Then all was silent, except for her ragged breaths.

She pulled at the ropes, her breasts jiggling against her loosened corset, her sensitive nipples rubbing against its lacy edge.

"Christine?"

Mon Dieu, Raoul! She'd forgotten him.

"Christine, are you back there?"

She struggled harder, and at last felt the rope loosen from her gloved wrists. It snaked to the floor, and she felt it nudge against her skirt. Quickly, she began to pull the corset up over her breasts, shimmying and shrugging to fit them back into their confining cups.

"Christine!"

His voice was closer now, and she could hear the footfalls of his boots. Her stays were in place, but there was no way she could tighten them without assistance, and certainly no way she could button up the long row of tiny pearls down her back.

"Raoul, I am here. On the stage."

"On the stage?" His gentle laugh reached her ears. "Reliving your moment of triumph, are you, little Christine? Let me get a light."

"No! No light, Raoul, please. Just… come here."

Erik was gone; she knew he had left, for she could not feel his presence. And she needed assistance to button up her gown. How dare he do that to her… and then leave her to fend for herself?

At least he had not left her hanging. That would have been quite difficult to explain to Raoul or anyone else who might find her.

"Where are you, Christine?"

"This way. I need your help."

When she heard him on the edge of the stage, she started toward him. It was purely black, so that she didn't realize how close he was. She walked right into him and he caught her, sagging gown and all.

"Christine!" His voice betrayed the surprise at the bare, warm flesh his hands felt at her back. "What is happening?"

"I need help fastening my gown," she said, her hands moving up and over his solid shoulders. Were Erik's as broad? Was he as tall? How could she not know such simple things when he knew so much of her… had taken so much?