A/N: Thank you for the reviews! Glad you guys are still liking/wanting this. :) …here's more…
Chapter LXXII
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Lost in torrents of idle thought, Christine stood in the entrance of their bedchamber and stared at the sluggish lake water. She wondered at the mystery of what her husband had planned for them, wondered if those above still searched, wondered, too, if they were truly safe from discovery…
All at once from behind she felt his large, warm hands rest against the top of her shoulders and gave a little jump of surprise. Her lover had returned, again silent and without her knowledge, living up to his name of Phantom.
"Erik!" she chided, "Must you always play the ghost? You gave me quite a scare." Her words were justifiably stern, but she could not hide the wisp of a delighted smile to have him near. "I believe you enjoy doing that."
He chuckled lightly in mischief and kissed her neck in contrition then moved away to collect her cloak from the chair where she'd left it. Approaching her from the back once more, he draped the heavy cloth around her shoulders.
She drew her brows together in curiosity.
"Where are we going?"
"Come, and you will see…"
At his evasive reply, Christine shook her head in exasperation, but her lighthearted mood did not diminish as she fastened the braided clasp. Her confusion doubled when he led her through the entrance into the inner lake chamber. She glanced at the dark water, a semi-embarrassed smile teasing her lips at the recollection of being a hidden voyeur during his nocturnal swim on the night before they were wed.
She initially agreed to his stipulation in order to save Raoul, the reason she'd given at the time, but even without the harrowing incident she knew marriage to this man was fated to be, and recalled arriving to that startling illumination as they stood before the priest.
Had seeing the mighty Phantom in such a rare state of vulnerability in the moonlit night helped to soften her apprehension of his inscrutable character? Or had her heart known all along he was Erik and wearied of trying to convince her mind, so allowed her the excuse of playing savior to Raoul …?
She shook her head in self ridicule. She really must cease with these little curiosities of internal questions that contained no answers. It failed to matter how they arrived to this point of conjugal bliss, only that they had finally gotten there.
Before she could drum up the courage to confess her wicked deed to Erik, certain he would gain amusement from her maidenly but not-so-innocent perusal of his nude form, and recalling he had done somewhat the same through a mirror door while she had been quite tipsy – she noticed in what direction they headed. Toward the opening in the rock where he once found her body wedged in discomfort in her reckless attempt to return above and warn Raoul to stay away.
To her surprise, Erik came to a stop before the wall and somberly looked at the hole, then into her eyes.
"I swear I would have returned to you that night," she insisted, having lost track of the times she said it. "I didn't know who you truly were – then – but I still would have honored my vow to sing and have you teach me."
This time a faint smile tipped the corners of his lips.
"I think I believe you."
"Well, it's about time," she said in slight affront, though it cheered her heart to hear his pensive admission. "I was beginning to think my tongue would loosen from my head as many times as I've said the words."
He chuckled. "Come, Christine. The evening wanes."
He held out his hand for her to take. She looked at him in shock then at the opening.
"Please tell me we're not going to squeeze through that – I've had enough experience with the vain attempt, thank you very much."
He stepped close to her, his smile growing as he laid a gentle finger against her lips in silent command for her silence. The supple leather of his glove was cool, but she felt as if he'd touched her with fire.
His golden eyes gleamed in secret amusement as he took hold of her hand and moved with her to the side and around what appeared to be one continuous wall – an illusion, as it concealed a narrow opening similar to the one in her former bedchamber that led to the bath. She walked behind him into the space on the other side of the wall within seconds.
Upon seeing the path they took and with such frustrating ease, Christine gave a little groan of dismay at her remembered torment of trying to get through that wretched opening – when all along, the passage had been several feet away and easily accessible.
He watched her carefully as he noted her awakening.
"How you must have laughed at my idiocy," she said at last, shaking her head in self disgust at her foolishness.
"I assure you, Christine, I was far from laughing that night," he corrected quietly. "I certainly never wished to see you hurt."
That whole evening of mistrust and anger was better left forgotten, and she nodded in acknowledgement. He grabbed a lit torch and led her up the staircase she had seen that had led her to attempt to crawl through the opening in the first place - when the magnitude of this moment suddenly dawned on her.
There were no blindfolds to deter, no deceptions to befuddle, no doses of drugged wine to make her forget. She was awake and aware. He was entrusting to her the secrets of his world that he so stringently guarded.
Awed with the coveted and unexpected gift of his faith, she took careful notice of every corridor and turn they made, familiarizing herself with the circuitous route. No longer to plot escape, but to learn these caves that were their transitory home. He stopped as they reached the next landing and moved a lever upward in the wall. Once they spanned a stretch of ground, he then turned to another lever and lowered it.
At her curious look, he explained, "A trap that leads to a bottomless void. I disabled it so we could cross, and have now re-enabled it."
His calm words chilled her. Had she found the entrance that night and not been stuck in the wretched hole, she would have fallen prey to this trap. She would have died, never having known that Erik was alive and returned to her, never having experienced the intimacy of their love…
For the first time, she thanked Providence that she looked no further than the rock's opening as a gateway to the world above. But as they approached a familiar wall of gray brick, and she watched in incredulous dismay as he pushed it aside with more of his gadgetry, noting the low wheeled and barely discernible cart on which the wall rested, she wanted to cry.
He set the torch in an iron holder and pushed aside the door. They exited into the dark night, after which she abruptly whirled around and slapped her hand hard against the wall of brick as if to punish it – an idiotic and impulsive gesture, to be sure.
He stared at her in baffled confusion.
"Christine?"
Her behavior bordered on the melodramatic or perhaps traces of erstwhile madness spurred her to behave so irrationally, but she could not help her reaction of incensed frustration as she again hit the wall twice more with the flat of her palm. She whipped her head around to look at him, tears of disbelief blurring her vision.
"I pounded on that wretched brick till my skin was bruised and burned like fire," she bit the words out quietly, relishing the current smarting of her flesh that kept her grounded so she would not collapse into an even more emotional, pathetic mess. "I made Arabella bring me here, tried every method I could conceive to get back to you, but then found the way blocked with that horrid thing – and all this time it wasn't?! It was only another of your damnable secret entrances?!"
"You took the key," he said, as if just coming to an awareness.
"Yes, I did, what little good it did – though I was able to get into your letter compartment in Box Five, regardless that you never even got my note to begin with!"
Compressing his lips, he took her hands in his, gently rubbing the punished skin with his thumbs, as if hoping to alleviate the ghostly stings from that day and this night.
"Had you found a way through the wall, there is the matter of the trap you were unaware existed."
At his grim reminder, she sniffed. "I did recall your threat to Jolene and had every intention of standing on the threshold, once inside, and screaming for you to come find me," she countered grimly.
He sighed heavily. "Christine, I did not put the wall there to keep you out. I had no idea you would come to this cave to seek a way inside – how could I? I thought you were happy to be above again, in the light."
She knew she was behaving childish, dredging up past mistakes with all their bleak tales of woe, but the revelation of the brick wall brought back the hopeless despair of that day as if it just occurred.
"Well then, you didn't watch closely enough or listen to a word I said. Every morning and every evening I spoke to you through that wretched mirror."
"Did you consider that perhaps I did not hear because I was not there?"
"But there were times you were there and watching me – I know it. I felt you."
He did not deny what they both knew was true, and she shook her head a little in resigned frustration.
"Promise me, here and now, that nothing shall ever again separate us," she commanded in a fierce tone, little above a whisper. "And please mean it this time!"
With grim purpose, he brought her hand covered with his, their fingers interlaced, to a stone above her head. Together they pressed it with the flat of her palm, triggering the lever on the opposite side. The wall rolled several inches back into place, blocking the entrance. He brought her hand to another brick on the side opposite, pushing another hidden lever, whereby the wall opened.
"I have entrusted to you all the secrets of my home. There are no longer walls or mirrors or traps to separate us. There never again will be."
"Our home," she softly insisted as he closed both wall and door then turned the key, placing it back into his pocket.
"Our home," he conceded with a slight nod and tilted her chin up to meet his eyes. "Come now, my Little Angel, put an end to your sulking. Or I will not show you my surprise…"
At his gentle teasing reminiscent of their days in England, she tilted her head softly, a trickle of warmth melting her icy sullenness.
"What surprise?"
His smile was mysterious, his eyes dancing as he took her hand and led her toward one of many shadowed trees. In the light of the full moon, she could make out the silhouette of a horse. The closer they came, she could see it was coal black, large, and bore no saddle.
"There was no time," his words resembled an apology. "Had I lingered to equip the horse properly, I would have been caught. Nor could I secure two for that reason. I assume it's been awhile since you've ridden bareback?"
Her eyes wide with understanding, she nodded, his words setting in and making her heart glow as the warmth spread. Her fifteenth summer had been the last time they rode together devoid of a saddle. But her growing smile attested that she was willing to revisit the prospect. Not since they rode on the moors in their youth had she been so untamed and daring, and a delicious sense of the carefree put a bounce to her step.
The horse's ears flicked nervously to and fro as he began to toss his head. Christine wished for a lump of sugar with which to console. Not to her surprise, (he always had such an affinity with horses), she watched Erik reach into his cloak and hold out his palm under the beast's velvety nose, a flash of the white treat there soon disappearing. She stroked his silky black mane while Erik untied the reins from a tree.
"Cesar can be skittish, but his stride is surefooted and his frame is strong – no, not that Cesar," he corrected at her surprise, "but bearing the same traits and why I gave him the name. Be gentle, speak low, and he will reward you."
He mounted first, as there were no stirrups to gain a foothold, then grabbed her arm, pulling her up to sit in front of him. She moved so that she, too, sat astride. With her skirts hiked up around her thighs, her stocking clad legs pressed against the horse's warm hide, she felt thoroughly unladylike, horribly indecent, but deliciously wild and free once more. With Erik's hard body pressed flush against her back, his strong arms going around her to take charge of the reins, a dark desire unfurled at the hopeless wish to feel his form naked against hers in that moment, at the same time she felt a heady protection in his warm embrace.
He guided the horse at a gentle gait through the close trees, and she rested her head against his shoulder in sheer contentment. The chill breeze stirred the curls against her neck, the night air cold but no true discomfort. The rocking motion of the horse beneath her and the heated strength of Erik surrounding her were a sweet reassurance that lulled her mind into a blessed sense of ease she had not felt since their days together at The Heights.
It could not be more perfect…
And then they broke through the shielding trees and Christine gasped at the expanse of moonlit meadow stretched far and wide before them.
"Hold fast, my Angel," he spoke low near her ear.
Tingles of excitement coursed beneath her skin as Erik prodded the powerful beast into a breathless gallop with a nudge of his heels and gave Cesar free rein. With the wind whipping past, its bite brisk and freeing and no more trees to provide a barrier, Christine thrilled in delight as they swept over the moon-soaked land as if they were the only two people in this enchanted existence…
And, most decidedly, perfection received its crown.
.
xXx
.
Once Raoul left the theatre, his driver approached with a profuse apology - to his understanding, something about the carriage and a cracked axle on a wheel that required immediate mending. Raoul acknowledged his words with slight impatience, assured him he would find other means to the hotel, and quickly made for the opera house stables. With no one in the vicinity to ready a horse for him, he saddled a dappled gray, eager to return to the hotel and plot out with Arabella what, if anything, should be done about the situation with Christine.
More than an hour earlier than expected but much later than preferred, given the critical news he wished to impart, at last he entered the sitting room they shared. He'd not yet been able to locate a second vacant room within the hotel, but the management assured him they would contact him the moment one became available. His suggestion that he seek an empty cot at the theatre until then had been met with Arabella's incredulous huff of dissent, stating he would get little rest if forced to bunk in a dormitory with other men or find repose on a stiff couch. Raoul, being a light sleeper, knew she was undoubtedly correct, so decided against it.
With disappointment he noticed the sitting room was empty, then saw that her bedchamber door stood ajar.
"Arabella," he said, approaching her room. "Are you in there?"
"Raoul? – you're early!"
"Yes, my dear…"
At her stunned response to hear his voice, he pushed the door wider without thought, save to initiate discussion…
"A matter of utmost urgency has developed –"
"Wait – I'm not –!"
…And came to an instant halt on the threshold of her bedchamber.
"Dressed," she gasped, hastily pulling the short length of toweling beneath her armpits further around her body.
With the door ajar, he had thought to find her immersed in a book or resting fully dressed on her bed. He had not presumed to find her fresh from a bath and standing nearly naked before him. A long metal tub stood near, brought in while he'd been absent. But he could not pull his eyes away from the sight of her flawless creamy skin that the towel did not cover, of small shoulders and slim legs fully exposed, his mind a frozen blank contradicting the sudden heat that stirred his loins, having nothing to do with the humidity in the room from the steaming water.
While engaged in studies abroad, like his peers he had sown his wild oats and was no innocent to a woman's body…
He had received only an accidental glimpse, but it was enough. Though many called her plain, they did not perceive what he did. Arabella was easily one of the most beautiful women he had seen, her modest dresses and petticoats only hinting at what lay beneath.
His stunned gaze lifted to her flushed face, its rosy hue due to more than the damp heat of the bedchamber, he was sure, as the sudden coy averting of her eyes confirmed.
"I…" he began.
An apology for his oafish manners not forthcoming, he shook his head in a daze. A belated sense of decency had him exit the room in haste. Moving directly to a table of crystal decanters near the divan, he poured himself a shot of brandy and quickly tossed it back in a weak effort to seek calm. Within moments, he heard her enter the sitting room behind him.
"You said there was a matter of urgency," she said nervously. "What has happened? Is everyone alright? Please tell me there's not been another accident."
He hesitated a moment then turned slowly to face her, the breath again leaving his body in a rush.
The opaque blue wrapper she had donned in a sad effort to conceal was belted tightly around her natural waist, absent of the barrier of a corset, and held clutched near her breasts. The silk clung damply to her form doing little to mask each willowy curve she possessed.
"Raoul…?" she said nervously when he continued to stare, unable to take his eyes off the sight of her.
"Calais," he said quietly, moving in her direction before his mind realized he'd done so.
She remained riveted where she stood, her expression both anxious and eager. Her eyes, said to be small by most were now wide in her glowing face and very dark. She had let down her pinned up hair, likely in the vain hope of covering what the wrapper did not. Her brown tresses worked against that objective and only accentuated her form, the muted lamplight bringing out bronze threads in hair that waved softly to her hips. He had never known her hair to be so long, had never seen it in any manner but braided or bound and piled against her head as was the current fashion.
Good God. Who was this siren?
"Calais…" She cleared her throat nervously. "The town by the sea?"
"Yes."
Love. He had presumed he knew what it was with Christine, but later realized those feelings stemmed predominately from a curious fascination motivated by the urgent need to protect – yet weak when compared to this emotion that coursed through his heart for Arabella. And his blood. Desire had always been present, hovering at the edges, but easily controlled.
Or so he thought…
He stood before her, silent and unmoving. She stared up at him in uncertainty.
"Raoul – what happened in Calais? Does this have to do with your parents? Did they travel there?"
He shook his head softly. "Christine."
"Christine went to Calais?" Her words caught on a breath as his hand lifted and he lightly grasped a lock of her hair near her neck, slowly rubbing it between his fingers.
"Your hair is so soft."
"Raoul." She grabbed his hand but did not push it away. "You're not making sense. What happened to Christine and why would she be in Calais?"
Her action caused his curled fingers to graze her flesh and he straightened them, stroking up her neck, his fingertips lightly grazing behind one shell like ear. She gasped.
"They say she married her teacher and he took her there."
The realization that Christine could be in danger made him pause, and he lowered his hand to the top of her shoulder.
"Christine is married; you heard that?" She studied him carefully, "and she's in Calais?" At his affirmative nod, she went on. "I suppose you'll want to go there?" Her words came out wispy as his fingertips formed a gradual caress along her collarbone. She swallowed hard. "Is that what this is about?"
"Perhaps we should make the journey," He said with a grim little nod, recalling the potential for danger their young friend seemed to attract. "And perhaps, afterward, we should travel to Bordeaux, so that I may confront my father in person."
The pads of his fingers brushed above her cleavage, and she inhaled a little strangled gasp.
"Confront your father?" she whispered in confusion, her body swaying slightly toward him, her eyes remaining locked with his.
"Yes. To tell him of my intention to marry you. That I will marry you. I find I cannot bear to live without you one day longer."
His lips suddenly found hers in passion, his hand pressing to her spine and bringing her hard against him. Arabella's hesitation was brief before she returned the kiss, opening her mouth and moving her tongue shyly against his. He pressed his hand to her side at her breast, and she whimpered, inching closer. Her reaction made the blood hum hotter through his veins, his hand taking liberties his mind did not at first conceive and which she did not protest as his thumb made a feather light brush against the hardened nipple covered by thin, damp silk.
He swallowed her stunned gasp in a kiss that grew more heated, as her trembling hands clutched the lapels of his frock coat.
A sudden knock at the door failed to register; a second knock startled them apart.
They stared at one another, neither of them making a move toward the door.
"That might be news of a vacancy," Raoul said into the pulsing quiet.
She gave a small, abrupt nod. "You should answer it. I should change."
She retreated a slow step, his hand falling from her side, neither of them wishing to separate, both knowing they should. Abruptly she turned and hurried to her bedchamber, shutting the door behind her.
Noting her flustered return to timidity and aware of how close he had come to infringing her virtue, Raoul smothered his disappointment at the disturbance, perhaps not as untimely as he first thought. Arabella preferred the sanctity of marriage before engaging in physical gratification. And Raoul, ever the gentleman, though his present actions left that title in question, respected her as the lady she was to give her that wish. A woman's reputation was her livelihood. With it, she earned respect and doors were opened to her; without it, she was shunned and bore the scar throughout her lifetime. He would never do anything that could cause Arabella pain. Still, he could not help a smile to have tasted the unknown passion lurking hidden within her blood, and experience this pleasurable glimpse of what their marriage would hold.
In his world of titles and wealth, not all men were so fortunate to become betrothed to women with whom they shared affection. Most were not. Love was unheard of and a rare commodity in the serious subject of matrimony, but he would do his damndest to make Arabella his wife. He could not tolerate even the thought of her in the arms of another man, relieved that Lord Cavendish was finally out of the picture.
Somehow, he must make Father understand and accept Raoul's choice of a bride. It would greatly help his cause if he could do something to curry his favor and make him proud…
A third knock sounded, this one swift and harsh, breaking him from his haze of troubled thought. Surprised that their impatient guest had not conceded defeat, Raoul opened the hotel room door.
His impromptu visitor was expected.
His startling news, that came like an answer from above, was not.
.
xXx
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The passage of time became lost in a dreamlike realm that faded from the present to pay homage to the past…
It could have been hours, it could have been minutes, though logic told Christine no more than several must have elapsed. These were not their childhood moors, but the terrain was also strange and wild, and all else chimed in eerie harmony with familiar echoes of bygone days: The shadowy man seated behind her on a dark horse that charged over a path carved in silver moonlight… the nocturnal ride undertaken in secrecy…the same tapestry of sky and moon and stars – and the exquisite abundance of reckless, glorious freedom.
They were no longer children, once joint rulers of their imaginary kingdom; they were adults bound in wedlock in a very real and dangerous world. Yet riding together again like this, in the mystery of a shadowed night, she could almost imagine time never traveled its onward course, but left them as they once were … or perhaps, instead, it rectified the mistake harshly made and brought them back to dwell in those forgotten years together …
All too soon for her liking, he reined in his horse. After such a wild ride the beast would need rest. She also felt breathless. They dismounted near a stream, the trees there acting as a shield to the wind.
While Erik tended the horse, Christine walked closer to the stream and spanned a slow circle, taking in her vast surroundings of forest and field. The faint rustle of grass betrayed his whereabouts, and she smiled, soon feeling his hands against her shoulders as he came up behind her.
"In these woods, you can no longer play Ghost. It's nice to hear you coming."
"Perhaps I intended that you hear my approach," he teased near her ear, his arms wrapping beneath her breasts and drawing her closer.
With a little sigh of contentment, she leaned her head back against his shoulder and brought her hands up to hold his arms, while continuing to look out over the stream. A soft glow shone on a distant hill, buried amid a stretch of black trees.
"Do you think that's the church where we married?" she pondered the thought aloud.
"It is doubtful, since it lies in the opposite direction." Amusement laced his words.
She ignored his mocking tone. "I would like to go back one day, to visit. Father Dominic is different from any priest I've met, though my experience in conversing with men of the cloth is rather slim." She shook her head pensively. "That entire night seems no more than a dream really. Is it not strange how words spoken in a foreign tongue can alter one's entire existence?"
His muscles tensed against her, though he did not move away in the silence that followed her curious observation. Worried that he might misconstrue her random thought as dissatisfaction with their union, she spoke.
"Erik, I didn't mean that the way it sounded –"
"I took that from you too," he said, remorse weighing heavy in his quiet words. "You often spoke of the grand affair of a wedding you wished to have, and I gave you nothing to suit that."
"You gave me you," she corrected, "that's all I ever wanted."
"I stole the hope for the fulfillment of your dreams."
"Silly girlhood fantasies," she scoffed. "I would like to think I've grown up enough to realize what's truly important."
Though it would have been nice to understand the rite of marriage performed, but she did not air the opposing words.
"A ceremony that appears to lack in verity, since you have questioned me more than once on the matter," he countered, as if hearing her stubborn thoughts. "Your doubts are understandable when given the foreign words aired and lack of personal vows spoken."
She wondered if he could read her mind, as she had speculated countless times in their past when his surprising responses matched her hidden thoughts. In many things, he knew her too well, she thought wryly. Three times that she could recall when she thought him only the Phantom, she asked him if their marriage was truly real, though after having met with the good Father Dominic, she felt assured of its authenticity.
"I took your dreams from you," he repeated, "and I can never give them back. Yet, perhaps I can remedy one matter."
Gently he turned her in his arms to face him. She looked up in frank curiosity. In the moon-laced darkness his eyes gleamed pale golden behind the mask. His manner solemn, he clasped her hands in his gloved ones and held them between their hearts.
"In the presence of all the angels of the heavens and the God that controls the universe, I, Erik, vow to you, Christine, my eternal love and devotion. I pledge to you my fealty and protection, even unto my life. From this day forward let nothing again separate us, be it any mortal of this earth or any being above or below it. I swear to you, even should death overtake me, I will find my way back to you. I take you as my wife, for now and for always, to love and to honor, in sickness and in health, forsaking all others, and thereto I plight thee my troth."
He kissed her hands held in his. "An eternity of this, Christine."
With tears misting her eyes, she held back the swell of intense emotion his earnest and distinctive vows engendered. Not the scripted words of rote spoken for generations between a man and a woman, but all the more beautiful for having come without memorization or the prodding of a minister, and given solely from the sincerity of his heart. Though their church ceremony was no less sanctified, this was what she had needed to make their union feel authentic and complete …
…and she sought to do the same.
Lifting her hand to his black leather mask, she softly removed it, the heartfelt words she wished to disclose allowing no room for masquerades or concealment. Only by the slight thinning of his lips did he make his exasperation of her frequent gesture known, and she gently brushed their fullness with the pads of her fingers even as she dropped his mask heedlessly to the ground.
One day, she silently vowed, he would give no reaction when she took the covering from him.
"I, Christine, do solemnly swear before all the angels in the heavens and the God whom I serve always and forever to remain faithful only to you, my dear, dear Erik. I vow to love and honor you till the end of my days and beyond, with every breath in my body and all that composes my soul. I will love and serve only you as my husband and be your companion in all things, through sickness and in health, whether in riches or in poverty, no matter what circumstances may befall us. I will go where you go and be where you are. I am yours and belong only to you, throughout all of eternity, and thereto I plight thee my troth."
As she concluded her tender vow, his eyes shone as moist as hers. This time, there was no need of a witness to prompt a kiss. The moment she uttered the last syllable, his hands lifted to cradle her face even as his mouth found hers in a slow, deep kiss that seared her to the core of her soul.
One kiss did not begin to satisfy, and Christine clutched handfuls of his shirt, pulling him closer still, thankful that beneath his cloak he wore no knotted ascot or waistcoat with buttons to hinder seeking hands. Hungry to be with her husband she tore open the lacing that secured his shirt, dragging its edges open halfway and rubbing her palms and short fingernails against the heated skin of his chest and shoulders. His groan matched hers as their tongues eagerly met and entwined.
Never ceasing with their feverish kisses, he brought her with him to kneel on the ground. They moved swiftly and suddenly so that she sat on his lap, straddling him, her skirts bunched up around her thighs. Running her tongue over his scars, she delighted in his gasps and slipped her arms further into his shirt to clasp his back. It was overly cold to shed all clothing, but desire burned too strong in their blood to bother with the attempt. She gently ground her hips against his, capturing his moan in her mouth, his hard length straining at the barricade of his trousers and teasing her softness.
"Love me, Erik," she whispered, her fingers swift and sure as they worked at his fastenings, loosening them. "Be with me…"
Once he was freed from his confines, she wrapped her hand around his thickness and stroked, drawing her thumb over the tip and spreading the bead of moisture there. His vocal appreciation incited her fervor to hear more of the same.
Stunned by Christine's welcome attack of uninhibited pleasure, the Phantom reciprocated in full, his desire for his beautiful songbird never-ending. The fire that she stirred in him before their late night supper threatened to burst into a conflagration of raw feeling as he peeled off his gloves and grabbed her hips beneath her skirts, finding her blessedly bare. His fingertips gently probed her center, the cream of her desire coating his skin, and he groaned.
"Dear God, Christine, take me inside you. Do not make me wait a moment longer."
His desperate plea sharpened her own need and panting as heavily as he, she nodded. They had never made love in such a fashion and never outdoors. The novelty excited her, the desire burning strong to seal the vows of the heart they made to one another under the stars, in the sole manner which brought them closest together in body.
Cradling his jaw and tipping it upward, she looked down into his glowing eyes, never breaking contact as she shifted her weight to her knees and allowed his large warm hands to guide her hips to his own. She released a low, throaty moan as she slid low, taking him inside. The fullness was tremendous, more pronounced when they came together like this. Her lashes fluttered at the intense pressure, as he seemed to take up all of her and she no longer remembered the composition of her being without him. She shivered at the overwhelming sensation, which he mistook for a chill.
"You are cold, my dear?" he rasped little above a whisper.
With one hand planted on the ground behind him for balance, he brought his cloak around her back, encasing them both within its thick folds. Lacking suitable words, she smiled and slightly shook her head in denial to anything as far distant and absurd as a chill when she felt as if a blaze had been lit inside her.
She brought her lips down to brush his and slowly rolled her hips against him, murmuring in delight as the sensation of sweet abundance magnified with each undulation and rubbed sensitive places that sent little shocks through her body. Every movement brought him further back in their pleasure, until soon the support of his hand slid completely away and he was lying flat on the ground.
Gripping fistfuls of his shirt, she moved over him in a sensual dance, soon releasing the cloth to run moist palms heavily over the hard planes of his chest, the sensitive tips of her fingers tickled by the short, springy hairs there, as she thrilled in this control of intimacy. His darkened eyes looked from her half-closed lids to her parted lips, as he spanned her waist with his hands and stroked up her sides beneath her cloak, stopping near her breasts.
"This…" she whispered as she bent near to him, sliding her hands to clasp his shoulders inside his shirt. "…is how it should have been all along." Her words were both a quiet chastisement and a soft demand for a promise never again to allow separation to come between them. "You are mine," she spoke the claim he used with her, "never forget that."
Growling low in his throat, he strengthened his grip on her. Bringing one hand to her lower spine, he rolled them so that she was the one flat on her back.
"I never wished for it any other way," he assured in a tone like dark rough velvet.
The need to touch with no barriers to inhibit overwhelmed, and he tore at the top fastenings of her bodice and pulled down her chemise, baring as much soft skin as he was able to free. Lifting her legs to press at his sides, she smoothed her hands over his body touching the whole of his flesh that the parted shirt allowed.
His mouth caressed her skin, slowly skimming over sensitive areas he had come to know so well. Cupping a hand beneath her breast, he lifted her nipple to his mouth and gave a slow suckle. His lips and teeth teased the tight bud and she gasped, rocking her hips beneath him in silent appeal. Grabbing her thigh against his side, he buried himself deeper still, his steady, tantalizing strokes soon giving way to a primitive hunger that utterly possessed them. She clung to his shoulders as he took her soaring to a plane of heightened sensation, the wintry air around them long a thing of history as an explosion of delicious warmth blazed deep in her center, sending her body quivering in breathless spasms. He soon followed, gasping out her name.
She smiled to hear it, the heartfelt utterance often acting as a balm to her soul, each time he addressed her in his deep, gentle voice always sending a little shiver through her being. And to hear her name leave his lips with such raw and tender emotion was most decidedly the sweetest of spoken melodies.
They remained close in the shared glow of fulfillment, as their surroundings again became defined and Christine found her breath, if not her ability to string a sentence together.
"Always and forever, Erik… my love for you…"
He pressed his lips to the side of her neck, which still slightly stung from the earlier scrape of his teeth and suckling there. Doubtless, she would have another mark bruising her skin, more than one. But such bruises were coveted, since glimpsing them only brought the recollection of how they came into existence.
"Je t'aime, Christine, d'éternité…"
Several seconds of quiet elapsed before she replied.
"It really is high time for you to teach me French."
She felt him smile against her skin. "If we are soon leaving the country, is there a need?"
"There most definitely is a need when you speak to me in that language," she said in mild exasperation, "which is beautiful coming from your lips, but totally ineffectual if I fail to understand the meaning."
He chuckled, his breath warm against her moist skin and producing another little shiver.
Moving up to look at her, with his eyes still glazed and little of the gold shining through, he smoothed away a tendril of hair stuck to her cheek.
"I said, I love you, Christine, unto eternity."
Her heart melted at his quiet words, at his tender expression, and she reached up to cradle his jaw, her fingers caressing the damaged side and the smooth.
"Do you know what I wish for most at this moment?" she asked then answered without awaiting his reply. "I wish to be like this, with you, but home and naked in our bed."
Even with her experience after the many times they made love, even as they were still joined and one flesh, her face heated at her candid words. But she was rewarded for her brazenness by the spark of approval that lit his eyes.
"That wish, dear wife, I can most assuredly fulfill."
She smiled but felt mired in a quandary. On the one hand, she did not wish him to move from her, relishing this utter closeness as long as was feasible; on the other, she wished to hasten back as swift as Cesar could travel, and get Erik into said bed. She imagined the many things she would like to do to her dark Angel, how she would love to undress him, bit by bit, and have him entirely at her mercy, the new manner of making love they earlier executed whetting her appetite for more of the same…
"The night air has taken quite a chill," he said, deciding for her as he left her body and grabbed his mask, rising to his feet. Again he slipped the leather over his face then adjusted his clothing while she fastened her bodice. He took her hands in his and helped her to stand.
Wrapped in her cloak and Erik's, with their bodies pressed together, the bite to the air had been unnoticeable. But now that the satiated warmth began to fade, she did feel the cold a little more strongly.
Before they could mount Cesar, she turned to him.
"Kiss me, Erik."
At her soft command, he regarded her a little oddly, and she supposed it was rather strange to be so insistent, as if he would actually refuse after what they just shared. Before he could comply, she stepped close and wound her arms around his neck, reaching up and pressing her lips firmly to his. Even in the short time apart, their softness had taken on the chill of the night.
"What was that about?" he asked warily when she retreated a step from him. "Does a matter still vex you?"
She shook her head that he would think she would need an excuse to show him simple affection. On the tail end of that thought, she realized that before she came back into his life, based on what she observed as his captive and later learned as his wife, he had likely never known such expressions. Those who feared him would have kept their distance, and the few who esteemed him, he would never allow too close.
"I need a reason to kiss my husband?"
At her light quip, his eyes remained guarded.
"I'm happy, Erik," she stated simply. "For the first time in years, completely and gloriously happy." She ended her words with a little unapologetic laugh, at last eliciting his own trouble-free smile.
"Being here with you, like this, reminds me of our time together on the moors." She took hold of his hands. "Oh, I know we've both changed since then. But with matters at last resolved between us, I feel closer to you than ever before."
He offered no response, and she looked at him curiously.
"Erik…?"
Whatever qualm shadowed his eyes disappeared as he shook his head in mock irritation.
"Just don't expect me to go chasing after you through the dark forest…"
"And if I should run?" she teased, backing up a step though she had no desire to leave his side, even in play.
He grabbed her arm above the elbow as if afraid she really would compel him to give chase as they had when they were children, though usually she had been the one trying to keep up with him.
"Christine, promise never to visit these woods alone at night," he insisted, his manner now serious and grim. "These are not the barren moors we knew so well. There are dangerous drop-offs hidden by trees, all of it a terrain with which you are unfamiliar."
"I highly doubt I would even want to venture out alone. I prefer you with me for company, to share in the outdoors together. Might we do so again soon?"
He grinned at her girlish exuberance and swept his gloves from the ground, slipping them back on with a snap. "I believe that can be arranged. The fool stable master is often in his cups, as he was tonight, so as not to notice a missing horse. I wrote the managers to find a man better for the job, but they have yet to obey my directive. Cesar gets little enough exercise as it is. Is that not so, boy?" He patted the horse's neck and Christine smiled to see these glimpses of her Erik from the past.
He again mounted with a graceful jump then pulled her up, and she leaned back against his solid strength. Pulling his cloak around her, he further shielded her from the chill evening air. The gentle plodding of the horse, with her lover holding her so close, soon lulled Christine into a sense of sweet contentment…
Halfway to the cave, the Phantom realized she slept, and he smiled to himself, empathizing with her exhaustion. Brushing his lips against her hair, he carefully tightened his hold around her. He, too, anticipated several hours of sleep, almost as much as he looked forward to waking up beside his bride and making love to her again. With Christine, what he once considered only a corporeal act was so much more - an intense expression of their souls and a meeting of their hearts, bringing more fulfillment than he ever dreamed possible and causing all memory of past alliances with others to fade away like meaningless chaff in the wind.
He reasoned that his original plan to return to the opera house stables with Christine and take the way home from that route would be difficult with her so weary. The hidden path to the lair leading from the stables was twice the distance to travel than by means of the hidden cave. He would need to tie up Cesar and take Christine home to get her settled in bed, then return for the horse and take him back to the stables. At least on the west side of the cave, there was a natural shelter, an overhang of rock bordered by trees, that would suffice as a crude but temporary stable of sorts, should his immediate return be delayed if Christine should ask it of him …
He shook his head with a measure of amused disgust. All protective barricades shielding his heart had most definitely been blown to smithereens. She had only to crook her finger, and he would heed her every wish. Indeed, she seemed to enjoy their physical intimacies and instigating those moments as much as he. On that subject, they were in complete accord.
It was only when she spoke of matters being resolved between them that he felt a restraint he could not control, the dark distrust that tried to resurface buoyed by old suspicions.
She had betrayed him. He had almost died because of her betrayal, though he had never told her the entire truth of that day…
God, why could he not let it go!
As they broke through the covering of trees that flanked the cave, Cesar's ears pricked to and fro and he gave a little toss of his head. The horse's sudden agitation broke the Phantom from his dour thoughts. The longtime need to cloak himself as a ghost and hide from civilization warned him of imminent danger. Cesar let out a nervous whinny and the Phantom pulled short on the reins.
From the trees to his left, an answering whinny broke the eerie stillness.
Before he could turn his mount around and flee the trap, three gendarmes with their pistols aimed stepped from around the rocks of the cave and trees to his left. One of the men held a silent, tearful Jolene against him as his prisoner.
"Erik…?" Christine murmured in his arms as she stirred from slumber.
A fourth man walked into sight near the cave wall.
At the sight of him, the Phantom's scowl darkened further.
.
xXx