This chapter is to make Andersm feel better!

Paladin23

Sophia knelt in the snow and patted her burning cheeks with her bare hands, using the melting snow on her fingertips to cool her flesh.

Her tears had finally ended, but she knew by the way she felt that her skin was blotchy and her eyes red. Even if Monsieur Belmont never looked at her directly she couldn't possibly enter the parlor after she had spent half an hour crying.

She continued to hyperventilate as she gazed at the windows on the upper floor. Her body began to tremble from the cold and she forced herself to climb to her feet. She could barely see her skirts through her returning tears.

Sophia knew if she waited much longer her employer would assume she wasn't interested in her lessons. She wiped her face one last time before stomping through the back door.

"Sophia?" Citrine questioned the moment Sophia closed the door behind her.

"I'm fine," she whimpered.

"Yes, obviously," Citrine said as she used the kitchen towel that was tucked into her apron to dab at Sophia's eyes. "What's wrong? Did you fall? You have snow all over you. Goodness, Mademoiselle, you must be freezing."

"I'll be fine," she said, but her chattering teeth betrayed her.

Citrine cocked her head to the side. "You'll catch a fever. Come, I have a dress that must be dry by now. It's upstairs by the fire in the bedroom at the end of the hall. Change or you'll freeze to death."

Sophia shook her head. "I can't catch a fever and freeze to death," she muttered.

Citrine chuckled to herself as she smoothed Sophia's hair back. "No, I suppose not, but there's no use in tempting fate now, is there? Change clothes."

"I can't, Citrine, I'm already late. If I—"

"Go. Monsieur Belmont hasn't come down to the parlor just yet. You may even pass him in the hall."

Sophia knew there would be no arguing with Citrine. She nodded, made one last attempt to hold back her emotions, and headed out of the kitchen.

Her tears stopped once she reached the empty bedroom. Citrine had made a habit out of keeping her spare clothes for work inside the vacant room in case she spilled something on her clothes while cooking. She saw no sense in tromping across the grounds to the small home behind the quarters Sophia and Philippe shared.

"Do you see it?" Citrine called up.

"Y—yes," she answered as she stared at the dress. "But it's not for—"

"You don't like it? I sewed it myself when I was still back home in Ireland."

Sophia couldn't help but smile at the dark blue velvet dress embellished with gold around the neckline and sleeves. After her parents died Sophia had been forced to sell most of her fine clothing. She still remembered the hardened expression on her brother's face as their family home was emptied and the furniture sold by their two uncles who only wanted the profits from their home and vineyard.

"I thought it was a work frock," she said over her shoulder.

"No, I didn't say that."

"Citrine, I can't—"

"Try it on," Citrine replied before she returned to the kitchen.

-o-

The house was quiet when Erik walked out of his room and quietly made his way down the stairs. Monsieur Monteclaire had most likely returned to the stable. The only person Erik wondered about was Karl Turro, but since he hadn't seen him lurking about the house he assumed his unwanted guest had finally left.

After peeking into the kitchen and finding Citrine muttering to herself as she salted their dinner, Erik walked into the parlor and rubbed his gloved hands together. He set his sheet music on the piano bench and straightened the two chairs in the corner. Once the furniture was in order he took a deep breath and scanned the empty room again. Since he was a few minutes early he took the time to add more wood to the hearth. He didn't find it particularly cold, but he wanted to make it comfortable for his student. Any good teacher would provide basic comforts for his student, he reasoned with himself.

When standing before the fire made him perspire he turned away, thinking it would be best to choose a piece of music for her to practice.

The doors flew open before he had a chance to return to the piano.

"I apologize for being late, Monsieur, my dress was wet, I needed to change clothes and—" Sophia froze, her hands atop her head. A hairpin escaped her fingers and landed without a sound on the rug.

Erik froze the moment she entered, his lips parted as if to speak, but no words came out. He was staring at the gold embellishments along her neckline.

Sophia glanced down to see what he was looking at, which drew his eyes away from her breasts. He turned away and stared at the wall, certain she had noticed him gaping.

"This dress isn't mine," she said quickly. "It's Citrine's."

Erik nodded. He stole another glance before he cleared his throat. Her skin was flawless, white as fresh milk. Her eyes, which he had never noticed before, looked emerald green. That was only her face. He didn't dare look any further than her long, perfect and completely exposed neck.

"She gave it to you?" he asked for the sake of saying something, anything at all. The room seemed much warmer than it had just moments before.

"Yes…just for today." Erik saw her wiggling. "It's…I don't know if I can play properly. The sleeves, the length, I'm terribly uncomfortable—"

"Would you rather take it off?" he asked without thinking. He stared at her a moment as he thought over his words. "I…well, no…that's…oh, hell, I meant would you rather change into something else?"

Sophia was bright red when he dared to look at her again. He couldn't help but notice that her coloring had changed from alabaster to crimson not only on her face but her neck and chest as well.

"I would have to return home, and then I have…engagements, Monsieur."

Erik nodded again. If she returned to her home her brother would send her straight to Monsieur Turro's house. As they stood in silence Erik became increasingly aware that the last thing he wanted was for Sophia to have dinner with Karl Turro.

"Then you will sit and listen to me play?" he asked, though his words came out as more of a statement than a question.

"Y-yes," she agreed meekly.

She sat on the right side of the bench as she had before and folded her hands as she waited for him to accompany her.

"There are several pieces of music, not all of them original, if you'd prefer to hear something you may already know I would…" his voice trailed away as he stared at her back.

The dress wasn't completely laced. She had missed the first two grommets, which left the dress loose on top. That must have been what made it uncomfortable.

"I beg your pardon?" Sophia asked.

Her question startled him. He had completely lost his train of thought while staring at her bodice. "Excuse me?"

"You said if I preferred to hear something I already knew and then you stopped."

"I…was saying…" Erik forced himself to stop and take a breath. He turned his head away and searched for something that would help him regain his composure, as staring at her back wasn't helping. He had to tell her what was wrong. It was what a gentleman would do.

"Yes, Monsieur?" Sophia prompted.

"Mademoiselle, your dress."

"It's Citrine's dress," she said defensively.

"Yes, it's not laced correctly."

Sophia shot up from the piano bench and nearly backed herself into the wall as she struggled to hold the front of her dress with one hand while searching for the laces with the other.

Erik put both of his hands out. "I saw nothing," he blurted out, attempting not to frighten her. "It's…it's not inappropriate. It's just…the first two…"

"I can feel it," Sophia said, her voice trembling. "I didn't see it in the mirror."

Their eyes met and Erik recognized the expression on her face. She was about to break down in tears, most likely from embarrassment.

"Turn around," Erik said firmly.

Sophia's mouth slipped open in protest but she said nothing. She looked Erik in the eye, questioning his intentions. He said nothing in return, settling for a single nod to tell her that he wouldn't harm her.

The last thing he expected was for her to comply. He was her employer, a man who wore a mask and spoke to no one. She had no reason to trust him or believe that he wouldn't force her to do something against her will.

Sophia's mouth twitched. She glanced at his black leather gloves then back at his face. With a half smile she nodded back and turned, holding loose tresses of dark hair away from her neck.

Erik inhaled again and wondered if she could hear him desperately swallowing lung's full of air. He approached her slowly and stood behind her for a moment, uncertain of whether or not he should untie the lacing and thread it through the grommets. His only other choice was to send her to Citrine, which was the safest decision.

"I may need to…"

"Untie the bow," Sophia whispered. "And re-lace it."

"Yes," Erik said lowly. "May I, Mademoiselle?"

She hesitated for only a heartbeat before she nodded.

-o-

Sophia was certain that at any moment she would break into a thousand pieces. She could feel Erik breathing on the back of her neck and wondered what made him so nervous. He couldn't possibly be as uncomfortable as she in that moment.

In the back of her mind she knew she should excuse herself from the room and ask Citrine to assist her. That was the proper thing to do. Decent young women did not ask their male employers to lace their dresses. It was scandalous, she knew. Everything about this encounter was completely forbidden.

But still she didn't resist.

His fingertips touched her just below the neck and she shivered as the cool leather touched her flesh.

"I apologize," he said, his voice barely audible.

"Your gloves are quite cold," she replied.

Sophia's eyes fluttered closed as she felt the laces come undone. Erik gave a tug, tightening the back of the dress, which made her exhale at the sudden force.

"One moment, Mademoiselle," Erik said quietly.

Her eyes popped open as she glanced over her shoulder and saw him removing his gloves with his teeth.

Their eyes met again and he forced a weak, nervous smile. "Cumbersome," he said before clearing his throat. "With haste, Mademoiselle."

She turned again, and he quickly finished lacing and re-tying her dress, barely touching her in the process. Rather than relief she felt disappointment.

"There," he said as he took a small step back.

Sophia turned to face him. "Thank you, Monsieur," she said timidly as she stared at the floor.

"Erik," he stated. "I prefer Erik."

She nodded. "Of course…Erik," she said, daring to glance up.

Once she looked him in the eye she couldn't tear her gaze away. His expression was unreadable, which only furthered her intrigue.

"Shall we start?" she asked before the silence grew uncomfortable.

"Yes, of course," he said. He stood for a moment with his hands at his side before suddenly offering his arm. His gesture startled Sophia, but she took his arm and walked with him to the piano, where he waited for her to sit.

Erik sat beside her and began shuffling through the sheet music he had brought into the parlor.

"Now, I have two compositions from Mozart," he started to explain before he looked at her again.

Sophia leaned forward slightly and looked at the two papers he held in either hand. "Which do you prefer?" she asked.

"I will play whichever you wish to hear," he said.

Their arms touched as Sophia reached out and took hold of the sheet in his left hand. Almost instantly she felt him tense as though no one had ever sat so close to him before.

"This one," she said, glancing at him.

"This one," he echoed.

Sophia could feel him staring at her. She couldn't stop herself from looking into his eyes again.

There was something remarkable in his gaze, something passionate and strong yet so completely raw and searching. As callous and fearsome as he had first appeared there was also insecurity.

"Monsieur?" Sophia questioned.

He shook his head slightly, his lips parting as though he would challenge her choice.

"Erik," she breathed.

He nodded slowly, and the last thing Sophia saw was his eyes slowly close as she leaned into him.