A/N: I hope you guys enjoy this chapter. :) (Oh- it deserves the rating.)
Chapter LXXVIII
.
A hidden sun painted the low hanging clouds with gilded strokes of rose and deep lavender by the time the carriage pulled up to the door of the Rue Scribe. Yet the majestic dawn garnered little appreciation from the new arrivals. The day might as well have been gray and gloomy, to match the moods of those within.
Erik exited the conveyance as if it were composed of iron bars and had been his prison, barely sparing a glance toward his wife.
"Come, Christine!"
He snapped out the quiet order with the finesse of a whip strike and without breaking stride toward the tall building. She clenched her fingers tight into an anxious fist at her side, darting a glance to Madame Giry.
"I'm sure it will be alright." Christine's tone lacked the assurance she so readily gave. "It's a long walk home. By the time we arrive he will have calmed somewhat."
She felt unsure of who she was trying to fool. Herself or the somber ballet instructor.
Once Christine told Erik about their guests, he had not reacted explosively as she had anticipated. Indeed, had not responded at all – and the entire drive they had ridden to the opera house in a fog of invasive silence she would have gladly traded for a rash of furious words. At least when he did not conceal his emotions, she knew where she stood.
"Meg will never make the morning practice," Madame tsked with a little shake of her head. "If your husband should wish to rest after the harrowing night he has had and return my daughter this evening, tell him I will consent to his wishes."
"I'll tell him." Christine did not add that the timing of the return journey above was not the crux of the problem – but that the journey should have to be made at all. "What of the driver? Can he be trusted not to speak of what he's seen to anyone inside the opera or out of it?"
"He does not work for the opera house. It is the same driver whose services I used for your wedding. He is paid well not to talk."
"Christine!"
She exchanged a weighty look with Madame before scrambling from the carriage. Erik barely waited for her to join him before unlocking and opening the heavy door and ducking inside. She followed him into the dark interior, flinching as he closed the door with a little telling bang and again locked it.
The stiff set of his broad shoulders as he walked two paces ahead of her hurried stride alerted Christine that his temper was on the shortest of wicks. Prudence demanded that she not say or do anything that could lead to an ultimate explosion…
It would not be the first time she acted rashly. But she did not see as she had a choice.
She resolved to carefully guard and examine every word before she spoke it. Never again would she allow her tongue to become the snare that brought them to tragedy. She could still scarcely believe he had come back, or tried – he had come back to her! – and she wanted to know more about those missing days, wanted the details of all that happened from the moment he'd ridden off in a fury from The Heights, as difficult as they would be to hear. But sadly, this was not the time. Now she must find a way to smooth choppy waters before he threw oil on them and set them ablaze.
Somehow she must avert what promised to be a harsh reckoning for the two unwary women who had no idea of just how vengeful the Phantom could be when stirred to wrath, especially when he felt his home and those he protected there were at risk. She recalled his fury with Jolene for bringing an intruder to the lair and shuddered – first to remember that night, and again to recall that Jolene was no longer with them.
Death came in diverse shades of dark that haunted the souls of those mortals who remained: the whirling black void of a loved one suffering a sudden painful demise, the bleak gray of an acquaintance fading silently from the world, and the blood red of a young girl murdered before her eyes…
She would not allow the Reaper to paint such darkness into their lives again, not if she could help it. While she did not believe that Erik would wield that extreme brand of vengeance to the unsuspecting women below, no matter his admission of once murdering innocents in his time as an assassin, she would take no chances. When he was in such a foul mood, truthfully she felt uncertain of what he would do.
Once Christine followed him through the secret panel that led to the dimly lit tunnels and the path broadened out, she hastened her pace to catch up to his rapid gait. Coming alongside him, she urgently clasped his sleeve, her fingers brushing hard muscle.
"Erik – wait…Please," she stressed when he did not slow, and she gripped his arm more tightly.
"I'm not in the mood to talk at the moment," he growled.
She shook all reservations aside and regarded him with a cool aplomb she was far from feeling.
"Fine. Then let me speak. I am entirely to blame for Meg and Arabella's presence here tonight – I was worried for the sake of Jacques, that he should awaken and find himself alone and go above to look for us. I was concerned for his safety. I asked Arabella to deliver the message to Madame Giry, but since she was unaware of the location of the secret entrance to the cavern, Meg could not have known either. Arabella knew, and I assume that's why they went together."
His muscle tensed beneath her grasp as if he recalled exactly why the Lady de Chagny knew, and the day she had boldly trespassed into his domain.
"They are not to blame – only me. So please, don't punish them for my mistake."
"And whom shall I punish?" he asked dryly, taking a step back to observe her. His stance was one of detached arrogance, but his eyes burned, dual flames of gold that seared to the marrow of her soul.
"Must you punish anyone?" she asked quietly, her fingertips brushing the jutting vein in his wrist, then dropping lower to caress his tightly clenched fist. "Has there not been enough punishment to go around?"
His lack of a cutting response encouraged her to take her persuasions a step further, though his icy glare made her heart skip an anxious beat.
"You enlisted Meg's help, so you must trust her, even a little," Christine insisted. "And Arabella…well…"
He folded his arms across his chest. "Yes, my dear. Tell me about Arabella…"
What shocked her was not the sardonic disgust with which he countered her plea, but the dart of jealousy to hear another woman's name on his lips, so smoothly delivered in his rich velvet tone. He possessed the ability to make a threat sound like a seduction, how well she knew, and for the briefest of moments she wondered if those wretches who once had intimate knowledge of him felt the same.
She forced her mind to abandon such idiocy and remain focused on the situation at hand.
"Arabella confessed that she made a mistake four years ago and kept her silence because she thought it was in my best interest. At first, I wasn't sure, but I've come to believe her. She would do nothing to harm me, and that includes telling others about her discoveries – and that includes you."
"You are aware that her mealy-mouthed cousin sent those soldiers last night?"
"I saw her reaction – she knew nothing of what he planned. You told me that at the Bal Masque you enlisted her help as well, so there must be some amount of trust there."
"Trust?" he scoffed. "I trust no one!"
"Including me?" She had not meant her words to come out so pitiable; they simply did, and she briefly closed her eyes. "Never mind, that wasn't fair."
They had both been through so much heartache and were still building shaky bridges toward each other in this marriage that had embarked in a sea of deception. She would not ask for more than he could give. She had him back in her life after twice being taken from her, and that, of itself, was a miracle - twice a miracle.
The hard lines around his mouth slightly softened, his eyes shimmering in regret, and he opened his mouth as if he would speak. But the words did not come.
She smiled to try to disguise the tears that blurred her vision and pressed her fingers into his palm. "I just hope you know by now that I would never do anything to bring Jacques harm. They won't say a word – I'll make sure of it."
"You'll make sure of it?" he repeated softly.
"I will. I swear it."
His lips flickered in the facsimile of a smile, and he moved his hand from hers to grasp her arm, his actions no longer curt, but gentle.
"Well then," he said quietly. "Shall we receive our guests?"
His words were neither angry nor pleasant, his expression fading into a bland mask. Christine felt some reassurance when he draped his cloaked arm around her shoulders and drew her close for the walk back, and tenaciously she held fast to the strand of hope that all would be well...
Hope wore thin when they entered the bedchamber and saw Arabella fast asleep on Erik's throne, then snapped as Christine felt his every muscle tense.
xXx
The Phantom crossed over to the entry of the main lake chamber. Crossing his arms over his chest in mock indolence, with his booted feet planted several inches apart, he surveyed his unwary trespasser.
The Lady de Chagny sat propped at an angle on his throne, a prop from an old opera. The bustle of her dress made the endeavor awkward, her position appearing quite uncomfortable. Her head lolled to one side and rested on her raised shoulder, her mouth open and slack, the softest of snores emitting from her constricted throat. If not for the weight of tonight's events, the image of the noblewoman caught in such an undignified manner might have prompted a dry smile.
As yet, she remained unaware of his presence. He preferred it that way until he was ready to reveal himself, giving him the upper hand.
"Erik…?" Christine barely spoke at a voluble level.
He glanced at her briefly in mild annoyance then returned his attention to the woman on the throne and cleared his throat.
"Ahem."
The dark eyelashes flickered. Seconds later, grey eyes flashed open. She stared at the lake directly in her field of vision, unblinking, before noting unfamiliar surroundings and struggled to sit upright.
"And so, milady, we meet again…"
At the sardonic greeting she started and turned as if guilty. Warily she eyed her unwitting host who stood to the side and at the back of the throne.
"I – I was keeping watch, for your return."
"Then it is most fortunate that there were no intruders."
At his emphasis on the word, her face suffused with rosy color.
"I did not mean to fall asleep," she muttered self-consciously, her nervous fingers setting fallen strands of hair aright with the slipping pins.
"The boy is well?" Christine asked.
Arabella turned her head further, her relief clear to see Christine standing nearby. "Oh – I'm thankful you're alright. When I saw the bed sheet tied to the balcony, I wasn't sure what trouble you'd found…" She seemed to recall the question. "The boy sleeps. When we arrived, he was awake and afraid, crouched over by the organ, but after some persuasion, he calmed. I should think after the night he had, he will sleep for hours."
"And Meg?"
"She stayed with him. They're in the chamber with the enormous bed. I believe it was yours…?"
"I should tell her we've returned," Christine said without answering her and looked directly at Erik. "I trust it's alright to leave you two alone for a few minutes?"
The Phantom's brow arched high in grim amusement. "What are you truly asking, my dear?"
"I think you know." Her smile was as false as his.
He narrowed his eyes with the memory of their earlier conversation. "I have no plans to garrote the Lady de Chagny while you're away, if that's what you wish to hear," he said wryly.
"How reassuring." This came in dry retort from the irksome woman still seated on his throne.
He raised a brow in dark mockery. "After the warning issued when last you breached my premises, I should think it would be."
Christine wearily sighed and laid a hand on his arm. "I shall return shortly."
The warning in her eyes and the silent pressure of her touch made her message clear, as if he were a child being scolded to behave in her absence. He might take issue with her insulting judgment, but he then remembered his morbid confession in the hotel room of the many he'd slain in Persia – all of it a desperate and dismal mistake. But did she truly believe he would kill without just cause, especially a woman? Clearly she did, and with that thought came another – he had given her little reason to believe otherwise.
The temptation had briefly visited his mind more than once in his interim in the opera house, when backed into a corner or stemming from his frustration with La Carlotta. But what Christine did not know – after the macabre events in Persia – he had sworn never to spill innocent blood again.
"Go fetch Meg," he said to her. "We will both be awaiting your return."
This time her smile was genuine, and she pressed her lips to his cheek beneath the mask before hurrying to the corridor.
The de Chagny woman and the Phantom stared at one another, she with mounting unease, he with arrogant grandeur.
"I never would have crossed into your home again, had the situation not been urgent – the boy," she added unnecessarily.
"Really?" he sneered. "And were you aware that your cousin sent soldiers to the cave entrance, where you once trespassed, to capture me?"
"I have no control over my cousin and am certainly not his keeper. I never told him your true identity or the location of the cave – I never even told him of my visit there. And I certainly was unaware of his plans, until he brought Christine to the hotel room and I learned of what transpired."
He noted the sincerity in her eyes but gave no response, also noting the nervousness in her manner and indulging in its essence like a fine wine. Just because he made a vow not to harm without righteous cause did not mean he could not enjoy her apprehension to his presence. The cat toying with the mouse. It was as it should be. Her terror of his potential actions engendered her respect of his power.
Aware that her wary eyes never left him, the Phantom walked down the steps and to a table there, rummaging through a box until he found what he needed. Retracing his steps, he held out one of two similar items he had recovered.
She eyed the long black strip of cloth as if it were a viper. "And this is for…?"
"Surely you recognize a blindfold, Mademoiselle?"
Her eyes widened in unconcealed shock. His lips quirked with the flicker of a smile.
Yes, precisely as it should be.
xXx
Christine hastened through the corridor, not wishing to leave Erik with Arabella any longer than necessary. It wasn't that she distrusted Erik to keep his word not to harm, but the night had been laden with misfortune and he was in a volatile mood. It would not be wise to test his limits.
At the entryway to her former bedchamber, she stopped at the open door and smiled faintly at the sight. Jacques lay curled up against Meg's side. She had one arm protectively around the boy, and both of them lay fast asleep.
Christine knew Meg must be exhausted and perhaps should be left alone, to return once she awakened. That notion lasted as long as it took to realize that Erik would have to make not one but two unwelcome trips to accompany his unwanted guests above, and Christine hurried to the high bed to shake the girl's shoulder.
"Meg…?"
It took three more prods and a raised voice before Meg opened one eye, then both upon realizing who stood there.
"Christine! You're back." She lowered her voice. "Did you find him?"
"I did, but why are you whispering?"
"I…oh." Meg struggled to sit so as not to rouse the deaf child and cast a glance toward him. "Force of habit, I suppose," she said in a normal tone.
"I see that Jacques has accepted you."
"Well, it was very tricky at first, him not being able to understand and us not being able to get through to him, but we managed to relay the information that we were friends and you would soon be back by using his wooden dolls. Some of them look like you, but the others…" Meg shivered. "And there was a mask we found to use when we spoke of the Phantom. I think he understood us."
"He also reads lips if you speak slowly."
"Does he? Well, that explains a lot of how he caught on. He really is a dear." Meg fondly smiled at the sleeping child then returned her full attention to Christine. "But tell me – How do you fare? Are you alright? Arabella told me what happened and how you climbed down the balcony using a knotted bed sheet to escape. That was rather a brave thing to do."
At the time, cowardice or courage never entered her mind. She simply did what she must to find Erik.
"She told you about the girl as well – Jacques's sister?" At Meg's nod, Christine spoke. "She didn't make it. The gemdarmes shot her."
"Oh, how awful!" Meg cast a sympathetic glance toward the lad. "The poor boy."
Christine winced, not looking forward to telling the child, who thought the world of his sister. Though she imagined Erik would be the one to break the news.
Meg hesitated as if not sure she should speak then seemed to make up her mind. "If you ever need me to watch him for a few hours, I wouldn't mind."
"Wouldn't your mother be upset if you took time away from practice?"
"I do have some free time," Meg laughed. "Not every hour of every day is involved onstage. Although, if it does cut into practice, I can make it up. I'll speak with Maman about the idea."
With Jolene gone, it would now be up to Christine to go to market. After the many times she tagged along after Berta, watching and learning, she was certain she could pick out produce and poultry and haggle with the best of the sellers. But to take Jacques along could endanger the child, and Christine would need Erik to accompany her, since she wasn't sure what streets were used as an open marketplace.
"Yes, you do that, and I'll speak to Erik." She laid her hand on Meg's wrist. "Thank you for the offer, but now you should return above. I hope that will put us in your mother's good graces, at least for a time," she added lightly.
Meg groaned. "Maman will not be pleased with me for taking off like I did."
"Actually, we ran into your mother and she and I spoke. You're right – she wasn't pleased, but she did seem to understand when she heard the reason. She even suggested we bring you back at our convenience. But I think, given the night's activities, it would be best for you to return with Arabella."
"Of course. Just give me a few minutes." Meg sat straight up at the edge of the bed, her feet dangling more than two feet off the floor, and fluffed her hair with one hand. "This is quite the bed. It is identical to one we used in an old opera, Zémire et Azor. About a beautiful woman and the beast who adored her, with a love he felt unrequited…"
"Really?" Christine said in surprise.
Trust Erik to give her furnishings to mirror the tale he had devised in his heart. How could he ever have thought she did not love him? It was maddening that he would arrive to such an erroneous conclusion, simply because of her conniption with Berta and misconceptions about Raoul. Deep within her soul, she felt there must be a more solid explanation. One day, soon, she would cut to the heart of the matter.
"I'll wait for you in the main lake room – the room with the pipe organ," she added. "In case you don't remember how to get there, just take a left and follow the path to the fork then take a right."
"Christine, do you ever think you'll come back to the opera?"
"I plan to." Now that Raoul understood the identity of her Phantom and had given his word not to interfere, the prospect seemed brighter.
"I never dreamt his home would be so grand." Meg shook her head in awe. "It's like a small kingdom down here. He even has a throne, as if he were a king!"
"We did love to play the Gothic fairy tales as children," Christine mulled in sweet reminisce then realized her slip when Meg's eyes widened.
"Then you did know each other before you came to the opera house! I knew it! So much makes sense now that never did. Oh, how delightfully romantic!" Meg nearly squealed, her eyes dancing at the gold nugget of a secret she had unearthed.
Christine grew mildly stern. "Meg – you mustn't tell a living soul. Promise."
"I shall keep my silence," Meg assured. "The Phantom and I had a talk about that. You can consider me an ally – but please, tell me everything. How did you two meet? Why were you parted? And why all the secrecy in pretending not to know each other?"
"We grew up together as children. He was my father's ward. That's all I can really say on the matter at this time…"
How could she satisfy Meg's natural curiosity when even she did not have all the answers?
"Erik is waiting to take you back. We'll talk more another day. And Meg, not a word about last night to anyone."
Upon receiving Meg's solemn oath not to spread the tale, Christine hastened to the lake room, hoping she had not exploited Erik's rein on his tolerance. To her relief, Erik was calm and Arabella was still breathing. They turned as she approached. Her eye caught the strip of familiar black cloth Arabella held in one hand. Her husband held another.
"Erik, you cannot be serious."
"I assure you, Christine, this is no joke."
"You don't actually intend to take two women through those never-ending tunnels blindfolded? What do you plan to do – tie their hands and pull them by a rope?"
The corners of his mouth flickered. "Don't tempt me, as the idea does hold merit."
From Arabella's corner a soft snort of disgust sounded.
"I really don't think this is wise," Christine insisted. "The way is treacherous, with the traps."
"I took you safely through the tunnels in similar fashion."
"Yes, but there was only myself, and it wasn't exactly easy. I assume you plan to take them by the same path, to the theatre, and not back the way they came?"
"With guards posted outside the cave entrance, I have no choice. Thus the need for blindfolds."
"But Erik, really, isn't that a bit extreme?"
"I have made up my mind, Christine." His voice was steel thinly padded in velvet and she knew that tone well enough not to pursue.
"Very well then. I'm coming with you." Every bone and muscle in her body ached. A trek to the theatre and back was the last thing she felt like undertaking.
"You will stay here with the boy, in case he awakens. I am fully capable of taking two women above – as long as they don't fight me."
Christine sighed, knowing he was right, and glanced at Arabella.
"I have no intention of fighting him, however unnecessary the blindfold." This last, directed to the obdurate Phantom, before she walked the few steps toward Christine. "I hope you know that I had nothing to do with the debacle tonight. I would never..." Arabella was clearly uneasy. "Christine, I hope we can move past all that's happened. I miss your friendship."
She thought a moment before giving a response. "Perhaps, in time, though I'm not sure I can ever forgive what you and Raoul did four years ago. Had you not interfered…" She sighed, weary of bringing it all up again. "I'm grateful for your help tonight with Jacques. For now, let's leave it at that."
Meg swept into the room, and it suddenly occurred to Christine that before now, she had never seen the dancer in anything but ballet costumes. She looked almost out of place in the ordinary gray serge dress. Erik handed her the second blindfold.
"Oh, but – you can trust me," Meg assured. "I won't say a word to anyone."
"Nonetheless, I would prefer if you would wear that for the journey back," he answered quietly.
"Yes, well…" She broke into a bright smile. "It might be fun at that!"
"Fun," Arabella said without enthusiasm.
"Oh, where's your sense of adventure, Lady Arabella?" Meg challenged.
"I seem to have misplaced it – perhaps in that dark tunnel we last went through. The one with the wandering vermin…"
Meg giggled. "Well, at least with the blindfold, you won't mind the darkness or the rats."
"If you ladies have quite finished, I would like to get to the business at hand," Erik said dryly. He tied the blindfolds around the women then approached Christine. "Don't wait up for me. You look exhausted, and I need to speak to Madame Giry after the practice."
"You need your rest too," Christine gently argued, keeping her tone at the same low level so as not to be overheard. "Can the talk not wait?"
"No. I'm accustomed to going for nights at a time without slumber." He softly lifted her chin with his forefinger. "Warm the bed for me."
"After a nice hot bath, I plan to do just that."
He kissed her tenderly on the lips, then left, taking one blinded woman by the arm and instructing another to clutch his cloak so he could hold the torch.
"Be careful," Christine whispered after them, not so worried about his ability to deliver Arabella and Meg safely above, but still so fresh to almost losing him - again - that she did not like having him out of her sight. At the moment, sleep was her friend since she was unlikely to pass the hours in silent worry – she was so tired, she felt she could easily fall asleep standing up.
She forced herself not to fall into bed in a muddy heap, but found indulgence in a hot bath to clean away the layers of grime. She was so filthy, she needed to drain and refill the tub but did not bother to put up her hair in a comb since it needed washed as well. Halfway into her task, she fell asleep and woke to rinse it. When she finally pulled a nightdress over her long damp curls and fell into bed, quite literally, she was asleep almost the instant her face hit the pillow.
xXx
Minutes into the journey, Erik knew his plan was doomed to fail. When he had accompanied Christine above in parallel fashion, she had been melded to his side, their steps in sync as if they were one person. These women were awkward, constantly bumping into walls or tripping over their own feet, even the professional dancer, who held to his cloak! After yanking on the De Chagny woman's arm a third time before she could stumble over a misplaced rock, he surrendered his decision not to take them on an unfamiliar route they could see and remember – and halfway there, pulled the blindfolds loose from their faces.
They blinked in bedazzlement, wincing at the light from his torch.
"Just know this," he warned darkly, "if either of you should so much as breathe a word to anyone of the pathway to my home, I will not be held responsible for the lives lost as a result."
"Because of the traps?" Meg nervously piped up, dropping her hold from his arm.
"Oui, mademoiselle," he mockingly replied, his tone assuring them that much more lay beyond his threat. "Because of the traps. And those at the cave entrance will be altered, so do not think of entering by that path again."
"Well, I won't breathe a word, monsieur," Meg reassured. "Allies don't treat each other as enemies, or everything would go to hell in a handbasket."
"Ah." He could not pretend to be unamused by this quirky little dancer whom Christine had befriended. He directed his sober gaze toward the cousin of his worst enemy. "And you? What have you to say?"
"I know you have little cause to believe me or my motives, due to past mistakes made in England. But I should hope that with recent events I have proven that I mean you no harm and have no desire to separate you and Christine ever again."
"Your cousin does not happen to share your feelings," Erik retorted dryly. "I am of the understanding that you have both drawn…closer, so naturally you would feel a loyalty to aid him if he were to inquire after another entrance to my home."
Arabella's face darkened with embarrassment at his insinuation, but she lifted her chin, refusing to be bullied.
"I can practically guarantee that Raoul has dispensed with all plans to oust you, monsieur, now that he knows the full truth of who you are. After all of what Christine suffered in England in the year after your death, you can be sure of that."
Erik sensed something more sinister than grief lay beneath her confounding words about his wife, but with the manner in which Meg's eyes popped so wide in astonishment that the whites glowed in the cavern-darkness, he resisted the niggling temptation to drill the irksome noblewoman. He would prefer not to air his history, like so much dirty linen, and would speak to Christine soon, to learn what Arabella meant, if anything.
"Perhaps if you would learn to get along well with others," she admonished as if he were a young upstart in need of a dressing down, "and trust that not everyone is out for your head, the opera house would run more smoothly. Now, if you will escort me above so that I may return to the hotel, I would be most grateful."
She turned on her heel and swept away, leaving the Phantom to glare after her and Meg to look between the two, clearly not knowing what to think.
xXx
Christine woke, still groggy but rested. To her dismay, the bed was empty and cold on Erik's side.
So, he had not returned.
She sought her wrapper and slippers and went to check on the boy. That bed was empty too.
Mildly alarmed not to have seen him on the trek there, she assumed he was in the lake chamber used to determine the time of day. In passing, she was curious to see moonlight lacing the black water. It was now evening? But, that could not be right…
As soon as the thought crossed her mind, she heard water from the tub gurgle down the pipe, and sure to find her husband there, she hurried to the bath chamber.
As she approached, she noticed Erik's silhouette where he sat in the tub, hunched over.
"Oh good, you're back," she said, her relief to see him palpable. "But Jacques seems to have disappeared."
"I told him to sleep in his old room. I felt the familiarity would be a comfort."
"You woke him to tell him that?"
"No, Christine. A full day has passed. He's in his bed and asleep for the night."
She had slept around the clock?! But that must mean…
"You have not slept at all?"
"No, I have not." His words came weary and preceded the sound of water rushing as he again filled the tub. "Jacques was playing near the pipe organ when I returned. I did not wish to leave him unattended."
"You should have woke me." Almost without conscious thought, she removed her night attire and slipped a comb haphazardly into her hair, the instrument there for the purpose of sweeping her unruly locks up so they wouldn't get wet. She padded to the tub naked as he turned off the water.
"I would have watched him."
At the slide of the metal rungs on the bar as she drew the curtain open, Erik tensed and turned his face toward the wall. She sighed, having hoped after everything they endured he would have moved beyond his despair for her to see him without a mask.
Stepping into the heated water behind him, she eased herself down in the adequate space allotted and pressed herself fully to his hard, wet body. The sensation of his scarred flesh against her silky curves was both soothing and arousing, and she wrapped her arms beneath his, bringing her palms to his chest and laying her cheek to his neck.
"You were sleeping so peacefully, I didn't have the heart to disturb you." The pads of his fingers traced stirring designs beneath her knees bent on either side of him.
Her own fingers gently played with the whorls of short wet curls adorning his upper torso. "Thank heavens you're here with me at last and that wretched nightmare is over." Her words were a low soothing murmur.
Suddenly his breath came out in a sob, a harsh rasp of uncontained sorrow.
"My love…?" she whispered, dismayed to feel the tremors of his body and realize he was quietly crying. "Have I done something to offend you? Are you upset with me?"
"No, Christine, it's nothing. You've done nothing."
And all at once she understood.
"It's alright." Tenderly she kissed the join of his neck and shoulder. "It's alright to grieve her. I know she meant something to you."
The muscles of his body instantly contracted against her. "I told you," he said, somewhat tersely, "she meant nothing to me. It is you I love and have always loved!"
"Yes, I know that, my darling, I know that your heart is mine." Christine bit her lip, these words some of the hardest to say, but for Erik's sake she ignored her insecurities and made herself speak them. "But you shared a home, a life together for three years. I know you didn't love her as a man loves a woman, as you love me. But there was affection there and not only on her part. I saw it. I'm not accusing you of what cannot be helped. She was Jacques's sister, your family…"
Beyond that, they once shared intimacy, however accidental, and what compelled Erik in his guilt to become the girl's guardian. But Christine did not say these things. Last night's thorny trail of disasters reminded her once again how brief and uncertain life was, and she had no wish to bring Erik further despair.
"I failed her," he said with a sigh. "I vowed protection, especially from her uncle. And I failed."
"She was no longer a child. She made her own choices."
"She came back to help me escape. Did you know that? If not for the branch she dragged into the road, the soldiers would not have stopped. She gave me the chance I needed."
"And I will forever be grateful for that," Christine said softly, leaning back against the tub and bringing Erik down to lie with her. She kissed the lumpy patch of scar tissue that composed his temple. "I felt so lost without you. I always have."
A span of close silence brought them the reassurance and strength each needed. Erik drew gentle strokes on her arm.
"How will I tell the boy?" he asked quietly, interlacing his fingers with hers where her hand lay on his chest.
So, he had not yet broken the news to Jacques.
"I'll be with you when you do, if you would like me to be there."
"Yes…"
With her free hand Christine traced gentle designs against his ribs, his stomach and hip and thigh, as far down as she could reach, her fingertips lightly trailing every inch of him – not to arouse. She simply needed to touch him and felt she could never have enough knowledge of how he was made. She reveled in the variations of hard muscle, bone and tendon, his skin both silky and scarred, much of it covered with fine curls of hair made even softer by the water, and she delighted in how he felt beneath her hands.
Her touch ghosted against the tight sac of flesh between his thighs and moved upward, tracing the ridges of his veins along the satiny skin there, thinking how wondrous it felt when he was so solid inside her…
His fingers suddenly clenched tight around hers, and her other hand instantly stilled in its languid exploration.
"I'm sorry. I'll stop if you want me to."
"Have you any concept of the many empty nights, the hollow years I have dreamt of your hands touching me as they are now," he hoarsely said. "Don't stop."
Christine understood that he must be much too weary to make love, but had no desire or reason to refuse his coveted consent to her touch, and she resumed the slow path her hand had chosen.
She turned her head to watch his face, noting his eyes had closed and feeling the tenseness begin to leave his body, her touch helping him to relax where the heated bath had failed. She ran the pads of her fingers over the indentation of each rib and up his torso, making little ripples through the hair on his chest and brushing circles over his nipples. She smiled to see his lips part in a silent intake of air and retraced her slow journey with the flat of her hand until the edge of her fingers met the velvet head of his shaft. Knowing she should stop but unable to resist one last caress, she stroked down the column of flesh which had noticeably hardened and swelled.
"Your touch is fire and it is heaven," Erik whispered.
She softly stroked him once more then brought her hand up to press against his chest in embrace.
"Come, my love, let's go to bed," she whispered in his ear.
In reply, he grabbed the rim of the tub and hoisted himself upward. She scooted back to give him room, surprised when he did not leave the stirred water, only shifted position so that he faced her, the additional length and width of the tub he had constructed making movement practically effortless. He reached for her and captured her hips with his large slim hands, the water sloshing upward and making her weightless as he brought her to him fast and hard, while she moved her legs to straddle him.
"You do not wish to sleep after being so long without it?" she asked breathlessly.
"You touch me like that and expect my first thought to be for slumber?" he asked in amusement, his lips against her throat. "Sleep will come, once true exhaustion sets in, and I intend to bring us both to that point."
Christine laughed lightly, her heart quickening with desire. "You have always been so naughty and wild…"
At the teasing echo of words shared from their past, he nipped her skin with his teeth, causing a shudder to course through her body.
"A trait in which we both excel," he countered and suckled her flesh hard enough to make a mark, making her wetter inside.
She had been ready for him the moment she entered the chamber and saw his shadow on the curtain. Folding her hand around his thickness, she brought him against her as he lifted her over his now full erection. Wrapping her other hand in his hair at the nape, she slowly brought her hips down to his, gasping as his fullness stretched and filled her.
Fire and heaven… she could not have described it more perfectly.
Her free hand joined the other, weaving fingers into soft locks and holding his head in place as he feasted on her neck, her collarbone, her breasts in passionate languor. She matched his rhythm, softly riding him, each stroke slow and sensual. Heat suffused her every pore, the silken water lapping in gentle ripples, warm against her flesh, the rub of him inside so solid and full and wanted. Lost to the haze of such pleasure, time held no meaning. Indeed, she wished they could engage in this moment forever…
Much later, as she lay fully sated and half beneath her slumbering husband in their bed, with the damaged part of his face protectively held against her heart, Christine clung to the feeling of true contentment, wishing she could encase them in a capsule and shield them from evil men forevermore.
Tomorrow would come, as soon it must, and they would tell Jacques about his sister. They would discuss current dangers and make plans for these next few months until they left Paris, and where they would go.
But for now, Christine jealously seized this blissful tranquility with the man she loved above all else and closed her eyes, keeping the ambiguous future at bay a little while longer.
xXx