Chapter Nineteen:
Healing
The door loomed like a living thing before her
and fear kept her away from it. Christine wasn't sure if it was fear of
remaining sequestered in the room with nothing but her thoughts for company or
fear of going to Erik not knowing what he was thinking or how he felt. Madame
Giry had tried to explain that she’d done nothing wrong, but how could that be
so? As scared and disgusted as she’d been to have Gachot’s evil hands on her
body, once he’d placed his tongue…. She shuddered, once more feeling nauseous
as she remembered her body’s reaction. Surely this was God’s punishment for her
sins. Opening the door, she walked towards the den like a man condemned to the
gallows.
In the doorway, she watched the fluid
grace of her host as he paced before the fireplace. Even agitated, he was
poetry in motion, and she felt her heart stutter oddly as she watched him. Erik
Devereaux was a fine man who deserved far more than a home in the cellars of
the opera house. He also deserved someone much better than her; a fact that
caused her increasing amounts of pain to consider. Christine was unable to stop
the small sigh that passed her lips as she pictured her phantom with a lovely
diva on his arm, but it was enough to alert him to her presence.
“Please, mon ange, do not lurk about in the doorway.” The barest of smiles
curled the edge of his lips as he motioned her towards a seat by the fire.
“Would you care for a drink, perhaps?”
Christine shook her head as she sat on the
very edge of the chair, nervous in his presence for the first time since their
initial meeting. Would he send her away? Is that why he wished to speak to her?
But no, he said she was always welcome but that could have been mere
politeness. Erik was, after all, the very epitome of a gentleman. Considering
what had happened, what he’d seen at the warehouse, perhaps he wished to ask
her to remain in a quite different capacity. It must get exceedingly lonely in
the cellars. The question was… would she? With the effortless grace of his
every movement, his passion for his music, and his gentleness and kindness to
her, Erik would no doubt be a considerate lover. Oh yes, she very much believed
she would take him up on his offer if only to be able to remain by his side for
a while longer.
“Christine?” Startled at the feel of his
hand gently brushing against her cheek, she realized he’d been calling her
name.
“Yes, Monsieur?” The blush on her cheeks rivaled the brilliance of the fire that
burned in the hearth at where her thoughts had traveled.
“Might I ask what thoughts hold your attention
so completely?” Christine’s eyes widened and she shook her head almost
desperately. He looked as if he wanted to argue but, instead, sat back in the
chair he’d taken across from her and picked up his drink. “As you wish, my
dear. Angelique and I were wondering if you had any plans now that Gachot is no
longer a threat. First, however, let me reiterate that I meant it when I said
you’d always be welcome in my home, so do not think I wish for you to leave. If
you wish to train and take the stage, I will be more than honored to aid you in
that endeavor. If you would like to return to Sweden, I will ensure you have
the funding and a proper escort. If you would like to live quietly outside of
Paris, that can be arranged as well. You do not have to make your decision now,
mon ange, so please don’t feel that
you must. These offers shall remain open indefinitely.”
“Why, Monsieur? Why would you go to so much trouble for a common wh…” The
dangerous flash in his eyes sent a shiver down her spine and she abruptly
changed the directions of her thoughts. “um…for me?”
“Do not ever refer to yourself in
such an insulting, degrading manner again!” The anger that bled through his
usually cultured and melodic tones struck her like sharpened knives and she
winced under their force. Leaning forward with his fisted hands on his knees
and the flames from the hearth reflected in his golden eyes, he was a panther
ready to pounce on his prey. The aura of danger surrounding him was truly
frightening, and she sank further back into her chair. “I would kill anyone
else who so much as insinuated what you just have, but neither will I stand it
from you. You have done nothing wrong, my angel. Nothing! Not two years ago,
not last night.” Erik leaned forward and cupped her cheek to hold her so she couldn't look away. “Do not take on shame you do not deserve, my love, for the
natural physical reactions of your body. Is it wrong to appreciate a delicious
meal? Does it upset you when the cold makes you shiver and affects your body in
other ways? When the time comes that you fall in love, my Christine, you’ll
understand that…desire and lovemaking are far more than mere chemical and
physical reactions.”
Captured by the gentle pressure of his
hand on her cheek and the tenderness in his eyes, Christine thought she was
beginning to understand. No other’s touch had ever made her feel like this;
every place his skin met hers tingled with a warmth and awareness that spread
throughout her body. Erik was a dangerous man, of that she had no doubt, but
even when he frightened her with his temper she still felt safer with him than
with anyone else. Only her papa had ever made her feel that way. Erik had never
lied to her, never tried to touch her inappropriately, and his one kiss had
upset him far more than it had her. Madame Giry had said much the same thing
concerning her reaction to Gachot. She even went so far as to cite it as the
cause for so many of her ballerinas getting into trouble with men, for they
mistook a natural physical reaction for love. Had it been normal? She couldn't be certain but what she did know was that she didn't want to leave the house on
the lake, nor its alluring owner, until she found out if she was as damned as
she feared. Covering his hand with hers, she gave in to temptation and turned
her face slightly to place a soft kiss into his palm.
“I want to understand, Erik; I want to
believe. And…and I do not want to leave you.” Afraid to look at him, Christine couldn't help but feel the shudder that went through Erik’s body. Devastated
that she’d repulsed him with so simple a touch, she quickly removed his hand
from her face and stood to leave. Murmuring a broken apology, she quickly
headed for the sanctity of the bedroom as tears spilled from eyes already raw
from crying. She never even made it out of the den before Erik’s gentle, but unyielding,
hands grasped her shoulders to stop her flight.
xxxxxx
The softness of Christine’s lips
against the sensitive skin of his palm sent a shudder of pure delight
throughout his body. He was about to promise her that she never need leave him
again should she so desire it when suddenly she was apologizing and on her way
out of the room. Confused, Erik quickly followed and stopped her before she
could leave the room. He could see the candlelight reflecting off the tears on
her cheeks and wondered just what had happened to upset her.
“Christine? What’s wrong, mon ange; what did Erik do to upset you
so?” Gently turning her around to face him, he pulled her into a loose embrace
and stroked her hair. Had his touch reminded her of her abuse at the hands of
the Comte? But if so, then why did she apologize to him?
“You did nothing, Monsieur. It is I
who was foolish.” Slipping from his arms and drying her eyes with the
handkerchief Erik had pressed into her hand, Christine took a steadying breath,
fixed a pleasant smile on her face, and dared to look into his stormy golden
eyes. “I misjudged things and acted without thought. Now that I know how…how distasteful
you find my touch, I promise you that it will never happen again.”
Erik could do nothing but stare.
Distasteful? She thought he found her distasteful? Pulling her back into his
arms, he nearly groaned from the press of her body to his. “Christine…oh my
love, you have it all wrong.” Erik buried his face in the mass of curls at her
neck and fought the urge to throw her onto the sofa and show her just how much
he did enjoy her touch. “So very wrong. I do not find your touch to be distasteful;
the problem is that I yearn for it with every fiber of my being. It’s an ache
inside me that never ends, never lessens. The feel of your lips granting me the
first willing kiss of my wretched life very nearly unmanned me, my dear, and I
was desperately trying to remain a gentleman.”
“Truly?” Christine’s voice shook as
she clutched at him, afraid to believe.
Pulling back slightly so she could see the
hunger in his eyes, Erik replaced his hand on her cheek and caressed her
tempting pink lips. Slowly, so slowly she had no doubts as to his intentions, he
lowered his head to hers. If she made a single move or sound of distress, he’d
release her immediately, but the desire to show her just how badly he did want
her touch was overwhelming. Just before their lips met, Erik hesitated, wanting
to give her every opportunity to move if she wished to. His heart soared when
she closed the gap and pressed her lips to his. With effort, he kept the kiss
gentle, though his body cried out for passion. When he raised his head,
Christine’s arms were tight around his neck, her eyes were closed, and she had
a dreamy smile on her lips.
“You see, my love,” Erik’s golden voice
flowed over her like warm honey, “I find your touch to be anything but
distasteful.” Not wishing to push her after her ordeal, he caressed her cheek
before stepping back. Gently removing her hands from around his neck, he
planted a kiss on each before laying one upon his arm. “Would you like to sing,
mon ange, or shall I play for you?”
“Will you play for me, Maestro?” Still
feeling giddy, Christine was grateful for his arm as he escorted her to the
music room.
xxxxxx
Days turned to weeks and seasons came
and went, but they all passed relatively unnoticed by the couple in the house
on the lake. The gendarmes eventually identified the man in the warehouse but
never got any leads on the killer. For a while, Paris was gripped in the
unreasonable fear of a vicious murderer such as only the media and gossip can
promote. As the days passed with no other deaths, however, a new scandal soon
captured their attention and the Comte was forgotten. The Persian’s contacts
had found the location of Christine’s father’s grave and both Erik and Madame
Giry accompanied her to pay her respects. Slowly, Christine began to heal from
Gachot’s torment and agreed to take the stage to fulfill her father’s dreams.
La Carlotta was conveniently ill that night, and Christine triumphed. That
night also brought her to the attention of an old acquaintance; someone she had
long forgotten.
“Christine DaaĆ©, where is your scarf?”
A huge bouquet of roses was followed by a dashing young nobleman into her
dressing room.
“I beg your pardon, Monsieur?”
Christine frowned as the young man entered without knocking or waiting for
permission. Who does he think he is? I’m
in my dressing gown, for pity’s sake!
“Surely you remember,” the gentleman
placed the bouquet on her vanity and smiled his most charming smile, “I was
only fourteen and soaked to the skin…”
“…because you’d gone into the sea to
fetch my scarf.” Christine finished for him with no little amount of
irritation. “Vicomte de Chagny, to what do I owe this pleasure?” The last word
was stressed as if his intrusion was anything but.
“Come now, Christine, don’t be so
formal! I’ll give you five minutes to change and then I’ll take you out to
dinner.” He turned to leave.
“No.” A single word spoken in the
calmest of tones stopped the nobleman at the door. Surprised, he turned back to
the young singer certain he’d heard her incorrectly.
“I’m sorry, did you need more time?”
“I fear you have been misinformed, Monsieur le Vicomte, if you believe me
to be like some of the other singers here…”
“Of that I’m well aware, Christine,
for you have the voice of an angel!” His blithe interruption only served to
irritate her further.
“What I meant, Monsieur, is that I’m
tired and wish to rest; therefore…”
“Oh, I won’t keep you out late. Never
fear!”
“If you would shut up, you pompous
fool; I’m trying to tell you I’m not going to dinner with you. Jesus, Mary, and
Joseph but you’d try the patience of a saint!” The fact that he was just
standing in her doorway gaping at her like a fish fueled her anger. “Did it
never occur to you, Monsieur le Vicomte,
that this is a lady’s dressing room and you should have knocked before
entering? Perhaps you are used to barging in on females in the midst of
dressing but I am not used to
entertaining gentlemen in my dressing gown. I am not going to dinner with you.
I am not going to ‘entertain’ you for the benefit of your patronage. What I am
going to do is finish preparing for bed. A bed I will sleep in alone. Good
night, Monsieur.”
During her speech, Christine had
managed to push the nobleman the rest of the way out of the door. Though the
look of utter shock on his face was more than amusing, she was in no mood to be
amused. She was tired. She was hungry. She wanted nothing more than to be with
Erik and not some smug, overconfident nobleman. With her last words, she
slammed the door in his face and threw the lock. Leaning against it, she
watched the mirror slide open with a smile. Taking her Phantom’s hand,
Christine returned to her home beyond the lake.
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