Page 42 of Angel’s Flight (The Phantom Saga #4)

Christine didn’t know the language completely or recognize the songs, but they both knew how to join in harmony singing praises to the ale. The group of drinkers and companions had taken her, Erik, and their friends in tonight.

Christine was deliriously happy to finally be singing with others.

It felt so good to let her voice be heard, she thought, as she took another sip of nut-brown ale and squeezed her husband’s hand.

The night had started quietly and grown more raucous as new people had joined the singing, each taking turns to lead the assembled drinkers in song.

Part of Christine – the soprano part – had taken some pride in the way heads turned when she harmonized and sang along, adding high descants a few times and reveling in the thrill.

Erik had not been so ostentatious, and she had not minded that either.

If he had started singing – really singing the way no one but him could – it would have stopped the whole night and caused a sensation.

They still didn’t need to attract that much attention.

Now the singing was over, and she and Erik had taken a place by the fading fire.

It was cozy and inviting, made all the more so by the cool, black night outside.

Erik looked relaxed, as much as he could be in a public setting where his mask was noticeable.

People had been kind enough not to ask about it.

As a couple, they were learning ways to divert attention from it.

A vague story about being hurt in ‘the war’ would often suffice.

No one ever asked which war, for there always had been one somewhere.

Maybe that made him relaxed or maybe it was the ale in his hand.

It made Christine feel warm to see that, too.

“This could be our life,” Christine said aloud, gazing at the man she loved by the fire. “If we stayed here. This could be normal.”

“And you’d like that?” Erik asked back, a sparkle in his eyes that reminded her of the stars in the most wonderful way.

“I would. Wouldn’t you?” Christine answered. “We could find our people here. I think we already have.”

Erik turned and looked out at the crowd.

Adèle had fallen into conversation with Howard and a friend of hers from the theater.

Letitia was regaling the barmaid with a tale, perhaps ready to invite her to the next salon.

Erik took it all in. “I didn’t think I’d ever have people.

The kind that kept me or stayed. Then I had you. ..”

Christine smiled as he turned to her, even as her chest tightened. “I shouldn’t be the whole world.”

“You are, to me, but I understand your meaning,” Erik sighed. “It’s not so bad, I guess. Having people like this.”

“London is a city that can keep you occupied,” Christine pressed. “We can visit other places from here. Ireland, maybe?”

“Not there,” Erik grumbled, bristling.

“If we have a house, we can do more,” Christine tried, and he relaxed. “The noise wouldn’t bother anyone.”

Erik gave her a mischievous smile. “What exactly do you intend for us to do that would make so much noise?”

“I meant music, you wicked man,” Christine scowled through her blush. It did give her ideas though. She had been waiting for a complaint from someone in another room near theirs in the hotel and she was tired of dampening her pleasure in pillows. “We could have a piano. I could have a garden even.”

“A garden?” Erik asked with infinite warmth. “Do you like gardens, Mrs. Gilbride?”

“I do.” Christine felt a flutter in her chest, a hope that had kindled there as soon as he had started talking about houses back at Adèle’s.

“What are we talking about? You look disgustingly happy,” Letitia purred. Christine turned to see where she and Howard had accosted them.

“Does this have something to do with you looking for a house?” Howard said with a grin. “Madame Valerius told us the news.”

“That was not hers to share,” Erik said with a hint of disapproval. Christine sent him a look reminding him to behave himself. Or perhaps she wanted him to misbehave – she saw the gleam in his eyes and it gave her rather delicious ideas about what she could do this evening.

“I traded her for some gossip about a baritone she needs to avoid,” Howard replied with a hand wave. “What a delightful woman she is. I’m quite in love.”

“I don’t think she has the instruments that you’re looking for, my dear,” Letitia said, plopping into a chair next to Christine and giving Howard a smirk.

“I think, of all women, you’d be aware of what sort of instruments a resourceful woman might have at her disposal,” Howard quipped back with a wink.

Christine looked quizzically between her friends and then at Erik, who was chuckling, as well. “What does that mean?”

“Oh, dear. It seems we have more to teach this sweet, young thing.” Letitia grinned, and Christine’s mind started racing.

“I think I can handle such education in this case,” Erik said. It made something curious stir in Christine as the courtesan and her husband held a knowing beat of eye contact.

“Back to the matter of a house. I have an agent I know,” Letitia went on. “Howard would use him if he wasn’t destitute and useless.”

“We will consider it, of course,” Christine smiled back. “There is much to consider and we’re still not sure—”

“We’d like something new and modern with all the latest luxuries,” Erik said to Christine’s delight.

“My husband is a terrible snob, you see. He practically built his last home himself,” Christine shot back.

“I am sure that somewhere with a garden will be harder to find,” Erik countered, and Christine couldn’t help but grin.

Adèle approached, looking satisfied and amused. “Are you smiling like that because you’re talking about your new residence?” she asked. “It better be close to mine. Not that I’ll always be there. I have an offer from the opera in Nice in the spring.”

“We are considering it,” Erik replied with an overly serious tone. “I still don’t know if my pride can take living in this city.”

“Your pride be damned,” Adèle clucked. “I know you. If your wife demands it, you will do it.”

Erik opened his mouth in protest, but Christine cut him off. “He is rather indulgent of me. Obedient, even.”

“That’s my girl,” Adèle said.

“You’re starting to sound like Letitia,” Howard laughed.

Letitia nudged Christine with her shoulder. “She’s a good student. One whose cup is woefully empty! Let us help with that.”

Before Christine knew it, the glass was out of her hands, and Howard followed towards the bar with Adèle on his arm. Once again, she and Erik were alone.

“So, will you make me wait to educate me on what Letitia was talking about?” Christine asked, biting her lip. Whatever they were talking about had the air of desire about it.

“Oh, well, I don’t want to scandalize you,” Erik chuckled, his eyes glinting gold as he looked across the pub to where Letitia and Howard were now bickering.

“You’re an intelligent woman. You can surely put it together when you think of how a man who enjoys the company of men. .. achieves that enjoyment.”

Christine’s cheeks would have reddened had the ale not already given them color, but her shock still must have shown on her face.

Erik gave a low, warm laugh at her expense.

He had told her, after some prodding on her part, what could be involved in the act of love between two men.

The idea had stuck with Christine for many days, then their business in Geneva and beyond had banished the fascination. Now it roared back.

“Letitia said instruments,” Christine muttered as she glanced once more at the fascinating woman. “She meant instruments of...”

“Of pleasure. They exist in all sorts of forms and have for centuries,” Erik confirmed as if it was obvious. Maybe it was to him, but it was a revelation to Christine. “And they have been used by all people, men and women and those that don’t fit those labels.”

“Oh,” was all Christine could exclaim. Certain pictures formed in her head, so vivid and lewd that she almost choked on her tongue. “Oh my.”

“It’s a delight to still be able to shock you, I must say,” Erik drawled.

“I’m not shocked,” Christine countered, indignation rising. “I’m intrigued. There’s a difference.”

The look Erik gave her, however sidelong and fleeting, was pure fire. It made something molten bubble in Christine’s chest and quickened her heartbeat. Suddenly, she very much wanted to be back in their room and their bed.

“A woman could use these devices,” Christine said with a smile that Erik matched, “On a man that enjoyed such things?”

“She could—”

“I want it back!”

The voice was accented and slurred, and in English, but Christine understood the demand. They turned to see a patron of the tavern, a new one if Christine wasn’t mistaken, swaying in front of them.

“I beg your pardon, sir,” Erik said stiffly. Christine felt as if she had missed something, but Erik was alert and tense.

“You took something from a friend of mine. Give it back,” the man said, much to Christine’s confusion.

He was a rough spun sort of character, with sallow skin and eyes that didn’t fit in his face.

Christine didn’t like the way he licked his gums as he looked over both of them and he focused on Erik’s mask.

“Give it back and I won’t tell no one about the mask. ”

Christine gripped Erik’s hand, heart pounding. They had known someone commenting on the mask was a risk when they came out, but she didn’t want this to sour Erik from nights like these.

“Why would I care about what you say about my choice of attire?” Erik asked slowly.

“Please, leave us be,” Christine added in her best English, and the man, strangely, grinned.

“Oh, that’s right. They said you was French,” the man replied with a hiccup. “ Pardonnez-moi, mam’selle .”