THE SEDUCTION OF GABRIEL STEWART Read online

  “Mademoiselle Claire, I think wild dogs could not keep him from your side e’er long.”

  With that, he closed the door behind himself and I heard his steady tread going down the stairs.

  I again picked up my book, Les Miserables, but found I was unable to focus on the trials of poor Jean Valjean. My thoughts returned constantly to Erik and how I wished that he were with me. The memory of his enflaming kiss brought a blush to my cheeks and a flush of warmth to my body.

  I put the book on the night stand, turning the oil lamp to a low glow. It would not do to trip and fall in the strange new place while seeking the W.C., after all. I settled under the blankets, my arms around a pillow and wishing it was my lover near me. How could I miss him so, after such a very short time?

  I awoke in a fully darkened room, and was disconcerted until I heard his beautiful voice, singing softly to me: a song of surrender in the darkness.

  “My dearest,” I whispered as I heard the sound of a lucifer striking. Erik lit a beeswax taper in an elegant silver holder, which he then placed on my night stand. The flame’s glow gave a ruddy light to his raven hair.

  He doffed his cloak with an elegant swirling motion and laid it across a chair. Gloves followed, and then cufflinks. He never took his eyes from me as he continued disrobing in silence, finally removing the leather domino mask.

  He slid into bed next to me, still not speaking, and pressed his mouth to my breast, laving and teasing my nipple to hardness through the sheer fabric of my night rail. I moaned in pleasure at the sensation.

  Erik ceased his ministrations only briefly, to undo the buttons at the throat of my garment, slide it over my head, and undo my braid so that my hair hung loose. His green-gold eyes were dark with desire.

  “You have shown me how you ride a stallion,” he whispered as he caressed me. “Now let me show you how I compose an opera.”

  His breath was warm on my ear “First, there is the prologue.”

  He trailed his mouth down my cheek and to my lips, where he took his time exploring my mouth with his tongue. I entwined my fingers in his hair and returned his kiss with matching ardor.

  Each second that he took as he kissed down my neck to my breasts was torture and pleasure at the same time, his tongue teasing my skin. When he set his mouth to my mons, I was already tremulously close to climax. He brought me just to the very edge before plundering my mouth again with a tongue that tasted of my own fluids.

  I caressed his hardened manhood and whispered to him, “I want to taste you.”

  His response was to lie back against the pillows, the candle’s glow lending a golden aura to his beautiful form.

  I kissed his throat, then down his sternum and flat abdomen, until at last my tongue was swirling around his tumescence. His hips moved gently as he caressed my hair.

  I could feel the pulsating desire in him, and at last he moaned, “Claire, I can’t wait any longer.”

  I laid down next to him and turned on my back so that he could enter me. We were both trembling with desire, and the sounds we made during our coupling were more animal than human: purrs, growls and, at last, cries of ecstasy.

  As we lay together, his arms around me, I chuckled.

  “What is it?” he asked.

  “So, this opera you were writing just now. Was that the denouement or the entr’acte?”

  His hearty laughter filled the room. “Claire, I assure you, that was merely the prologue.”

  CHAPTER 16

  From the pages of Erik’s journal:

  I left her with great reluctance that morning, before sunrise. Yet, we both knew it must be so.

  I returned to Zareh’s home on Rue Montorgueil in Les Halles. The best thing about living so near the marketplace is the ease with which I may purchase gifts for Claire. She has been deprived of so many things because of her cousin’s greed. Fortunately, Zareh indulges me by purchasing the things I see in the windows by night.

  The second day that I visited Claire, I brought beeswax tapers scented with sandalwood and attar of roses. The light is so much more pleasant than the oil lamp. I also brought a hamper of cheese and meats from the market stalls so that we could have a quiet, cold supper. While Claire’s townhouse has a kitchen, it has been so long since I prepared a hot meal that it is easier this way.

  Over the course of these past several weeks, I have brought her more clothing and jewels. I am sure that Claire’s favorite modiste thinks that Zareh is her new patron, what with the number of outfits he has ordered to fit her. I think it embarrasses my modest Muslim friend as much as it amuses me.

  My muse has been on me even stronger of late, and it delights me to know that I am still inspired to compose. Any time that I must spend away from Claire is, nevertheless, almost maddening.

  The most difficult thing about our courtship is that we live a sort of nocturnal existence. There is a beautiful park in the Place des Vosges where we sometimes walk by night, but it would be so much more pleasant to do so during the day. No matter how fine the wrap I bring for Claire, or how warm my cloak, we are still together only during the cold hours of darkness. The necessity that hides us from prying eyes also deprives us of a normal courtship, a situation that I find unfair to Claire.

  So, we go for our nighttime walks, and we talk about something Claire read in the newspaper or the gossip that Antoinette Giry brought her way. Sometimes I bring my violin and play for her. Many nights, we sit in front of the fire, holding one another and saying very little at all.

  It almost goes without saying that we make love. When the morning dawns, I curse the daylight because it takes me away from Claire’s side.

  Tonight, though, I will make up at least some of the inconvenience to her. I have sent the billets with Zareh to have her sit in Box Five at the Opera Garnier for the performance of “Aida,” and I will meet her there. This much of a normal courtship I can give to her.

  * * * * *

  I dressed that evening with care, donning the sapphire blue gown and jewels Erik had given me. My hair was pinned in a loose chignon, crowned with the sapphire diadem. The billets for the night’s gala performance were in my reticule. Zareh had a small coach waiting in front of the townhouse, with Josephine in harness. My mare was doing well under the ministrations of Zareh’s hostler, and I was delighted to see her.

  I examined my reflection in the cheval glass one last time before collecting my wrap, and then decided to reread Erik’s brief note one last time.

  “My dearest Claire: my apologies for my extended absence. I have finished my composition and will delight in seeing it performed for you one day soon. Kindly do me the honor of sharing my box at the Opera Garnier Saturday evening. I assure you, I will be there. E.”

  My gloved hands trembled a bit as I replaced the black-deckled card in its envelope. I had missed him more than I’d imagined possible. I tried to keep a normal life, going to cafes, galleries and museums; always, I imagined Erik there with me. Zareh and Antoinette visited me during the day and kept me company lest I become entirely a creature of the night. My life certainly had taken a peculiar turn.

  Zareh tapped at my door.

  “Mademoiselle Claire, it is time to go.”

  I collected my wrap and went downstairs, where Zareh handed me into the carriage and I was again alone with my thoughts for the short ride to the theatre. How I wished Erik were seated across from me, as he had been that day when he revealed his ravaged visage to me, and then kissed me for the first time. I felt a blush rise to my cheeks at the recollection.

  The carriage rolled to a stop and a liveried footman assisted me in stepping down. I showed him my billets and he directed me to an usher. He, in turn, looked surprised at the seating but showed me to the box.

  “Are you sure you want to sit here, Madame?” he inquired. “It is said ‘round these parts that a ghost haunts that box.”

  I inclined my head. “I fear no ghost, Monsieur. The ticket is a gift from a friend.”

  The u
sher’s eyes widened and he sketched a bow before going to assist another patron.

  Antoinette Giry appeared at my elbow with a program, which she handed to me.

  “He’s inside the box, Claire. The column to your right when you go in is hollow; that is where he is. When the music begins, he will come to you. Then, he will return to the column during the entr’acte,” she whispered, giving my arm a squeeze. “Between the two of us, my dear, I have never seen him so happy.”

  I thanked her and entered the box; Antoinette drew the velvet draperies behind me.

  Once inside, I took the seat closest to the front; the other was slightly to the right and rear of me, and I knew that Erik could watch the opera from there without being seen. I, on the other hand, was fully visible and would give every appearance of being alone in the allegedly haunted box.

  I tried to focus on the program and finally gave up. I opted instead to watch the steady flow of elegantly dressed opera patrons. I mentally blessed Erik for the gown he’d bought me. I fit in, and no one in the stalls or other boxes appeared to make the remotest connection between me and the horsewoman who had entertained them in the past.

  At last, the bright stage lights flared on. I heard a rustle just behind me, and then a white kid glove settled briefly on my shoulder as Erik leaned forward.

  “You look so beautiful, my darling,” he whispered.

  I leaned back so that my mouth was against his closely shaven cheek and pressed a kiss there. I turned to look at him: the flawlessly beautiful face that I could see, and the white porcelain mask covering the rest. He was again wearing elegant evening attire, and looked devastatingly handsome. My eyes spoke my longing.

  “Watch the performance,” he urged. “Time enough to look upon me.”

  He moved his chair a little closer to mine so that he could hold my hand -- but not so close that he could be seen. It was thus that we passed the first act.

  During the last number before the entr’acte, Erik pressed his lips to my wrist through the buttonhole of my glove, a gesture that he now knew made me shiver with pleasure. Then he slipped into the hollow column, just as Antoinette had explained he would do.

  Antoinette brought a glass of champagne to me during the entr’acte and sat with me for a while.

  “Erik has asked me to tell you during the intermission that his latest composition will be performed soon in the village of Montfermeil-sur-Mer,” she said. I must have looked very surprised, as she patted my hand in a comforting fashion. “Zareh and I will take you, my dear. You must not miss it. And now, I must return backstage to my corps de ballet. I will see you soon, my friend.”

  When the second act began and Erik was seated near me, I leaned back to question him in a whisper.

  “What is this composition, and why is it being performed thirty miles away? And when is the concert?”

  “It is a surprise for you,” was all that he would say. “I am finalizing the arrangements.”

  Our evening out passed far too quickly for me. Before the final chorus ended, Erik once again absented himself. When the performance was over, I collected my wrap. The same usher opened the draperies for me.

  “Did you see the ghost, Mademoiselle?” he asked me.

  I smiled as I gave him a sou for a gratuity. “Monsieur, I assure you that the only things I saw tonight were entirely real and alive.”

  Zareh brought the coach around then, and a footman held the door for me as I stepped up. When the door was shut, Erik was there.

  “I have been too long away from your side, Claire. And tonight, that is where I wish to sleep.”

  I settled into the crook of Erik’s arm, my face against his cloaked shoulder.

  “Thank you for sharing the opera with me tonight,” I smiled.

  “The pleasure, my dear, was mine.”

  We remained in companionable silence until Zareh drew the carriage to a stop before my pied-à-terre. Erik stepped out of the carriage first, assisted me in alighting, and then collected a valise from within.

  “I think, good Daroga,” he said to Zareh, “that Claire will be safe in my company tonight. Perhaps you could come tomorrow morning to collect me?”

  Zareh smiled his assent and clucked to Josephine, who trotted off smartly.

  CHAPTER 17

  I unlocked the door of the townhouse and we went inside. Erik removed his cloak and gloves, then sat down on the divan.

  “Join me,” he said, patting the cushion. “Surely you would like to be free of those heavy jewels if nothing else.”

  “I don’t know why I feel so nervous, all of a sudden,” I said as I took the proffered seat.

  “We’ve never actually spent a night together, have we?” he inquired as he unhooked my necklace. “Is that it?”

  “I suppose so. Oh, Erik, I have so desperately wanted to wake up next to you.”

  “Is that so,” he whispered, grazing my cheek with a kiss as he unpinned my hair.

  I nodded.

  “My dear, we are of one accord in that.” His smile was almost sinful. “Let us be abed, then. I’ve not slept as much as I might have liked; I have such distracting dreams of you.”

  He collected his valise and followed me upstairs. Erik unlaced my dress and corset, and I donned a fresh night rail from my clothespress. Erik changed from his evening attire to a pair of loose-fitting black silk pants. As he turned away to close the valise into which he dropped his mask, I was again struck by the cruel scars on his back. How anyone could do such a thing to a living creature of any kind was beyond my ken.

  I sat down at my vanity to braid my hair for the night, but Erik took the brush from my hand.

  “Let me.”

  He gently brushed my hair out over my shoulders, as I watched in the mirror. His hands were deft as they plaited my locks together. Then he bent to kiss my throat.

  “Tonight, my beauty, let us sleep entwined together,” he whispered. “I want nothing more than to wake up next to you.”

  Erik turned back the coverlets of the bed and slipped between the sheets. I turned off the lamp and slid in next to him, and his body curled around mine protectively.

  “I love you,” I whispered, voicing my feelings for the first time.

  Erik sighed in contentment.

  “Sleep well, my treasure.”

  From the pages of Erik’s journal:

  The last words she said to me that night were “I love you.” Were ever words more beautiful? After so many years of longing to be loved for myself, to have it happen has been a dream come true. She is like no one I have ever known. So proud, intelligent: so sure of herself.

  When I awoke that Sunday, she was already up and about. She came into the bedroom wearing a silk morning wrapper in a shade of violet that lit her eyes perfectly. She carried a tray with a teapot and some brioches from the corner boulangerie.

  “Your breakfast, darling,” she said, and placed the tray on the night stand. She sat on the edge of the bed and caressed my shoulder. I sat up, pulling some of the pillows into place behind me as she poured a cup of tea.

  The entire scene was so strange to me. Most couples enjoyed these simple pleasures, yet to me it was all very new. We shared the tea and brioches, and spoke of books. She is well-read and her observations quite astute. The time passed quickly, and I was very disappointed when Zareh arrived to spirit me back to his home.

  Claire stood on her tiptoes to kiss me goodbye at the door and it was all I could do to refrain from shouting from the rooftops that I would stay forever.

  That time will come soon enough.

  CHAPTER 18

  Erik and I enjoyed one another’s company at the house on Place des Vosges whenever his composing permitted. For my part, I was having a little trouble adjusting to a lifestyle both more nocturnal and more leisurely. I was so accustomed to rehearsing, or looking after the horses, that I sometimes found myself at loose ends.

  I began to venture out, cautiously at first but then more freely. Paris was so larg
e and busy that I could go about my business without being marked by anyone I knew, so long as I stayed away from the Opera Quarter. Visiting the Louvre was my favorite pastime; I loved viewing the masterpieces of sculpture and painting that were kept there. I could take exercise by walking up and down the many galleries at the same time I was looking at the collections.

  I also enjoyed visiting Les Halles, the market stalls. One never knew what one would find. Fruits and vegetables, meats and cheeses: the finest foods in season. There were booksellers, weavers, chandlers, soap-makers; the variety was astonishing. Even on days that I chose to buy nothing, walking around looking at the goods and watching the people was very entertaining for me.

  The nights that Erik did not come to me, I slept deeply. I felt very serene and safe with Zareh as my concierge. Some evenings, he and I would enjoy a game of chess. Zareh always bested me, but my skills improved with each match.

  Those nights with Erik, though, were more precious than rubies to me.

  He told me of his life in Persia, where he lived among the Shah’s harem because they thought him as safe as a eunuch. How naive both the Shah and his women had been! He also spoke freely of being paid to serve as the Shah’s assassin, and of the various traps he had built into the palace in Tehran at the Shah’s behest.

  I was surprised to learn that he had replicated one of those traps, a mirrored room with a hangman’s noose, in his home under the Opera Garnier. The idea of living near a torture chamber disturbed me mightily. Yet, there was so much about Erik’s life that I did not yet know; I found that I could not judge him. I was fortunate to have known only love and kindness until my father’s passing. Erik’s life had been the very opposite of mine in that regard and I could not imagine what that might do to the psyche of a child.

  We spent only the occasional full night together, waking in one another’s arms. Those nights were the most precious of all.