NDBRs: I made a few changes per your comments.
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Paladin61
"He saved you," Philippe said under his breath as he stared at Erik's cloak. "Is that why you wish to remain?"
Philippe's words embarrassed Sophia into silence. As foolish as it made her feel, Erik was the main reason why she wanted to stay. He was kind to her, gentle in the way he treated her, and despite the pain she felt inside and out, she knew somewhere in her heart that Erik was not a man she should fear.
"Sophia, please."
"I don't know," she finally replied, refusing to look her brother in the eye. Nothing seemed clear to her anymore. Her brother's hand around her own was becoming uncomfortable but she didn't want him to leave her. She wanted her privacy but she couldn't bear the thought of silence in the room.
"I know you are fond of him and your lessons," Philippe started. "I'm just…I don't understand."
"There is nothing to understand," Sophia whispered. "I don't want to talk about it. Philippe, please."
With a sigh, Philippe allowed her hand to slip away from his. "You're right. I won't say another word. You should bathe and change your clothes," he said.
"Philippe—"
"Sophia, it will protect you," Philippe stammered. "From—from unwanted…occurrences. At least…oh, Hell…" His cheeks reddened and he looked away from her, which shamed her more than if he had blatantly stated what he was awkwardly referring to. "You understand, don't you?"
"I don't need to take a bath," she whispered.
Philippe immediately looked at her. "Sophia, when these sorts of terrible, wretched things happen to a young woman…any woman at all…"
"I understand," Sophia blurted out before he could finish. She swallowed hard, her hands trembling as her eyes remained on the cloak. She could not bear to look him in the eye, even if it was to soothe his fears.
"Then…?"
Sophia shook her head, not knowing what else to tell him. After a few awkward moments of silence Philippe inhaled.
"Perhaps warm water will put you at ease, then," he suggested. "I will wait until you're ready for bed and then I'll return to stay with you again. Or shall I have Citrine stay with you?"
Knowing that Philippe would not relent, Sophia frowned. "I would prefer to have Citrine here."
"Very well," Philippe said. He started to speak again, but his eyes were drawn to the door as it creaked open.
"Dublin!"
"Fidelio!"
Philippe threw the blankets over Sophia's lap as the dog wandered in, his tail wagging and tongue lolling. He stood for a moment and blinked at Sophia and then at Philippe as though deciding whom he wished to greet first. His dark gaze fell on Philippe, his ears perking up and then quickly dropping.
"Let him sniff your hand," Sophia suggested once she noticed Fidelio's posture had changed.
Philippe, however, made no attempt to move and Sophia turned to see what he was adamantly staring at.
Her breath hitched in her throat. Erik stood outside the bedroom door with Citrine behind him. His lips were parted, his chest heaving with each breath as his gaze darted from her eyes to Fidelio.
"Fidelio," Erik called.
The dog licked his snout but didn't acknowledge his waiting master. His attention was on Sophia, who made no protest in his company.
"Fidelio," Erik warned.
"He's fine," Sophia replied, her voice low. She had no idea how to express how much she needed to have Fidelio near her, to allow her focus to wander to something pleasant and unobtrusive.
Lowering his gaze, Erik nodded and shifted his weight.
"Do you want him back?" Sophia asked.
"Keep him," Citrine piped in. She placed her hand on Erik's shoulder and asked if he wanted sugar with his tea. Without turning to face her, Erik finally nodded, his chin sinking to his chest. His posture and silence reminded Sophia of the first time she had seen him. He'd emerged from his carriage like a shadow, dark and silent, unwilling to communicate. Seeing him now standing at a distance with his eyes trained on the floorboards hurt her. She wondered if he was angry with her for causing so much trouble.
As though he heard her thoughts Erik glanced up and met her gaze. It wasn't until that moment that Sophia realized he wasn't wearing his mask in the presence Citrine and Philippe. Her mouth dropped open but no words emerged, and for an awkward moment they stared at one another, both trapped in their own agony.
Conscious of herself and her dress, Sophia licked her lips and held her uninjured hand out to Fidelio, who turned his attention from Philippe back to her and laved her palm, apparently satisfied in his decision to protect her. After a while he drew back and sneezed and Sophia saw blood in his black nostrils.
"What happened to him?" she asked, looking directly at Erik.
Before he could answer, Citrine stepped closer. "I'm not sure, really. I've been meaning to coax him nearer, but I think he's found who he wants. Will you watch him for me? I'll only be a moment."
Sophia glanced from Citrine to Erik, who met her eye and nodded.
"You should rest yourself," Philippe said to her. "Eat something as well. Citrine, will you make Sophia something to eat?"
"Of course, Monsieur."
"That's a good boy," Sophia cooed, finding more comfort in scratching Fidelio's chin than she had found with anyone else. There was no judgment in his dark eyes, only satisfaction from her praise. His name suited him well, she thought. "What a good, good boy, Fidelio."
When Sophia glanced up again she discovered that Erik and Philippe were staring at one another, both examining the other's appearance. The attention she lavished on Fidelio lessened and the hound whined in protest, butting the top of his head against her knee.
"That's quite enough," Philippe said before he cleared his throat. He turned to Sophia and frowned. "Isn't it?"
"I…" she shrugged.
"Never mind," Philippe sighed. He turned back to Erik and nodded. "A word, Monsieur," he said as he struggled to his feet.
"Philippe, be careful," Sophia warned.
He glanced at her and forced a smile. "Have Citrine take care of you, Soph," he said as he brushed his hand over hers. The last time he had shorten her name was when they were small children. Hearing him say it again made her genuinely smile.
"Monsieur?" Philippe grimaced.
Erik silently stared at Philippe a moment longer before he nodded and turned his attention back to Sophia. He looked as though he wished to speak but turned instead, leaving her wondering what he was thinking. Before he turned fully away, Sophia saw his hand, which had dangled at his side, lift to his face. Citrine, who had been watching, quickly looked away from him and returned to the kitchen.
"May I have a word with you?" Philippe persisted.
Erik paused and glanced over his shoulder at Philippe, his expression hard, his eyes a cold shade of green.
"I must return home first," he said. "Wait here."
Sophia clutched Fidelio's fur and forced herself to look only into the dog's eyes. Her stomach was in knots, her hands starting to tremble.
"Such a good boy," she repeated as he licked her chin. "Such a very good boy."
-o-
Philippe could barely walk but he would be damned if Monsieur Belmont retreated from the house without first divulging whether Karl were alive or dead.
In silence Philippe followed his employer out the front door and into the night where Sophia couldn't overhear their conversation.
"Is he dead?" Philippe shouted once he could no longer keep up. His forehead had started to bleed again and the sensation of a warm, wet trail dripping into his eyes made his stomach turn.
Keeping his back to Philippe, Monsieur Belmont lifted his chin. He shook his head and resumed his pace.
"Monsieur, please!" Philippe begged. "I must speak with you at once."
"Return home," Belmont replied over his shoulder.
Philippe could barely see his surroundings but he forced himself to follow Monsieur Belmont's footprints through the snow.
"I cannot return home," Philippe replied, the anger he felt inside emerging through his words as desperate and pathetic. His incompetence weighed heavily on his shoulders, the irreversible truth of his failure following each step he took. "This night will drive me mad, Monsieur. I must speak with you now."
"Mad," Erik said under his breath as he waited for Philippe to catch up.
"Where is he?" Philippe questioned.
"The smokehouse."
"And he is alive?"
"For the moment," Erik said quietly. With his hand still over his face, he turned and glanced over his shoulder at Philippe. There was no emotion in his gaze, no sorrow or joy, only apathy. "I will kill him. Not tonight, but I will kill him."
The hairs on the back of Philippe's neck stood on end but he decided not to question his employer.
"May I speak to you…regarding Sophia?"
Monsieur Belmont slowly turned and faced Philippe, his hand dropping to his side again. The anxious expression on his face remained, but Philippe knew his employer would listen to him.
Without a word, Philippe followed Monsieur Belmont through the front door of the Manor and immediately dropped into a parlor chair.