A/N: At last (don't faint) – another chapter. Bad authoress, me, for such a long delay *slaps hand. But good news (besides delivering this chapter) - this story has gained more interest, so I will be adding it to the regular rotation, while the interest continues. :) Enjoy!


Previously: Erik stayed away from their temporary lodging at the hotel for three days and nights, upset that Christine visited Whiterose, (the home of Raoul's aunt who, unbeknownst to him, is also E's mother), but especially he is angry at Christine for keeping secrets from him, which he believes could bring her harm. While in Paris, he received a death threat - the reason for their sudden move to Rouen, to protect his family- however he didn't tell Christine about it, partly because of her illness at the time...

Christine finds Erik in Box Five of the new theatre they now secretly manage, where she apologizes but also makes a stand, giving her side of things and asking him to come home. Before she can leave, disappointed by his lack of response, he quietly expresses his wish for her not to go, leading to an ardent tête-à-tête between them...


Chapter X

.

Christine loosely wrapped her arms about Erik's neck as passion's soaring wave ebbed into a lovely lassitude, and the orchestra outside the curtain ended their music on a dwindling note. Brushing her lips to his in slow, repeated caress, she let the tip of her tongue touch him softly. She sighed with delight, her inner muscles tightening around him and holding his majesty deep inside for these last few wondrous moments of complete togetherness.

"That was unexpected," he purred.

"But thoroughly anticipated."

"Yes."

"Please," she whispered and pulled slightly back, her manner suddenly serious. "Never put me through the suffering of your prolonged absence again. Never, Erik."

His enigmatic eyes that had darkened from their impassioned interlude searched her face. His large hands rested at her hips, fingertips running idle caresses over velvet that even through her skirt and petticoats she felt. A secretive smile tilted his lips.

"I have something I wish to show you, ma reine."

She studied him with a curious smile and nodded, noting his every expression by the chink of light that trickled through the closed curtains as his deft fingers refastened the top five pearl buttons of her bodice. Catching on to his growing enthusiasm, she offered no resistance as he helped to lift her from his lap. While he adjusted his trousers, she picked up his mask she earlier tossed to the carpeted floor. Rising to his feet, he gathered his cloak about him then took the covering from her offered grasp and slipped it over his head, securing the strap, at last taking her hand in his.

Anticipating the mystery of what he would share, Christine walked with Erik out of their newly christened private box and down a network of narrow corridors, the last one they entered dimly lit. They went further until they came to a giant embroidered tapestry that depicted five angels in shimmering colored threads, each gentle winged creature holding a musical instrument, the quintet collectively surrounded by a border of roses. The canvas stood taller than her husband, its bottom edge nearly sweeping the floor and stretching along half the length of one wall.

"Oh, Erik, it's quite beautiful," Christine whispered in awe, certain this was what he had led her to the distant passageway to see.

He gave another mysterious smile as he slipped his hand from hers and approached the tapestry.

"While conducting a solo investigation of the theatre and all it contained, I came across a door that stuck and no amount of exertion would budge," he conveyed with an undercurrent of excitement. "Upon at last opening it, I found an abandoned room beyond."

He parted the tapestry for her, where a clean slit had been made in its center, undetectable at a distance and tall enough to walk through. Bewildered, she stared at the rectangular entrance unblocked by any door.

"I removed it," he stated the obvious at her open-mouthed stare and pulled her through into a musty room, letting the tapestry fall back to the floor to conceal their whereabouts. He turned up a gas lamp bracketed to the wall, and she looked around the area. Twice the size of her old dressing room, it appeared to be a storeroom, with crates and props stacked in every available space and high along the walls.

"Erik, what is this place? Why have you brought me here?"

He laid a finger to his parted lips, eyes dancing with mischief, and her heart gave a little lurch once more to behold that expression. Always the portent of delightful things to come.

He led the way to the back of the room where a heavy wardrobe of mahogany stood, its twin doors carved with small sprays of roses. He opened both of them, and she was curious to see the tall receptacle contained nothing but a long swathe of dark red velvet. Intricately embroidered with gold thread, the heavy cloth hung down the back. Her astonishment achieved a new level when he pulled the folds aside to expose no back panel of the wardrobe - but a large hole in the wall, what led into another room.

"You did all of this?" A thread of alarm wound its way into her shock and amazement to view his meticulous work.

"It is still crude and begs improvement. This is only the preliminary idea but will suffice for now."

Christine shook her head, floored. "You did all of this in three days?"

"Mostly in the nights. I had to wait until long after darkness fell, when no one was in the theatre to interfere. Using a sledgehammer to knock out a wall does tend to create noise," he said wryly. "I also blocked the door that leads to the second room, of which I have yet to show you." He motioned toward the hole. "After you, my dear…"

Christine glanced at him, more than a trifle mystified. Holding to its edge, she stepped up through the wardrobe and the partially demolished wall into another room, taking the short step down onto floorboards coated in dust. He moved through after her and lit a second lamp, to reveal another neglected room. Cobwebs covered what items had been deserted, an upright mannequin in one corner and discarded swathes of cloth in a straw basket suggesting what was once a seamstress's place of work. Several straight pins that had been overlooked glimmered on the planks. White sheets covered what sparse furniture existed. Erik pulled away one of the dustcovers to reveal a chaise longue.

"Take a seat, my love. You look ready to fall."

Christine numbly sat on the olive green and gold satin bench and stared up at him.

"Why, Erik?"

"Why?" He tilted his head toward her in question.

"Why have you done this?"

He seemed to consider his response. "It was not my intent to seek out a place for retreat, but when I saw the possibilities of these abandoned rooms I could not resist the temptation."

"So you mean to hide?" she asked incredulously. "Even when there is no longer a need?" Anxiously she clenched a fold of her skirt in her lap where her hands rested. "We are in a city far from Paris; no one knows us here. You have no reason for hidden entrances or secret chambers any longer."

"There will always be a need, Christine," he countered with a trace of impatience. "The change of mask does only so much to disguise and is not entirely unnoticeable to those who venture too close. There will always be the curious and the ruthless who dog my every step, seeking to interfere, even to destroy. We are no longer secluded within a forest!"

"So you will conform to old methods?" She shook her head in disbelief. "And will you also again embrace the darkness to put into effect what you consider protection?"

He looked stung by her words, and she too felt their sharp bite, but she did not relent or look away from him. "Erik, we were warned. We were told to be vigilant and to beware of any evil that could ensnare us at any turn."

"You truly think I would repeat past mistakes that would put you in danger? That I would put our daughter in danger and the new life you carry inside you?" He strode toward her and clasped her arms, lifting her to stand before him. Once on her feet, he did not release his hold. "I made a vow in that accursed cemetery on the day I returned to you and we began our eternity together – that I would leave the Phantom and his darkness behind and keep you safe. I will not invite that monster back into my life."

His emphatic words only gave a modicum of relief. She shook her head in frustration. "We saw his being explode into millions of slivers of black smoke from the light of the ring, and though spirit cannot truly die – you were told by the One of supreme authority that we would never again confront him. I believe that. The Phantom will never again hunt us down. Yet there are other types of evil of which to be wary, mon ange, other monsters with hidden agendas just as dangerous. Not all of them spirit, but mortal …"

He glanced briefly away, as if he had no desire to speak of such things. "Put your mind at rest, Christine. I have no intention to terrorize this opera house or make demands beyond the pale. I will not actively seek to make enemies here."

She searched his eyes that regarded her with quiet assurance. Believing his words in earnest, she released some of the old fear and nodded in relief. Yet there were…shadows within the gray-green orbs, as if he withheld something from her.

"Think of this place as a retreat to obtain a small slice of heaven." The persuasion was made in silken tones designed to soothe and entice. "A place for us to withdraw when troubles weigh heavy. You were adamant that we create a second Eden in my abandoned lair once we arrived in Paris. I took you away from any chance of that dream coming to fruition upon our move to Rouen, and so I present you with this new possibility. Our own private hideaway, to furnish as you see fit."

She shook away any niggling concern that all was not as it should be, that the dark past threatened to slither back into their lives, and chose to take his words at face value.

"Light," she said with determination. "No more darkness. This room is much too dark."

He nodded once in approval. "Then light you shall have. What else would ma reine desire to make this a place in which you would want to dwell?"

Beginning to share in his eagerness now that she allowed herself to relax and enjoy the prospect of a new Eden, Christine broke from his gentle hold to stroll around the chamber, half the size of the adjoining room, and study the area. Her gaze went to the door he had blockaded with planks of wood from top to bottom, nailed to each side of the wall.

"Should anyone open the door from the outside, will they not be suspicious to see it blockaded with boards that are nailed from the inside?"

"It is my intent to cement the crevices and cover the door, so it appears as if it is part of the wall."

Her eyes widened. "You can do that?"

A foolish question; in the many years she had known him, she discovered he could do anything he set his hands and mind to. He had crafted countless trapdoors leading to unknown areas of concealment at the Paris Opera House. Yet this was the first occasion that she bore witness to his genius from the inception of such a plan, and his creativity boggled the mind.

"Will they not wonder what has become of the door?" she posed with some concern. "Both doors? And I would venture a guess that you found and hung that huge tapestry, which might lead to even more speculation as to its sudden appearance on the wall?"

"It is doubtful anyone would notice; this corridor appears to be seldom used, if not altogether forgotten. The neglect of these rooms presents their own story." He waved a hand, bringing her attention to the thick cobwebs that hung from the ceiling and attached themselves to the mannequin and other odd and sundry items that stood scattered about. "Improvements will soon be made, which means workers will infiltrate all areas of the theatre. If anyone should note the changes, they will attribute it to the renovations I have ordered, never presuming the truth of a secret chamber I have prepared."

Christine listened in awed admiration, unsurprised he had already taken such matters into account, and set her mind back to the task at hand.

"We shall need a small table and two chairs, for if we should wish to share in a meal together during our short respites here…"

"Of course."

"And a bed. We must have a bed."

She willed the fire out of her cheeks upon issuing her soft command, her mouth edging up slightly at the corners to imagine herself and Erik sprawled together on the narrow chaise longue, which did not look as if it would fit his tall form, as many a bed also failed in that regard. A sudden contradiction clouded the prospect.

"But then, since you have boarded this entrance shut – and I cannot see how you would manage to bring furniture through the wardrobe – I suppose that is out of the question. Perhaps a bed of pillows, then, like we had in Seville?" Though she could not imagine the ability to rise from mounds of spongy cloth, low to the ground, once her belly grew huge with their child and gracefulness became a fond memory.

His smile contained the mystery of which he was so familiar, a characteristic he had never shed. Nor did she wish him to.

They were part of the colors of his soul.

"You shall have all that your heart desires, my angel…" As he spoke, he spread his arms out in a graceful wave to encompass the chamber, looking above slowly from side to side, then brought them outstretched before him, with his palms held up toward her. "All that will make you happy."

Swiftly she closed the distance and clasped his forearms as he also clasped hers.

"Oh, Erik, is it possible – could we have music here? I mean, I know this is a theatre, and the orchestra will no doubt play at times, if we are able to hear them from this distance. But could we also have music within our new Eden? Or is the idea too absurd?"

"Absurd?" He looked at her, incredulous. "Why should you think that?"

"We are no longer levels beneath the earth where you cannot be heard. If anyone was to pass through the corridor while you play your violin, they would no doubt hear the music beyond the wall and may seek to investigate. Or they might hear if I sing."

"You will sing. We will sing together. And we shall have music of the violin," he reassured, his voice a cadence of beauty all its own. "None of what you have requested is impossible to create, Christine. But it will take time…"

She nodded in understanding. When he hesitated, she waited for what he did not say and she became fretful to know.

"Time away from you."

She frowned at the idea. "The evenings as well?"

"While those who inhabit the theatre lie asleep in their dormitories will be the only time I cannot be heard," he reminded gently.

Her decision was swift. "Then I shall come here, to be with you."

"No, Christine." His eyes regarded her in solemn apology. "You are carrying our child and need much rest. Especially now that you are so recently recovered from the milk sickness, you must take every precaution."

"And you think I was able to sleep well these past nights without you in our bed?" she countered sadly. "I can sleep – there, if I need to." She glanced toward the uncovered chaise then back to his unrelenting stare.

His mouth obstinately thinned. "With all the pounding and sawing and similar noises this will entail, you would get no rest at all. It is out of the question."

"I don't wish to be apart from you, Erik! Three days was torture."

"I know," he agreed quietly. "It pains me to be absent from you as well, but I have no choice."

"No choice? How is this not your choice?" When he gave no response, she insisted, "You promised there would be no more separations between us – that we would always be together."

"And we shall be," he said patiently. "I need no more than a few days to accomplish what I must, a week at most. You may come visit me any time of the day, every day. We will take luncheon together if you wish it, or supper…"

No doubt he only suggested the compromise so that he would be assured she ate a proper meal. She could think of nothing but his old promise, a promise so readily discarded, and her fingers dug into his sleeves.

"You would stay away from me night and day? For an entire week?!" She eyed him in hurt disbelief, giving him no chance to respond. "Or perhaps, that is what you prefer and it has nothing to do with the creation of this place? Are you still angry with me for my decision to visit Whiterose and are now punishing me for it? And unless I surrender to your terms, this is the picture of how our life will be? With you keeping your infernal distance and me miserable in the absence you create?"

Certain that must be his true motive, Christine miserably shook her head.

"Oh, Erik, how could you? How could you?!"

Sharply she broke away from him and whirled about, swiftly moving to the wardrobe. With her hand clutching the velvet edge of the drape, she came to a sudden stop, uncertain where to go, still unfamiliar with the layout of the theatre and having no wish to get lost. Of course, she wouldn't truly be lost. He would find her and lead her to familiar ground, which would then add another blow stinging her pride and her heart. To knowingly and childishly immerse herself within the web of strange corridors, her savior then being the man whom she fled…

In truth, she had no real desire to leave her husband's presence, not after three eternal days spent apart. But hurt and anger left a bitter taste that he would choose to abandon her again, despite their recent reconciliation – even seeming quite agreeable to the idea!

The tears that always seemed to brim her lashes of late trickled hotly down her cheeks, and impatiently she whisked them away with her fingertips.

She did not hear his silent tread on the floorboards, no surprise there. His hands suddenly came up from behind, gently to clasp her shoulders.

"My Christine…"

Her eyes fell shut at the velvet lure of his voice.

"I want nothing more than to be with you, to share the hours, the days, the nights with you by my side. This is no intended punishment but does require a small sacrifice. And though you cannot see it now, this diminutive time apart is the only way to make our dream of evermore possible. To give us a place of secrecy where we can withdraw for minutes or hours or an entire night, to be alone with one another and do whatever our hearts require, whenever we wish to indulge in such splendor. Our Eden," he tenderly reminded.

His low words were a whisper of silk that served to cosset torn senses, his warm touch a balm to her soul, and she struggled to gather her erratic feelings into some semblance of order. She despised being like this, despised it, and could hardly blame him for wishing to seek sanctuary from her waspish tongue, her emotions always regrettably chaotic and swinging like a pendulum, from one wretched extreme to another, while she carried his child.

She inhaled a deep, tattered breath, letting it out in a quiet rush. "Forgive me."

He brought her gently to stand close against him, one hand smoothing down her breast to come to rest against her waist, his other arm held across her collarbone with his hand clasping her shoulder. Bending his head close to hers, his lips brushed her jaw. Held with such adoration in an embrace familiar to them, Christine felt twice as foolish for her little outburst and lifted her hands to grasp his arm, leaning her head back to rest against his strong shoulder.

"All is well, Christine," he reassured in a whisper, and for an unhurried time they stood like that, in immobile tranquility, soaking up one another's presence.

"Very well," she said after a while, determined to redeem her bad behavior, and gently tugged at his sleeve to be let go. His arms reluctantly dropped from around her form and she turned to him. "If we are to get this place ready for such pleasurable habitation in the delightful images you have painted for me, we should begin. There is much to do and I will be hanged if I let you bear the full burden."

"Christine…"

At his low warning note, her manner shifted from lighthearted to serious. "I want to help, Erik, however I can. This room is in need of a thorough cleaning, and I feel perfectly fit and able. Let this be our endeavor to undertake, creating our musical sanctuary - together. At least during the daylight hours when what tasks we can accomplish do not make too much noise?"

He appeared to consider her thinly veiled demand she shaped into a soft question.

"Only if you feel well enough," he said at last.

"I do."

"You must cease to work if you should begin to feel the least bit weary."

"I will."

"And you must stop to eat supper, indeed, take frequent breaks…"

She cradled his face in her hands and lifted herself up on her toes to kiss him.

"I love you for caring so much, even when there is no need," she whispered against his lips, which he again pressed to hers in a kiss much deeper, drawing his arms around her waist and pulling her in closer.

"I love you for all that you are," he said when at last he allowed her breath. "Even when you can be most vexing and undisciplined an angel."

Christine giggled, taking no offense at the words that so aptly described her character.

In a spirit of blithe camaraderie they worked together to dispel the airy cobwebs and thick coats of dust, also finding and lighting five candles, their first step to bringing order and light into the forgotten chamber they now claimed as their own.

xxXxXxx

1838 – Canteleu, France

.

A pall of ash-gray cloud descended over the skies, blotting out a weak sun, as Helena faced Edward under the towering red oak tree near the gardener's cottage. She clenched her hands near her hips, waiting for him to speak, each moment that slipped by feeling heavy, weighted and slow…

"You are certain?" he asked at last, his voice low and barely audible.

Four weeks had passed since the gypsy's unwanted fortune told her. Four weeks that brought Helena to a troubling knowledge that sometimes destiny could be cruel and unyielding in its revelation.

"Yes." She hesitated and repeated, "I carry your child."

His eyes fell shut and he turned partway from her.

"Edward?"

"I will speak to Father."

"Your father? But why do that?"

She had hoped he would offer marriage to safeguard her reputation, not that she cared one whit for public opinion – had she done so, she would not be in this predicament now – but she did not want her family made to suffer for her wicked choice. Though, knowing Father, he would bundle her off to some convent as he occasionally threatened whenever she crossed his will for her. At the least she expected Edward might avow a declaration of his feelings – not extend his intent to involve his father in their private affairs. Did the Comte share the mindset of her father about wayward young women?

"I don't want your father knowing," she insisted softly when he did not answer. "I don't want anyone else knowing. Not yet. This began with us; this should be decided between us."

"I have little choice in the matter."

"What do you mean you have 'little choice'?"

Her speechless lover shook his head and clamped his lips tight as if it pained him to say the words.

"Tell me, Edward. What are you so fearful to say?" She covered the short distance between them. "Tell me!"

"I am promised to another."

The blood froze to ice in her veins as she regarded him in horror.

"Please understand, Helena, I had no say in the matter. Ever since we were children the pact has been made between our families. Our fathers arranged it, as is done in most households of our social standing…."

She took a couple of steps back, her stunned gaze dropping to the ground. Slowly she shook her head in shock.

He took the initiative and moved toward her, grabbing her beneath the shoulders in his desperation to make her understand.

"I never asked for this, never wanted it. I don't even know the woman! I met her, one time, when our families gathered for a summer at the seaside. We were both children. I barely even remember her."

The revelation of his wretched words burned brighter, harsher. It brought her blood to boil and she regarded him with utter disbelief.

"How dare you toy with me, Edward de Chagny – you are nothing but a cad! A damned selfish cad!"

She drew her hand back and slapped him with all the hurt fury within her, his head jerking sideways from the force of the blow. His eyes regarded her with shock.

"What was this between us?" she seethed. "If you have known all along that you are promised to another, why did you seek me out at the ball? Why have you met with me in secret these months? Why did you come here at all?! Why, Edward?"

Before she could hit him again, once more he grabbed her arms and gave her a little shake. His eyes burned like molten silver. "Because I love you, damn it! I love your strength and your fire and your iron-clad will that won't be crossed. I love the beauty of your smile and the way you cry out my name in the height of our passion. I love how the moonlight shimmers over every inch of your skin – God, I love every moment spent with you, everything about you -"

"Words, Edward." She pushed away from his hold, angry at herself that she felt her resolve weakening. "Nothing more than pretty words! Is that all you have to offer me?"

He stepped close, bringing his hands up to cup her face, his lips down to sear hers into blind submission. Once they were both near breathless, he pulled away.

"I swear to you, Helena…" he pressed his forehead to hers. "I will make this right. Somehow, I will make this right."

She desperately wanted to believe his avowal true, but even then, she doubted him.

x

Three nights later, Helena was summoned to the library. Slowly she took the staircase downward, working to summon courage, fearful that somehow her father had learned the truth of her ruin.

Upon pondering the matter that crowded into every waking thought, it was Lysette whose future gave her the most concern. No doubt, if Edward did not come through and her father had somehow learned of her regrettable state, Helena's future was already carved in stone. Papa would send her away, in all likelihood to some distant convent, so that none would know of the fall of the eldest daughter and scandal would not visit the DuChamps household. Yet secrets had a way of emerging when least expected, and Helena's selfish dip into depravity could result in her little sister, once grown, never finding herself a worthy husband, snubbed by her peers, and in fact, outcast from all the nobility who scorned women without virtue, the families who reared them and consorted with them also held to that stringent regard…

Forcing her mind not to travel down paths as yet unmet, she opened the door to the library, her anxious gaze darting to her father's portly figure where he stood before a window, one hand clasping his wrist behind him. He turned at her step. What passed for a smile crossed his bearded face. It momentarily shocked her, enough to halt her in her tracks.

"Come in, my dear. I have good news to share."

Warily Helena closed the door and approached, unaccustomed to see her dour father in such a genial mood. "Yes, Papa?"

He took a seat in his chair and came straight to the point. "The Comte de Chagny and I have come to an understanding that will benefit both families. You are to marry his son."

Helena could hardly believe her good fortune! Edward had honored his promise!

"Really, Papa?"

His smile grew. "I take it you are pleased?"

"I met him at the ball we held this summer. We shared a waltz. He was quite pleasant."

He regarded her with frank surprise. "I admit, I am rather astonished by your amicable attitude. I half expected you to object, listing a host of reasons of why you cannot and will not marry. I am pleased you have at last realized your place."

Inwardly she sighed. "Yes, Papa."

"Am I correct in assuming arrangements may be made for a wedding in the near future?" It was posed as a question, though Helena knew from the determined glint in his dark eyes that he had already decided for her and nothing she could say would prevent a ceremony from taking place.

She nearly choked on her honeyed show of amiability, but by her estimation she was nearly two months enceinte and her marriage to Edward could not proceed swiftly enough.

"As soon as it can be arranged, I am agreeable."

"Well then, the plan to join our households appears to be working most splendidly. Excellent. The ceremony shall take place in a month's time. A chapel wedding, with only close family in attendance," he decided. "I realize a year is the standard for such preparations, and doubtless there will be those busybodies who wag their tongues once they learn the proceedings were made with such haste, but from what I understand, this son of de Chagny has an estate in Rouen and must return soon to manage affairs there. He is in want of a wife to help him run his household. A month should give you ample time to prepare for a simple ceremony. Are we agreed?"

Edward had an estate in Rouen? Why had he never made mention of it? But then, he'd kept other matters hidden from her, important matters such as being betrothed to another, so his failure to confide shouldn't surprise her. She was only relieved that they could put that unfortunate matter behind them and proceed toward a life spent together and, in future, with the child made from their love. For the first time since she had learned of her condition, she could almost welcome the idea of a babe…

"We are agreed, Papa."

Helena fairly floated out of her father's study, closing the door behind her. Catching sight of Lysette approaching the staircase, she swept toward her little sister and took hold of her hands, spinning her around in a gay dance across the floor, both girls giggling at the reckless bit of merriment.

"Whatever was that for?" Lysette asked, breathless, when Helena at last twirled them to a stop.

She lowered herself to look into the child's eyes, taking gentle hold of her chin between thumb and forefinger. "That, sister dear, means everything is working out so much more splendidly than I could have imagined." She gave a little laugh. "No more storm clouds – farewell to the pall of darkness – the sun is shining again!"

"But…" Lysette looked confused. "It's nighttime."

Helena smiled. "So it is, ma petit. So it is. Let us withdraw to your bedchamber and I will tell you a tale of ruthless pirates and untold treasures to send you off to dreamland."

"And runaway princesses captured by those ruthless pirates?"

"Oh, I think we can squeeze one in," she agreed with a little laugh.

That night in early autumn marked a turning point in their lives…

And the last Helena DuChamps was ever to know true happiness.

xxXxXxx