Chapter 11

"Madame Giry will be worried. You should return to your room soon," Erik warned once Christine was feeling better. He had managed to find her a more comfortable gown while she returned to bed and slept off a headache.

"She knows where I am," Christine retorted. She shook the dress out, hoping to remove some of the wrinkles it had acquired while sitting in storage. "Where did you say you found this?"

"In a trunk," Erik replied, failing to mention that it was in one of La Carlotta's trunks. "What did Madame say when you informed her of where you would be this evening?"

"She gave me the next three performances off so that I could accompany you to supper. She said you would pay my meager salary. That is very kind of you."

That was also the first Erik had heard of his kindness. He secretly found that information a bit smarmy but decided against voicing his opinion.

Christine motioned for him to turn around while she changed. He did as she asked and pursed his lips when he noticed that one of the mirrors was partially uncovered.

"I beg your pardon, Christine," he started.

"Madame and I had a very long conversation before the performance," Christine said as she began to unbutton her dress.

It was far too difficult to remain a gentleman. Erik stepped forward…toward the mirror. "Christine—"

"I must say it was quite an uncomfortable conversation—especially since Madame was a little…what's the word? Snockered?"

She turned around, giving Erik a clear view of her long, slender back. Seeing her reflection made his throat go dry and his heart pound. As much as he knew he should inform her of the situation or look away, he couldn't stop himself.

"If there is one thing I never want to hear from Madame Giry again it's everything from our conversation. Birds and bees, indeed! Why do they refer to it as birds and bees, flora and fauna? We didn't talk about any of that! She did, however, show me a very dirty, sinful, lecherous…disgusting book. I had no idea Madame knew such, well, dirty, sinful, lecherous and disgusting things. Quite frankly I was appalled, though I do admit that the drawings were quite well-done. Not that I paid much heed…"

Oh, how she compounded the situation. His lust for her was suddenly growing painful and apparent.

"You know, after a while I stopped listening to what she said and counted how many times she said certain words. If I had a franc for every time she said hard and thick, Monsieur, I would be very wealthy, indeed. I don't know what that had to do with birds and bees, but I suppose she just enjoys talking about her dead husband. He was a builder, I think. She kept talking and talking about nailing and wood. Or was he a tailor? She did mention something about a pr—"

"Christine," Erik shouted hoarsely.

Christine jumped as she shimmed into her dress. "You may turn around."

Erik waited several moments, focusing his thoughts on things like mud and roaches before he felt he could face her. The moment he turned he saw Christine's eyes drop from his face to his belt. With a gasp, she covered her mouth and turned away.

"We should discuss something less titillating," she said under her breath as she nervously smoothed her dress.

Erik turned away and walked out of the bedchamber. "I have much work to do," he mumbled. "You should return at least briefly so that no one suspects foul play."

Christine laughed to herself. "Foul play? On a dancer? Who would be heartbroken over that?"

"You're more than a dancer," he said over his shoulder.

Christine clasped her hands before her and lingered near the stairs. "What work do you need to finish?"

"My music," Erik answered. He turned to face her again and studied her face. "You knew this."

She shrugged and glanced around. "I was merely making conversation."

With a curt nod Erik studied the stone floor, unsure of what to say to keep the conversation moving. People didn't speak to him. Long ago they shrieked or laughed, but it had been many years since he spoke to anyone face-to-face.

"Are you working on your opera still?"

Erik turned at the sound of her voice again and slowly nodded. "I've mentioned it before?"

She grinned. "I've pried information from you on occasion."

Erik grunted and turned away again. "An angel with hundreds of other angels gathered around…"

"In a vast Cathedral," Christine said, her voice low. "Where the sound would carry…"

"So that everyone could hear the voice you heard."

Christine wiped her eyes. "You remembered?"

He turned toward her and half-smiled. "So I did." With a deep breath he studied her. "You've always had such a voracious imagination, Chritine."

He wondered if it made her more disappointed when she finally discovered he was not what she first thought—and not worthy of her admiration.

"May I hear something you wrote?"

Erik stiffened. "I'm afraid it's not quite worthy of an audience of hundreds, Christine."

She stepped forward and glanced around, her eyes settling on the leather folder marked Don Juan Triumphant.

"What about an audience of one?"