A/N For those of you unfamiliar with the story: This is a rewrite of the story Shadows of the Past. This version includes many things I thought of after I finished the story. Thank you to all of you rereading. And for all of you joining the story for the first time: Welcome! Please review and enjoy!

Ch 8

Sophia sat as far to the right of the bench as possible and waited for Erik to enter the parlor. She tapped her foot on the rug before she realized she did the same with her nails against the bench.

There was no reason to be nervous, she told herself. He was her employer and he had been gracious enough to offer her lessons.

"Good evening, Monsieur Belmont," she practiced. She took a deep breath and tried again. "Hello, Erik, how are you this evening?"

Neither would do. The first seemed so callow and the other too forward. She wanted to be friendly—but not too friendly. The last thing Sophia wanted was for her new employer to think she was false.

She exhaled through her mouth and leaned forward, resting her elbows on the keys, which made her jump as the piano made a sound of protest.

The clock chimed. An hour had passed since supper and her new teacher was nowhere to be found. She stuck her tongue in her cheek and felt her shoulders fall. This was all a mistake, a strange and silly mistake. At least Philippe would be happy, she thought. Philippe would send Karl Turro a letter and tell him that she was still available for courtship.

Sophia tapped on the keys and glanced over her shoulder at the clock. Two more minutes had passed. The longer she sat the bigger a fool she made of herself. With a sigh, she started to rise.

"He isn't coming," she whispered to herself.

"Who?" she heard Erik's voice.

A smile crept onto her face as she turned. His presence startled and delighted her as she had not heard the door creak open or click shut. It was as though he had entered without opening the door.

"I didn't think you would come," Sophia said as she sat down again.

"I'm afraid composing took over my sense of time."

"You compose music?" Sophia asked. She knew he composed but she didn't want to sit in silence as she watched him walk through the room, blowing out candles and turning down the lamps.

It alarmed her that the room was suddenly nothing more than shadows but she knew he did not want to be seen. He kept the right side of his face away from her as he walked through the room.

"Yes, I do," he answered at last. "I taught myself."

Sophia felt him standing behind her. She started to close her eyes, mesmerized by his silent presence. Her stomach tightened as she waited for him to take a seat beside her but he didn't move. She turned only when he cleared his throat.

"Who put the piano in here?" he asked gruffly.

"I, uh…"

"Who was it?" he demanded.

Sophia jumped, startled by his brusque voice. She had never heard anyone so commanding, so thunderous that it made her shiver yet want to come closer. It was the deepest, most intriguing voice she had ever heard.

"My brother, I believe, Monsieur Belmont—"

"He knows nothing about music. Get up," Erik snapped.

Sophia scrambled to her feet and dashed toward the opposite corner of the room, wringing her hands as she watched him throw a leather folder onto the bench. With a grunt he pushed the piano away from the wall.

"A vase of flowers?" he muttered under his breath. "Fools. Damned, bloody, ignorant fools in this damned house."

For a moment Sophia thought that he would throw the vase across the room, but he set it on the floor in the corner where the piano had been for months. When he was finished he dusted off his hands and whirled around to face her.

The tightness on the visible side of his face disappeared when he saw her cowering. With a sigh he gathered the sheets of music from the folder and turned away from her.

"You cannot learn to play the piano by standing in the corner," he said.

"Perhaps another night," Sophia said quietly.

He turned to face her again, his brow lowered in a scowl. "You've reconsidered my offer?"

Sophia slowly shook her head. "No, no it's just…"

"Just what?"

She held her breath for a moment and braced herself. "You seem rather angry."

Erik lowered his eyes and took a step back. His left hand touched the top of the piano and he gave a curt nod.

"Another time," he said. His words hung in the air for a moment in the still room. Sophia heard only the clock ticking and Erik panting hard from pulling the piano into the center of the room.

Curiosity got the best of her and she turned her head to the side. "Why did you move it, Monsieur?" she asked.

"The temperature changes may cause damage," he said as he took a step forward, his hand remaining on the top. "It was against the outer wall."

"And….the flowers? You don't like them while you play?"

"Water damage," he answered. He stared at the ground when he spoke, his lips moving slightly when he paused. "I wouldn't order a new instrument until spring, and although I have a violin upstairs…"

"How many instruments do you play?" Sophia asked. She stood in the center of the room, her arms at her side.

"I can play anything handed to me."

Sophia chuckled softly.

"Why is that amusing?" Erik snapped.

Sophia shook her head and shifted her weight, taking another half step forward until she was standing beside the bench. "It's not amusing; it's just that you seem very…confident when it comes to music." She glanced at Erik and smiled. "You must be very gifted, very talented to be able to play anything."

"Perhaps not anything," he said under his breath. He looked away from her first and began shuffling through music.

"I don't think I will ever be able to become good at the piano," Sophia said under her breath. She added quickly, "But I would like to learn. I will practice nightly if you command it."

"We will see," he answered.

-o-

A sheet of music escaped Erik's nervous hands and fluttered slowly to the ground, coming to rest at Sophia's feet. He stared at it a moment, his palms sweating, his nerves on end. He could barely believe she had shown up for her lesson. Following his dinner he expected her to retire for the night, leaving him to walk into the parlor and find only darkness.

He watched as she knelt down and looked over the music, holding it a few inches from her face. "An original?" she asked.

"Yes," he answered, his heart pounding so fast he could barely hear her speak.

"Are you going to play it?" she asked.

"Now?" he asked.

She took a small step back. "If you would prefer not to play…"

"You want to hear it?" Erik asked before she finished speaking. He held his breath, willing her to nod, to give him permission to share his music.

"If you wouldn't mind," she said, coyly. She handed him his sheet of music and looked away. "Unless you think it's too late…"

No one had ever asked to hear him play anything. Her request left him speechless, his mind muddled and his stomach in knots. While he stared at the sheet of music he dissected her words, wondering if she was being sincere or mocking him.

"I will sit to your right as you play," she said quickly. "If you don't mind."

He watched in silence as she smoothed her skirts and sat on the far end of the bench.

"You wanted to learn to play. You won't learn by listening to me play."

Sophia bowed her head. "For tonight I would rather listen to you play. As—as inspiration since you're the artist, the one with the talent, Monsieur."

"Erik. I prefer Erik."

"Erik," she echoed.

He sat beside her and arranged the sheet music slowly, praying that she wouldn't see his hands trembling. Turning away, he coughed into the crook of his arm, his throat feeling tight, his hands sweating.

"Are you alright?" Sophia asked.

"My throat is dry," he managed to say.

"Oh, well, I will bring you a glass of water."

"No, it's fine," he said quickly, fearing she would leave and not return.

Their shoulders touched briefly and Erik froze. The sensation overwhelmed him, frightful yet warm and welcomed to his years of solitude. He took a deep breath to clear his mind only to find his thoughts further mangled by her scent. She smelled like freshly cut apples. It was the sweetest thing he had ever smelled in all of his life, the most intoxicating scent ever created.

His breath caught in his throat. A strange thought passed through his mind of cupping her face in his hands and slowly tasting her lips. He wondered how soft her hair would feel against his fingers, how her breath would feel against his face.

My God! He suddenly thought, alerted by his sudden perversions. I've learned absolutely nothing!

She was merely a servant, a maid employed at his manor. Nothing more, he reminded himself. She would be nothing more than a student and a maid.

He started to turn toward her, then remembered himself and stared at the music again. How could he look at her when he had just imagined her covered only in rose petals? Surely she would know his wicked thoughts the moment she turned toward him. Then what would she do? Slap him?

"Erik?" Sophia questioned.

"I, I brought several pieces down," he stammered. Erik had to force himself to breathe, to sit still rather than thrashing about. Everything he did felt counterproductive. He was afraid that if he said something more Sophia would guess what was on his mind. Likewise, if he said nothing at all then she would assume his mind was still filled with lurid thoughts.

"Do you have a favorite?" she asked.

"Yes," he answered as he sifted through the pile. "But…I suppose it doesn't matter."

Sophia clasped her hands and stared straight ahead. Erik glanced at her and found her patiently waiting for him to make his choice. His eyes flashed away then settled back on her face where a ringlet of black hair hung beside her cheek.

The overwhelming desire to tuck the loose hair behind her ear caused him to release the papers. He rammed his elbow onto the keys, which made both of them jump as the sheets of music spilled onto the floor.

"Goodness," Sophia said. "Perhaps it is a sign that you should memorize your work."

"I have," he answered obtusely as he fell to his knees and gathered the sheets, folding and crinkling them as he attempted to arrange them swiftly.

"All of them?" Sophia asked.

He glanced up and found her twisted around on the bench as she watched him. Once their eyes met she shyly turned away.

"Would you like me to help?" she asked quietly.

"Your work is done for the day, is it not?"

"Yes, but if you wanted me to…no, you're right. I am done for the day."

"I apologize," he said, though he wasn't sure why he needed to apologize. The look on her face made him feel as though he had done something wrong.

"I just thought…" her voice trailed away and she folded her arms.

Erik's frustration grew as he realized he had no idea what he was doing. He nearly crumpled the sheets of music into a ball, tossed them into the refuse bin, and stormed out of the room. He needed time to think, though he had no idea what he wanted to think about.

Without looking at Sophia, Erik rose to his feet and sat beside her again, refusing to utter another word.

I am to teach her music, nothing more. God in Heaven bedding her should be the last thing on my mind. She would laugh in my face if I so much as smiled at her. This is an arrangement, a favor to her, not to myself. She cares nothing for you. Only music. It will only ever be music.

And that is enough.

He started to look at her again but stopped himself.

"Even if you did turn toward me," she whispered, her arms dropping to her sides, brushing past his as she set her palms flat on the bench. "It is far too dark for my eyes to see you."

Erik closed his eyes and nodded, breathing her sweet scent into his lungs. With his hands above the keys he attempted to clear his mind of the young woman sitting beside him.

She was already within him, wrapping herself around his thoughts with each breath he took.