The Heart is Slow to Learn

Chapter Three

The window was open, curtains drifting.  Christine�s hair played over her face, faint as cobwebs.  She ran out of her room, drawn to the glow of light, her eyes wide and full of shadows.

�Raoul?�

No answer.

Dimly, she heard voices down the hall.  She shoved open a bedroom door.  �R � Raoul?�

Halfway between the window and a bureau, a man turned.  A very tall man with hair the color of the oak casks used to age the finest of wines.

�Are you lost?�  A dark brow arched.

Christine looked into his blue eyes and thought that they were far too knowing, far too confident.  Not that he didn�t have reason to be.  Next to Raoul, he was the most handsome man that Christine had ever seen.  His formal black jacket was cut to perfection while his exquisitely cut white shirt spoke of the same tailor that Raoul used.

�I d-do beg your pardon,� Christine stammered, wondering to herself why the stranger�s voice sounded so familiar.  �I was looking for the Vicomte de Chagney.  When I heard your voice, I thought . . . forgive me for intruding Monsieur.�

�Christine?�

Turning at the sound of India de Chagney�s voice, Christine couldn�t help but notice the silent interplay between Raoul�s sister and the mysterious stranger.  Or help but notice the breathless flutter in her voice.

�I see that you have met my � our guest.  May I introduce Erik Montserrat, the tenth earl of Ashton?  He has been visiting while recovering from a recent illness.�

There was a flair of emotion in his eyes, something that Christine decided was a mixture of anger and humor.  She found the combination startling as he lifted her hand to his lips.

�I was looking for Raoul when I�m afraid I rather rudely intruded on Monsieur Montserrat.�

�Ah there you are, dearest.�

Slipping a strong arm around her waist, Raoul, Vicomte de Chagney sighed with relief.  Hearing the voices coming from Erik�s room, he had slipped silently inside, hearing the exchange that had just taken place.  And he intensely dislike the lies . . . every one of them.  Moreover, most of all he hated the thick twist of jealousy in his gut.

He knew that India would cure Erik of the deformities that he suffered.  He also knew that despite his warnings that his sister had fallen deeply in love with her patient.  It was obvious that she had cured his outward appearance, but of about his spirit?  His soul?

* * * *

It seemed to Erik like hours before Christine, along with Raoul left the room.  The minutes had ticked by and as each second passed, it was sheer torture for him to be so close to Christine.  Close enough to see the way her young body responded to Raoul.  In ways that she was not even aware of.  To be tormented as her beautiful blue eyes turned dark with emotions whenever she gazed up at the young aristocrat.  Erik wasn�t even aware of the breath he had been holding until the young lovers had left the room.

Striding to the sideboard, Erik grabbed a decanter and poured himself a large snifter of brandy.  A very large snifter.  Turning, he took a large gulp as he looked at India.  Coldly, he swirled the brandy as he looked at her.  �Montserrat?  Earl of Ashton?  Eventually, I�m assuming that the real Earl with want his name back?  For heavens sake, why did you put a title to my name?�

India took a step backwards when she heard the venom in his voice.  Brushing her skirts, she looked at him, a deep pain reflecting in her eyes.  �The �real� Earl, as you put it, will put no claim on that name for he is buried in the family cemetery.  You see, the Earl of Ashton, was my husband.  I am India de Chagney Montserrat.�

Erik scowled down at his empty glass.  Damned if he cared.  He had been brought here unconscious, without a will of his own.  Now the woman to whom he owed so much to made him feel like a wayward schoolboy.

As he poured himself another drink, her perfume mocked him.  Lavender, he decided, with just a hint of cinnamon.  It was as unusual a combination as the woman herself was.  And those eyes of hers!  Dear God, they reminded him of the Baltic with flecks of gold like sunlight on the water.  How young her eyes seemed to be.  And how innocent.  But beneath a gown of shimmering satin, hinted a body tantalizingly ripe.

What was wrong with him? 

With a jolt, Erik realized how cruel he was behaving.  This woman had nurtured him and cared for him as even a . . . lover would.  Had he traded the face of a monster only to still possess the heart of one?  He closed his eyes, trying not to see her vibrant face, trying not to smell her haunting scent.  �Damn it!  Leave me in peace!�

She turned in a swirl of satin skirts and wrenched a lace shawl around her shoulders.  As the door closed, Erik stared deep into the shadows that crossed the room, trying to forget the scent of lavender, trying to ignore the heat that still washed through his blood from the nearness of the woman who would hold him in scorn for the rest of her life.  And the greatest irony�s was that the passion he had once felt for Christine paled in comparison for now what he felt for India Montserrat.

With a snarl, Erik threw his glass against a wall, and as he watched the brandy trickle down, he wondered why the fates continued to play his life as such a farce?

* * * *

Restless and unable to sleep, Raoul stood on his balcony, rubbing his neck.  All of his plans had gone awry.  From the beginning, his plan had been for India to cure Erik and then to send the man comfortably on his way.  Italy � Spain � Portugal.  Wherever Erik had wanted to live out the days of his life.  But he hadn�t planned on India falling in love with the man, or of Christine ever becoming aware of the man�s presence.

Raoul�s eyes hardened.  Repaying a debt was one thing � having either India or Christine hurt was a different matter.  The idea frankly scared the hell out of him.

Abruptly, he turned.  �Christine?� he called, scanning the darkened room.

No answer.  Nothing moved among the shadows.

Raoul moved toward the door, but it was empty.

�Of course there is no one there, you idiot.  You�re losing your mind, that�s the only problem.  And all because of a woman as changeable as quicksilver, a woman who�s talented and irritating and has suffered too much pain in her life already.�  Muttering, he made his way back to the balcony.

Everything was peaceful.  Not a shadow moved on the manicured lawns.  So why didn�t he feel safe?

Around him, the soft sounds of water and wind drifted and ebbed.  Raoul took a couple of deep breaths and told himself to relax.

Christine had gone to bed hours ago.  From the lawn, he had watched her shadow move back and forth against the curtains.  Her slim body had been silhouetted against the white lace, a tantalizing sweep of curves and hallows before the light had been blown out.

He tried not to think of her undressing, then sliding down against the sheet, her hair loose and glossy around her face.

Roses tossed against the balcony, filling the air with their perfume.  The moon burned, unblinking over the green hills.

Only night.  Only silence.  Only the darting silver images of moon and stars, reflected in the ever-changing currents of a nearby pond.

Suddenly, something made the back of his neck stiffen.  �India?�

But it wasn�t his sister who stood alone in front of him.  It was Christine Daae� in some damned shirt that barely covered her thighs.  It wasn�t feminine.  It wasn�t fetching, or flirty or seductively silken.

But it might as well have been, because Raoul took one look and felt something burst into hot, furious life inside of him.  He envisioned her in white lace and peach satin.  In a long gown that swept the floor.

And then he imagined her in nothing at all.

�Sweet God above, de Chagney, get up off of all fours and start trying to resemble something human, will you?�  Frowning, he pushed himself away from the balcony.

And then he froze.  Christine was moving towards him.  He whispered her name, but she didn�t answer.  She moved haltingly toward him, and then cocked her head, listening to the silence.

Raoul felt a chill in his heart as she sank to her knees and inched protectively toward one of the walls.  And there she sat, huddled in the shadows, her eyes huge, and her hands twisting.

It took several minutes to realize what those white fingers were doing.  They were in supplication, desperately pleading for his life.

Raoul knelt slowly by her side.  When she didn�t look up, he touched her shoulder softly, waiting for some sign of recognition.

�Is it time?� she asked in a voice that was hers but softer.  �Can we go yet?  I want to go.�

Raoul felt something sharp and cold go in just beneath his ribs and twist hard.  She was caught in the past, in the nightmare of Erik�s lair.  �We can go, Christine.  Anytime you like, just as before.�

Her hands twisted sharply.  �You�ve told me that before.  You tell me that I can go and then entice me with music so I return.�

Raoul tasted a rage that threatened to overwhelm him.  Over the previous weeks, little by little, Christine had told him all.  Of the trick mirror in her dressing room, the numbing feeling of floating only to wake in Erik�s underground lair.  Things that were too horrible for Christine�s mind to bear.

Somehow, he bit back his fury.  �Not anymore.  Look around you.  The mirror is broken and the lair is destroyed.  All that you have to do is take my hand.�

Her hands slid to her mouth as she tried to hold back a muffled sob.

�I�ll take you wherever you want.  I�ll take you where no one will ever hurt you again.  I�ll take you back to yesterday, or on to tomorrow.  No one will ever stop up again, I swear it.�

After an agonizing silence, she pushed to her feet.  When she walked out of the room, there was no recognition on her face at all.

Raoul�s throat tightened as he watched her leave the room and make her way back to bed.  There, she curled up in a ball and pulled the covers protectively around her.

As if they could hold, back the shadows.

Raoul slumped in a chair by her bed.  When dawn finally broke over the Sussex countryside, he had decided to things.  He was going to keep those shadows away from Christine Daae� whether she like it or not.  Nothing was going to stop her from being free of them.

And if it took a wedding to accomplish that, well there was going to be a wedding that no one would ever forget.