was meeting his gaze squarely without blinking. There was no judgement that he loved another woman… just the extreme pain of knowing how wholly he was consumed by that love. There wasn't even any fear of his reaction over her rant.

He couldn't simply stop loving Christine… But Arabella was here… warm… alive… with him… and she felt no disgust or shame for it.

"How can you stand to touch me?" he breathed; unable to reconcile the differences in her train of thought and the emotions swirling in him like paints on an artists palette.

This question seemed to knock her senses off course. She blinked once… twice… then looked down at her hands on his arms. Slowly, she slid her palms down over his elbows, and across his wrists to the backs of his hands. He didn't encourage her; but let his hands sit in hers when she took them. They'd touched before that moment... many times... but he'd never let it sink in. He hadn't let it… affect… him…

"I have never - virtually never - been disgusted by you." She murmurs. "You aren't a handsome man, Erik… but… I love you."

This confession nearly caused him to hunch over as though she had stabbed him in the gut. She was touching him… and saying she loved him. This has happened before, too. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he vaguely recalls this… It had even happened frequently and recently. But it still astounded him. He could barely bring himself to believe it.

"You're so kind, Bella… so sacrificing…"

"This isn't a sacrifice!" she exclaimed; her voice once more rising in exasperation. "I'm not kind! I'm selfish - beyond measure! I know you aren't ready to let Christine go yet. I know you aren't ready to move on. I, myself, am not quite ready… Even being forty years older in spirit, there are bound to be things I only think I'm ready for… But is it really so impossible to believe that I want you, Erik? I want to show you that I love you in every way God has ever conceived for a woman to show her love! I want to make you see just how worthy and special you are – to feel the same way because you love me. Days ago, I promised to give you time… but every single day that passes just feels like another day I could be giving you more…"

Erik tried to pull from her grasp. His head was reeling. All the knowledge and acceptance in his head wasn't enough to prepare him for this emotional and physical barrage. She loved him... she wanted to make him happy. She wasn't disgusted by him enough to shy away from touching him. These simple things he could understand and absorb. But what did she mean by want? Her tone - her words - suggested so much more than what she had already given him or taken from him. Want... suggested... It suggested something far more intimate. He didn't think he could allow that train of thought.

Oh, hell, he knew he couldn't.

Arabella allowed him to attempt his retreat, but only for a moment. Her hands willingly left his arms; but then came up as though she were going to take his masked face in her hands… but she paused when he instinctively flinched once more. Some instincts were just too great to suppress… and his stopped her cold. Still... determined as she was; she planted her hands on his shoulders so that he could not retreat entirely. His knees were quaking so badly now that he felt he needed to sit down - and soon.

"I try not to touch you… to make you uncomfortable or to pressure you… But as alone as you've been for thirty years, Erik… wanting more… I've wanted it, too. I've wanted it more… because I had nothing. At least you had the luxury of interacting with people... even if it was only under the guise of a ghost. I just want to see you composing, relaxed, and walking through the streets at any time of day or enjoying the Opera performances… I want to share all that with you… and more… for both of us. I want to dance for you again, and make you smile-"

"-I always loved to watch you dance…" he admitted, knowing his voice was almost dreamy. She had pulled herself so much closer to him by putting her hands so high up on his shoulders. He'd finished his growing since her death… she was so small next to him… She almost had to press her body to his to grasp him… and he wanted to distract himself from how it made his body feel. "I … You… You're saying you want to walk with me in the park? I always… always wanted… to do that with ... to be normal..."

Of course, she knew what he'd always wanted. She'd been there to hear his demented confessions to Christine. She knew how he wanted to walk in the park on Sunday mornings and pretend to be just like everyone else.

"If you want to walk in the park Erik, then go." Arabella urged eagerly. "I'll go with you!"

Sighing, Erik shook his head and pulled back from her, slumping into the closest chair.

"Do you have any idea what that would be like?" he asked. "Once we're seen in public... the scrutiny would be merciless! Do you honestly think I'd let a single man or woman get away with mistreating you? It would be a blood bath, Bella!"

"Let them talk, Erik!" Arabella laughed – a harsh sound that seemed to hurt her throat. "You should be slightly more worried about being arrested! I'm surethe police are probably still looking for you. I wouldn't doubt your appearance in the street today probably caused a stir. But you can handle gossip, Erik. You can handle the ignorant. If Paris is too dangerous, let's take a ride out into the countryside - for a picnic, maybe. Isn't that what respectable, rich gaje do? Let's leave France, if a picnic isn't enough for you!"

Leave the Opera? He thought with a stab of sudden fear.

The idea of leaving his fortress was terrifying. He could defend himself down here. No one would ever find him unless he wanted them to. No one above was as smart as he was. Even tenacious Nadir hadn't found the way until Erik introduced him to the passage leading into the torture chamber…

Outside… anywhere but here… He didn't think he could do it. This had been his home for too long. Arabella couldn't understand that. She had never known a single home before… but the marble and stone of this place ... they were all the armor he had. He trusted it.

"Do you understand that most men my age are retiring from long careers?" he asked softly. "A new life somewhere else would be nearly impossible. Bella… I … I don't think I could bring myself to… No… I can't leave this place! It would be far too much!"

"You're afraid?" Arabella blinked at him, startled. "Oh… Erik… you aren't the one who should be afraid. You're used to living alone… among these gaje people. You've always had an easy time of integrating into a new environment. Imagine how it must be for me. You're over twice my physical age now… your health has started betraying you. I could lose you at any time! Then where would I be? Alone… completely unable to navigate this world… possibly in a place I'm totally alien to..."

"You're strong…" Erik argued. "You would manage." At her dumbfounded look, he realized his insensitivity and mentally backpedaled. "But I understand your point…"

Arabella's hands had remained on his shoulders even as he'd finally collapsed into his chair; and now he gently covered one with one hand of his own – which was still encased within the white glove he'd worn out of the house that morning.

"I will have to keep myself alive long enough to ensure you are no longer afraid… so that you can fight for yourself when I am no longer here…"

Arabella very slowly sat in the chair to his left, her shoulders slumping slightly. He hadn't meant to sound demeaning; or as if his survival was only meant to prolong hers. He certainly hadn't meant to sound like a father - or grandfather - to an insecure child.

"Bella…" he began uneasily. "I will try… please… I will try to put Christine behind me… But let me … come to grips with this… with us. Let me take this slowly… I know you need more... but... I need time."

"I had already intended to." She reminded him. "I am so sorry that I'm so selfish - that I keep forgetting to be patient. I do keep reminding myself how new all this is to you… that you let me go decades ago… But … I can't seem to help it… This second chance... It's all I've ever wanted... I want to embrace every second of it..."

She took a deep breath, and sighed heavily. Erik thought briefly of the previous evening - how exhausted she'd been even while deciding to kneel up on the bed to give him that chaste and brief kiss. It had been so little... but for her? He couldn't imagine how much bravery that must have taken...

"Of course… We can take things as slowly as you need. But I will not pretend I don't want more."

"You aren't an actress, Bella." Erik forced a wry smile; still utterly overwhelmed by her stubborn sincerity. "You are a dancer... Every emotion you feel, you wear on your sleeve… I wouldn't want you any other way… even if it's like having a siren in my house."

"A siren?" Arabella blinked at him briefly. "I don't understand… Sirens are … they're creatures of temptation."

Erik slowly rose to his feet and started to remove his gloves. As each came off, he dropped them carelessly onto the table between them so that his hideously long and leathery fingers were in plain sight. They certainly weren't the ugliest part of his body.

"I know."he acknowledged; taking a step to pass her but pausing to lay a soft hand on her shoulder. Her face went a little pink - a flattering color far different from her earlier brilliant red. "It's why I must be so careful around you..."

"Erik?"

Embarrassed that he had said so much, Erik suddenly pulled away from her as though her skin was oven hot. Heat suffused his face; making his mask feel as though it might melt into his skin. Stammering without sound, he floundered before simply ducking his head and charging towards the parlor.

"Erik!" Arabella objected, rising and turning to watch his escape. To his utter astonishment... she almost sounded elated instead of horrified - but he couldn't be sure.

"I'm sorry..." He offered quickly over his shoulder as he continued out of the kitchen. His shoulder struck the double-hinged doorway hard enough to slam it into the parlor wall. "I shouldn't have!"

The door swung violently back toward the kitchen as he fled to his piano. He didn't dare to lift his eyes from the floor or the keys - afraid Arabella would be coming after him to demand more information. He couldn't allow himself to be so indecent as to speak of such things. What would she think of him if he dared to admit he had vile desires that sometimes were unceremoniously impersonal? It wasn't right... even if he was capable of ...

He shut his mind down - focusing on the keys and pressing his fingers into a chord of loud distraction. The melody he had invented that morning was not going to be loud enough to drown out this random turn of thought. He needed something else... something that would allow him to shut out her curiosity. His mind reeled... and he began to play.