THE SEDUCTION OF GABRIEL STEWART Read online

  I followed him, almost running to keep up with his swift strides, to the little boat slip.

  “I’ve sent notes to Madame Giry and Zareh, my friends. I know they will help you in any way they can.”

  “But what about you, Erik?”

  I stepped into the boat and sat down to face him as he poled away from the dock.

  “You will just have to trust me for now,” he grimaced. “If, that is, you can trust a murderer.”

  I considered his words in a silence broken only by the splash of water as we glided under the portcullis and arrived at Erik’s underground home.

  “I suppose,” I finally stated, “that Francois will soon discover I am gone, and presume I have indeed absconded with my ‘fancy man,’ particularly with Josephine missing. She’s the only thing I own besides my clothes.”

  Erik doffed his opera cloak and settled on a chaise. I joined him there.

  “You put yourself at tremendous risk for me, Erik.”

  He leaned up on one elbow and was grave in his response: “Claire, I would die for you and consider it a life well-lived.”

  “Don’t say that,” I whispered. “I couldn’t bear to lose you.” A single tear traced its way down my cheek at the mere thought of being without him. I wondered at how he had so thoroughly captured a heart I had thought locked away for good -- and in so short a time. Perhaps I was more lonely than I had admitted even to myself.

  Erik leaned forward and kissed away the solitary drop.

  “Only death will take me from you,” he whispered, his breath hot on my ear.

  He dropped his head, caressing my throat with his lips. “You’re mine,” he whispered. “Now and always. You are my heart ... my treasure ... my love.”

  His mouth trailed back up to my ear as he whispered words of love against my skin. I felt a pleasurable warmth spread through my body at his delicate touch.

  I untied his cravat, loosening the perfect folds at his throat, and then unbuttoned his waistcoat. His shirt fell open, leaving him in a state of beautiful deshabille.

  “Oh yes,” I whispered, looking into his green-gold eyes as I removed his mask, “I am indeed all yours.” I caressed his ravaged cheek as I rose from the chaise and strolled toward the bed, looking over my shoulder whilst unbuttoning my blouse. “Let me pleasure you again tonight.”

  I sat down on the bed’s edge to remove my boots. Erik joined me, a trail of elegant attire showing his progress from the chaise. He stood before me without shame: there was no denying the perfection of his body. I caressed his manhood gently, feeling his tumescence rise and delighting in the groan of pleasure he emitted as my hands explored him. A teasing dart of my tongue made him shiver.

  “My god, Claire ...” He laid down atop the velvet blankets and lazily caressed himself while I finished undressing.

  I draped myself next to him, and then slid one leg over his waist so that I straddled him. I leaned forward, my hair caressing his chest and cheeks as I kissed him. His long musician’s hands stroked my back.

  “Now, my fancy man,” I purred into his right ear, “Let me show you how I ride a stallion.”

  He gasped as I sheathed his manhood, sliding slowly down its length until our bodies were completely connected. I sat erect, my hands tracing patterns on his flat-muscled belly while my hips rocked as gently as though I were riding through the park on a sunny day. Soon, Erik began to match my movements, rising as I did.

  I leaned forward to kiss him as we continued our coupling. I had never felt such tender ecstasies as I did with this man, and I wanted to consume him. Our movements became more rapid. I entwined my fingers in his hair as I kissed him more deeply, feeling my pleasure begin to peak. Then, my body exploded in a flood of sensations that left me gasping.

  Erik wrapped his arms around me and turned over so neatly that I was astonished to find him looking down at me instead of up. He moved my legs so that they draped over his shoulders, willing my body to take him even deeper.

  “My treasure,” he moaned again, and I could feel his pulsating within me increase. With a cry of release, he collapsed over me, holding the majority of his weight on his elbows whilst tracing kisses along my hairline and brows.

  He moved next to me, then turned on his side. I slipped into the curve of his body, and he wrapped his arm around me. I felt warm, protected, and yes, loved. His breath was warm on my ear as he whispered more endearments.

  I realized, as the first warm drop struck my bare skin, that he was in tears. I turned to face him, and saw his beautiful mouth smiling so tenderly that it made my heart pound.

  “I never knew,” he whispered, “that I could feel this way. And yet I must send you away.”

  I started to protest, but he laid a finger across my lips.

  “No, my beauty, not for good. Zareh and Madame Giry are finding a safe place for you. You must trust them. Zareh has our horses already. Once they have found a place for you ... for us ... we will be together.”

  “But, Erik ...”

  “We have, at most, one day here together, Claire. I don’t want to waste it in hearing useless protests. If only you knew how it pains me to love you this much and then ask you to go.”

  He buried his face in my shoulder and let the tears flow freely.

  “Then, my dear,” I said, my voice trembling, “Let us spend that day together, not in sadness, but in joy.”

  He nodded, but did not move away from me. So it was, for a time, that we clung to one another in silence broken only by an occasional sob and our breathing.

  CHAPTER 12

  After a time, I disentwined myself from him and sat up.

  “My darling,” I began, but Erik interrupted my train of thought.

  “How wonderful to be called your darling,” he smiled. “I could listen to you say those words for an eternity.” Something lit in his eyes as he continued. “Do go on.”

  “I would love to bathe now. I presume that you have means available?”

  His elegant left brow quirked and he laughed. “My dear, not only do I have means available, I have such means as will take your breath away.”

  I chuckled throatily. “I have no doubt of that; you’ve taken my breath away admirably so far.”

  He laughed aloud at my sally.

  “Hoydenish thing, aren’t you? And I adore it. My dear, I have a means of bathing that will permit us to do so together. I am delighted to show it to you.” He got out of bed and extended his hand to me. “Come.”

  He led me behind the dressing room to a deep depression carved in the stone floor.

  “I presume you’ve read of the Roman caldariums. This bath is based on the design,” he said, moving a few brass knobs. Steaming water issued into the deep basin, to which he added a dollop of oil from a brass amphora.

  “Sandalwood,” he explained, as the scented steam rose to greet my delighted nose.

  Erik turned off the taps after the tub had filled and then, picking me up as easily as though I were a child, walked down into the steaming water with me in his arms.

  “Does this meet with your approval?” he whispered.

  My response was to slip from his grasp and sink into the water so that only my head showed, my hair floating on the water around my shoulders.

  “It’s amazing,” I sighed.

  Erik smiled at my childlike delight in the warm, scented water. He made his way over to one side, where an alcove held mirror, soap and straight razor. He lathered chin and cheeks and shaved away the day’s growth of whiskers. I slipped underwater and came up next to him, wet hair clinging to my back, and reached up to stroke his warm, smooth cheek. Once again, he pressed his sensuous mouth to my wrist and I moaned in pleasure.

  “God, Erik,” I breathed, “I would love to have you again.”

  “My dear, you will break me.” His voice was warm with laughter.

  He wrapped his arms around me then and massaged the sandalwood-scented soap into my wet hair, kissing my forehead gently as he did so.
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  “Lady’s maid again,” I smiled.

  He leaned forward and whispered in my ear, “I would do anything for you. Now, lean back.”

  He supported my back and rinsed the soap from my hair in the steaming tub. The scent of sandalwood ... his scent ... surrounded me.

  “Perhaps,” I suggested, “You are in need of a valet?” I collected the soap from its niche.

  In response, Erik dipped under water and came back up at a kneel so that our heights were better matched. I rubbed the soap into a lather and laved his thick raven locks. Bathing together was a new experience for me, and I reveled in the sensuality of it.

  We stayed in the tub, talking; he about how Zareh and Madame Giry had saved his life at different times, and I about growing up an only child whose friends were books and animals. We bathed one another until the water became too cool for comfort. My fingers developed the little wrinkles that told me I’d been too long in the bath, but I wanted to be near Erik.

  At last, Erik stepped out of the tub and collected thick Turkish towels from the dressing room. He brought them to the tub’s edge before helping me out, and then rubbed me briskly until I was dry. A fine silver comb served to untangle my damp hair as I watched Erik replace hairpiece and mask. The contrast with his shameless nudity was marvelous.

  “We must dress, my love,” he said. “Madame Giry and Zareh will be here at any time, I am sure, and you must be ready.”

  “What of you?” I asked.

  “I will follow as soon as I am able. I have a few things here I must see to before I can join you freely.”

  I rummaged through my valise, finding a serviceable black serge skirt and blue blouse. The plain worsted stockings I had just purchased came out next, along with my everyday corset and chemise, and a pair of walking shoes.

  Erik dressed in loose black trousers and an open shirt while I donned chemise and corset, hooking it in the front rather than having him lace me in the back. Stockings and shoes next; I knew I was dragging my feet. Finally, the blouse and then the skirt over my head.

  For his part, Erik was at the piano, playing a chord here and there and writing on staff paper. He must have felt my longing gaze in his direction, because he looked up at me and smiled.

  “Claire, my muse returned this afternoon. I will be able to write again, for the first time since ‘Don Juan Triumphant.’ This means the world to me.”

  At that moment, a dark-skinned man in an Astrakhan hat came down a side stair that I had not noticed.

  “Ah, Zareh,” Erik said, standing. “May I present Mademoiselle Claire Delacroix. I presume you have been successful in your quest?”

  “Yes, Erik, I have,” said the Persian, of whom I now knew something from Erik’s conversation. “Madame Giry is waiting in the coach for me on the Rue Scribe. Where are Mademoiselle Claire’s bags?”

  Erik handed him my two valises.

  “I will take them to the carriage and then come back for Mademoiselle. Less than five minutes, Erik.”

  That was when I realized that Zareh meant for Erik and me to say our goodbyes.

  I picked up my reticule and made my reluctant way over to the piano. Erik wiped the ink stains from his fingers and stood from the stool.

  “I don’t want to leave you,” I whispered, unable to look at him lest I burst into tears.

  “Claire, I promise you,” he replied, taking my chin in his fingers and tilting my face toward his, “I will be there. Soon.” He kissed me tenderly and then stepped back as Zareh reentered the room.

  “Come, Mademoiselle,” Zareh, said, taking my elbow to guide me. “We must away.”

  I took one last look at Erik before turning to head up the stairs; he was already seated at the piano and not looking in my direction at all.

  CHAPTER 13

  From the pages of Erik’s journal:

  I couldn’t even bear to look at her as she left, lest I cry out for her to remain. The idea of separation from her pained me more than I imagined possible.

  With a sigh, I stood up and looked around at the home I had known for twenty-five years. What would I take with me? What would remain here, hidden forever from sight? I had to choose carefully what would go with me in my trunks when Zareh returned.

  The books, as many as possible; that went without saying. The violin, since neither piano nor pipe organ could be moved. The score I was currently composing: such a beautiful piece, and I could hardly wait for her to hear it. My clothes, of course, and my toiletries. I gathered things at random and threw them on the bed so that when I was ready to pack they’d all be in place.

  My drawings? The score to “Don Juan Triumphant”? Deep in a drawer, contained in a small box, a ring of aquamarine and diamonds? All of those things seemed to belong to another Erik, another lifetime. They would remain.

  As I thought about that ring, I had another inspiration and hurried to the piano to ink a few more notes into the score. My muse had taken serious hold and the timing could not have been worse. Yet, I continued to write out the score, changing a chord here and there but feeling the music flow through my hands like my own life’s blood.

  After what seemed mere minutes, Zareh returned to help me pack my trunks.

  “Where is she?” I asked. “She is safe?”

  Zareh laughed drily. “My friend, I think you will be surprised that she is hidden in plain sight. Antoinette found her a townhouse in the Place des Vosges, where Sorelli, Lisette and Jammes are kept by their paramours. Antoinette is there now, helping her unpack her things and keeping her company until I return. No one will think it odd that a woman lives there alone, save for her porter,” at which Zareh pointed at himself, “and is visited at odd hours by a cloaked gentleman. For your part, Erik, you will stay at my house.”

  Zareh held up one last item from the bed, a music box in the shape of a monkey playing the cymbals.

  “You still have this,” he marveled.

  I nodded, not wanting to admit that the box reminded me of the only friend I’d had for so long: a stuffed circus monkey.

  “Please, Zareh, I would like for you to give it to Claire.”

  He nodded, tucking the device under his arm and picking up one end of my first trunk.

  “Let us away, my friend,” he said, and we carried the first trunk up to Rue Scribe.

  We came back down and picked up the second trunk, and I looked around for the last time at my home under the Opera Garnier.

  CHAPTER 14

  When Zareh returned, he assured me that Erik was safely away from the opera house, and presented me with the musical monkey. Madame Giry’s eye’s widened.

  “It is one of his most precious possessions,” she said.

  Madame Giry told me about the toy monkey Erik had clasped in his hands when she helped him escape from the gypsies and how he eventually replaced the disintegrating doll with the novelty sitting on my mantelpiece by having Zareh send for one from Persia.

  Madame Giry ... Antoinette, I must remember, for she had insisted that we would be friends, wound the little handle on the box, and it tinkled a beautiful tune that she hummed. Obviously she had heard the box played many times.

  “You care for him very much, don’t you?” she asked quietly.

  “Antoinette, Erik is very dear to me. He seemed so happy today. He even said his muse was back upon him.”

  Antoinette smiled then. “Oh, Claire, what a splendid thing. I will tell you, though, that when he is in this mood he will write his music from morning until night, barely pausing to eat or sleep. You may not see as much of him as you might wish.”

  “But he promised me ...” I couldn’t help pouting.

  “Erik does not make promises lightly, dear.”

  She then looked up at my mantel clock.

  “I must be away. I’m sure Jammes will take me with her in the barouche that her latest paramour has provided.” She made a small moue. “I told you there was no better place to hide you than here. No one will notice when Erik comes to you.
And he will.”

  With that, Antoinette said her goodbyes, and Zareh followed shortly, explaining that he must see Erik settled and then would return to serve as my “night porter.”

  I remembered Erik’s admonition to trust his friends ... and so I would.

  CHAPTER 15

  I went to a corner cafe for a cup of chocolate and some bread, and then returned to my new home. The townhouse was furnished in a rather baroque manner, all white and gold paint and rococo design. The bed was a four-postered wonder with draperies all the way ‘round, and I mentally painted Erik’s frame lounging across the matelasse coverlet. I felt my face flush as I further imagined making love to him. How he had possessed my soul so quickly, I could not explain. And yet, that was the truth of it.

  The events of the past few days eventually caught up with my psyche, and I decided that the bed in question was indeed calling to me. I undressed, changed into a fine lawn night rail, and braided my hair. I could just catch the comforting aroma of sandalwood from Erik’s soap lingering on my skin. I lit a lamp on the bedside table and picked up a novel I’d been reading. Yet, my mind raced so that I could not concentrate upon the story.

  When Zareh returned, he came upstairs and knocked on my door, having noticed the light underneath.

  “Mademoiselle, I am here. I shall retire to the parlor so that I might admit any guests you’d wish to see.”

  I caught the hint of humor in the Persian’s tone; he knew there was only one guest I’d want to see.

  “Come in, Zareh,” I said, pulling the blankets up around me.

  He entered the room, averting his eyes from the bed.

  “Zareh, I want to thank you for your kindness to us ... to him.”

  “Mademoiselle,” the Persian replied, turning his jade-green gaze to meet mine full-on, “I have never seen my friend so happy. Even now he is composing, and a more wonderful work I’ve never heard.”

  “I’m so happy to hear that, Zareh,” I smiled. “Antoinette tells me, though, that I must not expect to hear from him when he is in such a frame of mind.”