Unmasqued

apparent infatuation with Miss Daae, but he was now annoyed by it. It would take some careful manipulating to get Raoul to share.

It was not that he didn't believe he could convince his brother to do so-after all, it was only a woman at stake, and Raoul was a particularly biddable person. It was just that it was going to take so much more effort than he usually needed to expend in order to enjoy a woman. He would have to tread more carefully than he cared to, for despite the fact that he had no qualms about manipulating his younger brother, he did not wish to anger him.

Philippe was lost in mental images of rosy-tipped breasts, shiny lips parted by gasps of pain and pleading, and long dark hair wrapped around his wrist when suddenly Carlotta herself was in front of him. 'Good evening, madame,' he said, transferring his thoughts to the voluptuous woman in front of him.

'Monsieur le comte' she purred in imperfect French laced with Spanish, the expression in her eyes unmistakable in its invitation. 'Our newest patron. Muy bien that you have come.'

'I see you have recovered from your… mishap,' Philippe replied, knowing that he was impolite to mention her mishap, but curious to see how the diva would respond.

Her eyelashes barely flickered. 'Esta macabro,' she responded with vehemence, keeping her low-lashed gaze on him even as she appeared to look down modestly. 'It was horrible. But I have seen to it that it shall never happen again.'

Philippe had allowed her to maneuver him toward a quiet corner of the room. Her obvious interest was very unlike the Carlotta he had observed, albeit briefly, from a distance. Normally, the woman required the men to come to her-and she did not appear to have any great dearth of male companionship. His curiosity piqued, he waited for her to sit, and then chose a ridiculously uncomfortable cushion near enough to her that they could speak without being overheard.

'And how do you expect to prevent it?' he asked, taking the opportunity to slip his fingers into the prominently offered bosom. The neckline, which plunged down nearly to her navel, was so tight that it cut across the tops of her areolas. When he pulled the boned material away from one melon-sized breast, it pulled taut against the other, flattening her breast even as the other was exposed. 'Do you have some influence with this Opera Ghost of which they speak? Or do you simply plan to touch La Sorelli's lucky horseshoe before your next performance in order to stave off the misfortune brought by the Phantom?'

'Opera Ghost! Pah!' Carlotta replied, leaning forward. When his finger and thumb found her jutting nipple, Philippe gave it an experimental squeeze and was gratified to see the response in her eyes. 'I do not believe in any Opera Ghost. Ridiculo! He sabotaged my voice tonic, which I leave in the wings to gargle with between songs. Ghost or no ghost, whoever he is, he wished to embarrass Carlotta, and he traded the tonic for something that made my voice do that-that horrible thing. I recognized it immediately when I tasted the tonic again. It was no ghostly effort, but a man-made one.'

'You seem to be in the minority,' Philippe said. Her skin was soft and warm, and Philippe tasted it at the juncture of her neck and shoulder. Greasepaint and powder flavored his lips at first, but then he found sweet and salty flesh and sucked hard. Carlotta purred under his mouth, and his hand slipped fully under the band of her neckline and cupped her breast. 'Why is that?'

Carlotta pulled away, and he saw the calculation in her eyes. 'He is no more a ghost than you or I,' she told him. 'I have heard things.'

Philippe cared much less for what gossip the singer had heard than for the generous mounds of flesh offered beneath that cabernet gown, but in the public eye, he was a gentleman and would wait until an appropriate time. 'Things?' he murmured, raising her plump white arm for the simple pleasure of seeing its corresponding breast lift.

'The daughter of the ballet mistress, she speaks of the man they call the ghost. She is a particular friend of Miss Daae, and somehow, this girl, she knows other things that have been said about him. This ghost who is not a ghost but a man with a horrible face, who hides it under a mask.'

It took a moment, but the cant of her words fell away and left Philippe with a shock at their meaning. He paused, his fingers closing over her wrist perhaps a bit too tightly. But when he looked up, she did not show pain in her eyes.. but only pleasure. And satisfaction. 'A man? In a mask?'

Was it possible? Could it be he? Here, all this time?

Philippe sat back, and released Carlotta, his mind sifting through the possibility. 'What more do you know about this man? How long has this ghost been here? What does he look like?'

Carlotta's face took on an even slier, craftier expression. 'There have been rumors of a… presence… here since the Opera House's inauguration ten years ago, and perhaps even longer, while it was being built. I do not know what he looks like, but he must move with the agility of youth in order to clamber about as easily and quickly as he seems to.'

'Indeed. I believe we might have several things to… discuss,' Philippe told her, his mind still working. It had been nearly ten years ago that all of those disagreeable events had happened, events that he'd taken great care to sweep under the carpet, so to speak. It was fortunate that it had been during the unpleasantness of the war, thus making it much simpler for him to obliterate any evidence of what had happened.

Still… Erik had disappeared during that time, and… 'It took many years for this Opera House to be constructed, did it not?'

'Many years,' Carlotta purred, making the words sound like a seduction instead of a mere statement of fact. 'And it is my understanding that the construction stopped during the war, when this building was used as a hospital during the Siege of Paris.'

'And were there rumors of the ghost during that time as well, do you know?'

'I do not know… but I can find out. Si, I shall ask one of those ouvreuses estupidas. All they do is gossip.'

Philippe thought privately that it would be gossip enough if the great Carlotta should stoop to speak to one of the lowly female ushers, but he was willing to have her do so.

Just then, he heard the rumble of a commotion across the room and saw his brother enter the salon with a wild look in his eyes. When Raoul saw Philippe, he immediately started toward him, pushing blindly through the clusters of other mingling dancers, actors, and their admirers.

'She is gone!' Raoul said when he was upon them. 'Christine, Miss Daae… she is gone. The opera ghost has taken her!'

Philippe raised one eyebrow and looked up at his brother, whose eyes had a half-mad light in them. Then he turned his attention back to Carlotta. God forbid that a woman ever lowered him to such a state. 'See that you find out what you can on this Opera Ghost and I shall be most greatly… and creatively… appreciative of your efforts.'

'It shall be my greatest pleasure,' she replied, her lashes fluttering and her breasts quivering.

'I hope it shall be mine as well.'

She looked at him, all cunning and promise. 'I shall ensure it is so.'

Chapter Eight

Erik gripped Christine's arm and propelled her in front of him, down a short hallway. He kept her at a distance, as if trying to avoid any accidental brush of her body against his.

If she hadn't seen the way he was looking at her, experienced the heavy, proprietary gaze, she would have thought he found her distasteful. But no. It was definitely not distaste in his eyes.

Down the hall he prodded her, to where it ended in a room… a space clearly designed for a working genius spurred by creativity. To her surprise, overhead a small glassed-in dome allowed the night sky to shine through. Apparently, he did not live in complete darkness.

As they stopped, she looked at him again and saw him try to hide the flinch from her direct gaze. Perhaps he lived in a different kind of darkness, intense and complete in its own way. Pity stirred within her-pity and desire. Raoul's touch had been nothing but a poor shadow of the one that sent her emotions reeling… and fool she had been to allow it to go so far.