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Re-cap: As Gabrielle gets fitted for her wedding gown, she sees Erik motioning to her from the carriage.
Ch 45 misunderstanding
"Pardon moi, Madame, my intended is waiting in his carriage and I see that he requires my attention. I'll be but a moment, forgive me."
I excuse myself, exit the shop, and step into the street with a swish of my skirts, walking briskly over to where Erik's steely eyes glare at me.
"What is it darling?"
"What do you think you are doing in there," Erik hisses angrily.
"Huh?"
"Get in now," he commands, grabbing me by the wrist and pulling me into the carriage roughly.
I've no idea what's tripped his trigger now.
"What's wrong sweetheart?"
"I saw you hug that man and grant him a buss on the cheek. Have you forgotten you are an engaged woman, Gabrielle?"
I can feel Erik's hot breath on my face. He is now within an inch from my nose and he looks pissed.
At first, I am stupefied. "What man are you talking about? There's no man in that shop." At once, Erik clicks the door latch and draws the velvet curtain.
He turns to me. His eyes breathe fire.
"Do not lie to me you little viper! I saw you in there. Is that what you truly desire, a pretty young dandy between your thighs?"
It dawns on me that he is speaking of Madame Broussard's assistant, Marc. I can't help myself and snicker.
Swiftly, Erik pushes me onto the carriage bench and flattens his body against mine. His fierce movement knocks me breathless. With eyes, wide open I gape up at him, very glad no one can see what's happening inside the grand carriage.
"Go ahead, Gabrielle, laugh at Erik," he sneers. "You duplicitous little trollop! I have often wondered how long it would take for your interests to wander given ample opportunities to mingle with those outside my world."
Erik rages on in a deadly quiet voice. It scares the hell out of me to see him shift back to his dangerous personality at the drop of an assumption. My knee jerk reaction is to yell at him to get the f#ck off of me and then tell him what a royal asshole he's being. Thank god, the more mature part of my brain intercepts to remind me that Erik's primary life experience is rejection; he doesn't realize I was simply being my gregarious self.
With my feet planted firmly against the locked carriage door, I give Erik a mighty push. Our positions are now reversed with Erik pinned against the opposite bench and me staring down into his eyes. I am sure that he won't stay stunned for long; I must act quickly. With a stern voice, I address the dark-haired man with eyes now the color of the hottest flame.
"Now you listen to me Erik DuPuis, I know you don't realize how incorrect you are about me, and I know it has little to do with who I am, but you had better learn to trust me or we won't last a month. I am not your mother, I am not Christine; I am not any of those people from your past who tossed you aside. I am Gabrielle. I love you and I want no one else, period. About that man in there—he's gay."
"He should be after being molested by a pretty woman." Erik is still plenty pissed, and then I get it.
"Well he's not happy-gay, he's homosexual-gay, a Nancy boy, and he's Madame Broussard's assistant. Marc was being immensely useful interpreting my wishes and then explaining them to the couturier."
Erik still glowers over me. He's obviously not convinced.
"Erik, where I come from, people hug people they don't know well—like when French men motion to kiss ladies on the back of the hand, or other men on the cheek."
Erik now sports a dazed and confused look, which is an improvement over his livid look.
"He's a homosexual? I see, still you simply must employ proper decorum when in public. I find it unsettling to witness you kissing…"
"Hey there hot stuff, it's me, Gabrielle, remember?" I say this while I am reaching for a handful of Erik's privates.
His eyes grow really big; if I weren't so pissed off, I would have laughed again.
"How does it feels to be intimidated Erik? You think my intentions are dishonorable but they're not. At this moment, I could cause you a great deal of pain, but I'm not."
I release Erik's most delicate organ from my grip and begin a languorous journey with my fingertips over his privates, who morph from shrunken and frightened to plump and stiff now that they know they are not in danger. My fingers make quick work of the buttons of his fly, freeing his sex.
"Gabrielle, what ever are you intending to…?"
"Shhhh, you bad boy. You need to be punished." I hike my skirts around my hips and position my body over his. The back seat of a Pinto is large compared to the confines of the carriage. I position one foot on the floor and fold my other knee on the seat. With a determined move, I sink onto Erik.
"Good lord, Gabrielle, we'll be discovered."
"You locked the doors, remember?"
"Gabrielle, really now..."
"I'm sure the folks from this century are familiar with the saying if the carriage is a-rockin', don't come a-knockin'."
Whether or not Erik comprehends this wisdom, I'm not sure—my mouth silences him with a deep kiss; Erik's protests become sounds of erotic surrender. His hips direct the rhythm of our lovemaking, and the cramped quarters make it possible for our bodies to rub against each other in the most delicious of ways. I would say that the unexpected thrill of hot and dangerous sex has taken his mind off of the gay fellow in the shop across the street.
The thrill of dangerous sex activates Erik's most primal instincts. We move and moan, fierce in our pursuit for the release that comes swiftly and intensely.
I am dizzy from the afternoon heat and the close quarters. Sweat pours from our bodies, and we breathe heavily against one another in an attempt to recover.
"Gabrielle, you must tidy up and return to Madame Broussard's or they will come looking for you," Erik says peering up at me.
"I know," I adjust my bodice and skirts. "Do I look alright?"
"Here, darling," Erik reaches to tuck in strands of my disheveled hair and wipes the smudged lips color from below my bottom lip.
"Much better, now, go on."
I unlock and open the carriage door, and flash Erik a hasty smile.
"Off with you, mad vixen," he implores.
Erik, love the man though I do, is quite the maddening handful, I think as I stride back to Madame Broussard's to complete the fitting for my wedding gown.
All in all, the rest of the fitting progressed smoothly. Standing for three hours of being measured and draped, poked and pinned was slightly mind numbing. I thanked my lucky stars that between Marc's pandering and Madame Roux's conversation about her friend who worked as a costume designer for the Paris Opera, I didn't have to chat it up about my own dubious life.
The wearisome time spent standing for my fitting would be worth the discomfort. My gown was to be created from raw silk, in ivory with a small front drape and a single ruffle trailing from the waist to the floor. Sleeves of Chantilly lace covered the arms and décolletage down to the top of the bodice. Mine was an unusual request, a mixture of modern minimalist and Victorian pattern. It took quite a bit of haranguing to convince Madame B. to take my preferences into account, but since I was engaged to a man with considerable purse strings, the designer eventually acquiesced to me.
Returning to the manor took only an hour, but the day had turned blistering. All in the world I wished for was to shed my confining garments and indulge in a cool shower. While Madame Roux and I grumbled of our misery, Erik appeared to be unruffled by the day's escalating temperatures. His eyes drifted above and beyond the passing treetops to a place where the needs of his imagination overcame his physical discomforts.
When he returned to the present world, he turned to address me, "Gabrielle darling, next Friday, a week from tomorrow, I must travel to London on business. Eugene Mangeot has been ceaselessly haranguing me to invest in some sort of invention one of his associate his has created, a paper for use in the lavatory. Seems another fellow tried his hand at the same invention some 10 or 20 years back and it didn't go well."
While I was sad to hear of Erik leaving my side for five days, I snapped to attention at the mention of this new invention. Madame Roux appeared to be sleeping so I chanced an opportunity to encourage Erik in his new business prospect.
"Oh Erik, this fellow's invention is much more cosmopolitan than the pervious attempt. It will revolutionize personal hygiene. If it's what I think it is, you have got to invest in this creation as you call it. Toilet paper will become the most used staple item in every household with or without indoor plumbing. It's going to be huge. If you get in on the ground floor on this, you will be a wealthy man."
"I already have enough money to live fabulously, Gabrielle."
"But you'll be beyond rich, Erik; you'll never have to worry about money again. This product will make money for you while you take your time doing what you truly enjoy. I'm telling ya, you better do it. Don't forget, I know things."
"Yes, well, that is true. I'll take your advisement seriously, Gabrielle. Toilet paper, you say?"
"Yes, and make sure this fellow plans on selling his patent to the British Paper Company, because I don't remember the name of the man who invented the successful version, all I know is that it was not the original flat sheet kind, it was on a small roll and it was, or will be, manufactured by a British company around 1880."
"Very good darling. Have you any other tidbits of useful…information to pass along?"
"Nothing that wouldn't have an unsavory domino effect on the course of history." I whispered.
Erik's genius surpassed that of most men I'd been acquainted with through my father's occupation. My father, like Erik, was a laudable scientist capable of understanding nearly any equation known to mankind and then some. Erik and my father would have gotten along splendidly. Both no-nonsense men when it came to the limits of the mind, my father was patient and calm while Erik was not, a valuable partnership in the lab.
The trees lining the driveway to Dupuis manor was now visible. I sighed in relief knowing that these folds of cloth covering my body would soon be in a damp pile on the floor.
"Wearing all of these layers totally sucks," I mouthed at Erik.
"Poor thing," he chuckled at me.
An hour later, I was relaxing in the sun-porch which was remarkably cool, having been built with cool stones and shaded with large oak trees.
Erik padded in soundlessly wearing a loose cotton outfit reminiscent of the Orient.
"Refreshed I see?" He indicated the wet pile of hair pined up on my head.
"Yes indeed, the deluxe shower you rigged up for me is heaven on these hot days. Thank you again."
"You are most welcome," he bowed. "I am your humble servant. I do find enjoyment tinkering around with new inventions. Through you, I have fathomed many new discoveries."
"Your fertile mind never sleeps does it?"
"Never, it is my best friend and worst enemy."
"Your latest contrivance, that enormous battery in the cellar, is remarkable. I am impressed with the way you utilized it's polarity to run some of my electronic devices. It is way more proficient that what is currently available in this century."
He shrugged his shoulders, "I am amazed at how mush I have learned from you since you arrived here. For a woman, you are amazingly proficient at science and the understanding of basic laws, a skill found in few men.'
"I'm a physicist's daughter, and a Daddy's girl, what do you expect?"
I get up from the sofa and move behind Erik to massage his shoulders. He makes a sound of pleasurable relief as I administer to his ever-tense muscles.
"The shower was child's work. They are already in operation in some homes, just not as streamlined as mine."
"And you had to foresight to add a decorative velvet curtain with a liner made from a type of rubber coating over ...something? You could well become this century's Martha Stewart!"
"Silk, the fabric is silk. Who in the blazes is Martha somebody and what wouldincite you to compare me to a...a...woman?"
"Martha is a modern day mogul who is a genius with all things pertaining to the home. She is cunning and ruthless as well, just the sort you would admire sweetheart," I say this and kiss his neck beneath his hairline. Chill bumps appear on the exposed flesh.
"Can't I go? I'll be so lonely here without you."
"Not this time Gabrielle, I know nothing about the man Mangeot wishes to introduce me to. He may not be fond of having women around when business is being discussed."
"Naturally, after all, I wouldn't want to show him up," I grouse.
"Exactly darling, anyway the roses will need your touch while I am gone. Mid summer is peak season for them. They require much maintenance and I trust no one but you to tend to their tender blooms."
"Alright," I huff, feeling defeated. I release my grip on Erik and announce my intent to go up to my room and do some writing.
"Very well then; you won't forget supper this time, will you?"
I smile sheepishly, remembering last week when I was so engrossed in my piece for the newspaper that Erik had to interrupt and let me know that the supper hour had come and gone.
He was famished and would I please prepare something for him lest he die of starvation?
I had to wonder how he managed survival while living under the opera house.
"No, I won't forget to feed you Erik, I promise."
"Good, you spoil me so with your gastronomical talents, I've quite look forward to supper time."
"It's to our advantage that we get a great deal of exercise, lest we both bloom into porkers. As it is, I don't relish the weight I put on."
"I do."
"I know. Stop leering, it's not gentlemanly."
"As if I care…"
"'Is salad nicoise agreeable to you for supper, Erik? With the heat and all, I thought something light would be more refreshing than a heavy entrée."
And less time consuming.
"Perfectly fine, as long as you remember."
"You nut," I laugh and swat at him with a sheet of parchment. "Can't you entertain yourself for the next few hours while I commence to writing?"
Erik just looks at me. His face is utterly expressionless, as if doesn't know what to think about my dismissal. Please do not let him be miffed with me again, I silently pray.
He dips his head in a bow and turns on his heels to leave, "Despotic woman," I hear him mumble on the way out of the library.
Erik must love me; the man who was once master and commander of his domain has turned it down a notch or two. Now when he is irritated with me, his countenance is much like that of a humorous curmudgeon.
I shake my head in amusement and start the laborious task of penning the very first editorial of my new life.
- O -
If this is getting tedious, tell me. I am not a writer, just trying my hand at the art through this fan-fic. Any feedback good, bad or indifferent will be of great interest to me. Okey dokey? Thanks again to my beta, Amy. If anyone is open to hopping board as a beta, let me know. The more the merrier.
-Leesa