Page 95 of Love Beneath the Guillotine
“Hands up!” came a shout.
Henry yelled back, “Cathy!”
“Henry?” The gate flung open and she threw herself into Henry’s arms, wrapping two legs around him, almost knocking him over.
He clamped his hold around her just as heartily.
She dropped to the ground with a sway, her long, cream, incredibly fine dress sweeping the ground. “I was beginning to think you’d never come.”
“Of course I was coming. Léon told you, didn’t he?”
“He did.” She beamed up at him, barely hesitating before hugging Léon almost as tight as she had Henry. She smelled so sweetly, her hair fresh and clean, and she was like an entirely different person to the last time he’d met her. She had a rosy glow, and all the life and energy of youth in her limbs.
He thought of Sophie, of her body rotting in that horrid pit. Of all the other bodies he’d put there. Then Catherine’s hand was on Henry’s cheek, Henry smiling at her with more love thaneither could express, and Léon, though sick inside, was eternally thankful he’d done that one thing.
“I’m going to nail it shut again. Come inside.” Catherine dragged Henry in, and Léon grabbed the two horses to lead them through. It was like ascending into heaven. They found themselves in the bright and colourful hold of a lush garden. His boots crunched down on paved limestone strewn with old leaves, the first delivery of a too-early autumn, after a too-cold summer. Orange and red trees held their branches towards them, waving between those evergreens that made the air cool and fresh, a shocking sensation of rich pleasure in contrast to the filth outside. High walls hid them on all sides, a stable up the drive to the right, and beyond, the edifice of a gorgeous townhouse.
“We’re safe here, but barely,” said Catherine. “They’re taking all the houses, and we’re in deep shit. You came just in time. I was considering heading back to England.”
“Don’t be ridiculous—” Henry began.
But Léon cut in with, “Is Émile inside?”
“Of course. You two go ahead while I fix this.” Planks, nails and a hammer were waiting right there, and Catherine didn’t waste a second getting to work.
Henry took Léon’s hand by instinct, Léon’s fingers closing adoringly around his. It was only Catherine's slightly smug “Ah” that reminded either of them.
“What?” Léon almost stumbled over in his haste to rip the contact apart.
Henry was less cagey, saying softly to Catherine, “Don’t tell the others.”
“There’s nothing to tell them,” Léon insisted stupidly.
Catherine’s smile was unnervingly sly. She set about lining up a nail with the comment, “Don’t let Souveraine see.” Pausing a moment before adding, “Unless I’m there to watch.”
Shaken, Léon refused the hand Henry offered again, striding away from the cackle Catherine threw out behind them.
“Don’t worry about her,” Henry muttered, catching up. “She really doesn’t mind.”
“Let’s just…” Perfectly frazzled, Léon tried, “Let’s go inside?—”
“And act like you’re not my partner?” He said it quietly, but it still drew a hot blush from Léon.
“I’m not.” Then, turning to look into those golden, possessive, provocative eyes, “Am I? I… What… What am I?”
“I don’t know what to call it. You’re more than a lover. More than a fling.”
“Am I?” Léon whispered, desperate in the middle of the enormous mess to hear Henry name it exactly.
“Léon!” The shout came from the other side of closed blue doors. There was a movement to the left and Léon realised with a combination of excitement and worry that Émile had seen them through the window. The door smashed wide open, and Émile flew down the steps into Léon’s arms.
He picked him up high and peppered his cheeks with kisses, letting Émile squeeze him just as violently as he wanted to. The feel and the smell of the boy brought all the worries he’d stifled for the last week to the surface. Even as Émile was there in his arms, all the ‘what ifs’ he hadn’t let himself think about rose up in the shaking of his limbs and tears hot in his eyes. Émile showed no inclination to be set back on the ground anytime soon, and Léon had even less desire to put him down. In fact, he was so caught up in the reunion, he didn’t even notice Souveraine’s soft approach, wary of Henry, who regarded her with a disconcertingly neutral face.
Her hand swept over Léon’s arm, and recognising the gentle touch, he reached for her, his heart swelling with relief to have the two of them back. “I can’t believe you’re all here,” hemurmured, cheek against hers, looking down at Émile’s cheery face. “I can’t believe it’s over.”
She pushed his hair back from his eyes, searching over every well-loved feature. “Are you okay?”
“Now I am,” he said, a tear falling onto her hand.
