Ala Emiril Legassi, Belmont has kicked it up a notch.

Paladin101

Erik returned to his room to work on his music until supper and Sophia promised she and Citrine would go about their work quietly. The moment Sophia walked into the kitchen she was immediately accosted by her closest friend.

"Good afternoon. If I didn't know any better I'd say you looked guilty."

"I am, Sophia. Very."

"What are we hiding from Philippe? Broken dishes? A missing spoon?"

"You are far too sensible." Citrine grasped Sophia's hand and grinned like the devil. "I have a plan."

Sophia rested her forehead against Citrine's and grinned back. "Are we conspirators?"

"We are, mademoiselle."

"Then let's have it."

"Carriage. Your aunt. Tour of the grounds after supper."

"Excuse me?"

Citrine placed her hands on Sophia's shoulders. "After supper I thought I'd show her around since she's never been here before. Gabe already agreed to be our driver."

Sophia had a feeling Gabe had no idea he'd agreed to anything. "Why would you offer to take her for a ride around the estate?"

Citrine's eyes twinkled. "Because you need to have your music lesson."

Immediately Sophia turned away and felt her face burn with a blush. Perhaps Citrine was correct but she'd never admit to it for fear her mother would roll over in her grave. "What does that have to do with it?"

"Shall I explain it to you?"

"I would gladly invite Auntie Anne to my lessons," Sophia blurted out, but cringed at the thought of her aunt in the room with her, watching over her every move. Her aunt would undoubtedly be much worse than Philippe.

"Then shall I call for her now?"

"No!" She spun around, hands extended.

Citrine smiled. "I didn't think so."

"She is nobody's fool, Citrine. She'll suspect something at once."

"No, she won't."

"You don't know my aunt."

"And she doesn't know me."

"You'll have to hog tie her in order to make her leave the house."

"I could, but that's not nearly as much fun as consuming a bottle of wine together."

Sophia frowned. "She won't do it."

"You let me worry about that while you dress for supper."

"But I haven't finished—"

"I said go. You better look so beautiful that even my heart skips a beat."

"Oh, Citrine."

"Listen to me, mademoiselle. There is no denying love."

"You're being quite presumptuous."

"I'm not the only one."

Her heart stuttered. "You have no idea what you're talking about."

"Of course I do. I have perfect vision, but even if I didn't I could still see the way you look at him and the way he melts every time you're near. Philippe is gone for the night. You may as well enjoy a quiet evening together…but not too much, mind you."

"Citrine!"

"Off with you. And remember, arrive at supper a few minutes late but act casual and sophisticated. Make him wait for you."

There was no arguing and certainly no turning back. With a nod, Sophia marched home with a grin spread wide across her face. There was no denying that Citrine offered what Sophia wanted: A night alone with Erik. It was madness, it was trouble, but as she entered her bedroom and proceeded to search through her wardrobe, she realized she didn't care. Perhaps it was time she caused a bit of a stir.

-o-

Erik sat with pen in hand and stared at the wall, attempting to comprehend what had happened. Questions he'd expected to carry for the rest of his life were now answered. It would take a while before the significance permeated his mind, but already he felt lighter of spirit. As much as he didn't want to admit it, he had two people to thank.

The first was Madame Giry, who had sent him to the Manor. Without her urging him out of Paris he had no idea what would have happened. Death, most likely, either at his own hands or those of a mob. He shuddered at the thought, at how distant dire circumstances seemed now, which brought him to the second person he needed to acknowledge.

Now more than ever he realized his love for Sophia. Arriving at the Manor would have been unbearable without her patiently staying at his side. Christine, just like the city of Paris, seemed like a fading dream. He wondered what he'd seen in her, why he'd put her first in his life.

Eyes closed, he told himself not to dwell. She was gone and he hoped the best for her. It was all he could do and all he wanted to do, especially when he heard Citrine yelling for Fidelio.

Now there was a woman he wasn't sure if he should thank or cautiously back away from. She had the power to silence anyone—including Madame Giry.

His mind refused to consider Citrine for long. No matter how much work he had ahead of him, composing was secondary to thoughts of Sophia. He wished he'd invited her into his room for the remainder of the afternoon. Hers would be a welcomed distraction, especially with her brother away. He wanted to sit and speak with her without worrying if her brother would approve.

Of course, there was also much more he wanted to do with her. His finger stroked the smooth, flesh-warmed length of his pen and he envisioned her slender hands. He wanted to cradle her fingers in his, gently caress her wrist as he felt her pulse beating in time with his. He wondered what it would taste like to kiss or suckle her fingertips—or how it would feel to have her bring his finger to her lips. Part of him didn't much care how it would feel. He merely wanted to watch.

His tongue flicked out and dampened his lips, which he wanted to plant at the crook of her elbow. Suddenly he needed to smell her, to feel her warmth and the softness of her flesh. The pen was abandoned and he ran his broad hands along his thighs. The room was suddenly a furnace and he tugged at his shirt collar.

The mere thought of her left him breathing heavily and fully aware of his aroused state. As much as he wanted to convince himself a kiss to her lips and a gentle caress would be enough, he knew it would only lead to frustration. The possibilities were endless—and mostly a mystery.

"Oh, Sophia," he sighed.

He was ashamed of himself, but not for his thoughts. He didn't know how to please her. He'd never stood before an undressed woman, never studied the curve of hips and breasts. Often he'd fantasized about a woman's shape, but he'd never experienced the pleasurable sensation of skin to skin, with no barrier or hindrance of clothing.

Pushing his music aside, he ran his fingers through his hair and gritted his teeth. Pure. Prudent. Respectable. Those were the words given to a woman. But he was an inexperienced man, a virgin only years away from turning forty. He knew the workings of his own body like a violinist knew his instrument. It was all he'd ever had and he'd indulged, frequently. If he told her that she'd probably run screaming from him and never look back.

The realization that he was completely naïve terrified him. He'd prove to her he was nothing more than a bumbling, inexperienced fool. Without knowing what else to do, he'd show her exactly why no woman had ever wanted him. His only hope was that it would come naturally, as it did for beasts in the field. Perhaps when the moment arose he would know what to do.

As much as he wanted her now, he half-wished there was time to sort out his feelings…and perhaps find a way to learn the secrets of a woman.

"Monsieur!" Citrine yelled. She stomped upstairs and tapped on the door, instantly vanquishing his lusty thoughts. "In ten minutes I will set your food on the floor and allow your dog inside the house."

He paused and listened to her chuckle. His stern expression turned into a reluctant smile. "And in eleven minutes you will find yourself looking for employment elsewhere," he mumbled.

"Come now, Monsieur. You mustn't be foolhardy."

"Foolhardy?"

"Of course. After all, you'll find no better cook in all of Europe."

"How fortunate for you." He stood and shuffled his sheet music into a neat pile. The banter had him amused, but he didn't want her to know he enjoyed her playful words—even though he assumed she was already well aware.

"But all the more fortunate for you, Monsieur. Without me, who would ever douse your meals in salt?" Her voice was musical, each word teetering on the edge of laughter.

"My supper had better not be cold," he gruffly replied.

"Well, that will be no fault of mine. Nine minutes, Monsieur." She coughed delicately. "Mustn't keep Sophia waiting."

His thoughts ran away once more, returning to the one place he longed to be: With Sophia.