Hello dear readers, lurkers and reviewers, such scathing remarks for Christine! Hey, when a girl wants what she wants…

Thank you for your great reviews, thanks to Amy for her beta talents. Love is messy; with that said; I give you the next chapter…

Ch-55 Comtess Pandora

Warm lips brushed my right shoulder, trailing down my arm, ending with a kiss to the palm of my hand. I stirred and turned in the bed to see Erik looking up at me.

"Good morning, my goddess. Are you still angry with me?" he crooned.

Quickly, I gathered my thoughts before offering a reply, pausing just long enough for him to wonder.

"Angry with you? I'm not angry with you, Erik. We had our first big misunderstanding, that's all, sweetheart." I cupped his chin in my hand and led him toward my face, but he stopped at my breast for a nibble.

"Ooh, that tickles." I wasn't prepared for the intense stimulation of his tongue.

Erik frowned, "Do you not want my touch this morning, Gabrielle?"

"Now, did I say that?" I crossed my arms, feigning indignation. I then bent over to kiss the top of his head, simultaneously rubbing my hands over his delicious behind. The effect on Erik's person was immediately detectable.

Erik drew in a deep breath, releasing it with a sigh in response to my caress.

"If I was out of line with my questions last night, then perhaps proper correction is in order today. What is your opinion Monsieur?" I giggled because Erik was creeping up my shoulder with his tongue.

"Mmm-hmm. Proper correction for you definitely; and what for me? I deserve a proper thrashing for being a rude boy, do I not?"

"Indeed." I agreed, smiling up into those fiery eyes. I stretched across Erik to open the small drawer of the bedside table. I fumbled through its contents, but couldn't find what I needed. Damn, there should be a few of those condoms leftover from Tony's suitcase; I enjoyed using up what he'd intended to utilize with his girl on the side.

"Gosh, Erik, we must have used up all our protection."

"We've been busy little beavers," he growled roughly, parting the hair around my ear so he could assault my neck with maddeningly delicious licks.

"More like bunnies. I think we'll be safe today, but one of us will have to make accommodations soon," I warned.

"I've never had the need to purchase French letters, but I am sure it would be no bother for me to do so."

"It had better not be, unless being a daddy and a husband within the course of one years isn't too much for you to take on," I said, moving back over Erik's naked body and wrapping my legs around his waist.

"Do you think the apothecary stocks those glow in the dark kind?" I said referring to the interesting novelty assortment I'd found in Tony's suitcase for use with his little whore.

"Those were absurd! Why in the hell would anyone wish to make his privates glow in the dark? I pity the hapless man who cannot locate his target, really!"

"Oh, Erik, it's just for play, for fun. A little illumination between the sheets can be helpful—you wouldn't want to end up in the wrong spot now would you?" I couldn't help but laugh.

"I do not have such problems. One can only hope that the French have more sense with such goods," he sniffed.

"Yeah, well if you thought using those condoms from the 21st century was like taking a bath with a raincoat on, wait 'till you slip into one of your nineteenth century models; goat—the second skin."

Erik paused and his eyes froze on mine.

"Don't worry my love, we'll figure out something suitable for both of our carnal needs, but for now, this morning, I think we are in the safe zone," I reassured him and lightly traced the outline of his lips with my fingers.

Erik's features relaxed when he gazed at me. He had a knack for keeping his features neutral and impassive; it was his eyes that his revealed his thoughts. Only those who knew the true man knew this valuable fact.

I studied his face, at once beautiful and horrific, the contrasts of his visage revealed the heart of men. Everyone carried within his or her soul the capacity to experience anger, rage, beauty and passion. The decision to accentuate the good and temper the bad was the difference between man and menace.

Erik could certainly play both sides of that team, but in the fifteen months that I had known him, it was the former that most often emerged.

Erik was a good man, I loved him, and I knew by the way he looked at me that that love was reciprocated.

I kissed the right side of his jaw line and worked my way upward to his marred cheek, where he bore an intense sensitivity to touch; it's a wonder he tolerated that mask day in and day out. I made sure to kiss every bit of flesh upon his face there.

Erik pulsed against the flesh of my thighs.

"Gabrielle, I so need you," his plea was a whispered prayer. For the next hour, my lover and I were engaged in a raucous round of lovemaking.

And so my day began, filled with, among other things, hope.

After a light breakfast Erik retired to the library to write a proposal for a wealthy Swedish man who had seen Erik's architectural talents and wanted a masterpiece for himself; a mansion of palatial proportions fashioned from limestone. Erik's main condition was that once a blueprint design was agreed upon there would be no interference from the client. He abhorred such intrusions, which is why he seldom agreed to private contracts.

I knew that letter from Christine awaited his attention from inside the middle drawer of the massive mahogany library desk. And so I distracted myself with another article for George Eliot, who now signed her works as Mary Anne. The previous two had created a stir among the literary minds of both feminist and misogynist alike.

Goody, I was primed and ready to pen a scathing editorial on the writings of Poet William Allington Ruskin who, in his essay, Of Queens and Gardens, wrote that a woman must be wise, but her great function in life is praise, namely the praise of a man.

I knew to keep my writing in check with the current time and culture, but in the frame of mind I was in, skewering Allington and his ilk was going to be fun.

Three nibs later, my fingers started to cramp around the pen. Satisfied with the editorial, I went in search of my editor and critic, Erik.

After searching the library, the music room, the bedroom, kitchen and stable, I gave up. No carriages or horses were absent, and Monsieur Roux had not noticed Erik walking the fields or pasture. Where could he be?

I supposed my critique could wait; supper would be served in two hours and Erik rarely missed the evening meal.

After assuaging my suspicions last night by grilling him on the contents of the Christine letter, I felt kind of sheepish, and I experience had shown me that one way to Erik's heart, beside his groin, was through his stomach.

Tonight my man would feast on rack of lamb, petite potatoes au gratin, onion soup en crochet and his favorite sweet, fallen chocolate soufflé.

With the table set, the candles lit, and the Roux's happily fed in the comfort of their cottage, I had donned my most fetching dining frock and headed to fetch the one missing ingredient to dinner; Erik.

Normally he was in the kitchen, sticking his fingers in the sauces, batters and frostings before I'd even had a chance to pour them into their proper tins or bowls and I'd be forced to shoosh him away.

This afternoon, Erik was quiet, a sign that he was occupied with writing or napping, and therefore may not feel like eating just yet. I could fix a plate and deliver it to the music room, that is, if he were there. I searched the entire manor house; but could not find him anywhere.

Most unusual, he always informed me when he would not be taking supper.

I started to get huffy. Here I'd labored over his favorite meal and he couldn't even come out of his hidey-hole to let me know he wasn't up to eating. I was not used to Erik disrespecting me in any manner.

Tonight the food would sit in the icebox; if Erik became hungry later, he could fend for himself, I decided.

As night descended on the French countryside, I lit a fire in the salon's ornate marble fireplace, cozied up on a velvet chaise with half a bottle of Pinot Noir and begin to re-read Jane Austin's Pride and Prejudice.

Eventually sleep claimed me and I slumped down into the comfortable white velvet chaise.

Many hours later, the fire died out and the chill returned, rousing me with a shiver.

In a sleep induced stupor, I navigated the way up to my bedroom, slid beneath bed's thick pile of covers, pulling them over my head to create a cocoon of comfort that I hoped would birth me into a new world in the morning.

ooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo

Hell.

It was the only suitable word I knew to accurately describe my current existence. For the remainder of the weekend and into the first half of the following week, Erik remained MIA.

I wrote in my journal, practiced the scales Erik had taught me on his piano, and even took the brougham into Paris for my final wedding gown fitting.

Whenever I would seek counsel from Madame Roux, all she could offer was that Erik went underground when he had a lot on his mind and with an impending wedding, what man would not have a lot on his mind?

She and I were in the dining room polishing Erik's massive silver collection for the wedding when she voiced those archaic thoughts to me.

"Gabrielle, do you not realize? Men need a mate, but they fear that the confines of marriage will clip their wings. It is different for a woman, dear. A woman prepares her entire young life for the day when she marries and settles into the blessings of hearth and home."

"Rubbish!" I told her. "If the idea of marriage stresses men so, why do they even bother?"

Marie blushed…women of the nineteenth century knew why many men took on a wife, for that three letter word she could not bring herself to utter; sex.

Affecting the tone of a wizened sage, she continued her moral discourse, "Gabrielle, you were once a wife. You should be familiar with the main reasons people choose to couple. They often marry for the melding of bloodlines, or love. Men have certain…needs." Marie folded her hands in her lap and sat back. "I daresay that if you weren't so accessible to Monsieur DuPuis, perhaps you would now be married." She eyed me with distain.

She did not just say that.

I nearly dropped the large silver serving platter I'd been buffing.

Did I think Marie to be an idiot? Of course she'd discovered the relaxed sleeping arrangements of her employer and his fiancée.

I raised my brows at her.

"Yes, Gabrielle, I am not blind, there have been many mornings when I have looked in on you and you'd not slept in your bed." He tone was disapproving.

I pretended not to care, shrugged and steered her back to the matter at hand. "Marie, tell me the truth. Erik has gone underground hasn't he?"

I demanded a response from the woman.

"Even if he has, how should I know where to find him, Madame?" she snapped back.

I heaved a heavy sigh of frustration, "Damn it, I will not be tied to a man who plays hide and seek with me when life becomes too complicated."

With that, I stormed off to my room, where I planned to squeeze on a pair of jeans beneath my skirt and head out to the stables. I needed a long no-holds-barred gallop over the fields and through the forests to relieve me of the stress that was increasing in my life at a tremendous pace level.

Six days after going underground, Erik resurfaced. I sat at the small writing desk in my room, busy penning a response to Caron's letter when I felt his presence.

"Hello Erik," was all I said, for if I'd said more, I feared that my words would smack of the confusion, anger and hurt that I felt.

"Hello, Gabrielle," he replied with cordial seriousness.

My attention remained fixed on the letter in front of me. "Darling, you would not believe how busy I've been these last few days. Marie and I managed to polish all of your silver, I've finished two letters of correspondence and written another editorial for the paper, and oh yes, my wedding dress will be ready for pick up on Thursday."

"Our wedding…"

"Yes Erik. What about our wedding?"

"We must talk about the arrangements, Gabrielle, I…"

"What?" I rotated in the chair to face him. Erik stood inside the threshold, his body poised with tension. Filtered sunlight from the west-facing window cast an ethereal amber glow over his features.

What emotion did I see in his eyes; trepidation, tenderness, resolve?

An unnamed apprehension filled the gap between us.

Erik glided toward me, as he never merely walked as other men do. He held out his slender hands, and I silently linked mine with his.

Our eyes never left each other's as he led me to the sofa and sat us facing one another.

Erik seemed to be pondering how to begin. "Gabrielle, I do love you so. You are my companion and my lover. Before I knew you, I was a living dead man, merely floating through a minimalist existence. You have breathed new life into me these fifteen months past. I owe you much."

It is never a good sign when people tell you that they owe you much. Especially a man, he is sure to begin his next sentence with but…

I attempted to temper my tone as I spoke, "You owe me nothing, except perhaps common respect. Erik, please, cut to the chase and tell me what's on your mind. Since your unceremonious disappearance, I have been beside myself."

He lowered his eyes in a show of regret and I continued, "Imagine if you will, the sort of thoughts running round a bride's mind when her beloved betrothed disappears for nearly a week without a word or note of any kind."

"Forgive me. I am ill equipped to deal with my emotions at times. Confusion has been my constant companion since..."

"…Since Christine re-entered your stratosphere, Erik? Is that what your confusion is about?"

All he could do was study his hands, tangling his long fingers together.

"No, not exactly."

"Then what, exactly?"

"The wedding, Gabrielle, it's just coming upon us so quickly."

"And you're having cold feet? If that's what you're getting at here, I can live with it, but if you are trying to articulate to me your intentions of canceling the wedding, tell me now so I can get on with my so called life. The only thing I hate worse than being strung along is being lied to." I managed to stay calm while I said this.

Erik's brows lifted in surprise. "I am neither lying to you nor attempting to string you along, Gabrielle. I daresay I am attempting to be honorably honest with you, dear one."

"So spit it out! Oh, don't fret about my sensitivity, I've been dumped before. Actually, I've become very good at it," I snapped.

"Dump you? I've no intentions of dumping you, as you say. Good grief, Gabrielle...is that what you think I'm about?"

"Erik, let's do be honest. I'm a woman and I know how other women operate regardless of their century. You on the other hand, are not exactly the expert on feminology. No, that is not a dig; it's true for many men. First we run into Comtess de Chagny and she flirts madly with you. Hell, the last time you saw one another, she was in a boat her with fiancée, leaving you bereft and broken in the bowels of the opera Garnier. When she runs into you six years later, she acts as though nothing tremendous happened all those years before. Then she suggests voice lessons! And the letter! I am not an idiot, Erik; a woman does not send a letter to a betrothed man unless she has intentions. You forget Erik, Christine hasn't been an ingénue in ages."

"Madame, you are sorely mistaken. Christine has no dishonorable intentions. I cannot believe this. Do my ears deceive me, or have you a jealous streak within you Gabrielle?"

"No, I do not, unless I am given a damn good reason to have one, Erik."

"I've done nothing of the sort woman!"

He was becoming excited; I took a calming breath and sighed.

"Chill, Erik. You and Christine had a real forbidden passion thing going on, unrequited though it was; she still holds feelings for you. You still have feeling for her…it's only natural, but it does not mean that she's still the one for you.

Look, I still have feelings for Tony, although I wouldn't dream of re-kindling a relationship with him ever again. Once bitten, twice-shy baby, I've learned my lesson."

He raked his hands through his hair and rose to pace the room.

"She wishes to meet with me—claims she still loves me. Imagine! Christine loves me after six years of marriage to her boy, the boy she chose over me!"

I was stunned into silence actually hearing what I already knew.

Swiftly, he moved to back to the sofa and knelt in front of me.

"Dearest Gabrielle, marriage is not an institution to enter into lightly. I love you fiercely, but emotions of which I do not understand confound me. We shall be married, that I promise you. I need…I need more time. We must be absolutely certain that we are both ready for such a commitment. For it is until death do us part." His eyes implored me to understand his tangled thoughts and feelings.

He looked miserable.

Poor Erik, I did understand. I also wanted to pummel him to a pulp; instead, I rose and crossed the room pausing in front of the bedrooms single bookshelf filled with a modest collection of books.

I absentmindedly fingered a collection of maxims from the French classic poet Francois de La Rochefoucauld.

"So you wish to postpone the nuptials; for how long Erik? Have you a new date in mind?"

"Another month, perhaps," he shrugged.

I pulled the book of poetry from the shelf and allowed it to fall open to a random passage, snorting at the prose on the page.

I read aloud; "Absence diminishes mediocre passions and increases great ones, as the wind extinguishes candles and fans fires."

Such irony.

"One month. I see, and then you will have untangled the knot of uncertainty that has taken up residence inside of you."

It was more a statement than a question.

"Yes."

"Well, if I agree to reschedule our wedding, it is you who will contact the guests and the serving staff who have been reserved."

"Nonsense, women are far better at such things than men."

"Yes, but this woman will not be burdened by the chore or the embarrassment of such of such a task!" I rounded on him. The fire in my eyes was not lost on Erik.

He started and blinked like a man about to be struck.

"Of course, Gabrielle, leave the task for me. It is my encumbrance we now bear, not yours."

"Yes, Erik, it is." I felt my body's defenses taking over, the numbing sensation of the brain and the body when it faces an emotionally precarious situation.

Found it difficult to look at him. Erik closed the gap between us, reaching for me and I allowed him to fold me into an embrace, yet I remained rigid in my sadness.

"Oh Gabrielle," Erik whispered against the shell of my ear, "C'est vous que j'aime.

Please, give me the time I require for certainty— it can only be to our advantage."

Whatever…

I managed a week smile and nodded. "Now, I really must excuse myself Erik…feminine needs and all."

Lying, I broke from his arms and walked steadily through my open bedroom door and into the hall. From Erik's vantage point, my countenance was free of sorrow, but not from Marie Roux.

She stood in the hallway outside my door, a basket of clean linens in her arms. Marie was the only witness to the tears trickling down my face. I averted my eyes and brushed past her, hurrying down the hall.

Seconds before I closed the water closet door, I heard her steely voice.

"What have you done monsieur?"

I sighed and slumped down on the tile floor of the washroom and rested my head on the cold porcelain of the claw foot tub.

Erik was at the wrong end of a tongue lashing from Madame Roux. The thought of that nearly caused me to laugh.

Now what, Gab? I asked myself.

There was another quandary attached to this new development that I now brooded over: to sleep or not to sleep with Erik?

Only recently I'd changed rooms, moving down the hall to the one adjoining Erik's, separated only by a small setting area and my dressing room. This was the usual marital arrangement between couples of the day, each with their own sleeping quarters affording a clandestine way to hook up in the night.

Why the quandary though? We were still engaged; nothing had changed but the wedding date—or had it?

At the moment, I wasn't feeling warm and fuzzy toward my fiancé. If he had another woman on his mind, should I really be granting Erik an all access pass to my body until he got his shit together? Or would I catch more flies with honey by indulging Erik in our nightly ritual of tantric sex?

Oh God, I was so confused. Why now, when life was flowing smoothly down the river of promise? I had to drag Erik to the opera, so technically it was my fault, right? No, not right, he wanted me to go with him—insisted on actually. And it was a magical evening until…

Christine.

One never forgets the first person who made them weak in the knees, the one who breaks your heart. The first time you see them again and they show interest in you, it is like gasoline on a candle.

And it feels…good.

A tightly wrapped person, one who knows how to filter his or her feelings, can handle the temptation and put it in its proper perspective. Erik, however, is a man unaccustomed to the nuances of personal relationships.

So when he encountered Christine at the opera, residual feelings may have resurfaced. Knowing Erik, he'd been ruminating on what it all meant.

Lord knows the man is a passionate and intense human being. I pray that in his wisdom, he realizes Christine is merely a dream from the past and nothing more.

What if he does choose Christine over me?

No, do not think such black thoughts Gabrielle!

Merde! Christine was the Pandora of Erik's life.

It was time for me to write some letters; visit some old friends.

It was time for me to form a strategy.

- 0 -

Don't be mad at Erik, he's flummoxed by Christine's advances and he doesn't understand how you can feel love for two different women at the same time. He'll learn, but I warn you, it's going to be a bumpy ride.

Now, please, I beg of you, a review!