Paladin19

Sophia closed Erik's bedroom door and leaned against the wall, covering her mouth with her hand. He was gruff, reserved, and awkward but incredibly charming in a way Sophia didn't understand.

What was it about this man that made her smile and giggle like a school girl? He looked so confident in his fine clothing, so sure of himself as he sat at his desk and composed. There had never been an individual who emulated masculinity the way Monsieur Belmont had as he drove an ax through blocks of wood.

But then he changed completely when he spoke. The barriers he set up crumbled the moment they exchanged words. His expression changed, the hardness around his left eye and his mouth slipped away until he seemed just as nervous and awkward as she.

Everything that had happened the previous night seemed to fade away. Sophia had thought for certain that he would ask her to leave, but he had not. He had been merciful and kind. She had known he was kind. He didn't exude friendliness, but there was something about him…something undiscovered, something she didn't understand but wanted to.

Poor Citrine was forced to listen to her gab for hours as she whispered to the cook about how shy their employer was. Sophia's mother had always complained that she was constantly chattering on about nothing. Here was a man who rarely said a word.

It was strange that she didn't really know him but she felt that they had something that connected them. They had music, she mused. She laughed to herself at the absurdity of it and pushed off the wall, her steps light, her mood as carefree as a pixie. If she didn't know any better Sophia would have sworn translucent wings had sprouted from her back. She was truly looking forward to her lessons after dinner, though more than anything she hoped he would play again for her.

He was talented, she knew, though she reminded herself that she was no musical genius. She wasn't a music critic by any means but when she watched him play it was as though the sound he created was part of him. That's what made her feel closer to him. He was sharing something, something deep and personal, something intimate. The more Sophia thought about it the more she was certain she could spend hours merely listening to him play.

She skipped down the stairs, hopped off the last one, and landed like a cat on the tips of her toes.

Her mood was instantly ruined by Monsieur Turro, who was standing at the end of the hall with his arms crossed.

"Are you intoxicated again?" he asked.

Sophia shook her head and cleared her throat. "Will you be leaving soon?"

Karl made no reply. He watched her closely, his eyes so narrowed they were like a snake's eyes, beady and slitted as they fell on their prey. His gaze made her uncomfortable and she turned to walk away.

"What does he have you do?" Karl questioned before she disappeared.

Sophia looked at the ceiling and sighed. "I serve his tea."

"And what else?"

"Nothing else," she said quickly. She turned, her own eyes narrowing. "What are you accusing me of, Monsieur Turro?"

"Sophia, please. We have known each other long enough for you to call me Karl," he said smoothly. He smiled, a surprisingly thin, cold expression. "I am concerned for your virtues, girl. A man such as himself may find other…uses, shall we say? A girl like you may be irresistible to many men. Lonely, reclusive men, unmarried or otherwise. You know as well as I do that it's not unheard of for a master to take a mistress."

Sophia forced a smile. "I assure you, Monsieur, my employer is not like that."

"He merely gets you drunk for entertainment?" Karl countered.

"He did nothing to me. You've nothing to worry about," Sophia said as she continued on her way.

"Then it will be no concern of yours once I tell your brother what I witnessed."

Sophia froze and inhaled a sharp breath. With her back to Karl she pressed her eyes closed. "There is nothing to tell, Monsieur. We were having dinner—"

"And wine."

"Nothing happened," she said evenly. "And nothing would have happened. There is nothing to tell, Monsieur."

"Karl," he corrected.

Sophia swallowed hard and forced herself to comply. "Karl," she said, feeling a small twist of discomfort in her belly.

"Without virtues a girl is nothing," he said in his deep, commanding tone. "No man will fancy a girl who has been tainted. Remember that, Sophia. And remember that men know when a woman has given herself to another man's desires."

Sophia nodded slowly, her skin feeling prickly, her head feeling light. He was frightening her though she didn't understand why. He hadn't said anything menacing or threatened her well-being. Still, she took his words as a warning. This was not a man to be trifled with.

"Tonight you shall dine with me," he said, his voice sounding deeper.

"I must help Citrine," she argued.

"Your brother has already agreed. Tonight you shall dine with me in my home."

My lessons! Sophia thought. I cannot cancel my lessons with Monsieur Belmont. She turned to Monsieur Turro and forced herself to remain calm.

"As much as I would enjoy seeing you for dinner, Karl, I'm afraid that would be impossible," she said, smiling as genuinely as possible. Her heart was thumping, thundering out of control while her palms had turned damp.

"Nothing is impossible, Sophia. You will come with me."

Before she could say another word he had turned on his heel and retreated to the parlor where he slammed the door behind him.

"I have my lessons," she said softly. "I cannot miss my lessons."

Sophia held her breath for a moment. In the room above she heard the door click shut and she knew Erik had heard everything.

As she joined Citrine in the kitchen she wondered if he would forgive her.

-O-

In the days following the opera house disaster, Erik had tried very hard to despise Raoul de Chagny.

At first it had not been difficult. The Vicomte was his reason for solitude and heartache, for the rejection he had feared above all else. It was that damned boy's fault that all of Erik's plans went to hell.

But the longer he had to think the less reason Erik could find to blame Raoul. As much as it stung his soul he knew that the Vicomte hadn't been at fault. He had merely fallen in love. It just happened to be with the only person Erik had ever loved. Rationale had always eluded Erik, and in his misery he was left uncertain. Finally, with no one else to blame he was forced to blame himself. The constant aching did not compare to the deep, sharp pain of admittance when he first thought perhaps he had done something terribly wrong.

Raoul de Chagny had not taken Christine from him. He had lost her to his own missteps and delusions. She had not been stolen. She had left him.

He remained reluctant, but overhearing Mademoiselle Dupree and Monsieur Turro had not seemed so wrong. He had eavesdropped many times on Christine, sometimes feeling ashamed of himself and other times leaving her mirror with a sense of elation. He thought that by spying he knew her, and that by coming to her as an angel she knew him as well.

This, however, was different. He had not intentionally listened to their conversation. Once Mademoiselle Dupree had left his room he needed to relieve himself. Upon opening his door he had heard voices. It was only natural that he listened to their conversation.

And even if it wasn't, he told himself, this was his house. He had a right to know what was said and by whom.

From his place at the top of the stairs Erik had sensed the girl's apprehension. She didn't want to miss her lesson. By the sound of it she would have preferred a night of music to Monsieur Turro's company.

She wanted to play the piano. She wanted him to teach her the piano.

Erik shook his head. Perhaps he was getting ahead of himself, but he had heard what she said. She couldn't miss her lessons.

A willing student, he thought, a smile coming to his lips. After all these years he had a student choose to come to him. Now all he had to do was find a way to keep her. He would insist that she stay. She was his…servant, he thought, hating the word. This Monsieur Turro would be asked to leave at once as it was not his home and he had no business being here. Before dinner Erik would send a note asking him to leave.

And if he didn't leave…Turro was better off leaving before an unfortunate accident occurred.

At once Erik began rifling through paperwork, searching for the ideal composition to teach her. The prospect of her company made it impossible to think. Or was it the lack of food, he wondered? It didn't much matter. When he walked into the parlor there would be someone waiting for him, waiting to listen, willing to learn.

There would be someone waiting for him.

"A student for my music," he whispered. "If she can sing…God have mercy if she can sing."