"While the comte is visiting with his guests, there will be a fire in the stable. As all rush to battle it, you will go through the door through which I have come, there in the closet, and make your way to safety."
Christine pulled the woman's hand from her mouth to whisper, "You will not come with me?"
"I cannot… I dare not be complicit, in the event that I am still needed within these walls after. Erik will be waiting for you on the far side of the chateau, away from the fire. You shall flee to safety. Do you understand?"
Christine nodded, the hand holding her mouth easing away.
"Now, I shall tell you the path you must take for your escape." Madame's voice remained low and smooth as she described the route Christine would take through the secret passageways and out near the servants' entrance, which was on the opposite side of the chateau from the stables.
"If there is a secret way out, why can I not go now?" Christine whispered, pulling herself half-upright.
"The chateau is guarded on all sides because the comte expects Erik to come for you. That is why tomorrow, when the stable is burning and the comte is busy with his guests, will be the best time for you to escape unnoticed. The guards will be busy with the fire, and you will slip from the small entrance near the side."
Christine nodded, but she had another concern. "But if the chateau is guarded, how did you come to meet with Erik? Did the guards not stop you?"
Madame's low laugh was rough. "They have no interest in the comings and goings of a servant. It is you, or Erik, that they watch for. And, indeed, there are enough servants who venture into town in the evening to have a drink at the inn that it is no cause for speculation."
"And so tomorrow, I shall leave this room through the secret passageway." Christine smiled in the dark. Tonight will have been the last night she must hope that Philippe would be denied his obvious desire. Tomorrow, she would have no more worries of it. She would be with Erik.
"Indeed, and none will know you are missing until much later. And then you and Erik will leave, and start a new life somewhere where his face will not give cause for horror or hatred or accusation."
"Thank you, madame," Christine said, squeezing the woman's hands. "Thank you."
The ballet mistress slipped from the room soon after, and Christine rolled to her side in the large bed.
Tomorrow. Tomorrow she would be with Erik again, and away from this house of eroticism and salaciousness and danger.
Sunlight streamed through the window, and Raoul was standing, tall and gilt-haired, next to her bed when Christine opened her eyes again.
"Raoul," she gasped, awakened from a lush dream with a raven-haired man, a very different man from the composed, elegant one who looked down at her.
"Good morning, Christine," he murmured, his eyes glinting with an expression she'd become much too familiar with. "How lovely you look, all tumble-haired and rumpled in your bedclothes. But there is dark under your eyes, mon ange. Have you not slept well in your soft, large bed?"
"The bed is very comfortable, Raoul," she replied, looking up at him and trying to recall, trying to find, the kind young man she'd befriended those years ago… the one who'd dashed into the surf for her scarf. Not the one who looked as her as though he wished to devour her completely without taking a breath. Not the one who'd brought her to this place against her wishes.
Not the one who'd forced her to choose captivity to save her lover.
He sat, and his slender weight tipped her ever so slightly toward him; then his fingers moved, sliding up along the bare arm that she'd curved, fist toward her throat, on top of the bedding. The dream of Erik had left her aroused, and wanting, and her heart was still slamming from being pulled so abruptly from that sensual world to this… this room that crackled with apprehension and uncertainty.
He positioned a hand on either side of her shoulders and his fingers pressed into the pillow next to her, causing him to tilt closer. "A bed is much more comfortable when it is shared," he murmured, his face moving toward her.
Christine's breath caught as she resisted the urge to push him away. Last evening, he had attempted to seduce her after dinner—which had been served at a regular dinner table, unlike the night before—but she had managed to hold him off by claiming an aching head.
Raoul hadn't argued, but Christine had not missed the knowing expression on Philippe's face as he watched from his chair in the parlor. He clearly knew what she was about, and his countenance told her that such prevarication would not work on him. The determination in his face had made her even more apprehensive, particularly after Raoul announced that he would be leaving the chateau the next morning.
Today. Leaving her alone with Philippe.
Suddenly, Raoul's proximity was the lesser of two evils.
"When will you leave?" Christine asked Raoul, closing her eyes against the hungry expression on his face. Would there be time between Raoul's departure and the arrival of Philippe's guests for the comte to visit her bedchamber?
"Do you miss me already?" he asked, lifting his foot to straddle her body trapped beneath the bedclothes. Before she could reply, he lowered himself toward her, kissing the exposed flesh of her shoulder.
His lips were surprisingly hard, mauling her sensitive skin, causing Christine to twitch and jerk away even as his touch pulled desire from her. He followed her, his hands moving to cup her shoulders and keep her in place, and his breath coming faster against her shoulder, moist from his mouth. "No," he murmured, his voice shaky "Christine, I need you."
He nibbled her shoulder with his lips, the edges of his teeth grooving into her skin, and she felt his weight settle closer to her. Trapped beneath the heavy bedclothes, she was in a cocoon between his legs, unable to kick or shift away.
"Raoul…"
"My ship sails in two days. I'll be gone for a year, and I'm not going to leave without you as my wife," he said, raising his face so that she could see his eyes. "I love you." He dipped toward her, covering her lips with his, sliding one hand down to move the blankets from her breast. "My brother wanted me to marry the Le Rochet girl, but I cannot. I make a short trip to her father today to break the betrothal, and then I will come back for you."
When his fingers touched her nipple, still sensitive from the arousal of her dream, Christine felt the jolt of pleasure; and as he kissed her, his tongue slick and strong, tangling with hers, her eyes closed. She felt the memory of desire rise again, and then his hands sliding over her breasts, pulling the lace of her night rail away, releasing them to the cool room. Her lower body was still trapped, and Raoul had moved, lowering his hips so that his cock pressed down into her sex through all the layers of blankets.
He was breathing heavily, and when she opened her eyes she saw that his were glazed and odd, determined in a way that caused her a pang of nervousness. Still, he kissed her, holding her shoulders in place again, arching his back so that he could move his lips along her jaw and down over the delicate skin of her throat. His mouth was light and wet and harsh and sensual all at the same time, and Christine couldn't move away from the sensations, the unending trickles of his lips. She felt jumpy and achy all at once, and her eyes fluttered as she fought to keep them open, to focus on the ceiling above instead of the feel of his mouth on her skin.
He sucked hard and long at her neck, and she gasped as the sensation poured through her body, tingling in her belly and down into her throbbing sex. With one smooth move, Raoul had a nipple in his mouth, and she could hear his labored, rasping breathing as he sucked and sucked, drawing it into a point at the back of his mouth. The incessant tug of pleasure-pain was so unbearable that she cried out, and Raoul lifted his head.