THE SEDUCTION OF GABRIEL STEWART Read online

  CHAPTER 8

  I seated myself at the table and waited for Erik to reappear. When he did, he was in flawless evening attire: a tailcoat of Bath superfine, a black cravat, waistcoat of sapphire blue that was similar to the tone of my gown, beautifully fitted trousers, highly polished shoes and white kid gloves. I could not help my intake of breath at the mysterious, handsome creature before me, his porcelain mask somehow seeming both normal and natural.

  Our meal was a simple affair of bread, cheese, cold meats, wine and fruit. Erik had no means of preparing a hot meal in his subterranean palace. Yet, a slice of bread spread with delicious Brie was like the finest filet that night. Erik removed his gloves and tore off a small bite of bread, besmeared the tidbit with cheese and held it out to me. I made to take it, not certain what he was about, but he shook his head no.

  “Open your mouth, Claire,” he whispered, and fed the bit to me. Taking food from his hand was a sensual experience and I decided that nothing would do but to imitate it. I sliced an apple into bits and gently slipped the pieces into his mouth, shivering as he licked the juices from my fingers.

  Dear God, how I suddenly wanted him in a way that I had wanted no man since Philippe. I struggled to keep from tearing at his waistcoat and cravat as we continued to feed one another, no words passing between us as we reveled in each other’s touch and closeness.

  When the fruit and cheese were gone, Erik brought finger bowls and towels so that we might clean our hands. While I did so, he went to the piano, where he sat down and played an air that was unfamiliar to me.

  I joined him at the piano, leaning against the black wood.

  “Is that your own composition?” I inquired.

  He nodded and continued to play the beautiful piece. He did not speak again until he was through, and then he turned to face me.

  “What is it called,” I whispered.

  “It has no title yet, but right now, I think of it as your song,” he said, not looking me in the eye.

  I felt my knees go weak. It was at that moment that I realized what was happening. In fewer than two days’ time, I was completely infatuated with the Phantom of the Opera. This was so unlike the practical view that I held of myself that I was nonplussed.

  Erik put his arms around my waist, pressing his cheek to my abdomen. I stroked his hair, and realized that part of it was a false piece so expertly created that it blended seamlessly with his raven locks. I slipped it away from his head, and also removed his mask. I stepped back and took his chin in my hand, looking with longing into the face that was both angel and demon at once.

  “Erik,” I smiled, “I want to kiss you again.” With that, I bent my mouth to his. He put his arms around me, and began to explore my lips with a velvet tongue. I groaned with the heat of desire that coursed through me.

  Erik broke the fervent kiss first.

  “I think,” he whispered, “that perhaps I should return you to your room.”

  “No, my dear,” I replied,” I think it would be far more convenient if we went to yours.”

  His eyes widened in surprise, and he made to reach for the mask and hairpiece.

  “No, Erik. I would have you as you are.”

  Wordlessly, he rose from the piano stool and led the way to the beautifully carved bed. The headboard was decorated with nymphs and satyrs: the bed of a libertine. Erik untied his cravat as I removed the diadem from my hair. His jacket, waistcoat and boots followed as I stepped out of the slippers and turned my back for my gown and corset to be unlaced. He kissed my neck and shoulders repeatedly as he did so, turning me to face him at last. His shirt hung open to the waist, revealing a flat, muscular abdomen with a sprinkling of black chest hair that met at the sternum and traveled down into the waist of his trousers.

  I stepped out of my chemise and stood before him, wearing nothing but the stunning collar of jewels. I slid my arms under his shirt, feeling the caress of soft linen on the backs of my hands as I slid it down his warm shoulders toward his waist. There, I felt something else and drew away in shock.

  He turned his back to me, shrugging out of the shirt, and I saw the cruel scars of a whip marring his body. He looked over his left shoulder, his handsomeness in stark contrast to the cruel stripes.

  “I’ve known the lash, Claire,” was all he said.

  “My poor darling,” I whispered, the word out before I realized it.

  He turned on his heel and grasped my shoulders, standing before me clad only in his pants.

  “By God, Claire,” he moaned. “Please don’t call me by endearments unless you mean them. I can’t bear another hurt like the one I had from her.”

  I knew, of course, to whom he referred, and for a moment a spark of jealousy raced through my body. I stepped forward to caress him, my hand trailing down his chest to his trouser waist.

  “I am not she,” was all I said as I undid his waist and his trousers fell around his ankles.

  He stepped free of the garments and stood before me defiantly, almost daring me to change my mind as my gaze raked over him.

  “Are you certain? You’ve seen all,” he hissed, a brief glimpse of the cynic returning.

  “Erik,” I said, leaning against the bed frame, “I do not know what the custom is in the books that you have read, but it is considered impolite to keep a lady waiting.” I slid between the velvet coverlets, leaning on one elbow so that I could watch every move of Erik’s strong body with its catlike motions.

  He slipped in next to me and took me in his arms, lowering his mouth to my throat and nibbling there as I moaned. Then he trailed his mouth to my breasts. My nipples grew firm and hard under his ministrations, and I stroked his face and hair whilst murmuring endearments.

  He raised his head then, surprising me with his next remark. “I have read that there are ways to make a woman more ... receptive ... and I would like to try them.” His eyes were dark with passion as his hands caressed me. “Would you have me do so?”

  I could only nod and whisper “Oh god, yes.”

  When he set his mouth to my sex, I gasped mightily ... and he stopped.

  “Have I hurt you?”

  “No, my sweet. Pray, continue.”

  I twined my fingers in his raven locks, moaning with ecstasy as he loved me with his mouth ... and then feeling a release of almost painful intensity combined with pleasure that left me writhing in delight.

  I slid away from him.

  “Lie down, darling,” I whispered, “and let me love you the same way.”

  His breathing was ragged with desire. “I do not know if I can control myself, Claire,” he whispered. “I want so badly to be inside you.”

  “Patience,” I murmured as my mouth traced the line my hand had earlier drawn and my tongue caressed his perfect manhood.

  His cry of pleasure echoed on the stone walls around us.

  “My god, Claire ... no. I cannot wait to possess you.”

  He moved away from my touch and was on top of me before I could blink, sliding in between my thighs like we had always been together ... like fate. I wrapped my arms around his neck and kissed him deeply as he plunged into me and we moved together. I felt the sweet pain begin to bloom inside me again and I tightened my inner muscles around him, feeling the velvet steel inside me ... filling me. Then, with throbbing ecstasy, we released at the same time.

  He settled in beside me, breathing heavily. I could see only his flawless left side; I had already noticed that he took care to be at my right as often as possible.

  “Thank you,” he whispered. “Thank you for ending forty years of tormented longing.”

  I didn’t know how to respond at first. Of course, I was now a woman of the theatre; bad enough that I had behaved scandalously in Baincthuin, but now I was only one step socially above a prostitute. That Erik might see me that way pained me greatly, and I lashed out without thinking.

  “Is that what I am to you, Erik? A convenient trollop? No better than one of the soubrettes? A woman to be bought
with gifts?” I gathered the blankets around myself, suddenly feeling ridiculous to be in bed wearing nothing but a necklace. I reached behind my head to undo the jewels, and the blankets fell down.

  I made a sound of annoyance and, as soon as I had the necklace undone, pulled up the blankets again, putting my back to him.

  Erik’s hand caressed my shoulder.

  “Oh, god, Claire. I am such a fool. I didn’t ... Oh, god.”

  He got out of bed, and I turned toward him as he put on his shirt and trousers.

  “How could you think that of me, Claire? How could you?” He went over to the piano and got his hairpiece and mask, putting them on before returning.

  He knelt beside the bed and spoke quietly to me. “You are like no one else I’ve known, Claire. You are different from her, of course ... older, wiser, and ... compassionate. Christine left me her engagement ring to remember her by. She gave me false hope. You, though, you’re a healer. I’ve watched you with the horses and with the barn cats -- with any hurt thing that comes in your path. I wondered if I might dare to seek you out, and now I’ve found that you’ve healed a part of me that didn’t know it was hurt.”

  I was shocked at his declaration.

  “No one can heal my face, Claire,” Erik continued. “It frightened my mother so much that she turned me out. No one can heal the scars of the gypsy’s lash on my back. But you healed the part of me that had no hope after Christine left.”

  He took my hand and laid it on his cheek. “I wish, more than you know, that I could do such simple things for you as escort you on a walk through the park, or sit with you openly in my box at the Opera, or even go into the modiste or the green-grocer with you on errands. I wish I could give you all that you deserve ... in thanks for what you have given me already.”

  “Erik,” I whispered, “After Philippe, I intended that there be no one ever again. And yet, here you are. I could ask nothing more of you. I am so sorry for what I said. Please forgive me.”

  He stood up then. “My dear, I must get you back to your room and change that lock.”

  I got out of bed and went into the dressing room to don my breeches, boots and shirt again. Erik dressed as well, and brought the beautiful evening ensemble to me, folded carefully with the shoes and jewel boxes on top of it all.

  “Don’t forget these,” he smiled.

  I held the parcel carefully whilst in the boat and followed gingerly behind him, not wanting to drop the beautiful pieces in the dank corridor.

  CHAPTER 9

  When we arrived at the mirror panel that led to my room, I was surprised to see Francois and Giraud inside. Erik gestured for silence, and we watched and listened.

  “You promised me,” Giraud was saying to Francois. “You said she’d be here alone, indisposed-like. You promised I’d have her.”

  “I know, Giraud. I don’t know where she is. I told you. I’ve no use for Claire, and you can do with her as you please so far as I’m concerned! I have her money, and that’s all I want.”

  I was surprised, to say the least. So much for the promised sacking!

  Francois continued his scathing remarks. “She’s always thought she was better than the rest of us, and not even Philippe’s death changed that. Who knew that the fool would rush into a burning barn to save her precious mare? He must really have loved the overeducated chit to do such a foolish thing. I was sure that she’d go in there and die. I’m just fortunate that her father’s will turned her holdings over to me to manage.”

  Erik’s face twisted in a grimace of rage. I laid a hand on his arm and whispered “No. Do nothing.”

  Giraud flopped down on my bed, the angry mark around his neck plainly visible. “She’s no better than she ought to be, that’s what. Her fancy-man tried to kill me this afternoon. And suddenly she’s indisposed. You know as well as I that she’s with him somewhere.”

  Francois looked at Giraud thoughtfully, and replied, “Now, even you know better than that. She relishes those rides before an audience. As long as she’s with her precious horses, she doesn’t care about anything else. Which reminds me, I would love to know where that white Lipizzan came from. By rights, she should have been in bed with a concussion after what you did to Pierrot -- or even dead. And yet, there she was on a horse unknown to me, but well-known, it appears, to half the Opera Garnier cast. I’ll find out.” Francois smacked his fist into the opposite palm. “Let’s away, Giraud. We have work to do.”

  I watched in horror as my cousin and his compatriot left my room, locking it with their own key just as Giraud had said.

  After they were gone, Erik and I entered my chamber via the mirrored door. He opened my chamber door to see whether we had been noticed: We were not. He removed the old lock set with a pen knife and installed another one that he’d hidden in the voluminous folds of his cloak. He gave me one of the keys, and secreted the other in the tail-pocket of his coat. I was momentarily speechless with anger and hurt.

  “They hurt my horses, Erik ... and wanted me dead.” My voice was deep with anger.

  For his part, Erik paced the room, cloak swirling about his ankles. “They will pay dearly for this,” he announced, depressing the mechanism for the mirrored door. “I will return to you tonight ... my love.”

  With that, he was gone, the endearment hanging in the air even as the secret door slid shut behind him.

  CHAPTER 10

  From the pages of Erik’s journal:

  As the mirror slid closed behind me that night, I savored the words on my tongue. “My love,” I had called her. To my surprise and delight, my affection is requited. She is interested in me for myself. What bliss to know this feeling after so many years of aching loneliness.

  My joy was tempered, though, with anger at her cousin and his associate. I was mentally preparing a note to them ...

  Oh, god. The accursed notes.

  I had taken such pains not to let anyone know that I still lived, sending missives only to Claire and my friends Madame Antoinette Giry and the daroga Zareh, a friend from my days in Persia. In my concern for the woman I loved, I had sent notes to Messieurs Richard and Dupin, and to Francois. I had revealed my hand as surely as though I had appeared again in my guise as Red Death.

  Perhaps all was not lost. Claire had told Francois the note was a joke from her, had she not? Perhaps I could retrieve the note from the imbeciles who managed what I still thought of as my opera house.

  I stole across the stable yard to a secret tunnel that would take me directly to the managers’ office and espied them in confrontation with Francois. Both parties had open envelopes in their hands: black-deckled stationery that was all too familiar. I groaned inwardly as I drew closer to listen.

  “Francois,” Dupin was shouting, “This is entirely inappropriate, and the joke amuses me not one whit. If what you are saying is true, and this chit of a horsewoman wrote these notes ...”

  “From her own tongue I had the truth,” Francois said. “She called it a joke.”

  “Well, Monsieur,” Dupin announced, “we are unamused. With all that has happened in the history of this opera as a result of the so-called Phantom, we cannot afford another scandal. Your entire troupe is sacked, immediately. You have two days to be gone.”

  He turned on his heel and left the stable, muttering about having to refund a house and mount the piece currently in rehearsal ahead of schedule to make up the funds.

  I was about to hurry back to Claire when Francois called for Giraud and told him what had come to pass.

  “Let the others know, and make sure they know it was Claire. Perhaps this little problem can be solved for us.”

  Giraud’s laugh was brutal. “I can think of several men she’s turned down who’d like to teach her a lesson.”

  “Fine. Meet me back here in one hour’s time. We’ll go to her room and show her what happens to those who cost us so dearly.”

  Giraud turned to leave, and then asked a question. “What about her precious Josephine? I suspect
Claire’ll be in no hurry to ride again when we’re done with her.”

  “Leave the beast for the knacker. It’ll be another good lesson for my loving cousin.”

  With that they parted company, unaware that they had been marked -- or that they had raised my ire.

  I knew that I risked exposure, but I had two missions to accomplish. I unwound the Punjab lasso from my pocket as I followed Giraud down the stable aisle. He stopped in front of Josephine’s stall, the mare huffing with her broken wind. Her knees were scabbed and obviously pained her.

  “You’re for dog meat, you miserable beast,” Giraud laughed mirthlessly as he reached for her head collar.

  At that moment, I struck with my weapon of choice and did not let go until Giraud had breathed his last. I pocketed the garrote, took two handfuls of Josephine’s black mane into my gloved hands and vaulted onto her broad back. I would take her to the same place I stabled Cesare, and then I would return for Claire.

  I galloped headlong out of the stable, mentally apologizing as I heard Josephine gasp for air under the strain of exercise, and hearing cries in my wake announcing that someone was stealing one of the horses. I only hoped that they would forget the sight of a masked man in evening dress on a black Friesian mare when they found their dead compatriot.

  CHAPTER 11

  I listened in astonishment as Erik told me what had transpired in the stable. He helped me stuff my few belongings into a pair of valises he’d brought through the mirror door.

  “There’s no time to lose, Claire. You have to come with me.”

  “But Josephine ...”

  I still hadn’t taken it all in.

  “Your horse is safe, Claire. I promise you. Now, come with me.”

  I followed him through the mirrored door and watched him disconnect a simple lever system that allowed the mirror to slide in and out of the siding.

  “It will never work again unless I put it to rights,” he explained. “It buys us some time.”