This is the very last chapter of Paladin for those of you who have been hoping for some end in sight! Will I write more? Possibly, but not starting right this moment. I've stressed how busy I've become. Once I finish some other stuff I would love to revisit Sophia and Erik and give them a wedding and a wedding night. The original version was three stories. What's already here is more than enough for two stories. Sorry about that. I just realized how freaking long this thing really is...

Thanks to all of you who have been very supportive and honest in your reviews. This story is by no means perfect, but these were my original Phantom characters and I've enjoyed turning every screw possible. Much love to my betas for all of their work and for their suggestions. The two of you are invaluable to me and I appreciate every moment of your time.

Paladin129

Two days later…

"Monsieur," Citrine sighed as she dragged herself into the parlor where Monsieur Belmont was sitting comfortably in an armchair as he read. She purposely slumped her shoulders and shuffled her feet along the ground to make herself appear as pathetic as possible, which wasn't difficult considering she'd been keeping Sophia preoccupied for the last two days.

"Mademoiselle?"

"I'm exhausted. Please tell me you'll end this torment soon."

He glanced up at her, brows raised in question. In the two days he'd spent hiding in the parlor, he had apparently forgotten how daunting Sophia and her endless barrage of questions could be. The secret she'd been flaunting had made it worse, and now every few minutes Sophia was asking what Citrine knew or shamed her for not giving in to her constant questioning.

"I beg your pardon?" said Monsieur Belmont. He ran his thumb along the edge of the page he'd been reading, a subtle, sensual movement. Citrine couldn't help but think that Sophia was definitely on his mind.

Still, she reminded herself that Sophia was the cause for her suffering.

"All of this waiting," she groaned. "It's insufferable."

Shutting his book, he took a deep breath and stood. "No one is more anxious than I."

"Clearly you haven't been near Sophia," she said, perking up just enough to stress her point. Part of the plan was to keep Sophia preoccupied, which was becoming increasingly more difficult now that she wanted to know what Monsieur Belmont was doing in secret.

"Is she unwell?" Monsieur Belmont questioned.

"She's driving me absolutely mad."

"You swore to me—"

"I know, I know. I took this upon myself," she groaned dramatically. "But she keeps questioning me and I have nothing I can tell her."

"Which keeps you from saying something and giving my plans away," he replied.

Keeping a secret was no longer fun when she wasn't immediately involved. Unable to hold herself up a moment longer, she leaned against the wall. "At least tell me when you plan to ask her."

"Soon."

"Monsieur," she begged. "Please, a mere hint."

"Soon is a hint, mademoiselle."

With a sigh, she gave up and walked out. "You are both maddening and deserv each other," she muttered to herself. When he made no reply she added, "You do not ask me for favors in the future, do you hear me? I have only so much patience!"

-o-

The details were perfect, the room precisely the way he had envisioned.

Erik sighed in relief, grateful that Citrine hadn't seen the note he'd written for Sophia. At this point, with his finely tuned plan almost underway, he didn't want to risk her expecting his proposal. In fact, he wanted her to think it was still days away.

If he'd been a patient man, he would have allowed her to writhe for days, perhaps weeks longer, but he wanted her as his wife—and the sooner the better.

Alone once more, he imagined the moments after he proposed and wondered if she'd throw herself into his arms or quietly accept and kiss him shyly. In his darkest, most sensual fantasies there were more than mere kisses and innocent embraces. There was passion equal to his own burgeoning desires, there was abandonment of all senses and willingness to give in to her needs and his.

He glanced at the note with her name on it, a request for her company. It didn't say when, it didn't say where, but it told her what to do if she agreed.

This was the part that gave him pause. She had to agree to meet him or his entire plan was ruined before it was underway.

His heart beat faster, his palms wet with anxiety like he'd never experienced before. She had to agree to meet him. He loved her and she loved him, but with two days apart he had no idea if absence made her heart grow fonder or if she slowly enjoyed her freedom.

Like Christine had wanted her freedom.

He looked at the bottle of wine he'd asked Citrine to retrieve for this special moment and wondered if it would be put to better use calming his nerves. By the time he drained it, he'd be prepared to ask for her hand—if he remembered what to say. Like his music, he'd rehearsed the moment, if only in his mind, and he knew what he wanted to tell her, what he wished he'd told her long ago.

Stars danced before his eyes as he stood, accenting his nervousness with an unfamiliar rush. He hadn't expected to feel nervous when he asked her to marry him. In his fantasies of this moment he'd been very calm and collected, his words clear and direct. He realized that in a way he'd imagined more of a business transaction than a proposal, though with the flowers and the ring.

He blinked, waited for his vision to clear, and placed the note in his breast pocket with the intention of slipping it under her front door. Then he would begin his agonizing wait until dusk.

It was now or never—and he couldn't tolerate never.

-o-

"Well?" Citrine asked, her expression stretched with an ear-to-ear grin.

"I haven't opened it yet," Sophia replied.

They stood in the kitchen where the water Citrine had set to boil threatened to burn the bottom of her favorite sauce pan. Nothing mattered more than this moment, however, least of all supper.

"Yes, you have. I can see it from here." She craned her neck for a better look. "The seal is broken."

"Yes, but I decided to show you first." Sophia's hands trembled as she pulled the note from the envelope. "I just found it a moment ago and…and…"

"What does it say? What does it say?" Citrine squealed, bouncing up and down in shared delight.

"It says…" She read the single sentence, then flipped it over and found it blank. Brow furrowed, she looked at Citrine. "It says 'You are invited'. Six p.m."

"To?"

"It doesn't say."

"What!" Citrine screamed. She snatched the note from Sophia's hand. "There must be more. Did you drop a page?"

"No. And don't you think he would have written more on the same page?"

Citrine exhaled hard. "Who knows? The man is absolutely maddening."

"What do I do?" Sophia asked, wringing her hands.

"I don't know. What time is it?"

Sophia looked at the clock on the kitchen wall. "Five after six." She jumped and looked around as though Erik would magically appear. "I'm late." She glanced down at her clothes. "And I'm not dressed properly."

"How do you know when he didn't tell you anything?"

Sophia frowned. "I know what he intends. I think. Don't I?"

"I don't know."

"He's going to ask if I'll…isn't he?"

"I would assume."

"Well, isn't that what the planning was for?"

"Yes, but I don't know the details. He wouldn't tell me."

Sophia began to panic. "Then what am I supposed to do?"

Citrine put her hand on Sophia's arm and offered a smile. "Find him."

-o-

She ran outside and jumped over a log that had rolled from the wood pile, unsure of what she was looking for or where to find it. Her first plan, however, was to change into more suitable engagement clothing.

In between the main house and her own she spotted the carriage, which Gabe was leading toward the house. She slowed her pace and stared at it, unsure of whether Erik had arrived home or if he intended to leave. She wondered if he was leaving without her since she was late, though she highly doubted he'd be particular.

Or would he? Suddenly she wasn't sure of anything other than she had to see him now.

She bit her bottom lip and waved to Gabe, who had a smirk on his face.

"Where is Monsieur Belmont?" she asked, still clinging to the note she'd received.

Gabe jumped down and opened the carriage door. "This way, Mademoiselle."

He reached for her hand and helped her into the carriage where Erik sat waiting for her, his unmasked face reflecting the anxiety she felt inside. They stared at each other for a moment, her halfway inside the carriage, him seated close to the door.

"Good evening," he said.

She found herself smiling back at him. "Hello. I wasn't sure what your note meant."

"Good."

"Good? No, it's terrible. You have no idea how—"

He pulled her in beside him, his hands grasping her wrists and caressing her from the backs of her hands to the sensitive tips of her fingers. Her throat went dry, her breath catching.

"I know." His voice was a low rumble, a pulse-quickening tone. "You have an insatiable curiosity."

He had no idea what curiosity he awoke within her. "Where have you been? You've nearly killed me these past two days," she said dramatically. "And you almost killed me tonight with this note of yours."

He pulled her close and buried his face against the side of her neck. His warm breath and smooth, heated face startled her, made her stomach flip and her thighs squeeze together to catch the unexpected ache that had started at her core. She leaned into him, her body ignited with a fire she would never forget, an awakening of desire and need she'd thought of constantly since he'd brought her to her first climax. Above all else, she would remember the way he made her feel, the earthquakes of pleasure he sent rippling through her body.

"The night is not over yet," he said.

She sat wedged up against his body, the scent of him carrying her through the long carriage ride. He shut the curtains and curled his arm around her, and in darkness he found her lips. They rocked along with the movements of the wheels, fumbled and chuckled as their bodies and voices vibrated.

"You must tell me where we're headed," she pleaded in the softest of whispers.

He nuzzled her, a tickle of long eyelashes brushing her cheek. "I have better uses for my tongue than answers."

All at once the breath in her body was forced out in an exhale of anticipation. She played with his shirt collar, sneaked her fingers beneath his cravat to touch his skin as she wondered about these uses.

He kissed her neck, ran his tongue in a languid line just below her earlobe. It took all of her strength to stifle a groan of pleasure. A better use indeed, she wanted to tell him. A much better use.

"Touch me, Sophia," he said hoarsely, his breath hot and hard against her sensitive skin. He reached for her hand, squeezed it gently, and brought it to his knee where she instantly skimmed it up his thigh. The long muscles in his legs tensed, his knees spreading as she shifted his weight.

They were near frenzy when the carriage stopped and Sophia was forced to pull her hand from Erik's lap. She heard him exhale, felt his fingers tighten on her before he allowed himself to let go.

"We're here," he said.

Gabe opened the carriage door and she peered out at the candle-lit darkness. Her eyes lost focus among the many bright yellow orbs. Torches formed a circle, and red rose petals were spread across the green spring grass.

"May I assist you, mademoiselle?" Gabe offered.

She gave him her hand, still awestruck by the sight, still unable to come down from the cloud of anticipation she'd felt while in Erik's arms. Once she stepped onto the soft earth she noticed the overseer's house in the distance.

"Why are we—?"

"Here." Erik took her by the elbow and guided her forward as Gabe returned to the driver's seat and pulled away. She barely noticed the jingle of bridles and tack as Erik stood before her and took her hands in his.

"My life ended when I was taken from this place," he said. He stepped closer, closed the space between them. "When I returned here, I expected it would be to die alone, but I found you."

Tears filled her eyes, joy overwhelmed her. "And I found you," she whispered.

"You have become to me the fire in all the darkness I've ever known." He watched her, searched her face as he spoke. "Like we stand here now. This is how it is to be with you, loved and unafraid of light."

She reached up, touched his cheek with tenderness he deserved.

"I wanted you hear with me, where I was born and where I doubted I would ever live again. If I start over here, I want it to be with you, Sophia. Your brother has consent, and I will ask you what I've considered longer than you know."

He took a breath and lowered to one knee. Stunned, she watched him, afraid to blink and miss one moment of his proposal.

"Sophia Patrice Dupree, will you marry me?"

Tears streamed down her face as she knelt beside him and flung her arms around his neck, toppling both of them to the ground. His hips pressed to hers and sent a surge of emotions through her. She would feel more than that if she agreed, though she wanted him for more than intimacy. She had accepted his faults and he'd looked past her failing eyesight. He was everything to her, an unexpected joy in her life that she never imagined.

He was perfect in her eyes, and she never wanted to be without him again.

"Yes," she said. He kissed her, wound his arms around her waist. "Yes, I will. Yes, I'll marry you, Erik Belmont."

He rolled on top of her, pinned her to the ground and kissed her lips. "Then let's return to our home and celebrate."

Our home, she though. "Another surprise?"

He smiled, his eyes slit open. "I like the way you react to surprises."

"Erik," she whispered, feeling him shift his weight. The bulge in his trousers rubbed against her belly.

"Yes?"

"Don't call Gabe back just yet."