Unmasqued

Only a moment, only a minute, to rest, to try and fight back the waves of pain that threatened to lay him on the floor. But he could not give in. Not yet.

He had to stop Raoul and get to Christine. But he was so weak…

"No," he panted. "I saved him for you."

Carlotta grinned and looked at the array of whips, the long ivory dildos, the knife, and then the helpless Philippe. "It will be my pleasure."

Christine sat across from Raoul in a small carriage that rumbled along on the muddy, snow-patched roads. She was fully dressed now in a gown and all of the appropriate undergarments.

Raoul had played maid and helped her as their vehicle trundled down the drive of the chateau, Christine swaying and tipping as she tried to remain steady for him to dress her. He'd put the gun away once she was safely inside the carriage.

She didn't know how long they'd been traveling. The sun had been low in the sky when they came out of the chateau, Christine wrapped in the blanket he'd given her to hide her nudity. Now the sun had been gone for quite a long time, and there was nothing to see but the very occasional lamp from a house they passed by.

Christine had no idea which direction they were going. She just knew that every turn of the carriage wheels took her farther and farther from Erik.

If he was still alive.

That last slash of the knife… she shivered. Philippe might have killed him.

And if Philippe had killed him, would he come after them? Would he come after his own brother, his true brother?

He would. She was sure of it.

Christine could hardly believe how narrowly she'd escaped the brutal rape Philippe had planned for her. A moment later… just a moment.

And how had Erik escaped the dungeon? She hadn't had the chance to ask him.

She might never.

"Raoul, please, please let me go," she begged again, breaking a silence that had stretched for a while.

"You belong with me, Christine. How many times must I tell you that? I am the only one who really loves you. I adore you! No one will take better care of you than I."

"But I love Erik," she said, again. She'd been saying it over and over, pleading for her release, asking him to take her back.

And each time, he replied calmly, as if he'd never heard her say it before. "No, Christine. I love you. You belong with me."

"Raoul. Please!"

"No, Christine," he said. "You are trying my patience. Do not ask me again."

She turned her face toward the padded wall and tried not to cry. Tried to think of a way she might get out of the carriage… but then what? Where would she go? How would she get there? She had no money, no one to contact.

Her thoughts were interrupted when the carriage rolled to a halt, and she looked out of the little window. They were in the yard of a small inn.

An inn.

"Are we… stopping here?" she asked.

Raoul gave her an odd look as he unlocked the door. "Of course. We'll stop for the night and then move on in the morning. My ship is awaiting us. Come. And," he said, pausing at the door, "don't make a scene. There is no one to help you here, nowhere for you to go. Don't be foolish."

Christine was weary; she could hardly believe what had happened this day. It was only early this morning that she'd tried to creep out of the house and escape… and now here she was, heaven knew where, with Raoul. And she had no idea where Erik was.

Sooner than she thought possible, Christine was following Raoul up a set of narrow, dark stairs in the inn, dreading what would happen once they found themselves behind the closed door.

She prayed she did not have to fight off yet another Chagny brother tonight.

"Raoul," she said after the innkeeper left, and they were alone. She knew she was looking at him with wide, frightened eyes.

He turned to her. "Get into bed."

The look in his eyes made her shiver deep inside, but she dared not refuse. He, at least, would not hurt her.

"I… need help," she said quietly, turning her back to him. He unbuttoned her gown and unhooked her corset. His hands strayed over her shoulders, brushing the light linen of her shift, and she braced herself.

As her gown slid away, and the corset fell to the ground, he turned her in that pool of fabric until she faced him. Tipping her head up firmly, he bent to kiss her.

Christine tried not to pull away as his lips touched hers, but she wanted to. Instead, she let him kiss her, let his lips trace hers and his tongue slip into her mouth. She closed her eyes and let him touch her, on her shoulders, grazing over her throat and down to cup one of her breasts, now free and loose under her chemise.

At last he pulled away, his breathing unsteady. She stepped back, warily. Waiting.

"Get into bed," he said again. And he turned and left the room.

When the door closed, Christine leaped toward it, looking for a lock, but there was nothing to keep him out.