I will be out of town next week and won't be updating until probably next Friday. Thanks.

Paladin 49

"Why won't you tell me what happened?" Sophia asked.

Philippe sat in the kitchen with his back to her. He didn't answer, which he knew would further upset her.

"Philippe!"

"Do I need stitches or not?" he growled, slamming his palm on the table.

Marching around to face him, Sophia tilted his chin up and examined his left eye. Her mouth was set in a scowl, but the deep wrinkle in her forehead betrayed her concern.

"No, but I have half the mind to stitch you up anyway until you tell me what happened."

"You cannot return home in the middle of the night—barely able to walk, mind you—and expect to have me turn my face."

Philippe exhaled. "I'm walking fine."

Sophia grunted. "You were limping this morning. Even Citrine saw it."

Philippe ignored her. He thought Sophia was becoming an exact replica of their mother, passion and all.

"Where did you go last night?"

"On business," he answered.

Sophia pressed a rag to his brow. "What business?"

Wincing, Philippe snatched the rag from her hands and slumped in his chair. "I'll take care of myself."

"And tonight? Are you leaving again?"

Philippe glowered. "Men have business that is their own," he said, but he knew he hadn't heard the end of it. Sophia was going to give him hell for the remainder of the day and quite possibly until the end of his life, which he expected her relentless nagging would bring him to sooner than later.

"Is it a woman? Oh, Philippe, what are you doing?" Sophia gasped, sitting down beside him. Her anger quickly dissipated in exchange for heartsick romance. Philippe couldn't help but smile.

"I will be fine. It was merely a misunderstanding?"

"With whom? Her father or brothers?"

Philippe cleared his throat. "An uncle, as chance would have it." He rose to his feet. "Now if you will excuse me, I'm going to lie down for an hour before I start my day."

Sophia rose with him, and he knew by the expression on her face that he hadn't convinced her. He kissed her forehead and held her tight, knowing in his heart that he was willing to die for her. She thought he was an overbearing, stubborn, apathetic man. If he had his druthers he would never reveal what he did for her. It wasn't in his nature to expect anything in return. As her brother, Philippe looked at Sophia and thought of her as his responsibility—one that he would not pass off on anyone.

"Don't leave tonight," Sophia said, clinging to his arm. "I worry about you."

"You shouldn't," he said before he returned to his room. He shut the door and flexed his hand, which was sore from returning Uncle Bernard's punch. Bernard deserved what he had coming to him and more. If anyone else thought Sophia was little more than a pawn, Philippe would beat the holy hell out of them.

Tonight he hoped to have that chance.

-o-

Erik woke later than normal feeling peaceful and refreshed. Unaccustomed to both feelings, he remained in bed for a long time, his left arm fraught with pins and needles thanks in part to Fidelio's massive head sitting on the crook of his elbow.

Allowing Fidelio to sleep on the bed was beginning to seem like a mistake—not that Erik felt he had any choice. Attempts at ignoring the dog went unnoticed, and pushing him onto the floor proved to be a temporary fix. Tall enough to stand on the floor and be eye-level with his master, Erik couldn't sleep when he knew two sad brown eyes were staring at him.

Fully awake, he wondered what the opera managers would have done if they had known that their frightful ghost was easily swayed by a moping dog.

He nudged Fidelio onto the floor and sat up in bed. Though it had been several days since he had awakened and donned his mask, he still groped for it on the nightstand and surprised himself when it wasn't there.

With his skin able to breathe, the wound below his right eye had sealed as it finally begun to heal. The pain lessened, and the headaches it had caused—which he'd grown accustomed to over the months—went away.

Erik took a deep breath and sat up in bed. He heard Philippe's voice downstairs and expected he would see his butler soon, which reminded him of the conversation he and Sophia had enjoyed late in the night.

Just as he had explained to Sophia, he had no desire to balance books and record sales. They were of no interest to him, but from what Sophia had said it was something that Philippe had at least done in the past, if not enjoyed.

Of course, Philippe was not a foolish man and Erik expected that Sophia's brother would immediately assume that the offer was meant to put him in Philippe's good graces. Erik's only hope was that Philippe didn't find the offer insulting or too presumptuous.

Once he took his mask from the top drawer in his bureau, Erik dressed and unlocked his door. Fidelio immediately ran down the stairs and Erik heard Citrine letting him outside for the morning. She yelled at the dog to stay away from lunch, which he assumed meant that one of the chickens had met its demise at dawn.

"Excuse me, Citrine," Philippe said from the bottom of the stairs.

Erik left the bedroom door ajar and went to his desk to straighten his sheet music from the previous night. He heard Philippe's heavy footsteps and an equally harsh knock on the door.

"Come in," Erik said, glancing over his shoulder to acknowledge Philippe.

Monsieur Dupree entered and shut the door. "Good morning, Monsieur Belmont."

Erik attempted to stop himself from staring, but it was impossible to draw his gaze away from Philippe's deeply bruised eye. The blood vessels in the white of his eye had burst, which was painful for Erik to look at without his own eyes tearing up.

"Good…morning," Erik stuttered.

Philippe nodded to acknowledge his injury and exhaled. "A misunderstanding," he said.

"A painful one," Erik said under his breath.

"Yes, Monsieur, but not one which will affect my duties here, I assure you."

Erik turned his chair to face Philippe but drew his eyes away. "In fact, I was hoping to discuss your duties today."

From the corner of his eye, Erik saw Philippe bristle.

"Have I displeased you, Monsieur?"

Erik chose to ignore Philippe's words. He turned to face him, but avoided Philippe's right eye. "I am requesting that you consent to my business proposal. I would like you to take full control of the orchards," he stated.

Philippe said nothing at first, and Erik wasn't certain if that was in his favor or not.

"Full control?"

"Yes, full control."

"And my compensation?"

Erik turned back to his desk and wryly smiled. He hadn't given Philippe's pay much thought, but he knew he should have expected Monsieur Dupree to be thinking of his livelihood.

"Shared profits sounds reasonable," Erik answered, "in conjunction with your current compensation—possibly more if I find your work impressive."

Again Philippe was silent. Erik heard Fidelio's nails scrape the wooden stairs as he returned to his master's side and plopped on the floor. Erik glanced down and noticed blood on his snout and assumed the dog had taken the liberty of investigating around the chicken which had probably been left to bleed out. With his canine grin, Fidelio licked his chops and rested on his side, clearly exhausted from his morning activities.

"What percentage?" Philippe asked.

"I haven't yet decided."

"But you expect me to agree at once?"

Erik found he wasn't in the mood to argue. He closed his eyes, yawned and took up a pen to occupy himself. "You may consider it at your own leisure. Being that it is still winter, I doubt there is currently much tending needed, but I would like your answer within thirty days."

"My answer will come once I am aware of the percentage you intend to pay. There are orchards of apples, plums, apricots, and pears. There are a few cherry trees as well, and pecans, if I'm not mistaken. You see, Monsieur, this is not a small undertaking. If you wish anyone to take up the position you best be willing to pay handsomely for the duty to be done correctly."

Erik opened his desk drawer and thumbed through his bank book. Somewhere in the parlor there were old records of profits and expenses for the property, but he hadn't concerned himself with those. With his own funds from his years of haunting securely invested and maturing, Erik couldn't have cared less about the orchards. Calculating his expenses, he knew he could live comfortably for the next fifteen years without selling a single piece of music.

"Will you guarantee me a profit?" Erik asked.

Philippe's chest puffed out. "Naturally."

There was no way Philippe could guarantee such a thing. Too much rain, too little rain, a late start to spring or an early winter would factor into how well the orchards did come harvest time. However, Erik appreciated Philippe's confidence.

"Half," Erik said.

"Pardon me?"

"Agree to manage the property and I will allow you half the profit on top of your salary."

His statement silenced Philippe, though this time Erik felt his butler's jubilation fill the room. Still, just as Erik expected, Philippe quelled his enthusiasm and returned with a calculated question.

"And my sister? Is she to be part of your payment?"

"She's not property and she's certainly not livestock," Erik answered.

At last, Philippe seemed satisfied. "I will give my answer tomorrow morning," he said before he left.