This one is short and sweet, but worth it. I love you people, your reviews are encouraging, helpful and amusing. Thank you. Welcome new readers and r eviewers too. Kudos to Amy and Barb the beautiful betas for there assistance..

–Lesainthesky

Chapter 76 The Letter

On occasion, I would stop to ponder the preternaturalness of my life, and upon doing so, often found myself sucked into a vortex of disbelief. This was one of those occasions.

Time had swapped my previous world for a new one, a decidedly backwards Victorian Europe. I had fallen in love with a reclusive and talented genius, the Fantôme de l'opéra de Paris, lost him, or so I believed, to the legendary Christine and then, after becoming pregnant with his child, taken refuge in a cottage belonging to the famous nineteenth century feminist and author Barbara Bodichon.

And now, here was Erik, back in my life once more, searching for the letter that would possibly be the patch on our fractured relationship. The same letter responsible for those fractures.

Egad, what a mind-trip. But it was real, every living moment of it.

Erik trailed behind me silently as we made our way up the stairs to my bedchamber. With brisk motions, I strode to the closet, withdrew the skeleton key and fitted it in the lock.

"Packrats, the lot of you," mumbled Erik. Before us was a tower of tightly packed personal articles. There were hat boxes, assorted stacks of the Bodichon's belongings, my possessions plus an errant basket or pillow. At the bottom of this mess was my needlepoint carpet bag containing the crumpled up letter.

With hands on my hips, I surveyed the closet's contents. "All right let me pull some of these little things out first." I began with the baskets, pillows and a few small boxes, tossing them into the room, arranging them in a pile on the floor.

When I yanked at the handle of a rather large suitcase, Erik stepped in.

"Here, Gabrielle, you should not be straining your body so. Do sit."

I let him play the gentleman and sat on the nearby chaise, directing.

Eventually, the large carpet bag came into view at the bottom of the closet.

"In the corner, that's it."

Erik withdrew the luggage and set it next to me on the chaise. He stepped back a pace, clasped his hands behind his back and watched me surveyed the dusty luggage.

"Go on, open it then," he said nodding at the bag.

I flicked him a tolerant glance and unbuckled the bag's heavy straps.

My stomach leapt when I peered inside. Other than a handkerchief, a comb and a few unidentifiable crumbs, the wadded up parchment were its only contents.

"Well?" said Erik.

"Patience, dear."

I withdrew the letter and smoothed it out as best I could. Time and tears had smeared the crude typing, but the note's message was still discernable, 'I've found another, remove your presence from my life immediately.'

I began to chew on my thumb while I re-read the poisoned print.

Erik, normally blunt in his requests, was not prone to bad manners when it came to women; therefore, the thoughts on the page could not be his thoughts. Why had I not seen that before? Shock, a bruised heart, hormones; who knows?

Regardless of the note's authenticity, revisiting it stung.

Suddenly, I became aware of Erik's long fingers beckoning me to surrender the parchment for his perusal.

"Oh, yes. Sorry." I released the note to him.

He glanced at me briefly, cupped my chin in his other hand. "Do not fret so, darling. I'm certain we shall get to the bottom of this wicked mystery."

"I've no doubt of it."

He turned his attention back to the letter and slid into the spot beside me with grace.

I watched his pale eyes narrow and turn dark with anger. He would read a few lines, glance away and then read a few more, his jaw muscles twitching with tension as he read.

"Ah, but I am the author of this part. It was penned by my own hand in the letter you were meant to have received." Erik tapped the letter with his forefinger and recited the line in question. 'I am the most selfish and terrible of men to treat you so after all we've been to each other, and would not blame you if you now loathe me.'

Ah, but I the author of this part. It was penned by my own hand in the letter you were meant to have received." Erik tapped the letter with his forefinger and recited the line in question.

Unsure of how to react, I stuck my hands in the folds of skirt between my knees and answered with a small shrug.

"You see, dear, upon leaving the Chagny townhouse for Venice, I had ample time to reflect on how I had handled the entire affair since the night you and I attended my opera."

He turned so that we faced each other. "I ruminate only on my needs and my wants. I insist on confronting a woman from my past while abandoning the only woman who has ever loved me; the only woman to touch me with love and to welcome my touch in return—my passionate, sweet, darling, my muse, my betrothed. A more clever, loving and equitable mate will I never find. Small wonder you made haste in leaving me, Gabrielle."

"I should have know better. The letter, Erik, you wouldn't--"

"Hush now, my darling. In light of your delicate condition and the paces I put you through, I hold no malice toward you for your previous actions."

He focused on letter once more. I looked on calmly. Abruptly he crushed the parchment in his hand, his face turning crimson.

Obviously, Erik was through reading.

"'Vacate the manor house?' I shall skin the hide from her petite frame and use it as a door mat!" he bellowed.

"She did this; I've no doubt of it. That minx intercepted my letter to you, typed this one on her new typewriter and forged my signature, not a difficult undertaking since it's naught but a scribble. When I met with her in Paris, I thought it proper for me to speak with her personally, yet again she betrays me!"

Erik shot to his feet and began pacing the room as though he were an agitated tiger. "Damn her little scheme. Damn her pleading and her memories!"

"Ha! Christine of all people in this miserable world should know that I cannot be fooled. How brave of the little wench, thinking she could out manuver the master magician of Persia! Perhaps she would like a visit from my Punjab lasso!

For some minutes now, I'd keep quiet, allowing him time to assimilate his anger, but I could see the seething picking up steam, he needed a respite.

"Erik, please come sit back down." I patted the spot next to me.

He jerked his head in my direction and gawked at me.

"Please?" I said softly, attempting to calm him.

Erik skulked his way back to the chaise, sat beside me and rested his hands on his knees.

I leaned toward him and laid my hand over his. "Tell me about Paris."

"You want to know?" His brows knit as though I'd said something puzzling.

"I do."

Erik sighed deeply and stared out into the room. He began detailed his visit to Paris from the point when he'd left DuPuis Manor late in the morning four months ago.

"I drove directly from the manor to the Chagny town house. There I addressed Christine about the matter of her letter to me—the one where she professed her affection. She served a high tea, a habit cultivated from living abroad, I imagine."

"What did you—talk about."

"It seemed she wished to congratulate me on my successes. She apologized for mishandling our first face to face meeting all those years ago beneath the Opera Garnier."

I nodded for him to continue, assuming he meant the un-masking incident following her great singing triumph.

"I waved away her concerns and told her that the past was just that, and we'd do the world a favor by releasing it to the wind. Christine inquired of my well being. I told her straight out that I was happy and in love with you. That I was eager to make you my wife and possibly begin a family. Well, the little thing's face fell and she implored me with her sweet voice to reconsider."

"Really now."

"Christine said to me, 'Erik, I married Raoul because I loved him, but he also made me feel safe. He's gone now and I no longer wish to live the cloistered life of a Comtess. I wish to taste the passion of a life spent in your arms. I pine for our voices and our bodies to entwine in the passion that you promised so long ago. You do still feel for me, I know you must, Erik. Won't you please take me to where the music of the night engulfs and enthralls?' Can you fathom that?"

Here Erik paused and looked at the ball of parchment still wadded in his hand. I wondered what his thoughts were. Did he reminisce about his angel with fondness and regret or was he angry still? His face offered me no clues.

After a long stretch Erik spoke. "Gabrielle, I cannot bear the thought of causing you more pain."

"I think it's important that you tell me these things, Erik. I want nothing of the past to come between us."

"As you wish. Before leaving, I encouraged Christine's renewed interest in her music, reiterated my devotion to you and wished her well. When I stood to leave the de Chagny household, she requested one thing of me—a kiss."

"A kiss you say?"

"Christine wanted a farewell kiss from me." Erik's voice was low and uncertain.

"Did you—oblige her?"

"She stepped up to me for a simple peck on the cheek, or so I assumed. Instead, she kissed me full on the lips. Perhaps she hoped to rekindle my passion for her."

I strained to keep my voice from betraying my emotions. "And you responded—"

He stopped me with a glance. "I made her stop. I said that if she wanted more than a gentlemanly good-bye buss, I insisted she allow me to remove my mask."

Not thrilled with where this was going, I twisted my mouth into a mock smile to keep from saying something rude. Now was not the time for conflict.

"Christine agreed to my terms and so I removed the bit of leather, revealing my ugly visage to her eyes."

"Not your mask. I know how you hate that."

"Do you know what she did, Gabrielle?"

"What, Erik?"

"Christine winced. Just a tiny bit, nothing more than a slight narrowing of the eyes but I saw it. Oh, she'd kissed my naked face once before without fear. Evidently, what I took for love was merely pity. You never winced. Not once. Not ever."

I smiled weakly and rubbed my thumb across his hand, which was now cold. I had to ask. "And did you kiss?"

"I am ashamed to say that I did. Gabrielle, I will always think of Christine with a special fondness, and that fondness confused me. Did it mean anything? Being a novice at love, especially the romantic kind, I had no previous method of measurement. I had to know, so yes, I kissed her."

DO NOT react, I warned myself.

"Did you—what did you feel?" Fear gripped my heart in anticipation of his answer.

"I'll not tell you it wasn't pleasant, but I felt terribly wrong. Christine's soft lips left me cold, desire no longer burned in my soul for the little diva. Black guilt filled me and my heart ached for you. I gently pushed back from her and abruptly bid farewell to Madame de Chagny." He laughed with grim humor.

"That very evening I penned a letter to you from my hotel room. In the letter, I professed my irrevocable, eternal love to you and pled for your forgiveness. I regretted deeply the need to travel to Venice, for it meant that we would remain parted for another ten days. Oh Gabrielle!" Erik sobbed into his hands, dropping the wadded ball of parchment unheeded to the floor.

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-Leesa