Hey everyone! Hope you all had a good week. And for those who started up school again you have my pity. I know my classes are driving me crazy already. (Hehe)
One really strange thing I have noticed lately is that more and more people seem to be reading my story…but there is not a corresponding increase in reviews. Now I don't like to nag…but come on people…I don't expect poetry in a review it only has to be a short note of what you like or don't like.
And I would just like to say a huge thank you to all those new readers who did take it upon themselves to respond. Same goes for all of my long time readers who do the same. I am serious when I say that I find it easier to write when I hear back from you! (hint hint.)
Oh! And something else really exciting! IHeartPOTO did another pic for me since I posted the last chapter! And it is really good too! Like…really, really, really good! This latest one is of Erik in the last chapter…when he is trying to explain everything to Brielle. He looks so cute they way she drew him babbling on! If any of you would like to see it, or the others she has drawn for me, just mention it in a review and I will be happy to show them to you! (I asked last week and she said I could do this, cause she is so nice.) And if you want to see the other stuff she has done just go and check out her websites…which I mentioned in the last chapter…but you can also just go to her profile for links too.
Hurray for my Beta Terpsichore314 she is wonderful…keeps my writing on task. Just thought you should all know that…again! (hehe)
But anyway enjoy the next chapter!
Chapter 47: A New Patron
Pouting slightly, Conner sidestepped his sister, affecting an air of the thoroughly insulted. "I am hurt, Bri, that you think so lowly of me. I had to stop by and see if you were bored to tears yet. But since obviously you don't care about my visit, I will just have to go and talk with someone else. Maybe I can lower and debase myself to whoever that rich man is over there…that sounds like fun," he bellyached dramatically over his shoulder as he turned and arrogantly swaggered away from her.
Smiling to himself, not in the least feeling the insult he so accurately portrayed, the redhead slowly made his way to the murmuring crowd of chorus girls milling about in the middle of the stage. Bending slightly at the waist, he paused on the outer edge of the crowd, listening in unapologetically on one of the whispered conversations flying between two rather pretty chorus girls.
"Is it true this time? Have they actually found a patron?" A tiny freckle-faced brunette asked her taller blonde companion.
Shrugging one shoulder, the other girl pouted in thought, a calculating gleam lighting up her bright blue eyes. "I don't know…but he must be terribly rich. I wonder if…" She stopped suddenly when Conner cleared his throat.
Both girls started at his sudden appearance, their gossiping coming to a complete stop as twin Cheshire cat grins spread across their faces. The willowy blonde raised one well-manicured eyebrow in his direction as she turned her full attention to him. "Ladies," he said teasingly as he straightened. "What is the news on this new dandy? Anything interesting?"
The little brunette opened her mouth to reply excitedly but the other girl jumped in before she could get a word out. Sidling up shockingly close to Conner's chest, the blonde smiled seductively as she lightly traced a finger along his jacket lapel. "I would love to tell you all about it, love," she purred, as Conner raised one eyebrow over her forwardness.
The chorus girl was exactly the type that Conner could see himself chasing after; her large knowing eyes, and perfectly heart shaped mouth were two characteristics that should have sent a shiver of delight running up his spine. But something was wrong, the interest did not come, and he couldn't quite flash his normally playful grin in response to her obvious actions. Rather, he found himself looking away from her inviting face uncomfortably, his eyes flickering absently about the crowd, looking for an altogether different blonde beauty. I wonder if the ballet corps is on break or if they are…Hell and damnation! What am I thinking? Irritated with himself, Conner forced his gaze back to the girl standing in front of him.
Without smiling he reached up and plucked the blonde's wandering fingers from his clothing. "I don't want to know that badly…" he replied sweetly, his tone almost disguising the bite in his words, almost.
Insulted, the girl jerked her hand out of his touch and flounced away, dragging her dark-haired friend with her. Now free to continue on, Conner picked his way through the crowd. I must be some sort of idiot…mooning over an annoying little blonde whom I hardly know. God…maybe I need to get laid…Quickly breaking out of the tightly packed group of girls, the redhead plastered a welcoming smile over the annoyed scowl on his face as he approached Andre, Firmin and a dark-haired man whose head was currently turned to look back over his shoulder.
"Gentlemen, I was just passing by when I noticed you giving a tour. Shall I introduce myself?" he asked helpfully, causing both Andre and Firmin to nod hurriedly to his suggestion. Hopefully if this twit agrees to actually fund the theater we can get on to serious practicing. I am sick of all this half-assed foolishness we have been doing lately, he grumbled internally while the immaculately dressed visitor cocked his head to the side in response to his Irish-tinged accent.
When the wealthy man finally turned to face him, all thoughts within Conner's head came to an abrupt halt. Standing elegant and still as a winter's day, hardly a foot in front of the Irishman, was a person he had not seen, nor wanted to see, in over nine months; but, despite the long absence, Conner had not forgotten the coolly handsome features or beetle black eyes now boring into his. He had dreamed of that arrogant smirk and unfeeling gaze for the months when Brielle was missing. It was a face straight out of his nightmares. Andrew…
"I don't believe that will be necessary, Mr. Sinclair," Andrew stated smoothly as his dark eyes focused in on Conner's shocked expression. "For I can safely say we have met before."
Conner felt his jaw go slack as his brain slowly registered the enormity of what his eyes were seeing. This cannot be happening…he CAN'T be standing there right now. Sweet Mary…Brielle is just across the stage! His stomach dropped sickly down into his boots as the first wave of dread washed through his mind. Opening and closing his mouth, Conner fought against the urge to turn his head and look back at where his sister stood. He can't be allowed to see her…or…or… An image of Brielle's terrified face floated up into his mind's eye, and as he thought about what she must have gone through in Andrew's care, fury replaced the dread. It took every ounce of willpower not to pull back a fist and rearrange the smiling lord's teeth.
Blindly turning on his heel, Conner crashed into a small plaster pillar nearby, knocking the blasted thing over to shatter against the floor. Cursing his own stupidity, the redhead hurried back through the gathered crowd. I have to warn her at least…so she doesn't do something stupid. I will just walk right by her…won't even look at her…but I have to warn her. Pulling free of the confining mass of the crowd Conner slowed his stride as he walked toward where Brielle stood. He could see the laughter leave her eyes as she took in the hollow dread etching lines across his face. She opened her mouth to speak but he cut her off with a hurried gesture.
"Run…" Conner mouthed silently, the sound of Andre and Firmin coming up behind him spurring on his panic. Brielle's eyes drifted to the two harassed men, until with a start she recognized the third man in the group striding across the stage. Taking a deep breath, the redhead gathered his wits, listening to his sister hurriedly turn and retreat back into the shadows of the wings. The clicking of her boots had almost faded out of earshot when Andre called upon her to stop and go clean up the pillar Conner had accidentally knocked over. Cursing heaven and hell and everything else that came to mind Conner turned to address the managers scrambling behind him.
Momentarily eyeing the managers, the redhead hurriedly cast about in his head for a way to prevent Brielle from turning around and being recognized. Coming up with no grand scheme he sighed and simply did what came naturally, acting like an ass. Throwing up both arms, Conner let out an enraged bellow, making a show of storming off the stage, effectively drawing the attention of all those present to his outrageous display. Shock rippled through the gathered chorus members as they watched the Irishman work himself up into a dither. Copying one of Carlotta's many tantrums, he pitched his voice up into an earsplitting howl, thickening his accent until his words blended together into one long unintelligible rant as he continued to scream off into the wings.
Andre and Firmin could only stare slack-jawed after Conner for several moments, completely caught off-guard by this uncharacteristic hysteria. Both managers quickly recovered from their initial disbelief and immediately forgot about the dark-haired cleaning lady they had been addressing, focusing all of their fawning attention upon their lead violinist's retreating figure.
"I will not work with that man!" Conner shouted over his shoulder, as the two managers ran after him. "I refuse! Absolutely not!" the redhead continued, switching back and forth between French and English with a dramatic wave of his arm. "The mere sight of him makes me ill!"
"Surely you do not mean that," Andre piped up, his voice cracking on the last word as he tried to be heard over the top of Conner's shouting. "Monsieur Donovan is one of the leading Englishmen in…"
"Yes!" Firmin interrupted before Andre could finish. "Lord Donovan has offered a very gracious budget to the Opera house. We all should be honored to be…"
"Oh, it is all right." A snowdrift-cold voice said, efficiently cutting through every other sound upon the stage. "I have always been aware of what Mr. Sinclair thinks of me. No need to try and change his mind." There was a pause as Andrew came to stand a few feet from where Conner stood, tensed. "Though I have to say how glad I am to see you again, Conner. I had been told you were working here now, which I thought rather odd…considering you are a soloist. But I suppose it is your right to branch out. Tell me…how has Brielle been lately? I trust you have heard from her."
A tense moment followed when Conner thought he would physically attack the young lord. "I am sorry to disappoint you…" he growled through clenched teeth, raising one hand to violently stab a finger toward Andrew. "But I have not heard from my sister in months. We had a falling out before Christmas…as you know."
A slow smile spread across Andrew's face as his dark eyes took in the barely controlled violence in Conner's gesture. "Yes…I do know. She threw you out of the house, didn't she? How did it feel, Mr. Sinclair…to be thrown out of an English lord's country estate? It must have stung your overblown Irish pride…"
Seeing red, Conner raised his other hand and shot toward the smirking aristocrat. "I'll wipe that smile off your face, you blasted English pig!" he hissed.
Wrapping one hand around Andrew's lapel Conner swung his other fist back, fully intending to smash it into the black eyed man's face. A moment before he brought his fist forward two restraining arms wrapped around his right arm. "Now, now!" Firmin's desperate voice sputtered in Conner's ear. "Gentlemen, surely your differences are not so great as to lead to blows…or worse, to a withdrawal of funding!"
Having staggered back from the unexpected assault, Andrew now stood uneasily several feet away, his dark eyes warily watching as Conner relaxed and stepped away from Firmin's anxious hands. "I doubt my presence here will be that much of a concern," the black-eyed man stated stiffly as he straightened his jacket.
"Oh? And just how do you figure that?" Conner snapped.
"Simple," Andrew replied as he reached into his vest pocket and pulled out a folded piece of parchment. "My business obligations require that I return to England for a time. So, though I do love our conversations, Mr. Sinclair, I shall not be here to witness the reopening of the Opera," he continued as he opened the paper and handed it into Firmin's astonished hand.
Shocked by this statement, Conner's mouth pinched shut with a click. He schooled his features into a mask of calm, as the wheels in his head began to turn. He won't be here? What the hell? I was sure he only came here because he suspected that I might know where Brielle is…This is good…it is better than I thought. Maybe this won't turn into a disaster after all. Relief, so intense that his legs nearly gave out from under him, flooded through Conner's body.
"That is a contract of the conditions of my patronage," Andrew said, flicking one corner of the page. "As you see, I have already signed it. I had decided to back the Opera before coming here. The tour was merely…amusing. I think you will find the terms acceptable. My only stipulation is that you fill the position of lead tenor with one of the three Englishmen on that list. They are all suitably talented and have all been featured at the London Opera house. You see, I think it is only fair that since an Englishman is backing your little production that an Englishman should share in the limelight with the big names you have already selected."
"Well I don't know, monsieur…we do have a set guideline for picking out performers. And it would be very difficult to…" Andre began as he glanced around Firmin's shoulder to squint down at the pages. His eyes traveled quickly down the top page until they came to a spot near the bottom. Stepping closer Andre pointed a shaking finger at that same particular point. "My Lord…this number here…is…are…"
Looking bored now, Andrew merely raised one eyebrow at Andre's stuttering. "The number to which you are pointing is the amount I have set aside for your use."
Firmin and Andre both stared blankly at Andrew for a moment before turning stunned eyes back to the contract. "This is extremely generous, my lord," Firmin sputtered, his brown eyes nearly popping out of his head. "This is the largest budget we have ever been given…I…I don't know what to say."
A slow smug smile curled up both corners of Andrew's mouth at Firmin's obvious astonishment. "Yes, well when I become involved in a project I do not like to go in half-assed, if you will pardon the term. And the Donovan name can certainly spare the amount. This place will become a shining example to all other Opera houses…we will put all others to shame."
Bowing excitedly, Andre rubbed his hands together in glee, and touched by the stirring speech, the worry lines relaxed around his blue eyes. "Yes, my lord. I have never heard a more stirring and inspiring…"
Raising one hand in a silencing motion, Andrew quieted the manager's excited fawning. "Also I had heard that it is wise to be generous in this place," the young lord murmured slowly, his black eyes rising to look about their surroundings. "It is the rumor around town that last year your patron made the mistake of angering the local spirit…what was it called…the Phantom, I believe." Both Firmin and Andre's smiles slipped immediately from their faces, an edge of panic tightening their features. "Tell me," Andrew continued calmly, his eyes narrowing in thought. "Have you had any further trouble with your ghost? Any more trouble with disappearing sopranos? Though I don't suppose so…Miss Daae ran off to England to be married."
Shaking his head, Firmin hastily cut in. "Oh no, my lord! No…all of our troubles are long over! And yes, Miss Daae is now far off…elsewhere."
Nodding slightly, Andrew pursed his lips. "No? No sign at all? Pity…I love a good ghost story."
"Yeah, I bet you do! What do you know about it? They figured out it wasn't a ghost at all. It was some poor lunatic that was responsible, and he was most likely ripped to pieces by the mob that raced down to the lower levels…" Conner snapped wondering at Andrew's sudden interest in the Opera's ghost.
Merely raising an eyebrow in the redhead's direction, Andrew rubbed a thumb over his silver-handled cane. "You merely have to sign on the dotted line and file the paperwork with my lawyers here in Paris and the deal will be complete," he said, completely changing the subject.
Taking the manager's stunned silence in stride, Andrew moved past the gathered men, swinging his silver-headed cane out before him. "While you consider that amount, let us continue the tour. I would like to meet the other leads you have secured."
Concerned by this turn of events, Conner started after the retreating aristocrat. "Why? You already said that the tour didn't matter." I don't know where Brielle went…Damn it…how can I keep him away from her if I don't know where she is or where he will wander off to?
"Perhaps I would like a sample of what this establishment has to offer," Andrew replied vaguely.
"You are tone deaf you snobbish baboon!" Conner exploded. "God himself could come down with all his heavenly host and you wouldn't be able to tell their voices from that of a squealing pig's."
Ignoring the Irishman's outburst, Andrew continued on, completely unaffected by the insults. Firmin hurried after Conner, grabbing the redhead's arm firmly in one hand. "Perhaps it would be better for you to go and cool your head a bit. Until the lord leaves, that is."
Glaring off after Andrew, Conner slowly clenched his hands into fists at his sides. "Yes, of course," he said politely, his tone as sharp as the daggers glittering in his eyes. "Just watch that one…he is a snake if I ever did see one."
And with that, the redhead turned on his heel, stalking off behind the draping folds of a hanging curtain. Angrily batting at the heavy material with one hand, he waited until he was out of sight before breaking into a run. All right…just think calmly. How can I find Bri in this stupid labyrinth? I am just now getting to the point where I can find my way to the stage without getting lost…who could I ask to…
"Of course…I should have thought of it earlier…" he mumbled to himself as he slid haphazardly around a corner, changing his course to now be heading straight toward the ballet practice room.
Running past a group of dancers being measured for their costumes, the redhead clattered up a flight of stairs. By the time Conner made it to his destination, he was red in the face and a light sheen of sweat graced his freckled brow. Bursting through a set of double doors and into the practice room, the Irishman barely had time to take in the rows of stretching dancers before Madame Giry descended upon him.
"What in the world is the meaning of this interruption, sir!" she demanded as she banged the bottom of her cane against the hardwood floor.
Faced with the full force of the older woman's imposing glare, Conner found his mind going completely blank. "Um…well…" Looking off to one side, he suddenly caught sight of where Maryann stood preening in a corner. Struck by a bolt of inspiration, Conner grinned and bowed charmingly toward Madame Giry. "I came to tell you that our new patron is touring the theater. Lord Donovan said he was interested in seeing the best that the Opera had to offer."
"Is that all?" she replied, unaffected by his goofy grin. "Will they also be coming about to disrupt my practice?"
Raising a hand to rub at the back of his neck, as if suddenly embarrassed, Conner shrugged his shoulders. "No, I don't think so…I believe our patron is not very impressed with dancing but…hmmm…what did he call it…'the opiate of the masses?'"
The dance mistress stiffened at his words, outrage staining her cheeks scarlet. "He said that…that…" she sputtered.
"That ballet was the opiate of the masses…" Conner supplied as he rocked back on his heels innocently, watching with a secret smile as Madame Giry wrapped her hands around her cane with a white-knuckled grip.
"Well, we will just have to see about that!" she snapped as she turned away from him. She was spitting mad by the time she swept out of the room, murder glittering in her normally stony eyes.
Watching the fuming woman storm out the doors, Conner backed further into the practice hall, only turning to face the room of curious dancers when he saw the hem of Madame Giry's black skirts disappear around the corner. Satisfied that he was safe, and that Andrew was about to get an earful, the Irishman searched the room for the one head of blonde curls he was looking for. Spotting his quarry, he crossed the open dance floor in several purposeful strides. Touching Meg upon the shoulder lightly to get her attention, Conner opened his mouth to speak, but stopped when he was struck by an unexpected jolt of electricity running up his hand from her bare skin. Jerking his hand back, as if burned, Conner could only stare wide eyed at his own fingers while Meg turned around and stared warily up at him.
"What are you doing here?" she blurted, a startled uneasiness rising up in her large brown eyes.
Shaking his head to clear it, Conner bent down to speak into her ear, trying to ignore the tempting fragrance drifting up from her bright curls. "I need you to come with me, quickly. I will explain outside…but I need your help."
Tilting her head to the side slightly, Meg stilled as she listened to him, her hands clasped gracefully before her stomach. It took several moments for her to take a deep breath and nod her head. Conner pulled away from her then, careful not to touch her again as he turned and indicated for her to lead the way out of the practice room. Meg blinked at his courteous gesture, her eyes following the curve of his arm up to his now composed features. Casting him an irritated glare, Meg squared her shoulders and hurried ahead of him out of the room.
As soon as they had cleared the doorway, Meg rounded upon Conner, her blonde curls bouncing as she shook a finger under his nose. "What is it that was so important that you had to pull me out of practice?"
Pulling a handkerchief out of his vest pocket, Conner waved it in the air between them, cheekily signaling a white flag in the face of her outrage. "Settle down there, lass. I do have a good reason…don't get your ire up so quickly just because you don't like me."
Swiping at the handkerchief, Meg narrowed her normally warm cinnamon eyes. "Don't call me lass, you irresponsible flirt!"
Irritated and quickly losing his cool, Conner felt the protective grin upon his face falter and slip away, leaving only the gnawing worry in its place. "Listen, I really don't have time to fight with the likes of you. The new patron I mentioned earlier…it is Andrew!"
Choking on the angry retort boiling up the back of her throat, Meg sputtered and closed her mouth at his statement. "What? Andrew…as in THE Andrew?" For the first time since he had met her, true fear clouded the softness of her eyes.
"Ahh, I see I have your attention now! Yes, Andrew, as in Brielle's former fiancé. He is here taking a bleeding tour of the Opera. And I don't know where Bri is! He hasn't seen her yet, but we have to find her fast or he could stumble upon her by accident and ruin everything!" Raising both hands, he dug his fingers into his hair, causing bits to stand up at odd angles when his hands dropped away to rub anxiously over his face.
"All right, all right! We will go and look for her then," Meg said unevenly, reaching up to pull down on his arm until her small hand was wrapped tightly around his.
"I was hoping you would say that," Conner murmured vaguely, suddenly distracted by the warmth of her hand in his.
Taking the softness in his tone as worry, Meg merely patted his hand and pulled him along after her. The initial fear in her eyes now replaced with intense determination. "Don't worry, I grew up here. I know this place better than anyone…or almost better anyway. We will find her!"
Finding a strange sense of calm from her certainty, Conner felt a crooked smile flicker to life across his face. "You are right. We will find her…just lead the way."
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With a gasp, Brielle stumbled over an uneven floor tile in the secret passage Erik was leading her down. The darkness was so complete that when she fell forward she couldn't even see the hands she flung out to catch herself. Like an idiot she had not taken Erik's offered hand when they had began the journey back to the lower floors. She had just found the prospect of him touching her, even in such a casual way, too dangerously confusing to allow. Even without any physical contact Brielle was finding it extremely difficult to form coherent thoughts; the mere strength of his presence was enough to send her heart racing within her chest.
Actually, just about everything that has happened today is enough to make me lose my mind. I don't know what to think anymore. Should I believe him when he says he is sorry? Should I believe his explanation of what happened last year…that he never wanted to hurt anybody? I don't know…I want to believe him but I just keep seeing the look on his face two weeks ago. He looked so angry…so not himself that I hardly recognized him. I have never seen that side of him before…and it scares me. It makes me wonder what else I don't know. Is it possible that I got to know the man…but missed the monster hiding behind him?
Closing her eyes for a moment, Brielle let out a shaky breath. She pushed her hand harder against her chest, trying to press out the old pain which had been emanating from the bottomless chasm in her soul, trying to fill the despair with anger, but failing because she suddenly realized that sometime in the last half an hour the emptiness inside her had shrunk. Opening her eyes with a start, she stared into the darkness in shock. Hidden behind the confusion and fury was another emotion she had not felt in months, an odd sense of contentment, like she was finally where she was supposed to be.
Frowning at her wayward emotions, Brielle dropped her hand back to her side. And all of that doesn't even touch upon the fact that he ran off like he did. I can't even think about THAT without becoming infuriated all over again.
Huffing slightly at the thought, Brielle recovered quickly from her moment of clumsiness, secretly hoping that the man walking in front of her hadn't noticed. No such luck. He turned toward her in the darkness, his movement given away only by a slight rustle of his clothing. The man moved as stealthily as a cat.
"That is the fourth time you have stumbled," he said after a moment, the deep vibrations of his voice coming out of the darkness like a caress against Brielle's senses.
"Well, thank you so much for keeping track!" Brielle snapped in response, her words coming out far harsher than how she had intended. For god's sake, Brielle! Don't turn into a shrew just because you have a lot on your mind. All I know for sure is that he saved my life today…and that should be worth something. Reaching up to pinch her nose, she tried to tamp down her temper. "Sorry…But I just cannot figure out how you can make your way without seeing anything. You just walk along as if taking a stroll down the street, and I am practically falling all over myself."
"I have had years to become familiar with every crack and crevice of this place. I can see it all in my mind, even if I cannot see it with my eyes," he replied casually, his simple explanation downplaying the fact that he just admitted to having the blueprints for the entire theater memorized. "Normally I do not have the problem of leading another person. If I had had more time I would have thought to bring a lantern," he finished a little guiltily.
"No, no…I am fine. There really wasn't all that much time to think it over. You sort of cut it to the last second when you showed up to help me." Pausing there, Brielle laid her hand against the wall, trying to steady herself in the disorienting darkness. "I don't think I thanked you for that by the way. So…thank you."
"You were angry. I didn't expect a thank you."
"Yes, but you have my gratitude nonetheless. My temper is not an excuse to treat someone else with disrespect and rudeness," Brielle said with conviction.
Erik was silent for a time after her statement. "Some people would not agree with you, I think. It would take far less for most to mistreat their fellow man," he replied thoughtfully, a touch of something darker sneaking into his voice.
Sniffing at that, Brielle tucked a wayward piece of hair behind her ear. "Well, I never have taken to the stupidity of others."
He made a small sound in response, almost like a laugh. "No, you never did." They fell into an awkward silence then, Brielle's uncomfortable tension only heightened by the fact that she couldn't see his face, read his expression. Pulling the borrowed cloak tighter about her shoulders she tilted her face into the collar. God, it smells like him…
Erik shifted in the darkness, breaking the suffocating silence. "This would be much easier if you would allow me to lead you by the hand," he said slowly.
"I know," she sighed, annoyed with the logic of his suggestion. "All right then, for the sake of speed."
"Yes, for expediency's sake," he agreed easily, the hint of a smile lightening his tone.
Taking a breath, Brielle raised one hand blindly out in front of her, bracing herself against the excited tingling already working its way up her arm. Blast…what is wrong with you? Stop being such a silly ninny…he hasn't even touched you yet. Besides I have no reason for working myself up…after all…I am furious with him…Letting out the breath she had unconsciously been holding she was suddenly very grateful for the blackness within the tunnel, at least she could be sure that the foolishness which was undoubtedly printed all over her face was hidden. There was some comfort in the fact that Erik had no idea what a raving lunatic she was. God, just a few nice words from him and part of me is ready to fall all over myself. Toughen up!
After a slight pause of tense anticipation, Brielle soon felt her ire begin to rise. "Well? What is it? Have you changed your mind?"
"Of course not. I was simply trying to figure out the best way to locate your hand. If you haven't noticed it is rather dark in here…and I didn't want to run the risk of…well," he said, stumbling slightly over his words at the end. "I didn't want to run the risk of grabbing anything other than your hand," he finished in a rush, the hurried nature of his statement not quite able to cover up the embarrassment in his admission.
Something about his tone, or the words he used, cracked the ice Brielle had so carefully wrapped around her heart. Coloring in response to Erik's uncharacteristic bashfulness, Brielle drew her hand back to cover the unexpected chuckle working its way up the back of her throat. Of all the things she had thought he would say that hadn't been it. "Oh…well…yes I can see as how that is a problem," she snickered finally, unable to hold in the laughter any longer.
Erik made an annoyed sound at her reaction. "I am sorry…I didn't mean to laugh…it's only that if I held that in any longer my teeth would have exploded."
"Well that hardly helps the situation," came a curt reply.
Clearing her throat, Brielle nodded her head. "No, you are right…sorry. You just surprised me is all." The only response to her apology was a deep harrumph. "Lord, Erik, it is pitch black in here. I am not going to cut your throat if we bump into each other."
"Yes, well, I figured I should err on the side of caution, considering…"
"Considering?" she prompted, after he drew to a stop.
Even without any light to see by, Brielle just knew that a smile was spreading across Erik's face; something in the air changed when he smiled. "Considering your explosive Irish temper," he said smugly.
With a mock outraged gasp Brielle raised her hands up to her face. "My word, sir! What a thing to say to a gently raised lady. It is nothing short of shocking!" she laughed, strangely enough falling easily into the banter; for a moment the gulf of months of separation narrowed, then disappeared, the bitterness and emotional chaos between them faded into the darkness of the tunnel.
"Here now, stop all this malarkey."
"Malarkey, hmm? Sometimes I haven't the foggiest idea what you are talking about."
"Oh, blast you, you know perfectly well what I meant Mr. I have the whole Opera blueprints memorized. Here, take my hand before I break my neck in this damned place," she said definitively, waving her hand before her through the air.
Erik made a soft clucking sound of disappointment deep in his throat. "Language, Madame," he said gravely. "But keep talking. I can use your voice as a reference point."
The smile fading from her face Brielle felt, with some regret, the ease of their old friendship gutter and weaken, the awkwardness rolling back in. "Um, all right. Put on the spot like this…suddenly I don't have anything to say."
"Like you would ever run out of things to say."
Incensed by his insinuation, Brielle's temper flared. "And you are one to talk! Always prattling on about some architectural style or other nonsense." Twisting her face automatically into a dramatic snobby expression, even though no one could see it, she lowered her voice into a comical overblown French accent. "But, ov course," she began nasally, obviously attempting to copy a particular Frenchman. "'ow, can you compare the frivolity ov Rococo design wiv the classical purity ov the blah, blah, blah…"
Erik did not respond to her barb, but Brielle could almost feel him frown in irritation. Opening her mouth to continue, she was stopped when a slight feather-light touch brushed momentarily across her cheek before slipping away, only to return a moment later more insistently just along her jaw-line. Sucking in a startled breath, Brielle's mouth dropped open as the cool, soft leather of Erik's black glove skimmed down along the curve of her neck, over her shoulder, following the curve of her arm. Shivers of delight radiated out from the trails of his fingers, leaving her breathless and edgy.
His touch moving down her arm to grasp her hand, Erik gently wrapped his fingers about hers. "Found you…" he said simply, his words breaking through her daze, sounding as if issuing from inside her own thoughts.
Shaking her head slightly, Brielle tried to clear her mind and banish the fingers of warmth coiling low in her stomach. Vainly she cast about for something to say as Erik gently pulled her forward, leading her slowly through the blackness. She was saved the effort when the masked man took it upon himself to speak up.
"I know you do not completely believe the things I told you today," he said flatly, his tone perfectly even, not giving away what was going through his head.
"Oh? And how do you know that?"
"Up on the roof I could see it in your eyes. When you get mad or defensive your face goes cold…but your eyes…they were not made for lying," he continued, trying to sound nonchalant with that bit of information. "It is all right, though. I expected much worse…I have found to always expect the worst."
Sensing a darker undertone to his casual words, Brielle found herself automatically squeezing Erik's hand. "Erik…I…"
"We are here," he stated roughly, before clearing his throat. "This will put you out on the second floor near the ballet dormitories. I don't think Andre and Firmin will lead Andrew there. You will be safe."
Brielle heard a soft click from somewhere in front of her, then a shaft of muted gas lighting streaked in through the secret door as it swung open. The light effectively outlined Erik's figure, highlighting his broad shoulders and narrow waist with an almost angelic haloed effect. Swallowing hard and turning her eyes away, Brielle took a steadying breath. "What was it that finally changed your mind?"
Turning in the doorway to look over his shoulder at her Erik's one visible eyebrow scrunched down into a frown. "What?"
"Up until just about a week ago you were dead set against me. What was it that changed your mind?"
Pressing his lips together as he considered her, Erik sighed. "I spoke with someone who informed me of my stupidity…" he hedged, obviously trying to avoid the subject.
Biting her lip in thought, Brielle smiled slowly when an idea took form in her mind. "Was it Conner that you talked to?"
"Maybe…"
"Don't worry about giving him away or anything. I figured he had done something sneaky last week when I saw the fat lip he was sporting." Thinking it over, Brielle gave a soft little laugh. "Remember the first time you two met? I was afraid you would both kill each other…you thought he was a thief."
Breaking eye contact, Erik turned his head back toward the slightly open door, but not before Brielle caught the hint of a smile pulling at the corner of his mouth. "Yes, I remember. You wiped the blood from my face with your handkerchief."
Feeling a blush begin to burn her cheeks at the memory Brielle quickly changed the subject. "Yes, Aria was so happy when…"
Coming to a sudden stop, a terrible thought flashed through her mind. She opened her mouth but no sound came out as she took a hasty step forward. Pushing past Erik, she staggered out into the hallway beyond the doorway. "Sweet Mary…I didn't even think about it before."
Concern over her sudden pallor had Erik quickly chasing after her as she started down the empty hall. "What? What is it?"
"Aria! I didn't even think about it. Andrew could see her! He could see her and know…I have to find her!" she nearly shouted, unmindful of the fact that anyone might hear her frantic words.
"Brielle…" he called after her nervously as he glanced around to make sure they were alone. Grabbing her arm, Erik spun the Irishwoman back toward him, stopping her march down the hall. "Brielle, you don't have to worry."
"What!" she screamed. "Why not? I forgot to protect my child because I was so busy fighting with you! Why shouldn't I worry!"
Moving forward quickly, Erik clapped a hand over her mouth, cutting off anything else she was about to say. "Shh…" he hissed. "I told you not to worry because I know where she is already. She is taking a nap in the kitchens. The head cook always gives her cookies when she wanders in. When she seemed tired the staff set her up in the back on a pile of flour sacks. There is no way Andrew will be allowed in there while they are cooking lunch."
Stilling in his grasp, Brielle stared at him over the top of his hand. Slowly he peeled his fingers away from her mouth. "How do you know that?" she asked quietly.
Dropping his other hand from her arm, Erik stepped away. "I have been watching the two of you for some time. From the moment you came here…I have been watching," he said, grimacing over his own words.
"Really?" she asked, slightly taken aback by his words, not sure if she should be thankful or disturbed by his confession.
"Yes, surely you must have known that all the unexplained things happening this week were me…I was trying to think of a way to repent for…"
"For all of the nasty things you had done before that?"
"Yes…" he said tiredly, a sadness that she hadn't been able to see before flickering in his eyes.
Smiling slightly, Brielle clasped her hands together in front of her stomach. "You know…this whole time I did feel like there was someone there I couldn't see. Someone watching…like a guardian angel."
Erik's head snapped up at her last word; something dark and unnamed flashed in the burning blue of his eyes. "No!" he snapped harshly. A moment passed and the dangerous glint in his gaze wavered then sank back below the surface. "I am sorry. I didn't mean to…"
"Don't apologize…it is fine" Brielle replied carefully.
"Think of my actions more that of a concerned friend…nothing more." Clearing his throat and looking away, Erik took a measured step backwards. "I should be going. No doubt people are looking for you by now."
"Yes…you are right," she said, suddenly finding that she didn't want him to go and furious with herself for feeling that way. Clenching her fists at her sides, Brielle watched Erik turn and disappear back through the secret door without saying another word. Sighing to herself, she stared at the blank wall where the door had been a moment ago, then turning she hurried down the hallway.
All right, I should go and check on Aria…then I should somehow find Conner and tell him I am all right, she thought to herself, not even noticing the hunched figure that turned the corner just then and marched purposely toward her. It wasn't until Madame Dubois was only a few feet away that Brielle even noticed the hawk-eyed woman.
"Where in the hell have you been, girl!" the older woman snapped. "I gave you this position in the hopes that you would actually stay around to do the work. The new patron just left and I find myself short-staffed because you ran off!"
"Madame, I am sorry, I can explain…" Brielle said, trying to stay calm in the face of such furious disapproval.
Her wrinkled face turning red in anger, Madame Dubois shook a finger under Brielle's nose. "I should toss you out on your backside for this! It is unacceptable!"
Worried now at the turn of the conversation, Brielle raised her hands in a placating gesture. "No, madame, surely that isn't necessary! I will make up for my absence. I swear it."
Puffing up in outrage, the older woman slapped Brielle's hands down. "Now, you listen here…"
Wincing as the wrinkled old woman continued her tirade, Brielle allowed her gaze to flicker up over the Madame's head to a movement at the end of the hallway. Startled, she watched Conner and Meg come rushing around the corner, relief slowly overtaking their features as they caught sight of her.
"There you are, Brielle!" Meg called out with a happy wave as she rushed past Conner and came to stand beside Brielle. "We have been looking all over for you!"
Turning upon the blonde, Madame Dubois stiffened, turning purple in the face. "Here now! I am talking to this lazy girl. Off with you or I will take a whip to your backside!" she shouted, waving her hands expressively under Meg's nose.
"Whoa, now, Madame…certainly we can solve this without getting all worked up," Conner put in as he came up to join the small group, his best heart-melting grin firmly plastered across his face.
Immune to the redhead's charms, the older woman narrowed her eyes up at Conner. "And why are you sniffing around after one of my workers? What concern is she of yours!"
Glancing briefly in Brielle's direction, Conner's smile dulled down just a bit. "Um…well…"
Poking a finger in Conner's chest, Madame Dubois practically shook in fury. "I have had enough! No more foolishness. I HAVE HAD ENOU…"
Unexpectedly the older woman's words cut off into a sickening gurgle, one of her hands going up to clutch wildly at her chest. Turning shocked fearful eyes to Brielle, she gave a little squeak and toppled to the side. Acting quickly Conner was able to catch the distressed woman before she hit the ground. Carefully lowering her to the floor, the redhead anxiously shook the Madame's shoulder.
"Madame? What is it?" he asked sharply.
Working her mouth like a landed fish, the wrinkled woman stared straight up at the ceiling. "My chest…it feels like something is sitting on my chest," she murmured softly, her breathing coming in and out far too fast. A blank flatness stole over her normally sharp eyes as her hands continued to claw at her blouse.
Dropping to the floor beside the woman, Brielle laid a cool hand on Madame Dubois' forehead. "Hang on, Madame…just slow your breathing. Keep calm….just…" Breaking off, Brielle sucked in a horrified gasp as the older woman stilled, and stopped breathing.
Meg let out a high-pitched shriek, drawing several curious onlookers to the end of the hallway. "She is dead! Oh My GOD! Brielle, she is dead!"