Chapter Eight
Erik prowled the outskirts of the
party, his elaborate costume drawing only a few momentary stares as he
went. The Vicomte had already arrived
before he had and Christine was nowhere in sight yet. Erik supposed he should be grateful that she had not arrived with
the Vicomte, but still he knew that they had made arrangements to meet each
other in secret tonight.
He knew not what made him turn to
look below onto the revelers in the foyer, some personal shock of electricity,
but what he saw below nearly made his heart stop. Christine had finally entered, clad in some sort of fairy tale
princess costume, a typical selection for her, Erik thought absently, given her
obsession with old tales. But it wasn't
Christine that caught his attention… it was her cohort; a stunningly
breath-taking creature in the guise of an angel.
Erik leaned over the railing of the
balcony, trying to see who this apparition was. Her hair was a coppery-brown, flashing a brilliant red when the
light hit it just so and her skin was porcelain pale even against the white of
her gown. Although it was fast-becoming
fashionable for women to be thinner than in previous generations, this woman
was well-shaped, a simple rope-belt revealing a lush figure with deep, womanly
curves; and even at this distance, he could see the tops of her full breasts
peeking from the neckline of the gown.
Instantly, the voluptuous women of Botticelli came to mind… this woman
was indeed a masterpiece of femininity.
****
Jenny glanced about the Opera foyer
nervously, aware that many eyes were on her.
She couldn't tell whether people were staring at her out of disgust or
admiration and was a little anxious to find Erik. Christine had already gone off somewhere with Raoul and Meg had
been whisked away by several of her young men, so she had been left all alone…
just as she'd feared. Immediately, she
searched the crowds for Erik, hoping that he would show up and rescue her.
Poe story… Poe story… she
repeated to herself. Racking her brain for a probable answer to Erik's
riddle. Raven? No, that can't be it… I can't picture Erik
as a raven. Cask of Ammontiago? A jester suit is definitely out… She went through story after story that
she knew, growing somewhat frustrated.
A splash of crimson-red caught her attention on the grande escalier
and Jenny watched the crowd part as a truly gruesome specter stalked down the
steps.
She grinned as he approached her,
dressed from head to foot in red velvet and gold brocade, a heavy cloak
trailing behind him, and an incredibly life-like skull-mask over his face,
revealing only his pale eyes, his bottom lip, and chin. Red Death Stalks the Masquerade… she
thought wryly. Why didn't I think of
that?
He proceeded slowly down the
decorated staircase, causing the other guests to divide cautiously, like the
Red Sea before Moses' command. He stood
in front of her, his pale eyes glittering behind the mask with sudden
recognition.
"Jenny?" he whispered,
surprise evident in his voice. "Is
that truly you?"
"It's me, Erik." she
smiled, blushing prettily beneath his gaze.
"Extraordinary." he shook
his head slightly, one red-gloved hand gently imprisoning her trembling
hand. "You look most beautiful
tonight, mon ange." he breathed in a husky whisper, drawing her
hand to his mouth and briefly brushing his lips over the soft skin, as he bowed
at the waist.
"Thank you…" she blushed,
curtsying shyly, intensely aware of her close proximity to his powerful, male
form. His lips touching her skin were
silken and exceedingly tender, she only wished she could have more. Mon ange , he had called her… his
angel. That form of address warmed her
heart like no fire ever could, the simple knowledge that she was his anything
was intoxicating.
Erik took a deep breath, his gaze
arrested by the perspective Jenny's formal curtsey had allowed; a tantalizing
view of her breasts, all soft and full, almost begging for his touch. A flame of desire ignited in him, almost
obliterating any thoughts of Christine, but he shook his longings aside,
certain that his blackened heart was merely playing tricks on him.
Christine is hiding in Box Five
with her little vicomte, they aren't going anywhere… he thought to himself,
only fleetingly wondering why he was rationalizing staying away from Christine
to be with Jennifer! Surely there is
time for me to have a dance with her… maybe two… maybe all of them…
The orchestra chose that moment to strike up a waltz,
one of the traditional ones that no one could remember who composed, and Erik
once again took Jennifer's hand, a strange fear creeping over him. "May I have this dance, sweet
lady?" he asked, his voice a might less certain than he would've liked.
"You certainly may." Jennifer
smiled, her heart flipping over in her chest.
A dance! She'd never danced
before and wasn't certain she knew how, but she was not going to pass up this
opportunity.
Erik smiled suddenly, his heart
skipping a beat as a delicate peach blush painted Jenny's cheeks. Why on earth had he never noticed her beauty
before? Was he going blind?
"Come, cherie." He
took her hand, leading her to the dance floor where many other couples were
already dancing.
Contrary to what she expected, Jenny
danced without a single thought as to how clumsy she regularly took herself to
be. In Erik's arms, she was as graceful
as a swan, as beautiful as the diamond stars, and all woman. She couldn't ignore the masculine strength
that she could feel in Erik whenever they touched, nor could she ignore her own
body's reaction to just that. She felt
hot despite the chilly weather outside and a strange tingle between her legs
distracted her. She felt bewitched,
boldly pressing herself against him so that her breasts plumped in silent
invitation, subtly pulling him closer to her aching heart and resting her head
on his broad shoulder. She wanted him,
she realized that now. She wanted him
more than her young heart had ever wanted anyone before. But she knew not how to express such
dangerous thoughts.
Erik restrained a moan of passion
more than once on that dance floor, his body responding instinctively to the
lush, female body in his arms. Despite
all of his original impressions of Jenny's commonplace appearance, he couldn't
possibly deny her utter beauty now; like the ugly duckling grown into the
breath-taking swan. Even through the
cloth of her costume, he could sense her softness, her curves. The loose tendrils of her hair waved over
her shoulders and down her back, making Erik curse the leather gloves that
prevented him from touching her. When
her full, downy-soft breasts pressed hard against his chest, he nearly lost
himself; his hands at her waist to pull her closer, his very breath crushing
her against him, and his sex hardening almost instantly to a rigid staff. She laid her head on his shoulder, her brow
against his neck and her ear over his pounding heart.
For some insane reason, Erik didn't
mind if she heard the rapid beating in his chest. In fact, he rather hoped she did, for perhaps knowing what she
was doing to him would make up for all of the times he'd lost his temper at
her. Perhaps she'd gain some confidence
in herself if she realized that he found her irresistible this night. He began to hum along with the orchestra as
they danced, silently blessing this angel for her affection and her
understanding.
Jenny smiled as Erik's singing
caused tender vibrations under her cheek.
Such an exquisite voice he had!
So sinfully gorgeous! Surely women
by the hundreds would fall at his feet if they heard his voice. But it was she who was in his arms, dancing
with him, the only one who could hear his intimate concert.
They continued to dance into the
next song, and the next, and the next.
Before they knew it, it was past midnight and the ball was beginning to
wind down. The twinkling light of the
stars found Jenny and Erik alone on one of the verandahs, sitting together on a
marble bench with one wing of his cloak covering her bare shoulders.
"Thank you, Erik." She whispered,
leaning her head on his shoulder and cherishing the feel of his arm draped
around her waist.
"For what, mon ange?" he
asked just as quietly.
"For staying with me
tonight. I was afraid that I was going
to end up planting myself next to the buffet table and leaving by ten."
she explained. "I really enjoyed
myself tonight."
"As did I." he nodded,
discreetly pulling her closer, wishing he were an ordinary man who could kiss
her.
"Hmm…" Jenny sighed
happily, feeling inexplicably light-hearted at his apparent acceptance of
her. The only sour apple to her
contented state was that nagging knowledge that Erik didn't love her, but
Christine. He was hurting, she knew,
having to stand by and watch Raoul have the woman he loved. She only wished that she knew a way to help
him, even if it meant opening Christine's eyes to the precious man that was
Erik.
Erik's heart twisted painfully as he
recognized Christine's laughter ringing over the noise of the lessening
crowds. He'd wasted the entire night
away and still hadn't succeeded in stopping the vicomte from whatever
plan he was surely plotting to take Christine away from him.
No, not wasted…he thought to himself, one hand
absently pressing against the deep curve of Jenny's hip, memorizing the softness. More like distracted by other things.
This was ridiculous, he
realized. He had driven himself very
near to mad with his obsession for Christine, was ready to kill her little
nobleman; then along skips this sweet American girl to turn his heart around. Jenny understood him, had known the sort of
pain that he knew, in way that Christine could never understand. He and Jenny were cut from the same misused
scrap of cloth, two halves to make one whole… between the two of them, they had
experienced enough suffering to rival any monarch-induced torture in all of
European history. Granted, he was
certainly the far extreme case, but she knew his soul without being told. Christine may have held his heart in her
clumsy hands, one second away from breaking its fragile existence; but Jenny
held his soul carefully, carefully sewing it into her own so that they were
inseparable… soul mates against the cruelties of the world.
He didn't entertain the thought that
he could be falling in love with Jenny; that was a concept he was not prepared
to confront any time soon. He loved
Christine, that was final, and he would not give her up, even if it meant
killing the boy. As for Jenny… she was
his angel and he needed her like he had needed no other, in every way possible.
What sort of tricks was his dark
passion playing on him?
No matter… it would all come to a
head in only three evenings. It would
be finished then, he could finally rest from this torture of constant arousal
and anger and misery. He would see it
ended if it killed him.