Page 103 of Love Beneath the Guillotine
Henry continued, “It’s seventeen-ninety-two, Ange. We’re living in the future. It’s about time we started acting like it.”
“And have you tried these new laws?” Léon mused. “Do you know any men who have?”
“Someone has to.” He said it just as flippantly as a man used to dealing with very few laws might.
Léon’s head eased back. “Henri, sometimes I think you thrive on trouble.”
“Nonsense. I thrive on kind and orderly civilisation. The best the world has to offer, and it’s all here at our fingertips.” Those fingertips fell warm on Léon’s shoulders, pressing a little massage into them as he kissed Léon’s cheek. “And I thrive on you. And you’re going to look spectacular tonight. Now sit up. I’m going to wash your hair.”
“Stop it, no you’re not.” Léon swatted his hands away.
“Yes, I am, Ange.” He reached some soap off the mantlepiece. “And I’ll do it a thousand more times. And you and I will watch the world change beneath our window, and one day, we’ll say, we were there to see it. We were there to help change things. We were part of the greatest cultural shift in all of history.”
The way Léon adored Henry… For every little thing he did, but above all, for the way he spoke. Every word was unspoiled, unchecked optimism. It was all goodness and a belief in a greater good. It was a life and hope not stamped down by bitterness and dead ends.
When Henry talked like that, it seemed to Léon that maybe some of his dreams weren’t really so far-fetched. If a man like Henry, a year older than Léon, could come as far as he had and still believe in such beautiful ideals… perhaps everyone could. If only they got the head start in life that Henry had. Money. An education. Space and time in which to dream of better things, then make them happen.
It was a brutal contrast to Léon’s own world, every single piece of it.
“Henri,” he said softly, leaning into the hands that worked a melting massage over his scalp. “Does it ever strike you as hypocritical that this is your bedroom, and this is your house, yet you’re a champion of people who could never touch this way of life?”
Henry, not at all offended like Léon had worried he might be, let out a soft laugh. “It does seem silly, doesn’t it? But that’s exactly the point. Everyone should have lovely things. Everyone should have this.”
“A big house, and a bedroom of their own, and a bathtub?” Léon scoffed and took a sip of his brandy. “You’re being ridiculous.”
Understanding the displacement Léon must be feeling as Henry lavished attentions on him, Henry said, “You have as much right to these things as any other man. And I want you to accept that. I want you to realise what you are, and I want you to see this revolution the way I do.”
Henry took a jug up and began washing the soap from Léon’s hair. “I know I’ve had it easy. So easy it makes me ashamed sometimes. But I’m no less right for it. The fact is, two peasants and a pitchfork don’t make a revolution. Change only happens from the top down. They’ll tell you it’s the commoners rising up, because it makes a great story. But an illiterate man will never be allowed to fill the void the King leaves when we take his head. That role will be given to the educated, the wealthy, the well-connected. There’s no shame in being amongst their ranks if my object is to keep them on track. Quite the opposite. We have real power here. Not the violence of the streets, but the fire of our words. It will take both those things combined to overthrow the monarchy, and to deliver everything that’s been promised.”
He pulled a bottle off the shelf—something that, when he opened it, smelled like springtime, only better. His fingers turned slick yellow with oil, then they came down on Léon’s shoulders, gently at first, then with thumbs working a long and firm line beneath Léon’s shoulder blades.
Léon let out a deep groan. He had never once had a shoulder massage. Never dreamed of setting foot in a world like this. Never had another person wash his hair since he was a child.
Henry, undoing all the deep knots of stress in Léon’s muscles, spoke gently into his ear, while Léon closed his eyes and settled into him. “You are my partner. You are my Ange. An angel down here in the muck and the filth, and you’re the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen. And I will worship you. And I will wrap you in fine things and I will treat you like the treasure you are. Because you’re precious to me. And nothing that happens outside this room changes that. In here, it’s you and me, and it’s the way I love you.” He slid a hand beneath Léon’s jaw, tilting his face to meet soft lips with a gentle kiss. Léon searched his eyes, golden warm, adoring, confident. Henry said firmly, “Everyone deserves this. This is worth fighting and dying for. This is worth putting everything on the line. You’re my one love, and there isn’t a thing I wouldn’t do to keep you here with me for the rest of our lives.”
Léon held back the words that danced on the tip of his tongue.
To tell Henry how he felt, then to crush him a week later by leaving, was unadulterated cruelty.
But that was the moment Léon knew, clear as the crystal glass in his hand, he had fallen in love with Henri De Villiers.
When Léon finally got out of the bath, hot and wet and smelling delectable, Henry strongly suggested he take a nap. “Just there on the covers. If you like.”
“Just on top?”
“Just there.”
Léon caught his notion. “Like this?” He climbed onto the high bed, indulgently posed on all fours. The silken strands of embroidery beneath his fingers sent a wave of pleasure through his arms. He gave Henry a suggestive glance over his shoulder—Henry, who stood by the bath, fingers on his shirt, having quite forgotten his task.
Léon stretched his arms out long, something feline about him, then laid himself out on the quilt, perfectly naked.
Henry thought hard about the suggestion Léon had made that they should not immediately fuck upstairs, while everyone was doing whatever they were doing on the other side of that mahogany door. But Léon had one leg out long, the other hitched up a little, the curve of his ass so prominent, Henry wanted to bite it. “Fucking hell, Ange.”
Léon smiled back drowsily, angelic face resting on his arms, puff of golden hair curling around his green eyes. “What?”
“If you don’t want me to fuck you right now, why do you look like that?”
That smile so innocent, as though he didn’t know what he was doing. “You told me to lie here.”
