Unmasqued

It had been to save his life. But she had let him go.

I shall come for you.

Those words, the stricken expression in his eyes that had given way to determination, had burned into her memory during the last… hours… half a day… however long it had been since she'd been hustled from the depths of the Opera House to this opulent estate. It hadn't been a long ride from Paris, well less than half a day.

She had cried silently in a corner of their carriage and spent most of the journey in a half-sleeping, half- waking stupor, while Philippe and Raoul conversed quietly.

She'd been sleeping when they turned into the drive of the estate, and woke only when the carriage jerked to a halt and the shouts of servants greeted her ears. She had the impression of a large building made of gray brick, flush with windows across its square, imposing facade, and a large expanse of lawn, but little else. She was too numb.

The interior of the chateau was nearly as opulent and ornate as the Opera House. She noticed gilt furnishings, high, mirrored hallways, and thick rugs as Raoul ushered her up to her chamber.

Through it all, she could comfort herself with the fact that at least the comte had kept his word and allowed Erik to go free. While Raoul had kept Christine hidden as she dressed, Philippe had met the raging mob that had come for Erik.

'He has gone. Escaped,' the comte told them. Even from where she watched through a crack in the wall, Christine could see the murderous rage on their faces. The flickering of the torches they carried, and the glint and gleam of pistols and swords. She shivered, glad that she had made the decision to save Erik from them.

It had been the right decision.

She watched through the crack when the comte really did send them off in a different direction from the one Erik had gone. And only then had she allowed her shoulders to slump from their drawn-up tension, and her eyes to close in relief.

Erik would be safe.

'And you,' the comte had said, thrusting his face into hers after the mob had left, 'shall be very grateful to me for saving the life of your horrific lover. I shall make quite certain of your gratitude, Miss Daae. Or perhaps I may be permitted to call you Christine?'

The glitter in his eyes made her stomach roil, and Christine found herself pressing back into Raoul's arms, where he'd held her still and quiet. She could stomach the younger brothers touch, but never the comte's. Never.

Now, as she looked vaguely at the sumptuous room at Chateau de Chagny into which she'd been led, Christine heard the door close behind her. She turned and found that she and Raoul were alone.

'Christine… you must understand. It is for your own good.' He stepped toward her; his handsome face earnest yet determined.

'My own good?' She managed to form the words even as bitterness swelled inside her.

'You had no future with… Erik. He would keep you prisoner; he would keep you hidden away. You could never see the light of day, interact with people, or drive in a carriage. You would be destined to darkness and subterfuge. Here… here you will be cared for, in comfort.'

'For the pleasure of your brother? You heard his threats!'

'No, he said those things only to drive Erik away. No, Christine, no… you are here because I love you. Philippe has nothing to do with this. In time you will forget that-that beast, and come to realize that you belong with me.'

Christine stared at him, his image going blurry as tears filled her eyes. 'I love Erik. He is my life! I cannot be happy here, without him.'

Raoul's hands seized her shoulders, dragging her up against his body. 'Don't say that,' he said fiercely, his face close to hers. His words fanned hot over her lips. 'You are so beautiful, so perfect and pure… you cannot love a man such as he.' Shaking, he pulled her closer, covering her mouth, wet with salty tears, kissing her deeply.

Christine sagged in his arms, twisting to pull her mouth away. 'Raoul, no.'

'Christine,' he said at last, when she'd freed her lips. 'Trust me. You will come to thank me in time. You will realize that I was right to help you escape from him. You belong with me. I love you. I will take care of you.'

She shook her head, the word never billowing up behind her lips. But she could not say it, for Raoul brought his mouth to hers again, covering her lips and her breath with his, absorbing her being into his so strongly that at last she acquiesced.

Yet the word never echoed in her mind.

Erik felt hollow and worn, his soul more pitted and scarred than he'd thought possible.

But the morning after he left Christine, after a long night of dodging through the streets of Paris, he began to fill that hollowness with anger and determination, and self-recrimination.

He'd lived the last ten years in darkness. He'd cowered behind the threats of his brother, a brother who'd carelessly wrought evil on those he came in contact with. He'd let Philippe control his life.

And now he'd let Philippe take the most important thing in the world from him.

His thighs bunched around Cesar, and Erik prodded him faster with his knees. They fairly flew through mud- and-snow-mixed streets, through a graveyard on the outskirts of Paris where he'd found a place to hide while the mob was looking for him.

He was desperate to be on his way to the estate at Chagny, where he knew Philippe had to have taken Christine. But first he had to find Maude, find out what happened at the Opera House, and whatever else she could tell him.

Philippe, damn him, had been right-Erik had carefully planned an escape for him and Christine, and last night, he'd used it. For himself. Only for himself.

Although every nerve and muscle in his body rebelled, his brain won out: Sick to his very bones, he had left Christine with his two half brothers, knowing that it was the only chance for both her and himself to survive.

And he wanted to survive. For her. With her.

He couldn't live in the dark any longer. It had made him more weak and vulnerable than his face ever had.

Erik felt the chill February wind rush over the bare half of his face as Cesar galloped. He greedily gulped in the daytime breeze. His fingers were holding the reins so tightly that they were cramped, bloodless. His body was so tense and stiff with anger and devastation that it felt frozen.

He hated himself for the weak fool he was. His mouth burned with bile that she'd had to save him, when he should have been saving her. He'd left her, when he should have found a way to take her too.

Allowed her to make the choice…

His throat still ached from the rope Philippe had flung around his neck. Erik had spoken to no one, but he knew his voice would be rough and scratchy… perhaps permanently damaged.

Just as he was. Permanently damaged.

Erik closed his eyes. It had begun to snow, and the icy flakes bit into the lids of his eyes, as Cesar kept on. He would hear the news from Maude-what they were saying about the Opera Ghost, and the fire; whether they were still looking for him; and whether there was any word about Christine. Only then could he make his plans.

'Ahh, Christine, you look lovely tonight,' said the comte as she entered the drawing room her first evening at Chateau de Chagny.

'None the worse for wear after your… adventure last night, I see. May I pour you some brandy? My brother has been detained in town. I am sure he will join us shortly with news of the fate of the Opera House.'

How very civilized Philippe sounded. How perfectly normal this must be for the upper class-to meet in the drawing room for drinks before dinner, to provide excuses for the tardiness of one of its members.

Except for the fact that Christine had no desire to be in the drawing room, in the comte's presence, or even in the house at all. And most definitely not alone with him.

Philippe spoke again as he offered her a small pink-tinted glass that held a golden liquid. 'We do not stand on