Next chapter... and a belated shout-out to my beta reader, MarySkater, which I meant to add to the last chapter and forgot to, for all the "horsey" information!

Chapter 39. July 1887.

And then she was falling backward onto the quilt, heedless of the riding boots they both still wore, pulling Erik down with her. He ran one cool hand lightly down her throat, making her moan, and she unbuttoned her bodice awkwardly with one of hers, the other arm being wrapped around his shoulders. She pushed his mouth to her breasts, which were falling up and back out of the cup of her corset, and he untied the drawstring of her chemise and shoved the loosened fabric aside as much as he could. His malformed mouth was hot on her skin, and then he nipped at her, and she shuddered with desire, seized his hand, and slid it down her body and up under her skirts.

"God," he said, sounding impressed but pleased. "Where did all this come from, Christine?"

"Watching you," she panted, pressing herself up to the long calloused fingers which were lightly stroking small circles. Jolts of pleasure ran up her thighs, and she groaned. He drew off her boots and stockings, caressed her bare ankle, and then ran his hand back up.

"I've never seen bareback riding advised as an aphrodisiac for women," he said breathlessly against her nipple, "But I am not inclined to complain about a stroke – " He rubbed one finger hard over her, and she cried out and almost went over the edge," – of luck."

Gasping, she let go of his arm and reached out to gauge his own reaction to all this; it was all she could have wished, and she scrubbed a hand over the front of his trousers. He gave a groan of his own, and she curved her fingers around his aroused flesh as best she could and squeezed, delighted.

Erik pressed his forehead against her breasts and made a strangled, longing sound, digging his fingers into her inner thigh, pulling the opening of her drawers apart as far as possible. Christine yanked insistently on his arm with her other hand, and he moved over her as she quickly undid his buttons. A moment to shove clothing aside, and then he went roughly into her with a rush that sent pleasure winging to every part of her. Her fingers and toes tingled, and as he began to move she moaned with joy and tangled their legs together. Carrying his weight on both elbows, he dropped his head and took her mouth.

They rocked together urgently, their shared passion climbing ever higher. The coil of desire in Christine's belly wound tighter and tighter, and when Erik thrust hard and gripped the sides of her head between his palms, she bucked under him, crying out in the ecstasy of her release. His body trembled above hers, and a ragged sound of fulfilment escaped his twisted lips as he fell on her.

She locked her thighs tight around him, glorying in their connection, but abruptly found herself unable to breathe. They had loved before when fully clothed, but always when she was sitting up, at least partly. Now she was flat on her back, and when his body pressed hers down, she found her corset was flattened against her chest, its comfortable support suddenly becoming an unyielding iron cage and preventing her lungs from inflating. She tried to tolerate it briefly. The body, however, reacts instantly to being unable to draw breath, and hers tensed, ready to throw him off instinctively. She knew how he would react to her pushing him away, though, and she managed to retain enough presence of mind to roll them both onto their sides instead, facing each other. Now she could breathe easily again, and she clenched herself around him, not wanting to be separated. But passion subsides after its apotheosis, and the flesh slackens inevitably no matter how much lovers might wish otherwise, and soon their bodies became two halves again, no longer a whole.

After a while he murmured, "I do not understand myself."

"Why?"

"Because…one moment I want to spread your thighs and use you like a – like an animal, and the next I want to cradle you tenderly and caress you for hours, waiting for my own pleasure until you are sated."

She smiled languidly, and said, "How about…first one, and then the other?"

"Vixen," he breathed, his voice warm and throbbing.

"Oh," she gasped, her desire welling up again. She pressed herself against him, and when he slid a hand in between her thighs, she moaned and held it hard against her.

"More?" he asked, and she nodded breathlessly. He began to stroke her again, and she sighed and turned onto her back once more, stretching her arms over her head.

She was more than ready, and he knew what he was doing. He hadn't, back when they were first married…but he was a swift learner, and his hands were agile and dexterous. In a minute, perhaps two, she was arching to them and shuddering with rapture again, and with the last of her ability to move, she rolled toward him and tucked her face into his chest.

"Enough?" he murmured into her hair, and she gave an incoherent sound. "If, wife, you want 'first one and then the other,' " he continued, "I am afraid you will have to give me a bit of a rest. Your husband is an old man, after all."

"You're not," she managed to say. "Not…at all."

Erik's arm was around her, and he was stroking her cheek. Her hair was a dishevelled mess, and he began pulling the pins out of it. She held out a hand for them, not opening her eyes, and when he put them into her palm she slid them into her skirt pocket. She felt him untwisting the thick coil of her hair, and then he smoothed it out over her shoulders, stroking it tenderly. He smoothed her torn skirts down as well, and sat up, and she heard the soft sounds of him tucking in his shirt again and refastening his buttons. Then there was a swishing sound which she could not place, and when she opened them, she saw that he was brushing the white horse hairs off the insides of his trouser legs. She reached out and had him help her sit up, and then assisted him in getting the rest of Cesar's hairs off. They kissed, long and lingeringly. Then Erik removed his own boots, and they lay back down again, and she draped her arm over him. He kissed each of her closed eyelids, and whispered, "Christine, you are my beloved and my saviour."

"And you are my husband," she answered, "and I am so very happy that you are." She sensed the happiness he was feeling, just then, and pressed her advantage, opening her eyes and gazing into his. "Do you see, now, why I want the baby? It came from this; from our love and our intimacy. Is that a bad thing?"

He was quiet for a moment, with a faint air of resignation, and then said, "No. It has been my deliverance."

"Then let it be so, and be happy about the results of it, as I am."

He said nothing for a moment, but was obviously debating whether to say something in response or not, and she waited, not wanting to risk making him angry again. Finally he said, "Christine, I am sorry about my behaviour the other night."

"Thank you for the apology," she answered, "But Erik…if you want me to forgive you, you need to tell me what is so upsetting about this…baby."

This time, he did not respond negatively to the word, but went on staring into her eyes. "I…do not know exactly. My feelings change from moment to moment, and I can not tell which of them are true."

"Tell me about all of them then, and I'll help you figure it out," she suggested.

He raised an eyebrow at her sardonically, and said, "That would be too big a task even for your kind nature."

"Erik, please. We must resolve this conflict between us. I do not want to be at outs with you; I never did."

He gazed at her, and then said musingly, "You care enough about Erik to want to resolve a quarrel with him." It was half a statement and half a question, and Christine said forcefully. "Yes, I do. You really ought to know that by now. Please talk to me about what is bothering you so much."

He paused briefly, and then drew away from her, sat up and said, "Christine, I will disappoint you as the father of your child."

"Why?" she asked, taken aback.

"How could I do otherwise? You, who knows me better than anyone, can answer that."

"Don't answer me in riddles," Christine said curtly. She was beginning to be annoyed with him again, though she didn't want to be. "Obviously I can't answer it, or I wouldn't have asked the question." She reached out a hand to him again, and he pulled her into a sitting position once more. Then she asked bluntly, "Did you honestly not want children? All along?"

"I…I used to think that I did, in fact," he said guardedly. "When I was…courting you. I mean, before we were married. I pictured us having children, yes, leading a normal life."

"Yes, you said you wanted a normal life," she said. "I remember. But then…what changed?"

"We married," he said simply. "And everything was different from what I had thought it would be. I had imagined an idyllic existence, a heaven on earth; and Christine, we argue so often, and I disappoint you and hurt you so much! And so, why then would it not also be difficult and unpleasant to have a child?"

"Do you mean you are sorry we married?" asked Christine, taken aback.

"No!" he said quickly. "No. It is…more happiness than I had ever thought I would have, when I was in my right mind. Assuming I have such a thing, that is."

She ignored his sarcastic jibe at himself, and said, "So why would you assume that a child will be all unpleasantness, and not joy, if our marriage has been both for you?"

"But Christine, every time I turn round I am doing something else that is wrong in your eyes. And when your child is here – "

"Our child – "

"The child, is here, surely I will still be doing the same, and you will be much angrier with me then, compared to what you are now. Christine, for God's sake, I have no idea how to be a father!"

"But…neither does any other man, the first time he has a child," she argued.

"They have the example of their own fathers to look at," he said. "And Christine…my father was nothing to model oneself after."

She looked at him, trying to decide what to say, and then realised that there was a faint tremor in his hands, very slight but noticeable. Alarmed, she touched his arm, and said urgently, "Erik, what did your father do to you? Tell me."

He threw her off violently, and snapped, "Do not ask me that!" She shrank back, and he was instantly contrite. "Do you see, Christine? That is exactly what I meant! You reach out to me with more compassion than anyone else has ever shown me, and what do I do but lose my temper and frighten you! And I will do the same thing with the child, and you will come to hate me for it!" He stood up and began to stalk away.

"Don't go!" cried Christine immediately, struggling to get up to go after him. "Erik, come help me up!"

He turned back right away, and came to her and extended a hand; instead of pulling herself up with it, she drew him down and said quietly, "Do you see? You are not the monster everyone has told you you are. I beg your assistance, and you are at my side at once. You are learning to be kind, and to think of me instead of only yourself; you went into your room to play the organ when you were angry, instead of saying cruel things to me."

His head fell slowly onto her shoulder, and he took a deep breath before he said wearily, "But Christine, it will not last. I will be angry again, and I will do something that hurts you again because of it. I kept you up all night, even though I was trying to do the right thing and not hurt you. But I never know what is the right thing to do with you. Why would a child be any different?"

"Because you are trying to be a better man," she said stalwartly, "and you will have gotten a lot farther with that by the time the baby is here. Look how much you've changed in the last three months; you've got six and a half left, plenty of time." She had inserted a light tone into her voice, trying to cheer him up, but it was not working. He sat back and said, "Even if that were true, there is still…this."

Erik sat up again, and turned his head fully toward her, letting her see him clearly. She realised that she had never seen his deformity in daylight. But electric light was also bright, brighter in fact even than daylight, and his appearance was nothing remotely new to her by now. She put a hand on his twisted cheekbone and said, "Erik, are you worried that the child will look like you? Is that what all this is about?"

"Oh, a little," he answered, shrugging. "But not too much. I went to your Doctor Durand, and asked him about it. He examined me, and said he thought that it was unlikely that this…face, is one which can be inherited. It is possible, it seems, but not likely that it will recur in nature. No, what haunts my every waking hour is the certain knowledge that the child will hate and fear me, as everyone else has done. I am well used to that response; but to have it from my own child will be worse.

"And then, when you see it, you will realise you made a mistake in marrying me; that you threw away your chance at a happy life with an unmarred man, and you will hate me too. Perhaps you will leave me; perhaps not. If you do leave me, it will kill me immediately. And if you stay, hating me, that will kill me slowly and agonizingly."

Her mind was going in circles, trying to make sense of what he had said. She reached for the most obvious thing to say. "Erik, our child will not hate and fear you. You will have been there since it was born; it will know nothing else. It will not even realise that everyone's father does not look like you until it is a few years old, and by then it will know and love you. It will see you as a man, as I do, and as a brilliant and fascinating one…as I do. The reason everyone has shunned you is because they did not know you."

"But Christine, the only reason you know me is because you live with me, and it is because you live with me that I am able to cause you pain!" he insisted desperately. "Don't you see that I fail you again and again? I see it, and it is like a knife in my heart! And it will be no different when I try to be a father! I am no good at trying to live with other people! And the more I see that, the angrier I get at myself, and the worse everything is. I wanted to be the best husband you could want, and I am nowhere near capable of being so. I thought you had redeemed me, and that everything would be easy from now on, and it is not. It is the most difficult thing I have ever done, being married to you!"

"But you have done it, and are doing it."

"And badly," he sighed, looking down and away from her. "I never cared how any of my actions affected anybody else – "

That was a gross understatement, thought Christine dryly, but did not verbalize the thought.

" – I never had to. It is easy, comparatively, to think only of oneself, and not be troubled by any…any scruples. But now I must think of you, and I am not used to it, and I am doing a terrible job of it."

"You are not doing a terrible job of it," said Christine. "I think you are doing better than anyone in your position could be expected to."

He raised his head in surprise. "You can honestly think so? After all the quarrels we've had?"

"Erik, every married couple quarrels."

"I used to think we would not," he said wistfully. "I thought our love would be so great that it would be impossible for us to disagree."

"The Valeriuses used to quarrel frequently," said Christine. "And then they would make it up, and they would be happier than ever with each other. I wondered about it, as I got older, but it always happened that way. There would be harsh words, one of them would lose his or her temper, but it never caused any lasting problems. And so…I didn't think it would be any different, when I married. Perhaps…" She considered for a minute, and then continued, "In order for love to exist, there must be strong emotion from both parties. Is it so inexplicable, that strong emotions can not exist without the occasional quarrel, which is something which springs from emotion?"

He looked at her and did not answer, but she thought he was thinking about what she had said. She gave him a moment, and then pressed her advantage further. "Erik, I would gladly take the bad with the good in our marriage, if the alternative were to be without you. After knowing you, it is impossible for me to be happy with any other man."

He seemed surprised, and then his shoulders slumped once more. "So I have taken that from you as well," he mumbled despondently.

"No, Erik, no!" she said urgently, and made him look at her again. "Erik, you are so fascinating, and so intelligent, and so…unique. I can not believe that there is anyone else like you in the world – "

"I should hope not."

"Hush, and let me talk. You've had your turn; it's mine now." She took his distorted face between both of her palms. "Erik, do you know what I see when I see you?" He gazed mutely at her, and she went on, "I see the man I married. I see the man I gave myself to, willingly. I see a man whom the world tried to crush beneath its foot, and yet it did not succeed. I see a man who was dealt an unfair hand from the beginning, and who has suffered far more from his own opinion of himself than from anyone else's. I see a man who was lost in the darkness for decades, and who, finally, chose to turn his back on it and try to make a fresh start. Do you know how uncommon that is, Erik? Do you? You did terrible things, but you stopped, Erik, you stopped. When your soul hung in the balance, at the very last second, you decided not to be who you had been, for so long. God rejoices in a repentant sinner, and so do I."

He went on looking down sadly at her, and she could sense a great and unrelenting wretchedness lying behind his silence. She went on, hoping to make him believe her. "Erik, you are such a remarkable man."

"Very few people have ever extended me the courtesy of thinking me a man."

"Then they were wrong," she said firmly. "Erik, they were wrong, and they had no right to treat you so. You have so many talents. You can understand science and mathematics implicitly. You can design things, and think of things, which I do not believe anyone else could. You speak dozens of languages. You are surely the greatest ventriloquist the world has ever known. And you are the greatest singer and composer." She quailed, just a little, recalling that she still had to bring up the matter of his ability to hypnotize her with his voice. But now was not at all the time. It could wait.

"Your music is…like nothing I've ever known. And you can do so much with it! You can write music which describes any emotion. It can be happy, or sorrowful, or jealous – " He gave her a faint smile. "Or lonely, or…or frightened, or any combination of those or more. You can write anything, anything at all, and you do it without any apparent effort. And when you sing…Erik, having heard your music and your voice, how could I ever bear to be without them?"

"Once you were going to choose to do exactly that," he said quietly.

"And when it came time to make my decision, I chose not to. Erik, I chose to marry you, and I did it of my own free will. You didn't force me. You had already released me. Had I wanted to, I could have left and never looked back, and I didn't. I married you, and I chose to be a proper wife to you, and when that happens, children inevitably follow. It is God's will. And Erik, I want this baby. I have always wanted babies. I do not remember a time when I did not."

"You want children, and I am the man you unfortunately happen to be married to, because I took you from everything good and decent and warped your mind," Erik said. "You could have been happy with someone else had you never met me, and now you can not, and because you still want children, you must put up with having me for their father."

"Oh, stop it!" she snapped, dropping her hands and shoving him away. "I tell you all that, and you still can come back with that response? I just wasted my breath!"

His hand stole over hers. "I am sorry," he said. "See, I always say the wrong thing."

She took a shaky breath, and put her other hand over his. "No, you don't. But please, Erik, don't put words in my mouth, and don't tell me that I think something when I just got done telling you I think exactly the opposite! Do you think me that stupid and untrustworthy?"

"No!" he rejoined immediately. "I do not think you are stupid, or untrustworthy. Christine, I love you."

"Then love me for who I am, and believe me when I tell you how I feel. Give me credit for knowing my own mind – even if it did take a while for me to do so." She thought, with great remorse, that this was the conversation she should have had with Raoul on the rooftop of the Opera, and that if she had, it would have saved all three of them a great deal of trouble.

Erik raised her hand to his misshapen lips. "I would have waited a lifetime for you to discover it, if it only meant you loved me by the end."

"But it did not take a lifetime, and so now we have our lives ahead of us to be together…and to raise our family."

He went on holding her hand, and ran his thumb over her knuckles gently. "Christine…it is so hard to believe that a woman, any woman, might actually want my child. And to have it be the woman I love and desire so much…surely that is more than Erik deserves."

"I thought I just told you not to doubt my word," she said tartly, and he smiled crookedly.

"So you did," he answered. "I only wish…that I were worthy of your love and regard."

She could feel the self-loathing coming off of him in waves, and she felt like crying, that all her words had not erased it. She thought that she did not have a notion what else she could do to comfort him; then she realised that, indeed, there was something.

She shifted closer to him and embraced him, and pressed her mouth against his own; kissed him again and again, till he trembled under her hands. Then she pulled him down to lie with her on the quilt, and drew his head against her breasts. This would, she was sure, have been better if they were nude; but it seemed to be working just the same. He had relaxed against her, his long arms wound around her body, and after a few minutes' silence he said, "It is so hard to think about anything dreadful when I am in your arms."

"Good. I should not like to think that you are lying with me and thinking of horrible things."

"No," he answered with a sigh. "I do not."

Christine ran her fingers through the sparse grey hair on his head, and let her own head roll to one side. The birds were singing and the wind was rustling softly through the trees, and a great lassitude came over her, as her eyes slid shut.

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