Paladin110

Citrine discovered a note on the kitchen table when she arrived for work in the early morning. She yawned and wondered how she would manage to stay awake for the rest of the day—or how she could ever face Monsieur Belmont after the conversation she'd had with Sophia. Despite her exhaustion, it was all worth it. She hadn't had so much fun in years, and never in her life had she enjoyed this sort of fun.

She stifled a yawn and thought about her favorite moment: The instant when Sophia's eyes widened at the thought of twelve inches of manhood. Even to her it sounded outrageous, but she could never tell Sophia such a thing. Who knew, anyhow? Perhaps her first encounter would be…

No. Heavens, no, she couldn't think such things and remain employed at Belmont Manor. She was almost certain that when she saw him next she'd steal a glimpse below the belt and wonder just how he compared to Sophia's medical book. As giddy as she felt, she was certain she'd burst out laughing the moment she saw him, and the last thing she wanted to do was insult him. Though he was quiet, she did like working in his household. He never gave her trouble—unless she started it, of course.

Through bleary eyes, she read the note from her employer and smiled to herself.

"Breakfast and lunch are unnecessary today. I shall be out." She read. While Fidelio trotted downstairs and lapped up the bowl of fresh water she had just set out, she flipped the note over and laughed out loud. "Return to bed," it concluded. She giggled to herself. "Well, yes, Monsieur, I think I will."

With the note slipped into her apron pocket, she quietly padded from the kitchen and immediately returned home, hoping the sheets were still warm and her pillow still fluffed.

-o-

Erik lay in bed and heard the kitchen door close. His stomach growled, but he had no regrets of sending his cook home for the morning. Madame Giry had said she would not be dining as she had lost her appetite some time the previous day and did not foresee its return before evening, and he expected she'd leave the manor without taking another meal in his dining room.

He didn't know what to think of her late night visit, though he honestly attempted to block it from his mind. To say the night had ended awkwardly seemed a grave understatement. Her declaration came completely unexpected, and while they'd parted ways amicably, the rejection and consequent disappointment hung in the air, heavy enough to suffocate.

An hour had passed since Madame Giry left, and Erik wondered what more he could have said. He realized, quite painfully, what it felt like to bank one's hopes on a single moment. As the sky turned from endless black to deep blue, his thoughts turned to Christine.

Bitterness still lingered, which he cursed himself for allowing. He realized that his affection for her had been false, but he still thought of her and wondered if she'd struggled to reject him or if it had been easy and natural. His heart still hurt, which seemed foolish. He didn't love her. He'd barely thought of her since he'd met Sophia, but because of Madame's visit, the past crept into the foreground of his mind. Despite little—or rather no—interest in ever seeing her again, he still wanted to know what she felt in the moment when she had chosen the young vicomte over him.

What he searched for was normalcy. Should he feel guilty for what he'd said to Madame, for how he felt when she walked away? He did feel guilty and remorseful. He felt ungrateful and unworthy of her assistance, and he wondered if she regretted helping him all those years ago when she'd opened his cage door, took him by the hand, and weaved her path through the Paris alleyways.

He wondered what she thought of that night now, over two decades later. Perhaps she now cursed the day she'd ever strolled through the traveling faire and gazed upon a pathetic monster of a child locked inside a filthy cage.

But it didn't matter what Madame thought, he realized. He wasn't in love with her, and no amount of regret could change that. Someday, just as he was no longer plagued with hatred and disgust over Christine's choice, perhaps Madame would forgive him. Maybe then she would approve of the feelings he had for Sophia. He knew it would not come easily—or soon.

The desire to clear his head grew too strong to ignore. With a heavy sigh, he swung his legs over the edge of the bed and dressed.

-o-

Sleep was futile. Distorted images of book spines and male anatomy waltzed through her mind. She both adored and despised Citrine for planting these images into her thoughts. Without her friend's encouragement she never would have found such important matters so amusing.

Luckily, Philippe remained down the road at the Turro Estate, where he most likely slept without the slightest inkling that his baby sister had just discovered a rare gem within the collection of books in their home.

"You'd be angry with me, wouldn't you?" she asked the fading darkness.

Surprisingly, she wasn't as ashamed as she thought she'd feel. In fact, her new, unexpected knowledge brought her a sense of pride. This night had erased the ignorance many brides suffered on the night of their weddings. If anything, Philippe should be happy that she'd taken the initiative and educated herself. His sister had the mind of a modern and fearless woman. No more the cowering little girl; she'd become a grown woman who could walk up the stairs to her marriage bed without weak knees and a belly full of lead. No, she could encounter her new husband and welcome him, all of him.

But she didn't have a husband. She merely had romantic fantasies, and those, as far as she knew, were harmless—and completely unfulfilling. Being an optimist, however, she kept in mind that the pictures and text she'd discovered would not go to waste. In fact, she made a silent vow that she'd put Citrine's sleepless night to good use….some day.

She'd almost fallen asleep when she heard whistling outside her bedroom window. At once she sprang up in bed, first afraid that Philippe had returned early, then discarding the idea. It had to be Gabe walking the horses…only he wouldn't be this near the houses. It had to be Erik…only she'd never heard him whistle before. Perhaps it was…no, Gabe's father had no sense of mirth.

"Citrine?" She tapped on the bedroom window, and Citrine nearly jumped out of her skin.

"You little devil!" Citrine said once Sophia flung the windows open. "You were waiting for me to walk past, weren't you?"

Sophia rolled her eyes. "You may as well wear a cow bell. I heard you on account of your whistling."

"Yes, I suppose you did. Worse than a songbird, aren't I?"

"Where are you going in such a mood?"

"Monsieur Belmont left a note for me."

A stab of jealousy threatened Sophia's smile, but she held it back. "Oh?"

"He said he wouldn't be eating at home this morning or this afternoon and said I could have the early part of the day off. I suppose the same holds true for you."

Sophia frowned. "Where is he going?"

Citrine shrugged. "He didn't say and I didn't knock on his bedroom door to ask." Her tired expression turned into a sly smile.

"Why are you looking at me like that?"

"No reason."

"Citrine," she warned.

"You do realize that men wake with erections, don't you?"

Sophia nearly fell out of the window in an attempt to cover Citrine's mouth. "Don't say that!" she shrieked, which she realized probably drew more attention than Citrine's comment.

"It's true." Citrine jumped back, safe from harm. "Twelve-inch ones, hard as stone."

In a matter of seconds she turned a dozen shades of red, which then drained to pure white as she saw Erik round the corner. It was bad enough that he'd seemingly materialized out of nowhere—but it was worse that he was adjusting his belt.

"Oh, God," Sophia whispered. She could only hope he hadn't overheard their conversation.