The past few nights, Christine had refused to go to bed. She insisted on holding Erik's hands and not leaving his side, no matter how tired either of them were.
Erik, of course, could deny her nothing, even though his mask was chafing his skin. He hadn't been able to leave it off for very long out of the fear that Christine might be caught by surprise by his unmasked face. He tried to extricate himself from her grip, but she held fast to him. And so he had to be content to recline on the settee and adjust the young woman so that they might be more comfortable.
Well, as comfortable as two people could be when sleeping in such an awkward position.
Tonight, he would simply have to insist that Christine should sleep in her own bed.
"Oh, but, Erik . . . I feel so much safer when you're beside me," she pouted.
He sighed, defeated. How could he hold to his own will when she gazed up at him with such limpid eyes? "Very well, my dear. But perhaps we should find a more suitable spot tonight?"
"Oh, yes, of course!" She clapped her hands together. "We could lie by the hearth . . . I'll bring in some pillows and the covers . . . or . . ." She blushed furiously at the thought that had crossed her mind.
Erik chuckled at the lovely shade of crimson she had turned. It was clear to him what she was thinking. "My sweet little Christine! What thought has entered your mind that makes you blush so prettily?"
She lifted her face defiantly, her eyes wide. "It's nothing. Nothing at all." She couldn't very well admit that she'd thought of the bed before the hearth. What respectable young woman slept in a bed with a man who was not her husband beside her?
And so they left it at that. Erik gathered pillows and an extra quilt out of the trunk he kept beneath his coffin/bed. What was she doing to him? He felt so much . . . lighter than he had before! She brought out something in him that he had thought long since dead, and he could feel himself smiling yet again.
But the mask was still an issue for him. How could he spend another night with the blasted thing rubbing against his face? Perhaps he could sleep with his back to Christine? Or he could hide himself with a pillow and the covers? There had to be some way to protect her from the hideousness of his face!
When he made his way back to the sitting room, he noticed that Christine had managed to make a cosy cocoon in front of the fireplace. She had also changed out of her day dress and into a heavy nightgown, her hair hanging in golden cascades down her shoulders.
She looked absolutely angelic.
Christine gave a shy smile to him when she saw him pause in the doorway. She felt like such a little girl with the covers piled high around her. It was a bit like the nights she used to spend huddled with her father in barns . . . but only just a little.
This was a markedly different situation.
Tentatively, cautiously, he crossed the room. Tentatively, cautiously, he lowered himself to sit beside her. He arranged the extra pillows around them so they would have more room on either side. He was still terribly nervous about this entire situation. It was inappropriate, he kept thinking, but, after all, who was there to see them? Who was there to object or cast aspersions?
No one! And Christine didn't seem to mind. Indeed, she was perfectly comfortable with the way things were between them. She was still so adorably innocent in so many ways. He was almost loathe to corrupt that purity.
They settled into their makeshift bed and huddled together in silence. The fire was starting to die down and fade to embers, casting a warm glow upon the pair.
"Erik?" Christine finally broke the stillness with her whisper.
"Yes, Christine?" he whispered back.
"Are you comfortable?"
"Yes, my dear. Are you warm enough?"
"Yes, thank you."
He could tell she was beginning to drift off to sleep by the sound of her breathing slowing. She was a sound sleeper, he knew, and likely wouldn't wake until the morning. He might be able to slip the mask off without her noticing . . .
She stirred briefly and shifted, but her eyes remained closed. Erik let out the breath he had been holding. He reached up, agonisingly slowly, and placed his hand upon the stays of his mask. Stealthily, quietly, he pried the slip of material away from his sensitive skin. He didn't need much sleep, so he was sure he would rise well before she would. That had been their normal routine, had it not? Why should anything change with this?
He shifted so he was on his side and facing away from Christine. He flinched when he felt her arm snake its way around him, pulling him closer. Before he knew it, he had drifted off into blissful, peaceful oblivion.
After several agonisingly long moments, Christine propped herself up on one elbow. In this low light, she could only barely make out Erik's features, but she was determined to see him. He had removed the mask of his own accord, and in her presence, so he had practically given her permission to see his face, or so she reasoned.
She held her breath as she inched her way tortuously forward. What would she see? How much would she be able to see? She steeled herself for what she might encounter. Once she was able to make out the outline of his profile, she drew in a sharp breath.
Erik opened his eyes suddenly. Was Christine . . . was she looking upon his unmasked face? She wasn't screaming in agony, so perhaps he was dreaming it.
When he felt her lips upon his sunken cheek, he knew it was no dream. Oh, what bliss to feel a kiss upon his face!
She planted another kiss upon his cold temple and burrowed herself even closer to his back. She was going to warm his body if he drained every last bit of heat from her in the process!
And his face wasn't all that bad! When he'd said that his own parents couldn't bear the sight of him, she had thought - she wasn't entirely sure what she had thought. But seeing him now, in the gentle glow of the embers, he wasn't horrible to look at. True, there was hardly a nose to speak of, and his eyes did seem to recede into his skull, but his was a face that she could cherish. She already knew she loved him, and could even fall in love with him, given time, so the face behind the mask had been a mere formality, really.
She settled herself back into the pillows, her arms still around her angel, and fell into a blissful, peaceful sleep.
In the morning, Christine stretched luxuriously, then realised where she was. But Erik was no longer beside her!
Her mind raced. Did he know what she had done? Was he angry with her? Had he abandoned her?
No, that last option was not a possibility! He could never do something so heartless and cruel as to leave her here to fend for herself. She could never make her way back aboveground on her own!
She shook her head to clear it of such nonsense, then began to rise just as Erik was coming back in.
"Sit, sit, Christine! I was certain I would return before you awoke. I only left to buy you some brioche and chocolate. And," he held up the bouquet sheepishly, "to get you these."
"Oh! Erik, they're lovely! You do spoil me so," she grinned mischievously. 'Does he know that I beheld his face last night?'
'Did she really gaze upon my hideous visage last night? Or was that but a sweet dream?' "There, now, my dear, isn't this nice?" he asked once he had ensconced himself at her side again.
She grinned, then took a bite out of the small brioche he handed her. She couldn't risk speaking without having the urge to tell him what she'd done.
"Christine?"
She gazed at him thoughtfully.
"Is there something on your mind, ange?'
She only trusted herself to shake her head.
"You seem . . . lost in your thoughts, my dear."
She looked away from him guiltily. With some difficulty, she swallowed the bit of bread in her mouth. She rubbed her eyes. "I'm . . . I have a confession to make to you, my angel. I . . ." She gulped back the tears that threatened to flow. How upset would he be with her once she told him?
Erik prepared himself for what he about to hear. Would he be able to bring himself to let her go? Or would he keep her against her will? She knew where he lived. Could she be trusted to keep his secrets, knowing how ugly he was?
She delayed speaking again, but she knew she couldn't put it off for very long. She was not a child who could wickedly keep a secret for as long as it suited her! She was becoming a woman, and it was high time she started acting like it!
She cleared her throat yet again. "Erik . . . I know you asked that I never request to see your face . . . but, last night . . . you took off your mask, didn't you?"
He nodded mutely. She closed her eyes preparing herself for the torrent of anger she feared would burst loose from him soon.
"I woke up . . . and . . . I . . . my blasted curiosity got the better of me . . . I saw . . . I saw your face." 'There. I've said it. Now let me have what I have coming to me.'
"You . . . you saw . . . but . . . you did not . . . scream? And you remain here? Of your own free will?" Erik was dumbfounded.
Christine opened her eyes, surprised by his reaction. "Of course I remain. Why ever would I leave you?" she responded hoarsely.
"My face . . . I told you . . ."
"Erik . . . I knew the man first. Your face . . . is a face I cherish because it is yours."
Were his ears deceiving him? Had she really said she - she cherished his face?