A/N: Finally! (I can almost hear the echo of that sentiment chiming in your minds. lol) Your encouragement has helped a great deal, more than you know. Thank you for your patience and the reviews. Onward and upward - this chapter deserves the rating ...

And now...

Previously: Upon visiting Whiterose to speak with Madame Giry, Christine is reunited with Meg and Raoul both, having a private conversation with Raoul and forging the difficult path back to friendship...While busy at the theatre over which he now has supreme power, Erik hears Carlotta audition for the lead and quickly has the manager turn her away, using his ventriloquism to relay his demands. Carlotta returns to a mysterious benefactor with the news that 'he is here,' and a new villain is introduced to the story bent on seeking justice ...or is it revenge?

Chapter XII

An Audition

.

The following afternoon, rather than send her driver for Meg, Christine decided to go along, to initiate a private conversation before they set out for the theatre. After yesterday's all too brief meeting, she sensed something troubled her friend and wanted to give Meg an opportunity to confide in her, if she so wished.

Upon her arrival to Whiterose, she was relieved to find Meg in good spirits. They enjoyed morning tea and took advantage of the pleasant day, strolling with arms linked through the lovely garden, as they once strolled the opera house corridors.

Recalling that Meg did not yet know her joyful news, Christine shared that she was enceinte, and Meg expressed her delight, avowing to help in whatever capacity was required. After a short amiable silence, Meg turned the conversation around to her visit to Troyes, speaking more of what transpired at Le Manoir de Clair de Lune.

"Your aunt sounds like a remarkable woman. And to think – Madame Giry came from nobility, which makes you a true lady," Christine giggled. "Who could have imagined our destinies would one day be so similar?"

Meg smiled wanly then grew pensive, almost sullen, as if a dark cloud passed over her face, stealing its bright joy. "Aunt Arielle was most kind, the only extended member of my family to accept me. My grandfather is another story. He hates me, you see. Had he been there, I would have never gotten my foot past the threshold."

"Oh, Meg, surely not," Christine encouraged, giving her arm a little squeeze. "He has never met you to know how sweet you truly are."

"No, and I don't think he ever will wish to meet me. I suppose he has good reason." She hesitated, glancing at Christine. "I think, of everyone I know, you alone would understand. Because of what you experienced with your husband having been an outcast and reviled by the majority of the theatre. At least, I hope you will understand and not think of me too harshly…"

And with teeth clenched, Meg did confide what troubled her so greatly, keeping her voice low, as if afraid the bountiful flora had ears and would tell. Shocked, Christine regarded her dear friend, who had looked away as if unable to meet her eyes, and at last understood the cause of the longstanding rift between Meg and her mother.

"So, you see," Meg ended bitterly, "I am no lady. No bastard can be considered someone so regal. Society calls us mongrels and nameless and base, and that is all I am -"

Christine pulled her arm from Meg's and turned to her sternly.

"Stop speaking ill of yourself! Why do you give a fig what so-called society thinks? You never cared that much at the Opera House. Besides, it isn't how you came to be but what you make of yourself that truly counts." Christine regarded her friend in concern, wishing she knew how to get through to her. "You brought up Erik, a man who was once the Pariah of Paris. His situation is the perfect example, with all that he suffered. Not even remembering the identity of his father or his mother, being too young to recall - and the many obstacles stacked against him from the start – not to mention the majority who wouldn't even allow him to forget his differences – it is a wonder he persevered at all! But he did. He rose up from the ashes like a phoenix, more than once, and remained steadfast to obtain a new life – a better one."

Meg said nothing, casting her eyes down to the wide stepping stones of the garden path as if ashamed, and Christine gentled the sting in her voice, though remained firm.

"There are those who can be cruel in the knowledge of such unfortunate circumstances, yes, but there are others, like me, who will not care or condemn you. The former is not worth a moment's consideration, and I would stake our entire fortune that the Vicomte is not one of those men."

Meg looked at her in shock. "How - and why - you would even say such a thing is beyond my grasp!" she scoffed in disbelief. "Was it not due to the pompous, aristocratic arrogance of the same Vicomte that you were betrayed to the gendarmes when you fled Paris?"

Christine sobered. "Raoul is guilty of many things, it is true. But he more than made up for his traitorous acts when he helped us in our battle against the Phantom – the true Phantom. The dark spirit that plagued us all."

"He helped you?" Meg asked in amazement. At Christine's nod, she dazedly shook her head. "He never told me. He didn't relate much of what happened at all. Only assuring me that you were safe. He did admit to seeing the Phantom in Spain, but I nearly fought tooth and nail to get that much out of him."

"You do that a lot, don't you?" Christine mused. "Argue. I noticed that you both were at odds yesterday."

Meg shrugged and pretended avid interest in a tall nearby shrub adorned with violet flowers, cupping her hand around one of the delicate lilac blossoms.

"Even so, I would go so far as to state that your feelings for him run deeper than you let on."

Meg turned her head, her golden-brown eyes going wide in prickly defense. She opened her mouth as if she might argue then seemed to reconsider and wilted in defeat, dropping her arm back down to her side.

"After the accident, I despised him. Then he saved me during that awful night Paris burned. Simple hatred became more difficult with each day that passed when he did such noble deeds time and time again. I tried so hard to continue to hate until I could no longer find a reason or drum up the energy for spite…" She broke off her words before she could say more, but by the sudden bloom in her cheeks and the abrupt manner in which she looked away, it was evident what she did not say.

"You love him."

"No! I cannot, I…" Clearly taken off guard, Meg ended her sputtered denial on a weary sigh and moved a short distance away from the bush and Christine. "Oh what's the use? It doesn't matter how I feel or how he says he feels - not when I bear this terrible secret of my birth! His family would never accept someone so base-born. No one would. I have no choice but to push him away." She turned to Christine. "Don't you see?"

"No, I don't see at all. And I completely disagree. You should tell him the truth. At least give him the opportunity to prove you wrong."

"And if he doesn't?" Meg insisted.

Christine approached her. "Then you will know for certain and can move on with your life as you will."

"Actually…" Meg's countenance brightened somewhat. "I have made a decision about that. I wish to dance again."

"Dance?" Christine said in some surprise, casting a skeptical look toward her friend's skirts. "Are you certain you are up to the challenge?"

"Do you see me limping?" Meg shot back with a little laugh then sobered. "I well remember the exertion and strain involved with the profession – and actually have been practicing here at Whiterose for many months. While I admit I am not quite up to my usual form, there is a wondrous place not far from here. A spa with healing waters…"

Christine's brow went up at the thought. "Healing waters?"

Meg laughed a second time. "With all we have encountered and experienced and you are skeptical of that?"

Christine grinned. "I see your point. So, what was this wondrous place like? Was it everything you imagined?"

They took the bend of the path and approached an ivy-covered, lattice bower, the approximate length of the bridge used in the Don Juan opera. As they walked beneath its shade, her mind briefly turned to her husband, as it so often did, and she wondered what he was doing at that moment.

"It was delightful, though I only went there once." Meg's voice came somewhat dismal. "I had hoped to visit again this month - repeated attendance is advised to attain the greatest benefit - but Lady Helena had to cancel and I have no wish to go alone…" Her words trailed off and her eyes lit up as if coming to a sudden realization. "You should come with me, Christine! You would love it there. Everything is designed for peace and relaxation - the furnishings, the colors - the entire place gives off a feeling of tranquility. And the waters are heated and buoyant, like silk that bubbles up around your skin…"

"It does sound lovely and I do appreciate the invitation," Christine interjected quickly once Meg took a breath, "but there is Erik, and Angelique, of course. I couldn't leave them."

Christine could not conceive of even more time spent apart from her husband. Her plans to visit him each day for luncheon had fallen to naught, with Angelique too fussy and temperamental to sleep through the night, no doubt missing her father who usually walked with her when she crabbily awoke and sang her back to sleep with his Angel's voice and the beautiful lullaby he composed for her. Christine had been too weary to make a worthy substitute, though she had tried, with the result being that she had slept into the early afternoon each time, today being the exception. Of course, if his plans for the restoration of their private sanctuary extended, (perish the thought), Meg's idea did hold some appeal. Relaxation and tranquility after the last few nights with Angelique sounded like a little slice of heaven…

"They can come too," her friend assured, too enthused and carried away with the prospect to realize what she was suggesting.

"Meg," Christine came to her own senses with a smiling shake of her head. "Think of what you're saying. Erik will hardly wish to engage in a social gathering, and Angelique is far too young to take to such a place."

"From what I read they do have private sectors," Meg countered somewhat stubbornly, "You don't have to take the waters or the spas when others are present. You can request privacy, for a price of course, but oh – please just think about it, Christine. You mentioned you were ill for a time and with the large household you said you now manage, surely you could use the rest."

Christine laughed outright. "Yes, I do see your point. I will discuss it with Erik, but that's all I can promise. Do not wish for what is unlikely."

"Yes, alright. You don't want me to build my hopes too high. I understand. Mère is forever telling me the same…"

With a resolute thinning of her lips, as if mention of her mother had been involuntary and undesired, she cast her gaze toward the end of the path to which they had come and the stone bench there.

"Meg," Christine prodded gently. "You should forgive her. We cannot always choose whom we love, and I would hazard a guess that was the case with your mother. It sounds as if she was a victim too."

"Perhaps – but she should have told me the truth and not been so hypocritical my entire life. Always so stern about any boy from the chorus who showed an inkling of interest in me, always citing her endless rules she so strictly enforced while we were growing up at the theatre …"

Christine grew pensive. "Perhaps it is because of what she suffered that she was so strict. She didn't want to see you make the same mistakes she did, and Meg, we all make them. Had I not made the mistake of removing Erik's mask in front of an unsympathetic audience, the Paris Opera House might not be the empty shell it is now. At the time, I wished him to see the full truth and act upon it. I had no idea that wretched spirit would take over. I should have though, after all we suffered at its hand…"

Meg regarded her with gentle reproach. "You cannot even begin to think you were at fault for what happened that night," she said in a huff of shock. "It was the Phantom and none other."

"Yes, well, I only wish I had done things differently."

"Foresight is forewarned while hindsight is best left forgotten," Meg quoted a line Madame taught them as children. "It's been over two years. What's done is done. Let it go. At least the Maestro doesn't blame you."

"No, he blames only himself, though certainly others bear their share of the weight in guilt for all that has happened."

The populace of Paris and a handful of cruel gypsies had all had a strong hand in rejecting and abusing Erik and making him turn to a monster for a deceptive form of salvation. He had thought the Phantom spirit could protect and save him and help Erik retain his rightful place as ruler of the Opera House, when its only course had been to destroy her beloved and all those under his power.

Christine gave a small shake of her head, determined that some things indeed were best left forgotten.

"Have you noticed that we have walked this entire garden and there is not one white rose to be seen?" She changed the subject to a more favorable one, bringing up what had come to mind the previous day. "There are diverse shades of red and pink, yellow and lavender, but not one rose is white. It does make one wonder how the manor achieved its name."

"Lady Helena told me the story. It is rather sad, but if you wish to hear it…?"

Christine nodded in curiosity, again linking her arm with Meg's as they resumed their walk between the bountiful patches of colorful flowers and retraced the path over which they had come.

"It all goes back to the original owner, a nobleman who had the chateau built over a hundred years ago. I assume he, too, was a de Chagny. His wife made one request for the gardens, that they were to include white rose bushes, her favorite flower, and the Comte ordered dozens of them planted, also giving the chateau its name. Sadly, she died in childbirth, and in the years that followed he doted on their only child – a daughter, who was his pride and joy and a replica of her mother. She loved to play hide-and-seek, and like her mother, loved the white roses above all the other flowers in the garden. One day when she was four she went missing. She had earlier begged her Papa to read a favorite story to her, but he was too busy…"

Meg's voice took on a melancholy note and Christine prepared herself for a harsh turn in the story.

"He was in his study, dealing with correspondence, when the nanny entered, admitting she'd lost her charge. The Comte ordered every staff member to search the house and the grounds, but it was he who found his little girl beneath one of the many white rose bushes and inside that one, a hive of angry bees. She had been stung countless times and in her final hiding place had perished. In his grief, the Comte ordered that every white rose bush be torn from the property, swearing a white rose would never again grow here. And no one has planted one since."

"That has to be one of the saddest tales I have ever heard." Christine wiped a tear from her lashes. "I could not even conceive what I would do if something were to happen to Angelique. Or to this one…" Her tone went wistful as she pressed a hand to her stomach, which had only just begun to show a more distinct curve she and Erik had noticed when all layers of her concealing attire were absent.

"Oh, Christine, I didn't mean to make you cry!" Meg's own eyes were dry though her expression was somber with the telling of her story.

"It's quite alright," Christine reassured with a faded smile. "It seems I cry at anything these days, as has been the case each time I was with child…" She decided once more to gently push home a point she had been hoping Meg would recognize. "A tale like that does make one think though - the saddest words are those left unspoken and the most regretful acts, those never accomplished. If you wait too long to speak to those who need to hear and do not spend the time with them that you should, any change of heart might come too late and you may forever know regret as an unwelcome companion."

Meg let out a slow exhalation of breath, her eyes falling shut. She nodded in grim acceptance.

"Yes, I hear you, mon ami, and I know that you are right. I have known for quite some time. Ignoring them certainly hasn't made things any easier." She gave a little quirk of a resigned smile. "It seems there are two important conversations that I must have in the near future."

Christine squeezed Meg's arm in approval. "I am so glad to hear it. Now let us speak no more of wrack and ruin, real or imagined, on this happy occasion. Before I take you to see the theatre, I wish to introduce you to my little family. Well, all except for Erik, of course. He remains at the theatre."

Meg cocked her head. "Remains?"

"A king busy at building his new kingdom," Christine said on a sigh, then grew alert with what she had just stated and stopped on the path, turning to Meg. "Oh, but you mustn't call him by that title. The order for silence still applies, as it did at the Opera House. More so, now that he is no longer hidden away but out and about, living among others. And though he was considered a king to the gypsies as well, it is imperative and far easier to adapt to the routine of never addressing him as a sovereign, in any respect. Even between us. Something we have been trying to teach the gypsy children in our care. Moreover, you have permission to correct me, if ever I should forget as I did just now. In fact, I insist upon it."

Christine forced herself to calm, the unnerving memory of the dangers of Paris and the old Opera House prevalent in her mind. She wished only to blend in, as much as was possible for a noblewoman in a new city, who's enigmatic husband had just acquired control over the local theatre ...

Meg's eyes had widened with Christine's reference to the gypsies, though she did not question. "It is difficult to imagine him living out in the world, when for so long he was no more than a shadow, dwelling beneath the cellars and rarely seen."

"He still has a covert way about him," Christine admitted, "preferring to see and associate only with those of his choosing. But yes, he has come far from the way things once were."

Meg nodded. "I called him Sire in days of old, when no one was within hearing distance, but also Maestro."

"Maestro is perfect!" Christine's smile was wide. "Or you can call him Count de la Vega, since that is the title we adopted."

"And what shall I call you," Meg half teased. "Countess? Lady de la Vega? Lady Christine? I recall the days when the Maestro wanted you as his Countess against all the demands of those who ran the theatre. It seems that he got his wish!"

Christine laughed, though she could see the genuine question in Meg's eyes.

"To you, mon ami, I am always just Christine."

xXx

After a delightful hour at the hotel, which involved further reminiscing and introducing her dearest friend to her diverse little family, who thankfully were all on their best behavior, Christine brought Meg to the Théâtre des Arts of Rouen.

Once they exited the carriage, Meg eyed the palatial citadel but reserved her opinion until they entered through its tall, wide doors. She glanced up at the frescoed ceiling with its elaborate mural in vivid oils then at the parade of ivory statues lining the foyer as Christine led her over a flat carpet of maroon to the double-sided marble staircase. Its shallow steps were cloaked with carpet runners of the same maroon and made a graceful swivel upward to the second balcony.

"It's not as grand as the Paris Opera, but it is impressive," Meg said at last, and Christine laughed. Only someone accustomed to the luxurious environment they had been fortunate to daily experience since childhood would be so unaffected by the splendor all around them. Meg turned, a smile on her face. "I am pleased that you and the Maestro have found another musical establishment to call your own."

"As am I. Come, afternoon rehearsals should be underway – let's go spy on the proceedings!"

Christine wrapped both hands around Meg's arm, hugging her closer as the two giggled and hastened up the stairs, hardly acting like dignified women and more like young schoolgirls engaging on a lark. As if the years had fallen away, and they were young dancers at the Paris Opera House once again.

Inside the back of the auditorium, Christine scanned the dimly lit chamber for any sign of her husband - first looking upward to Box 5, whose red velvet curtain stood all the way open, and then down to the wide array of empty seats, disappointed when her pithy search proved unsuccessful. No doubt, he was ensconced deep within the construction of their new Eden and unaware of her arrival, but before Christine could speak into his mind and inform him, Meg grasped her arm.

"Is that who I think it is?" she whispered.

Christine followed her friend's intent gaze to the buzz of activity below, where what appeared to be auditions and not rehearsals were underway. One young woman had taken a place center stage and stood, waiting for the musicians to begin. Christine stared harder, noting a familiarity in her slim carriage and lustrous brown hair, especially in her pretty, gamin face.

"Jammes…" Christine agreed softly, also feeling a tremor of shock to see the girl standing there.

"But as a child she was such a timid little mouse, happy to take the back line in the chorus when the production called for children," Meg mulled in disbelief. "I knew she could sing, of course. She had to sing, to be chosen. But I never thought she would audition for a principal role. Apparently she has matured…"

"Apparently." Christine's reply came distant. Jammes was three years younger than Christine, which would put the girl at approximately seventeen or eighteen years of age. A slender beauty, she now filled out her costume in ways that did not escape the notice of the men who watched along the sidelines.

She began to sing, and Christine's heart lurched within her breast to hear the aria she, too, had sung so long ago and that Jammes had also chosen for her solo audition. Or perhaps the management decided on the song, wishing to hear each rendition given from all those who tried out for the lead…

And Erik was again in control of management.

Meg swiftly glanced Christine's way then back again. "She has learned well," she said carefully.

"Indeed."

Unsmiling, Christine continued to watch and listen, prickles of something she did not want to acknowledge coursing through her blood, until at last the final note sailed through the air. Her run could use some work, her upper register weak, she thought peevishly, but she could not deny the girl did have a lovely voice.

"Brava!" Monsieur Pettigrew walked forward, clapping his hands in approval. "I am pleased to announce we have our star!"

Smiling from ear to ear, Jammes pressed her hands above her breasts in surprise. "Oh, merci, monsieur - I will not disappoint!"

"See that you don't," he responded affably then turned to address those waiting in dismay near the stage. "The rest of you are welcome to audition for the chorus if you do not already have a standing role. Madame Giry, our new ballet instructor, will aid in those choices to be made. Auditions will resume in fifteen minutes."

Christine did not miss Meg's shock. "Mère works here?" she asked, looking at Christine.

"I would have told you. I didn't realize she had already started. Erik offered her the position last week, the same that she had before - as his aide and head instructor of the chorus."

"It makes sense," Meg agreed dully. "She does make a better dance instructor than she does a seamstress."

"Please don't be angry. I swear to you that I didn't plan this outing to force your hand."

Meg took a deep breath then nodded. "No, I realize that." Her mouth quirked into what passed for a tepid smile. "Show me the rest of the theatre?"

"Of course," Christine said in relief. "What I know of it, that is. I have only visited three times thus far, this being my third."

The atmosphere having eased though no longer as carefree as when they arrived, Christine took Meg through those corridors she and Erik investigated on their first day there, peeking into rooms she remembered were common and not private. However she ignored the short stairs to the distant corridor that contained their budding Eden. No matter how she yearned for sight of her husband, that secret she preferred to keep as hers and Erik's alone to share.

They lifted their brows to find a room topsy-turvy with shimmering cloth scattered on two chairs, the tabletop, even the floor (Erik would be none too happy with housekeeping!) Another room held the props of life-sized puppets dressed in Edwardian clothing, each with wires sewn to their hands and feet, these attached to a wooden crossbar - Meg waved the arm of one dressed like a jester in a domino mask at Christine, jingling his floppy red cap 'n bells to make music. Like a child at play, Meg then turned the puppet, pressing its face to the one of a girl puppet in a long emerald dress that hung next to it, as if in a kiss, making Christine giggle. They left the puppetry chamber and next opened the door to a common dressing room, where a number of stools stood in line before a long mirror, jars and pots of cream sitting abandoned on the tabletop, some with their lids missing, as though their owners had hurried from applying greasepaint to rush and take their place on stage.

No one they passed in the narrow corridor paid them any mind or asked their business there, each performer and worker rushing past or sidestepping them, busy at their own tasks. Much like it had been at the old Opera House.

The pair continued further backstage, reaching the tall side curtains where three of the chorus took advantage of the prop of an upright piano that sat on the edge of the stage. Jammes again sang as one man played and another looked at her with fond admiration.

"She is good," Meg admitted.

"Mm."

Monsieur Pettigrew suddenly appeared on stage, breaking up the little solo and calling for silence and the commencement of auditions for the chorus. Madame Giry came into sight, and Christine noticed Meg visibly tense. She shared a look with her friend and nodded for her to go and join the other hopefuls. Meg held back, though the desire in her eyes was palpable. After a moment's hesitation she let out a defeated breath.

"Oh, bother. I suppose now is as good a time as any to mend fences, though I'm not certain my mother will be agreeable to what I have in mind."

"She doesn't wish you to dance in the chorus?"

"She doesn't think I can."

"And what do you think?"

"I wouldn't be here considering the idea if I didn't believe I could."

"Then go, mon ami, and prove her wrong."

Meg grinned. "What a delightful concept! Very well then - wish me luck!"

"Always," Christine smiled, watching from the sidelines where she remained concealed in the shadows.

Surprise registered across Madame Giry's face when she turned and caught sight of Meg walking toward her.

"Yes?" she queried, her tone one of authority. Clearly she wasn't going to make this easy for her daughter. But then, she never had when it came to the dance.

Meg straightened her spine. "I'm here to audition."

"I see…" It was impossible to glean if doubt or interest underlined Madame's words. "Well then, let us see what you can give. You will find yourself familiar with the music that has been chosen from the opera of Faust, the first scene of the final act. You are to give your interpretation, which is to include three movements of difficulty, though of course we will not judge on choreography, but on skill and endurance." She stressed the last word, no doubt in reference to Meg's former injury. Her focus swept downward to Meg's short button boots. "Have you brought your slippers and a suitable costume to change into?"

Meg shook her head. "I don't have anything with me."

Madame expelled a disgusted breath and Christine held hers as she waited to hear what the ballet instructor would say.

"Oh, very well. You may borrow what is needed from the rack behind me and take a few minutes to warm up at the barre. I will see your presentation next." She consulted the paper she held. "Theda Gruder, you are up first since you appear to be the only one who has come prepared. The rest of you I expect to be properly shod and ready to dance when your turn comes. That includes the containment of hair - pulled back, pinned, and out of the way." She pointed her cane toward a young woman who wore her thick locks loose and flowing past her shoulders. "Henceforth, I will not tolerate a lack of punctuality and readiness. If you do not think you can abide by my rules and those of the theatre, you may leave at once…."

As Madame gave her speech, Meg scampered to the required area to tie on slippers and don a costume, ducking behind a wall of patchwork blankets that hung there, no doubt for the purpose of a makeshift changing area for those not yet members of the chorus. Strict as ever, Madame thumped her black cane for Theda to come forth, and the music from the orchestra pit surged anew.

Theda danced with finesse, pleasing to the eye -

But once Meg's turn came, she stole a collective breath.

She performed like a swan, the white bodice and tutu she wore reminiscent of the graceful bird, her performance fluid, as always. Christine knew her friend well, better than most, and likely was the only one to notice the strain on Meg's face after a particularly difficult slow and controlled movement of the grand adage, almost immediately going en pointe. Her smile was tight, false - not given with the usual sunny brightness, but her dance, itself, was flawless, a true credit to her many years in the ballet, and Christine proudly watched, silently cheering her on. After all she suffered, after the anguish of her recovery which she had surely gone through - no doubt pushing herself far more than was advised suitable - Meg had most gloriously triumphed!

"If Dominique doesn't take you into the chorus, I will certainly have a word with her," Christine murmured under her breath as she watched Meg collapse gracefully to the floor as intended, with one leg and both arms outstretched, ending her version of the dance.

"You need not worry, my Angel, she will have a place…" A pair of hands, large and familiar, gently grasped her shoulders. "I will see to that."

x

Christine gasped at the knowledge that her beloved, entrenched within his trademark silence, had come up behind her. Her eyes fluttered at the brush of his cool lips against her temple.

"Erik," she breathed and turned to press her lips to his, but briefly, in the knowledge that they were regrettably not alone. "I have missed you so."

"And I, you." His eyes gleamed in the shadows.

"I looked for you earlier, but assumed you were busy creating our Eden."

"For the most part of the morning I was. However, after yesterday's close debacle, I found it necessary to oversee the auditions."

"You were there earlier?" She drew back to look at him in surprise, for the moment ignoring his reference to any near disaster. "For the female lead as well?"

He looked puzzled but nodded.

"So, you know about young Jammes."

"I thought I recognized her, though she certainly has matured from the child in pigtails that I remembered in Paris."

"And you agree with the manager's choice?"

"It was I who made the decision to appoint her to the role."

"You?" Christine questioned, feeling the returning prickle of an emotion she did not want.

"Her voice is good. Her appearance pleasing. She is young, it is true, but the best of all those who auditioned, though her upper register does need improvement."

Pleasing.

"And will you be to her a teacher as well?"

At the rise of her voice, a semitone higher than natural, two performers standing nearby in quiet discussion turned curiously to look. Erik's eyes snapped upward to take them in even as he grasped her arm, his other hand going to her back - and practically whirled with her as if in a dance into the closest chamber, shutting the door firmly and turning the key. Moving them both so that she had her back pressed to the door, he planted one hand on the wood above her head, leaning against it and near her.

"What is this about, Christine?"

His deep timbre brooked no refusal but she struggled with her own rise in ire and needed to know.

"You didn't answer my question, Erik."

"Why would I even begin to consider training her, when I have you?"

His answer mollified her only slightly.

"But you said her voice is good. You said the same about mine at the Bal Masque years ago - but that if I wished to excel, I would need my teacher. You."

He shook his head tersely at the memory. "I was angry then, to see you with that boy, and controlled by powers other than my own. I understated the truth." He cupped her chin and lifted it. "Your voice was not merely good, Ma Bel Ange, it was and is exquisite. How could it not be? You are the quintessence of music. It is what I made you into and what you always will be - the other half of my soul, the finer half…"

She sniffled, his quiet words a silken balm to her wounded soul and soothing away the unwanted jealousy.

"Oh, Erik, I'm so sorry. I'm behaving like a shrew, I know. I can't seem to help myself. It's just that…" She cut off what she would say and dropped her head a little, shaking it.

"You want to sing."

His soft words resounded with gentle ripples of truth inside her.

"Yes." Her eyes fell shut with her shame. "Does that make me a terrible mother? I love Angelique, and this babe yet to be named, but I cannot help but wish…" Once more she ended her words before finishing her sentence.

"That you could again take the stage."

She barely nodded. "I haven't felt this way, and so strongly, not until we came to this theatre. To be near the stage again, the lights, the music – then upon hearing Jammes, well…" She sighed. "when the time comes that I am again able to perform, if they will still want me, that is, and it won't be a repeat like the days of Carlotta as the star -"

"Stop right there," he interrupted before she could conclude the dreadful thought of permanently being replaced. "You are far superior to the young Jammes, make no mistake." He stroked her cheek with his fingertips, ghosting his thumb along her parted lips. "If you were able to sing at this time, I would appoint you as the lead, my dear. And even if I did so, regardless of your delicate condition, for several weeks, you might manage the strain and demands that come with such an elevated position, as well as our own exclusive practices which would then be mandatory. But after the memory of how you fared while carrying Angelique, especially in the latter months…"

He shook his head, cupping one side of her face and burying his fingers in her loose curls. "It would be difficult, if not impossible, do you not see? And I will do nothing that could cause me to lose you. You need rest, my love, until the day you deliver our child, and then, once you are able, you will again take the stage. I vow this to you with all that I am. I would prefer none other than you in the role - of those operas established and any opuses of my creation - and have made my feelings abundantly clear to the management on that very point. "

She smiled uncertainly. "Then you don't think me selfish and horrid for having such thoughts?"

He scoffed at the idea. "Of course not. Music is who you are. It is only natural that you wish to express its virtues with your Angel's voice and be in the limelight once more. I, too, am drawn to its siren's call, at times helpless to do anything but obey and write the notes I write, afterward to play them. It is who and what we are. But Christine…"

Alert to the definitive shift in his tone and his eyes that had gone somber, she waited nervously for what more he would say.

"This is our kingdom to rule. As such, we do not want sub-par performers, indeed, would not wish to convey anything other than excellence to whatever extent we can find it. Yet if the thought upsets you that much to have young Jammes take the lead, I will find someone else who meets with your approval. We rule together, or not at all. Together we are strong."

His familiar and endearing words removed any lingering trace of doubt or envy, and she shook her head.

"I trust your judgment, Mon Ange. Let Jammes have the role. She has come far and deserves it."

He nodded his approval. His smile that followed came slow, wicked even, and Christine sensed that his mind had taken a far different course than the world of singing and auditions. He dropped his smoky green gaze to her decolletage, slowly lifting his focus back to her eyes, his own admiring and glinting with golden flecks of fire.

She tilted her head to one side, her brows drawing together in curious query.

"It has come to my attention that we are alone, my exquisite Rose, and should take advantage of such an ideal situation."

Her eyes widened with his meaning.

"What? Here?" She glanced beyond him, for the first time noting by the light of the one gas lamp burning nearby on a desk that they were in what appeared to be a small office.

"But - what of our Eden?"

"Eden is much too far in this moment, on the other side of the opera house," His fingers trailed down her neck to brush the half moons of her breasts that pressed against her neckline with her suddenly unsteady breaths. "Nor is it yet ready for you to inhabit."

"And if the owner of this room should try to enter and find the door locked?" she questioned lightly, half hoping to get him to see reason. The other half, the darker part that hungered to be with her husband, eager to partake of what he suggested.

"Then she should not have left the key in the door. But no matter - she is far too busy with auditions at the moment to attempt it."

Christine's eyes widened even further.

"Madame Giry?! This is her office?"

His smile was nothing but devilish.

"Oh, but Erik, we couldn't." She nervously giggled then gasped as his lips began to forge the path his hand had just taken. "We shouldn't…" she whispered once his teeth took hold of her neckline and tugged at the same time his hand pulled at her top laces, giving his mouth better access to her womanly allure. A gentle flick of his tongue against the hardened bud was all it took for her to shiver in complete surrender, bringing her hands up to his head and weaving her fingers through his hair.

"Oh, but we shall," he said needlessly against her. "This is now my kingdom, and I will take my wife wherever…" He pulled down her loosened neckline. "Whenever…" His hand cupped her freed globe. "And however I please…"

She whimpered as his wet lips found their goal. Gently he suckled until Christine felt her legs would no longer support her. As if aware of that fact he pulled his mouth away from her breast and straightened to stand, pinning her more firmly against the door. His eyes were green fire as he bent his head toward her.

"...in whatever way gives her the greatest pleasure, of course," he finished in silken tones.

"Of course," she breathed, barely aware of anything but him and desperate for more of his heated touch. "My pleasure…"

She lifted her hand and gently pulled his flesh-colored half mask away, revealing his dear face in full. His hand moved to her skirts, wresting them upward, a smile twisting his lips when he clamped one hand against her bottom and again found her bare.

"And yours," she added. Her hands then went to the fastenings of his trousers, freeing him swiftly.

"Christine…"

He kissed her lips in hunger and she offered him her tongue, which he reciprocated, giving her his own.

She stroked him but once, before he nudged her hand away and positioned himself against her aching need. With one deep and steady upward thrust, his hard majesty slid into its warm, wet sheath, and her eyes fluttered at the fulfillment of that simple act. It was so fundamental and so magnificent but it wasn't enough for him simply to be inside her. It never was…

She moaned against his mouth and slipped the leg he held higher, wrapping it around him.

"Tell me I did not hurt you," Erik commanded against her ear, ever mindful toward her and the babe.

She dazedly shook her head. "You didn't…"

"Good," he purred, pulling partway out of her.

Once more his thrust came vital and deep, and pinioned against the wood, Christine felt him to the marrow of her core. Softly she cried out, the orchestra music from beyond the door shaking its frame and drowning out what sound they made as they engaged in their own private duet.

She moved her hands from his head to link them around his shoulders and kicked up her other leg, bringing it around his hips as well. Erik moved his other hand from her side immediately to grasp beneath her thigh in support and sunk into her lush depths even further, completely and utterly lost in his beautiful wife.

This time, his groan was the one to fill the small chamber.

Adagio, with its strong and slow, controlled movements was soon not enough as their fiery legato demanded more…

Lost to one another and the fire they made, their shared passion soared to familiar and desired heights - the exclusive dance of their ardent music outshining any zealous audition taking place on the other side of the door ... and burning ever brightly only for them.

xXx

A/N: - I had thought to give another glimpse into Helena's past but it seems like a good place to end this one - plus the chapter is already long at nearly 8k. :) (More of young Helena will come with next chapter). Once again, I am being kind with no cliffies - *pats self on head - good author (evil grin - enjoy it while it lasts! muwahahaha)... Am working on the next chapter of The Inferno of Angels next …Oh- and Happy Easter! lol