Unmasqued

over her shoulders, caught in the little rolls of flesh at the side of her neck. Her breasts had slipped free from the corset and burbled up awkwardly and unattractively over the scalloped edge. The green dress was torn and off- center. Parts of it were hanging by stretched threads, so Philippe decided it was time to put it out of its misery.

But first… he easily grasped her flailing leg and firmly slipped the last little cuff over it. Carlotta was subdued, the heavy cloth of her gown and underskirts falling in a neat swing between her spread legs. Still she struggled, tried to kick, rolling her head from side to side.

'Let me go,' she cried in a ragged voice, straining, tears rolling from her eyes. 'How dare you!'

'I dare.' He was in no rush at all. Philippe stepped toward her and began to deliberately tear the gown from her person. The fashions of these times were rather convenient in such situations, for the gowns were made of several pieces of fabric sewn together almost like a puzzle. It was a matter of three jerks of his wrist, and Carlotta was wearing nothing but her stockings and chemise.

Her breasts quivered under the fine lawn garment; her hips shifted and startled as he came to stand between her legs. 'What are you going to do?' she asked, her voice raspy, her eyes wide.

But before he could reply, a knock sounded at one of the doors-the one that led to the main corridor and not to any of Philippe's other pleasure chambers, as he liked to call them.

He hesitated, and the knock came again, more stridently. 'My lord?' called a voice.

It was Francois, likely bearing the good news he awaited. Philippe cast a last look at Carlotta, then turned to the door. The confirmation that his orders had been carried out would only serve to heighten his enjoyment.

But when Philippe opened the door and Francois came in, he knew immediately that the news was not what he'd anticipated.

'What is it?' he demanded. 'Is he dead?'

Francois, a burly man with quick fists, stood near the door but met his eyes squarely. To his credit, he did not even glance toward the trussed-up, spread-eagled Carlotta, who obviously was either too frightened or too intelligent to beg for help. 'No, my lord comte, he ain't. We followed the orders you gave us, even followed the trail from his underground hideaway, but the bastard got away. We never even saw him.'

'You do not know where he is? You have not even seen him?'

'No, my lord.'

'Find him. I do not want to see you until he is found!' Philippe turned from his man, his fingers shaking with rage. He had sent three carefully selected members of the mob after Erik last night, intending to have them put an end to the man once Christine believed he'd escaped… but somehow he'd eluded them.

And now Erik, the half brother of the Chagnys, was loose upon the world, out from the darkness, and bent on revenge.

Philippe turned toward Carlotta. The expression on his face must have spoken for itself, for when she saw him, she began to cry and struggle anew.

Chapter Twenty

It was well past sunset on the second day since Erik had lost Christine, but the rising of the full moon had given him plenty of light to ride from Paris, where the Opera House still smoldered and stewed in its remains, to the estate where he'd been raised.

As he approached the edge of the vast Chagny holdings, Erik watched the southwestern horizon closely. In the distance, he saw two riders leaving the estate, and quickly directed Cesar toward a clump of trees that edged a thicker forest. He couldn't be certain the riders were looking for him, but they were coming from the direction of Philippe's home, and it was an odd time for anyone to be out.

If they weren't looking for him now, they would be soon.

Cesar had been traveling for several hours with Erik on his back, but he still responded to the urgent press of his master's knees and kicked up his speed to a low canter. It was too dangerous for a full-out gallop through an unfamiliar wood, but Erik knew he must put as much distance as he could between himself and the possible pursuers, while circling around to the village of Chagny.

He was to meet Maude Giry at midnight behind the stable at Le Vache Dormante, the only inn located in the small town spread beneath the chateau's bump of a hill.

Upon reaching their meeting place, Erik positioned himself and Cesar behind a cluster of trees near enough that he could watch the stable and see who came and went. He was cold, and hungry-he'd eaten nothing but a stale hunk of bread since leaving his little house two nights ago.

The orb of the moon cast a full, bluish glow over the fields. After a long while, Erik saw the erect figure in a dark cloak walking quickly toward him. He recognized her right away despite the heavy coverings. Thank God she'd come.

When Maude came near enough to the stable, Erik tossed a rock from his hiding place so that it landed near her. When she looked over, he peered around the edge of the brush to signal her.

'This way,' she said, and walked past him as if she'd not seen his gesture. Erik followed and she led him away from the inn and its stable, down a little hill, and to a small structure. 'We'll be safe here,' she said, opening the door as he approached, and gesturing him inside.

The little hut was hidden from the main road, and looked as though it had not been used for some time.

'One of the girls at the chateau told me her brother left his house when he went to join a merchant ship. At least you'll be out of the cold here and not be seen,' Maude told him, pulling Cesar in with them. 'He will have to stay in here with you for a bit, for that white coat will be seen anywhere.'

'Christine? Have you seen Christine?' Erik asked the moment he was in the house, even speaking over Maude's explanation.

'I have seen her and spoken with her. She is well. Your hands are freezing, Erik, and you look as if you are ready to collapse. Sit.' Maude pushed him toward a small pallet in the tiny one-room building.

When she would have gone to the fireplace, Erik stopped her. 'No. The smoke will alert them that this house isn't empty; I don't need a fire. Now tell me of Christine.' He knew he didn't want to hear it, but he must.

'She is not injured or hurt in any way,' Maude told him, reaching under her cloak. 'Here. Eat something, you foolish man. And here is some wine too. You'll be no good for her if you're weak from hunger. Why did you not take anything with you when you left Paris?'

She produced a packet of cheese and beef, wrapped in cloth, and then a hunk of bread along with a small bottle of wine.

'Thank you for meeting me,' he told her, forcing his attention to the matter at hand now that he knew Christine was uninjured. He would suffer through the details later. 'You have had no problems?'

'Indeed, no. All has gone smoothly. The morning after the fire, I left Paris as we'd planned, and came here to the town. I sent word to Rose and she met me, then brought me back to recommend me as an upstairs maid.'

'You did not tell her why,' Erik said.

'No, no, she knows only that the Opera House burned, and that I was in need of a position, at least for a time.'

'Other than Rose, no one knows who you are?'

'Not at all. I have been very discreet and quite busy,' she added, looking at her red hands with obvious annoyance. 'I'm not used to such work. But, Erik, we will have to move quickly. Philippe will not be held at bay by his brother for much longer.'

'Raoul has been protecting Christine?' A mixture of relief and jealousy poured through him. Christine with Raoul was hardly a better image to dwell on than Christine with Philippe; although with Raoul, she was at least likely to remain free of scars.

But what else might she give to him, the Vicomte de Chagny? Her heart? What would become of her love for Erik now that she was away from the Opera House and her poor accommodations, now that she was housed in the luxurious chateau with all of her wants and needs attended to… maids, clothing, all the food she could wish for, a