Unmasqued

As though he'd been spared her lips all night-which couldn't have been further from the truth-Raoul bent to her again, covering her mouth with his like he could never get enough of her. "Christine," he sighed her name, slipping his hands over her bare shoulders. "You belong to me… only to me."

"But Philippe-"

"My brother knows that," he said, grasping her shoulders more firmly. Now he was looking down at her in the dimly lit corridor. "He knows you are mine. Only mine."

Christine sagged back against the wall, held upright by his grip, as he bent to kiss and suck along her throat. Warm prickles skittered over her skin, and the tension of pleasure and need balled up in her belly, tightening again.

"He… he wants…" She could barely form the words during the sensual movement of his lips along her tender skin; any touch, any slip-slide, any gentle squeeze, brought back all of the tension, the built-up lust, she'd kept under control, tried to ignore, through the evening… but it burned to be loosened.

Her sex pulsed with every step she'd taken up the many stairs and along the hall, and now burgeoned between her legs. Her breasts, nipples taut and free again, jostled against the boning of her corset, aching in permanent arousal. Her fingers trembled as she pressed them into the wall behind her as Raoul sipped along her throat.

"He wants you…" Raoul murmured against her skin. "Of course… who would not, Christine?" His mouth formed the syllables as his teeth closed over the edge of her neck. "Who… would… not?"

Just when she would have allowed her knees to sag, he moved back and looked down at her. "He will not force himself on you, Christine. And I do not wish to share you… in that way. You have nothing to fear. I will keep you safe. Always." He kissed her full on the mouth, no tongue, just a gentle buss of lips that-had it come from Erik-would have brought tears to her eyes. But from Raoul… it was just a reminder that her response was as superficial and automatic as the contraction of her heart, the blink of her eyes. "Always, I will keep you safe."

Christine slipped away from him, her hand on the doorknob. "Good night, Raoul," she said, her voice trembling. For how could he say such things after what had happened tonight… and last night, when they were in Erik's lair?

She wanted to believe him, but she could not trust him.

"Good night, Christine."

He didn't follow her and she closed the door quickly.

Pressing her palms against it, Christine bent her forehead to the solid oak door and let her lids close in relief. Her knees shook; her belly felt tight and empty. Tears burned the corner of her eyes.

What was to become of her? How could she stay here, even one more day?

Raoul's promise that his brother would not force her held little weight; she saw the look in Philippe's eyes and knew it would be only a matter of time before he got what he wanted.

And the light in Raoul's eyes… the glinting, sparkling odd one that appeared whenever he looked at her, whenever he spoke of his love for her… it was nearly as frightening as the cold, calculating one in his brothers. It frightened her in a different way.

Christine pushed herself away from the door; her body was so weary, taut and tight as though strung from the ceiling to the floor.

When she turned into the chamber, lit only by the coal fire in the grate, she realized with a start and a drop in the pit of her stomach that she wasn't alone. Her hand flew to her mouth to cover the gasp, and she saw that the figure wore a gown, and not trousers.

"Madame Giry?" Christine whispered in disbelief, recognizing the woman's profile.

Madame moved from the shadowy corner of the room and into the orange glow from the grate. "Be silent," she said, her words barely audible.

"But what… how…?" She let herself be tugged by two hands toward the bed.

Madame Giry sat, and pulled Christine next to her. "You must be silent. They do not know I am here," she whispered into her ear. Her voice was low and her breath warm, the brush of her lips moving against Christine's skin. "The Opera House has been greatly damaged by the fire; the officials are looking for the arsonist. They believe it is Erik."

"No," Christine told her. "No, it was the comte."

"So I thought."

"But how are you here, in the chateau?" Christine asked, her voice rising enough that Madame shushed her, pressing three fingers to her lips.

"Erik sent word that the vicomte had taken you."

"Erik? Have you seen him? Oh, mon Dieu . ." She began to sob silently, her face suddenly burrowed into Madame's bosom. "Mon Dieu, I had to leave him… I… had… to…"

"I have not seen him myself," replied the older woman gruffly, her hands smoothing along the sides of Christine's face. "He came looking for me, but I did not see him. He left word that I should meet him nearby. What has happened? Tell me all and stop your weeping."