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Readers, I spoil you with my updates. Please take the time to spoil me and leave a review in the alms box.
Kind regards,
DGM
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One Good Turn part V
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Meg awoke blearily to unrelieved darkness. For a moment, her heartbeat sped up, and she couldn't remember where she was. But then it all came back to her— the visit to the cabaret, the wreck of the cabriolet, and then her illness. And throughout it all, the baseline constant had been Erik: teasing her, protecting her, caring for her. Her heartbeat quickened as she remembered his tender ministrations last night.
She was almost positive it was now morning, although she couldn't be certain seeing as how it was so incredibly dark here in his subterranean home. The pressing need of her bladder interrupted her musings, and quietly, Meg slipped out of bed, her bare feet padding on the cold stone, trying to remember where she was in relation to the door.
She had no idea where Erik had gone, but she sincerely hoped not to disturb him overly much. After all, it had been a long and harrowing night for them both, and he struck her as a man that did not get enough rest as it was.
Slowly, she inched her way along the floor groping blindly for the handle.
Instead, she tripped over a pair of legs crossed length-wise in her path. And she gasped even as a pair of arms shot out to catch her as she fell. It was perhaps quite fortunate that he did indeed manage to catch her before she hit the ground, but his hands—well, they had caught her around her midsection, and she ended up sprawled atop him, facing away from him with one of his hands palming her breast and the other holding her torso.
Both were breathing heavily. One beat passed. Then two.
And still neither moved.
Meg's face began to burn with embarrassment. For Christ's sakes, she was only dressed in her chemise!
"Are you quite alright, Miss Giry?" His Voice was calm although she could feel his shallow breaths through the rise and fall of his chest behind her. Still he held her; the both of them fully aware of every inch of contact his bare hands had on her scantily-clad and rounded flesh.
Meg swallowed and licked her suddenly dry lips. "Ye—yes. I'm fine, Erik." Her nipple began to harden, the pearlescent tip pressing insistently into the pads of his fingers, and she heard him draw a sharp breath. Suddenly, he released her as if she burned him, and she scrabbled for purchase, almost ending up in the floor once more.
Absently, she registered a firming hardness beneath her as she moved even as she was being bodily hoisted away from him and set to rights. An instant later, she felt him grab her hand, with a little more force than necessary, and lead her back to the bed.
"Stay. Right. Here." His tone brooked no refusal, and it did not occur to Meg to disobey.
Oh, but her body felt afire! Was this it then? Was this what desire felt like? My God!
An instant later, a bundle of cloth was unceremoniously dumped beside her. "Put those on and meet me in the study. I am taking you above." He sounded angry…no worse than…he sounded absolutely livid.
But why?
Unless…He couldn't think she had intentionally set out to do that, could he?!
Meg's cheeks burned with embarrassment and shame. Oh what he must think of her!
Quickly, she donned her corset and tights; for once glad it was so dark so the light couldn't bear witness her shame. And then she put on her still slightly damp dress and shoes and fumbled for the door, coming out into the study once more to see that he had lit a gas lamp. She took stock of his appearance. He was dressed completely, including hat and gloves. All of his exposed flesh covered in shades of black.
She could read nothing in his eyes; no warmth, nor anger. He was calm, blank, returning her inquiring stare with an impenetrable mask of aloofness. And Meg found she did not care for this new façade at all even as she drew herself up to counter it with one of her own.
"I am ready when you are, monsieur." Butter wouldn't have melted on her tongue.
She saw him nod slightly, and not deigning to offer her his arm, he led her to the boat, and they silently, excruciatingly, made their way over to the other shore. Every second spent in his presence seemed interminable and Meg began drawing slow, measured breaths, feeling the unrelieved tension snap and arc between them.
Still, neither one of them said a thing as they made their way through the passageways.
He had thought to bring a lamp this time, and Meg chided herself for her feelings of disappointment because that meant she couldn't rely on him to guide her. But even as she formed the thought, her dress caught on one of the loose stones, and she stumbled slightly.
Instantly, she felt his hands at her waist steadying her even as his Voice rang out breaking the silence between them like a hammer to a pane of glass, "Are you quite certain, mademoiselle that being a ballerina is the right profession for you to undertake?" Meg's eyes snapped fire at him, even as his filled with scorn. "As of late, you have and are showing an appalling lack of grace for one that has such hopes of being Prima Ballerina Absoluta."
Meg broke away from his hold, and keeping her silence lest she say something she absolutely would regret, she grand-fully gestured that he should lead them on. He did so, turning his caped back to her and stalking down the corridor, and she rolled her eyes skyward. Not only was she now considered slatternly in his eyes, she was also disgraceful to boot.
Without further adieu, he led her to one of the empty opera dormitories, and all but throwing open the door, shoved her through. And then he was gone and the wall was whole and seamless once more. Meg looked around the room and blinked.
Just what the hell had happened?!
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"Meg this is the fifth time the Baron has asked you to dinner. You absolutely cannot refuse him!" Jammes was at her side, taking off her stage makeup while Meg changed into her gray evening dress. She watched as Jammes narrowed her eyes, "Just why are you refusing him, Marguerite Giry?"
"Yes, why indeed? He's handsome!" smiled Laure lei.
"And titled!" stated Tanya.
"And rich!" Genevieve smiled like a cat that lapped up the cream, and then looked at her knowingly, "Not to mention he fucks like he invented the sport!"
"Genevieve!" Meg couldn't hide her blush as several of the girls—all of them blond—tittered in agreement. The rest looked on with envy.
"WHAT?! There is absolutely no reason whatsoever for you to tell him no, Giry! No reason at all. Unless…" she looked at her assessing, "Why Meg Giry, are you holding a candle for someone else?" All of the girls surrounded her, and Meg began to feel like a seal amidst a school of hungry sharks.
"N-no. Nothing like that; it's just—" Meg broke away from them and began to plait her hair.
"Just what then?" Genevieve had followed her, taking over the task.
"I-he bores me, that's all." Inwardly, Meg gave a wince. She was telling the truth; the Baron's presence and conversation did bore her, and she found him to be quite insipid.
Genevieve laughed, "Bores you? Methinks your standards are a mite too high for a ballet rat, Marguerite." She tugged viciously on one of Meg's tresses, and Meg gave a wince. "He is exciting, and this could be your chance, Meg."
"I wish it were my chance!" Little Jammes did a twirl with her hairbrush, "I wouldn't think twice."
Meg watched as Genevieve swatted playfully at Jammes bottom with the paddle brush, "Not gonna happen, Jammes." She waggled her eyebrows suggestively at Meg, and Meg felt another blush steel over her features. "The gentleman prefers blondes."
A knock on the door had the rats scurrying to ready themselves for their admirers. Genevieve gave another pat to Meg's hair and then nodded to Laure Lei to open the door. The first one through was the Baron, walking up to Meg and presenting her with an outrageously expensive and gaudy bouquet of blue hydrangea blossoms couched in a bed of red lobelia.
Meg inwardly smirked to herself. She wondered if he knew that in the language of flowers, he had given her a bouquet symbolizing heartlessness couched in a bed of malevolence. But she didn't think the Baron was the type to study or understand that particular discourse.
"Frauline, you danced most divinely." He stated in heavily accented French laced with German, and bowed over her hand, thrusting the flowers upon her. Meg tried not to sneeze. She had always been especially sensitive to the hydrangea blossom.
"Didn't she though, Baron Baltszak?" Genevieve took the arrangement from Meg and pushed her quite forcefully over to him. "Meg was just readying herself for your dinner engagement tonight, weren't you dear? In fact, she only needs to grab her cloak. There, Jammes." Meg paled as her cloak was thrust upon her by Jammes; the Baron himself taking and placing it around her shoulders. She looked around at the varied Judas's in the room, all of them looking at her smugly, and she shot them each murderous looks promising retribution.
"Wunderbar, frauline! I am so glad you are accepting of my offer!" The blond haired, blue eyed man smiled warmly, giving her an appreciative, assessing glance that had Meg wanting to leave the room posthaste. "I am sure ve vill have much to discuss over dinner."
"Indeed you shall." Genevieve all but shoved Meg into the Baron and then ushered them both out the dressing room door. "You two crazy kids have fun now, and Meg, don't do anything I wouldn't do." She gave them a saucy wink, and her knowing laughter followed them all the way down the hall and into the foyer.
"Such brashness from that vone." The Baron's eyes danced with knowing laughter, "Come mein liebling, our carriage avaits." Meg smiled faintly, seeking divine intervention from the heavens. She really—really—did not want to do this.
None was forthcoming, however, and it was with an inborn sigh that had her resigning herself to her fate. She allowed him to lead her out of the opera and into the night to one of the most exclusive restaurants in all of Paris.
Trying to tune out the relentless drone of his insipid conversation, Meg turned her thoughts instead to the masked man that had occupied so many of her waking and sleeping thoughts over the last few months.
She had seen neither hide nor hair of Erik in the five weeks since their nighttime misadventure.
Five weeks.
Five weeks of ballet practices and performances. Five weeks of trying to plan the steps to their joint production of The Red Shoes but getting nowhere as her memory recall of the music was spotty at best from having heard it performed only once weeks of silence when she was certain she was being watched.
Sometimes, when she was alone, practicing either on the roof or in the second cellar—nowhere else now would do—she would address him, speak to him. Some sixth sense told her he was watching her, but he never said a word. And he was living up to his moniker as resident ghost for his silence was unrelenting.
As the days of silence had passed into weeks, Meg began to get very discouraged, as well as worried and angry. She had stopped trying to speak to him and instead focused on her performance—her art—getting as close to perfection as she could and pushing herself to the very limits of her endurance.
Her performances shown all the more for it and the talk of La Sorelli's retirement began to be eclipsed with rumors of Meg taking up the mantle of Prima once the next season began.
She was overjoyed; hadn't this been what she worked so hard to accomplish?
Then why did it feel as if some integral part of her was missing?
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Erik watched Megan leave on the arm of that pompous pillock; another scapegraced son of lesser nobility.
Would he ever be free of them?!
In the five weeks since his self-imposed abstinence from Megan, he had vowed to himself that he would let her alone, let her live her life away from him. He would go his way, and she her own.
But every time he had almost convinced himself that this was right, that it was working, something, some little thought or action, would remind him of her: the way she would tease and laugh, the way she talked to him, the way she treated him— as one would a friend. Or he would stumble upon her practicing and get caught up, watching entranced as her body moved to the phantom beat of music, her movements lithe and graceful.
And he would stay watching for hours. And then he would get so angry at himself for having done so and so angry with her.
And nighttime. Nighttime, once so much a refuge, was the worst by far! For he no longer had to just imagine a woman's mouth, her breath, on him, for he could remember it; remember Megan's sweet lips pressed against his, her warm breath tickling the fine hairs at his nape as she in turn breathed in his scent.
The feel of her soft, young breast filling his palm and then pebbling.
Sweet Jesu! He had almost beat himself blind after that encounter. And still it wasn't enough! Would never be enough.
And she—she remained unaffected by it all—unaffected by him.
Granted, he had hardly given her a chance after the stumbling encounter in the dark, but that didn't matter did it? She had gone on, pretended nothing between them had occurred.
And now, she was leaving with that popinjay Baron, and Erik, well, he quite had enough of her silence.
Stealthily, he made to follow.
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"—and then my youngest sister Lizabette is filled vith much eagerness to meet you. She is how to say… much enamored ever since she saw your performance last veek. You are practically all she speaks of. And she too has taken up the elegant art of ballet." The Baron's dishwater blue eyes graced her with a warm look, and Meg smiled blandly, taking a fortifying bite of Coq au Vin. "But I'm avraid she does not have your inborn grace or the talent." He shrugged and smiled sheepishly, "Tell me, Miss Giry, vould you be interested in having lunch vith me tomorrow at our chateau? You could meet vith Lizabette as vell as tour our gardens. I am told they are legendary."
Meg toyed with the stem of her wine glass, trying to buy herself some time. It was a warm night for mid-April, and they were dining al fresco beneath the many lanterns in a gardened terrace overlooking the river Seine. "Baron Baltszak—"
"Call me Erhard, mein liebling frauline." Meg hid her wince by taking a sip of wine.
"Umm…Baron Baltszak…" she stated determinedly, "your attentions are most flattering, but I… that is to say I…" Meg bit her lip. How the hell could she tell him her attraction to him was nonexistent?
Just tell the fiend you are very much uninterested in his attentions, get up, and leave.
Erik!
Meg's eyes went wide, and her pulse raced. A flush of warm pleasure filled her even as she chided herself for it being so. Surreptitiously, she looked around. Where could he be hiding?
For God's sakes, ptichka, do not draw attention! I'm over near the tall shrubbery. Don't Look! Don't Look! Look at him, smile, and then gracefully decline his invitation, get up, and leave! Meg's jaw tightened, the absolute nerve—the gall of the man! Five weeks of silence, and then he follows her here and dares to order her about!
Never mind that she didn't want to be here anyway. Never mind that the good Baron could be a bundle of rocks for all the attraction she felt for him.
Five weeks!
Her temper overrode her every other emotion as she replied sweetly, "Baron Baltszak—Erhard, I'd love to—!" Meg smiled dazzlingly up at the man even as she heard Erik's hiss of dismay. No, my Megan. Don't do this thing. please.
His Voice was broken, pleading with her. Dammit! She closed her eyes against him, against his pleas, and tried to immerse herself in the Baron's vacuous praise. "That's wunderbar, frauline! I vill be by to pick you up at—"
"—but I can't." The words were wrested from her as she realized just how unfair it would be to everyone involved should she proceed. Erik could do nothing but watch, and it would be torturous for him, especially if it was as she supposed, and he felt for her half of what she was feeling for him. It really would be like Christine all over again…
And it would be torture for her as well because she found the Baron's attentions to be trying and tedious at the best of times.
And too, it would be unfair to the Baron; leading him on like that would be most discourteous. "I—umm—that is to say, I cannot for I am involved in another engagement at present."
The Baron's congenial smile vanished to be replaced by a look of skepticism. "Just vhat are you trying to say, frauline?"
Meg swallowed, "I am currently seeing another gentleman, a composer for the Opera, and I couldn't possibly think of trifling with your affections when I am otherwise engaged." There, did that sound too revealing? too insulting?
"A composer? Trifling vith my… I am only asking for lunch and a tour of the gardens, mein liebling, not for your hand in matrimony. At least, not yet." The Baron smiled warmly once again, and going under the table, gently took her hand in his. "I vill pick you up after morning rehearsals—"
Erik will gladly dispose of this rubbish for you, ptichka ; the man obviously does not know the meaning of the word 'NO'. His tone sounded both murderous and smug, and was it her imagination or did the tall potted plant just move closer to the Baron's chair? "No-no! NO! I cannot go, Baron Baltszak, and that's final!" Meg gently but firmly removed her hand from his, and smiling tightly, stood. "I do thank you for a lovely dinner, but it grows late, and I must return."
The Baron stood as well, looking at her mystified. "I vill, of course, escort you back frauline."
"No, no! Please. Stay, enjoy the wine. It's still early yet, and I—I would prefer to escort myself." Picking up her reticule, Meg turned and fled the table, leaving a very confused nobleman and a maliciously murderous shrubbery in her wake.
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Erik waited until she began to pass the dark alleyway in which he was hiding. Then he grabbed her, spinning and quickly clapped a gloved hand over her mouth to muffle the sound of her surprised scream. "Quiet, Megan. It is only me." he whispered into her ear feeling her relax against him. But then she was struggling out of his hold, and struggling away from the gloved hand he held at her mouth.
Shrugging away, she spat, "You have some nerve, Opera Ghost, to just show up after disappearing for five weeks! Five weeks Erik! And nary a word! Something could have happened to you. You could have left, you could have died! And I never—"her voice broke, "I never would have known!" Megan turned away from him and walked blindly into the dark alley. Erik could see she was fuming.
"And then you order—no demand that… that I end my engagement early with the Baron." She scoffed, "And admittedly I was happy to do so—but... No!" She ran a hand through her hair, displacing her well-coiffed locks and hat with irritation. "You don't just get to dictate who I see and where I can go. What gives you the right? What right do you have—" In one fluid move, Erik had grabbed her and drew her to him, kissing her fiercely.
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The kiss ended as soon as it began leaving Meg breathless and wanting. "I think you'll find I have every right, Megan." His whispered Voice hit her intimately, and she gasped, burying her head into his neck.
"Erik—"
"Quiet, ptichka . Let us go home. We have much to discuss concerning the ballet, and you need your rest for the performance tomorrow." He took her hand and placed it into the crook of his elbow and began walking back. His Voice sounded amused filling the silence between them, "And why you allowed those girls to box you so neatly into an outing with that pillock I will never know." Meg shook her head and took a moment to lift her face to the sky and breathe. Not that she could see the stars, there was far too much smog and smoke for that, but it was reassuring just the same to feel the warm evening breeze on her skin and be with the one that made her pulse race and her blood quicken.
She breathed in the flowered, fragrant evening air and looked over to find Erik watching her, an expression of wonder in his eyes and lips. "What?"
He blinked and shook his head. "Occasionally, you astonish, ptichka ." He gave a little smile, and Meg felt a delicate blush stain her cheeks even as her heart leapt at the praise.
She cleared her throat, "So…umm, what have you been doing these last few weeks?" She put her other hand over his and felt his gloved fingers begin to trace circles inside her palm.
Just when she did not think he was going to deign to answer, he began to speak, "I have been refining the score and plotting the outline for The Red Shoes in addition to one or two other side projects." Was it her imagination or did he sound slightly embarrassed? "At any rate, Megan, we need to begin staging the dance movements, and we will do so beginning tomorrow afternoon. I believe you are free then?" His eyes pierced her where she stood, and Meg imagined him giving her an arch look with his non-existent eyebrows.
"Yes, I am free." She smiled cheekily up at him. "After all, you ensured that I would be." They began walking once more, and she bumped his shoulder, "You didn't have to threaten to kill him, you know?"
He tugged her to the side of the street, away from the wheels of a passing carriage and putting her on his other side, tucked her neatly under his arm, "Of course I did, ptichka, and the offer still stands." His tone was lethally serious.
"I seriously can take care of myself, Opera Ghost!" Meg disentangled herself from him and stood staring at him, her chin a stubborn point as she dared him to discredit her. "As I believe I have amply proven."
He looked at her doubtfully, "hmm…yes. You killed one would-be rapist, and you think you are a seasoned veteran of crime and all its underpinnings?" His tone held clear disbelief, and she shook her head, even as he smirked wickedly.
"No. I don't." Meg blinked, and he was gone.
She looked around. The streets were not deserted, but they were thinning out. And the streetlamps were few and far between in this part of town. I am going to show you, little bird, just how wrong you are.
His knowing Voice caressed her ear like the most intimate of touches and she shivered, drawing her shawl closer to her. "Erik…really, that is unnecessary." Meg's heart began to race as she drew her reticule closer and began to walk rapidly. If she judged him by his tone of Voice, he definitely was planning something for her, and she really did not think she was going to like the surprise.
An absent breeze blew and Meg tucked a stray piece of hair behind her ear, stopping walking when she realized her hat had disappeared. She felt her head and looked behind her.
It had not fallen off, so where?
She looked down and gasped; her reticule, shawl, and grandmother's pendant were now gone as well.
"Erik?!" She stamped her foot. "This is really quite unnecessary." She felt a whisper of air behind her, and suddenly, her hair was falling free, cascading in a fragrant heap from its pins down to her waist. "ERIK!" Shocked, she vainly tried to gather the mass into a semblance of order.
She felt strong arms steel around her pinning her in place, her elbows splayed above her head, trapping her with her own hair, "What now, mademoiselle?" His Voice was liquid warm and playful, and his breath was warm on her neck, the cool feel of his mask just grazing her cheek. "Just how will you get free, hmm?" Meg looked around, assessing. He had maneuvered them into a little used byway that was for the moment unoccupied.
Thinking fast, Meg tucked her elbows as close as she could to her head, and dropped, slithering from his hold to the ground and then rolling back up to face him; her hair fanning in an arc behind her.
She stood before him, eyebrow arched in triumph, smiling slightly. "I should thank you, Opera Ghost. I never would have been able to pull off that maneuver with a hat perched on my head." And she turned and began to run full tilt through the streets and back alleys of Paris which thankfully were getting more familiar as she went.
She could feel him watching her, stalking her; their play was not at an end yet, and she just knew that if she could make it back to Rue Scribe entrance, relatively unscathed, then she would 'win' this game of catch as catch can.
But even as she had the thought, a group of American college students came stumbling out of a tavern into her path, forcing her to stop running or cause a full on collision. "Hang on there, Ray. Look'ee there. Have you ever seen such?" The men were openly gawking and pointing at her, gesturing to her hair. "Now ain't she just a pretty little thing?" The men, four of them, began to make their way towards her, and Meg began to back up, not understanding their words but definitely understanding their intentions.
There was an alley just behind her. If she could make it, she had a chance of running away. "What's your rush, sugar? We just want to know the fee?" The leader of their little band spoke to her in rough French, smiling jovially, "All four of us; how much?"
Shaking her head, Meg turned and ran blindly into the dark alley, hearing them begin to pursue her. By God in heaven, Megan! You do not do anything by halves, do you little bird?
"Erik!" She panted, feeling a modicum of relief at knowing he was near, even as she developed a stitch in her side as she reached the entrance to the dark alleyway.
Lead them here, and we will dispose of them.
"NO!" she shouted. "I can outrun them." But one of them proved just how wrong she was. For with a burst of speed, he had caught up to her and caught her by her hair. Meg drew up short, crying out in pain.
"My God! But you are a fast one!" he panted. "Geoff, let's take her back to your father's chateau. He's gone for the month, right?" Meg struggled, trying to break his hold on her scalp, tears forming in her eyes. "My but she is feisty!"
Another of the men drew closer and caressed her cheek in the darkness. "I don't believe I've ever seen a more beautiful doxy in all my time in gay Paree! A month of sport just think of the fun we are going to have with this little filly."
Draw your elbow back, Megan, and hit the man clutching your hair in the center of his chest on my mark. His Voice sounded a calm reassurance in her ear, soothing her. Once you do this, pirouette and duck. She nodded slightly feeling a tug on her scalp as she did so. NOW! Meg did as directed, hearing a gasping moan from her would-be abductor even as she was spinning deftly and crouching low. Now on your feet, my dear. Kick, rotating from your hip, straight ahead.
Again, she followed his orders, trusting him. She caught another in the chest and heard him gasp as he fell back. Duck! Megan immediately hit the ground as arms made to grab for her. Kick his legs out from underneath him. Now! Looking over to her left, Meg did so, belatedly registering the snapping of bone and cartilage.
And that just leaves one, ptichka.
She looked up. The fourth member of their little association looked around at his groaning friends and then down at her in astonishment, and he began to back away slowly. Meg gained her feet and tilting her head, narrowed her eyes at him. He held up his hands. "So-sorry, ma'am!" he touched the brim of his hat. "N-no harm meant, truly!" And he was running blindly through the alley way, but even as she watched, Erik broke away from the shadows, and with grace and economy of movement, had the man splayed and moaning just as much as his companions.
Gathering up the skirts of her ruined gown, Meg picked her way past the bodies of the young men over to her masked collaborator. "So does this mean I win?" She couldn't help the cheeky smile she gave him, even as she rubbed the dirt and grime from her hands. He took out his handkerchief and rubbed at a spot of dirt on her cheek.
"No." His Voice held much disapproval, but if Meg squinted just right, she could just see a glimmer of respect in his yellow eyes as they reflected what little light was to be had in the darkness. "It means you yet have much to learn and for me to teach you. Now come on, little Giry," he spared half a glance for the still-moaning young men, "we've quite had our fun this night, and it grows late." With a single hairpin, he restored her hair and hat to a semblance of order and gave her back her shawl, reticule, and pendant.
And together, they began to journey once more back to the opera house.
"You know, Erik. If this keeps up, I'm going to have to buy a whole new wardrobe. This was my second-best dress." Absently, Meg looked down, lamenting the beautiful silken confection that was now irrevocably stained, torn, and water-marked.
"There is an entire wardrobe filled with clothing in the bedroom of my home; you may have it all." His tone did not invite questions, and Meg didn't ask any, knowing already for whom he had intended the clothes.
Instead, she smiled her thanks and leaned more into him, resting her head on his arm. He drew her close, and Meg sighed feeling a sense of peace overcome her. She felt empowered! She felt cherished.
Goodness!
She felt loved.
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review please. it means the world to this little authoress and all feedback is most welcome.