This chapter took forever to get right (I hope I got it!) I've also been really busy promoting my two novellas, which came out on August 2nd, 2006. Please check my profile for more info and a link! Then check out my website for a contest in which you could earn a free copy and other exciting prizes!

Paladin85

"It was called Don Juan Triumphant," Erik said, "and it was only performed once."

Sophia clasped her hands under the table. "I wish I had seen it."

He frowned and looked away. "It was a disaster."

She shook her head and moved her chair closer to his. "Nonsense. You shouldn't listen to what critics say. They hate everything, most likely because they're jealous that they don't have talent. Oh, writing doesn't take much. Anyone can form a simple sentence. But music? Now that is art."

"It wasn't the critics."

"You were not pleased with the performance?"

He glanced at her, his complexion pale, his features strained. "Sophia…"

Her gaze lowered. "I appolo…Please continue."

His chair scraped against the floor. "It's stifling in here," Erik said under his breath. He tugged at his cravat. "May we speak somewhere else?"

"Would you care for a walk?"

She thought for certain he would refuse, but as he glanced at the door and back at her, he nodded. "Air," he said more to himself than to her.

"Perhaps I should see if Aunt Anne needs a cup of tea or an extra pillow."

"No." He looked her in the eye, sadness filling his gaze. "We won't be long."

"Are you certain?"

"Yes. I'm certain."

With her cape in hand she followed him toward the front door, watching him as he walked. It reminded her of the night he'd arrived. Such a tall figure should have stood upright, proud of his imposing presence. Yet his shoulders had sloped—just as they did now—and he hung his head.

They walked outside and Sophia looked up, thankful for a distraction to an otherwise uncomfortable evening. Once they stood away from the house and the trees, the sky opened up to endless darkness dotted with a thousand tiny, bright lights. Closing her left eye, she studied the flawless night sky.

"It's amazing how many stars one can see when there are no clouds. Doesn't it make you feel…oh, small, I suppose?" She wrinkled her nose and heard him as he continued to walk around the yard. "I wonder how we look from way up there. I don't suppose anyone will ever know, will they? Or perhaps someone will."

When he didn't offer a reply she turned and looked at him. His anxious expression startled her.

"You look as though you fear I might bite you," she said with a laugh.

He didn't return her mirth. Hands at his sides, his shoulders sagged and he exhaled. "It failed, and it was my doing."

"You shouldn't—"

"It was my doing," he said firmly.

Sophia's lips parted but she held her tongue and finally nodded.

"I thought I wrote it for myself….a sort of memorial. It took me years to write the majority of the scenes, and after a while I knew it would never be completed—at least not how I wanted. But then I realized, when the last notes filled my mind, I knew I was no longer writing it for myself. I had conjured the entire work—my life's work—all for a particular soprano."

"Your student?" She couldn't help but question him.

"Christine. I wanted her to play the lead."

"She must have been very good."

He struggled to speak. "She was good, but she wasn't to her full potential."

"Ah, is that why she's your former student?" Sophia teased.

His frown deepened. "I drove her away."

"Why?" she whispered.

It was a long time before he spoke. Hopelessness clouded his gaze, and she wondered if the woman had died. It was a terrible thought, but she knew by the way he stood that he'd lost someone dear to his heart. Perhaps he blamed himself.

"You needn't tell me. I see it in your eyes. You loved her," Sophia said quietly.

He shook his head.

"Then you cared greatly for her." She would not allow him to deny his feelings. "Love makes beautiful music, doesn't it? I've always imagined that the best composers were romantics. Perhaps that's wishful thinking on my part."

"If I had loved her I would not have…kept her as my student." He paused and swallowed hard. "I held her back unintentionally. When she deserved her freedom I wished to contain her, stunt her progress."

"So that no one else would see how talented she was?"

"No, I wanted everyone to see how talented she was, to make her the star of the theater. But there was…an inconvenience."

"Another man," Sophia sighed.

Yes, she knew the story well. Her favorite books, which she read late in the night, were always tragic love stories. Her romantic heart devoured tales of suffering and loss. She didn't want her heartstrings merely pulled, she wanted them ripped out.

"Wealthy?" she questioned.

He nodded.

"Well-educated?"

"Naturally."

"Handsome, too, wasn't he? Cherub-like features. With a white horse. They always have those."

"Two white horses," Erik corrected. His tense features softened.

Sophia groaned. "Even worse! And I'm certain he was a true scoundrel at heart. Evil as they come—wicked…despicable." Her hands balled into fists as her imagination galloped away.

He grunted. "He was too naïve to be wicked."

Sophia strolled around the corner of the Manor to where there was a bench near the wooden stump used for splitting firewood. She sat down and watched Erik as he stood at a distance.

"Then he was wicked in the making." She wrapped her cape tighter and smiled.

"I was the wicked one," he blurted out. He clenched his fist and exhaled. "I thought she…knew me better than anyone else. But she never knew me."

"You're a difficult man to know."

He looked at her sharply and Sophia cringed beneath his glare. Almost immediately he bowed his head and wandered closer.

"I deceived her."

"How?"

Again he was silent for a long moment. His jaw twitched, nostrils flared in the moonlight. She knew he was angry, but it wasn't with her.

"I would teach her almost every evening, but I…never allowed her to see me."

"Well, then naturally she didn't know you," she said gently. "But how did you manage to teach her? Through a wall?"

He didn't answer and Sophia cupped her chin in her hands. They remained in uncomfortable silence for a moment as the wind began to pick up.

"Did she ever see you?"

"Unfortunately," he muttered.

His words made her cringe. She knew without asking that this woman hadn't merely seen him. She'd seen him without his mask.

"She was a chorus girl, an orphan of the theater with no family." His voice grew distant, his head remained bowed. "I had no family, she had no family."

"Did you tell her you wrote the opera for her?"

He considered her words a moment before he shook his head. He moved closer until he stood within arm's reach.

"I didn't have to tell her. The lead fit her in every way…her voice, her personality. I knew if she sang this role it would lift her career to new heights and everyone throughout Europe would know her name…her face. She'd sing for queens, presidents…everyone would come to see her sing. They'd want to know her."

The passion in his voice made her smile. She'd never met anyone who had such confidence in their work. But when she looked at him she realized his tone belied his sullen appearance. It broke her heart, and she wondered if she witnessed his faith in himself dying or the rebirth of a genius.

"And they would want to know you as well, the great teacher and composer, Erik Belmont."

He appeared devastated, but nodded.

"Didn't you want everyone to know that you wrote the opera?"

"I had never intended for anyone to hear it."

"Honestly?"

"Honestly."

"But if it was perfect and written for her, why wouldn't you take credit for it? I don't think I understand."

"None of it made sense," he answered under his breath. "My God. It was madness."

She swallowed hard, fighting the pity she felt welling in her heart.

"What was your opera about?"

"About a man who fell in love with a beautiful young woman. She mistook him for someone else, and instead of revealing who he was he decided to lie to her, to continue the charade. But his intentions were good," he added quickly. "He wanted to love her but she couldn't love him."

"Because she didn't know him?"

"Because it wasn't meant to be. It was his fault. He was a liar, a fool…she deserved someone better…someone real."

"It sounds like a tragedy."

Their eyes met and Sophia sat very still, afraid of what he would say, but still wanting to hear him tell her.

"Sophia." He said her name then looked away. She held her breath, willing him to continue.

"It was about me…and Christine."

She rose and stood beside him. "I know."

"You don't know."

"Not all of it, but enough for tonight, don't you think?"

"I wasn't good to her," he said sternly.

"Did you intend to be cruel to her?"

"No, never. But I…I should have left her to her dancing career rather than entertaining foolish ideas."

"Love isn't rational, is it?" she said gently. "It's the embodiment of foolishness, frivolous moments….all sorts of wonderful, chaotic thoughts."

"I don't know if I loved her or not," he said softly. "I don't know anything at all."

He spoke with sincerity, each word filled with heartache. Whatever had happened was in the past, and perhaps it wasn't her right to know—at least for the night. It seemed to her that the wounds were still too fresh, and whatever had transpired was somehow complicated by her aunt's arrival.

"Perhaps it isn't worth much, but from what I've heard of your music, I think you're much more skilled at writing a love story with a happy ending than a tragedy."

He looked at her and smiled faintly. "I'm no good at either." He turned away and loosened the ax from the stump of wood.

Sophia saw a flash of light from the corner of her eye and turned her head. Aunt Anne stood peering out the window, her gaze trained on Erik. Head bowed, he either didn't notice or chose to ignore the ballet instructor.

When her aunt glanced at her, she offered a weak smile. Aunt Anne frowned and closed the curtain. Shaking her head, Sophia gave a frustrated sigh and faced Erik.

"What did my aunt say?"

He lifted his gaze and frowned. "Nothing. We didn't speak for many years."