Firmin jerked as if she'd pinched him, but he maintained his composure and responded to the elderly woman, who was gushing on about how beautifully La Tressa had sung two years earlier, and why did the new managers not give her leave to sing more often?
"Meet me in the white room in twenty minutes," Maude told him with a liquid promise, and, removing the phallus from his pocket, slipped away… and around behind the two managers to Moncharmin.
Her little teddy bear had found a welcome audience in a middle-aged couple dressed as Romeo and Juliet. Maude stifled a yawn at their choice, and managed to pretend to drop her whip in front of Moncharmin.
Gentleman that he was, he bent to retrieve it, and she followed. Their masked eyes met as they crouched to reach for the whip, and she said, "This is for you. Meet me in the white room in twenty minutes."
Then she stood and hurried away. She could only imagine the fiery burst of red that must be flushing her poor teddy's face.
Maude stifled a gleeful laugh. If he was red now, he'd be purple by the time she was done with him.
"But, Christine, why must we keep our engagement a secret?" Raoul asked, clasping her hands fervently. He wore a mask tonight, a fact that deeply disturbed Christine.
Another man in a mask. What secrets did Raoul hide from her?
"If Erik finds out… he will be furious," she told him earnestly. "I just wish to give him time…" She toyed with the engagement ring he'd given her, a large square sapphire surrounded by tiny yellow diamonds. Instead of placing it on her finger, where it would be sure to garner attention, she'd chosen to wear it on a chain around her neck, tucked into her bodice.
"Time? Time for what? For him to abduct you again? Christine, you still have not completely recovered from your experience with that monster. You are still pale as a wraith, and you move about as though in a trance. If I did not know better, I would think you were ill."
She was ill. Ill with a broken heart. Ill with the thought of how she'd betrayed Erik. Ill with the knowledge that he'd seen her… seen her with Raoul.
And ill with the truth that she was too much of a coward to find Erik and to be with him.
It was easier, much easier to agree to marry Raoul. To become the Vicomtesse of Chagny. To live a normal life with a man who loved her, and who had nothing to hide. And who did not wear a mask every day.
Only at masquerade balls.
She forced a smile and took his hands, clasping them around the bulky ring. "Only for a bit longer, Raoul. When I… when I am used to the idea that we are to marry, we will tell everyone. I promise."
They were interrupted in their tête-à-tête alone in a small salon by a costumed young man. "Monsieur le vicomte, some of the other patrons have been searching for you."
Raoul turned to Christine. "Shall you accompany me, my dear? I must speak with them on a business arrangement."
"Oh, no, Miss Daaé', I hope you will remain," came a smooth voice. "I wish to have a word with you, if you permit."
Christine and Raoul turned to the man behind them… He had somehow appeared in the corner of the small, lushly furnished parlor room in which they stood. Dressed as a pirate, with a heavy black mask that covered more than half his face, he brandished a long, gleaming sword.
"Ah, Philippe, it is you," Raoul laughed, a bit of a nervous tinge to his voice.
"What? Surely you did not think it was… the Opera Ghost?" his brother responded mockingly.
Raoul straightened. "Of course not. And I am glad that you have arrived. If you would stay with Miss Daaé, I would be most grateful."
He turned to Christine, who suddenly wished for an excuse to leave with him so that she didn't have to be alone with the comte. But before she could make one up, the comte had taken her arm quite firmly. Raoul gave a little bow and, taking her free gloved hand, brought it to his lips for a brief kiss. "Au revoir." And to his brother, "Take care of her, brother. I shall return as soon as possible."
Christine pulled loose from Philippe's grasp and moved with studied casualness toward the door. She would not let him know how he unsettled her, with those glittering eyes from behind a mask.
Masks, masks everywhere…
"What a lovely costume you have chosen, Miss Daaé," the comte said. "A close, shimmering Greek-style gown, heavy gold jewelry and headdress, a tiny golden mask. But your identity is not clear to me. Aphrodite, perhaps?"
"What is it you wished to speak with me about?" Christine replied with a steady voice, though her heart was thrumming madly. Why was she so afraid of him, when the fury of a masked man who had the right to be angry merely made her weep?
She imagined he crooked an eyebrow behind his mask. "No conversational niceties, then, mademoiselle? Well, then, let us get right to the point." Philippe's voice was so smooth and low, but not like velvet… more like cold, hard silver. It sent unpleasant sensations trickling down her spine. He advanced upon her, tall and hawkish, and her heart pounded madly. She felt the cloth-draped wall behind her, and a chaise to one side. There was nowhere to move, to get away from him.
"First and foremost… although I find my brother's interest in you quite amusing, I will not condone his foolish scheme to marry someone of your class. I have the opportunity to make a much better match for him, and he will comply. So it is just as well that you have not made the announcement of your engagement."
Before she could react, he reached out and closed his fingers over the ring Raoul had given her. With a harsh snap, he jerked it from the chain around her neck and thrust it into her face. "You will not be needing this."
Before she could react, he jammed it into his pocket.
"Secondly…" He moved closer and grasped her chin, his fingertips digging into the soft give of flesh under her skin. Her small mask felt ever more stifling under his nearness, yet acted as a flimsy barrier between them. "I do understand his attraction to your very… titillating… person, and I will do whatever is necessary to promote his goal to place you permanently in his bed… among other locations. I am sure he will be quite pleased with that arrangement. His future wife can produce an heir, entertain guests, and bear the title of vicomtesse… while you can serve… other needs."
His face moved closer; she could smell tobacco and clove on his breath. Their masks nearly touched. His breath was hot, pulsing with desire, and she tried to pull away, but he pressed her back against the wall, his body pinning her there from the waist down, his erection most evident. The sword from his costume pressed into the top of her tender thigh, caught between their bodies. Philippe's free hand slapped up against the tapestry next to her shoulder, whilst his other hand kept her chin positioned. Surely he would leave a mark on her white flesh!
"You should know, Miss Daaé… my brother and I share everything." He forced his mouth over hers, stifling any cry she might have made.
Christine struggled, but he was too strong, and he had maneuvered her so that the unyielding wall behind her kept her imprisoned under the onslaught. His tongue jammed into her mouth, his teeth biting at the edges of her lips as though he would take her all in. His jaw worked, moving over her mouth as his fingers held her face still and helpless under his attack.
When she was at last able to wrench her chin away from his grip, he'd already redirected his attention to her bosom. Thrusting fingers down into the scooping gold neckline of her gown, he slipped his cool hand down and under one of her breasts, folding it into his palm. He squeezed and fondled it in a rough, demanding manner, while capturing her wrists in front of her waist with one strong hand. Her breaths were coming faster now, matching with his. She felt warm and close and confused.
"We have quite a lot of fun at Chateau de Chagny," Philippe told her, tweaking her nipple viciously. Pain-pleasure whipped down into her belly and Christine gasped in surprise, her eyes flying wide open. She looked up into his and saw dark lust burning there… lust and promise and complacence. "I am quite certain you will find it very… satisfying. And if you should consider declining my brother's invitation, please remember that we are the patrons of the Opera House, and as such, we hold your livelihood… and that of many others… in this very hand." Using said hand, he squeezed her breast enough to pull a startled, pained cry from her.