Page 112 of Love Beneath the Guillotine
She walked through to the library, and when he’d followed her, she had two hands on the desk and her head sunk low.
“What is it?” he asked.
“I don’t know.” Her arms softened, and she stood as though the weight of all the last few weeks hit her exactly at that moment. She took a hand to her temple. “I’ve been thinking… Or not thinking. Léon, I don’t think I was ever thinking once before and…” She met his eyes. “Do you think it’s too late for us?”
His heart beat out a flutter of panic, but he kept his voice idiotically neutral. “For us? How do you mean?”
But neither her thoughts nor her words ran on their would-be romance. “Look at this room.” Her blue gaze traced over the rows and rows of leather-bound books, beautiful in their hues of brown and maroon and gold. “How do you get this? Where do you start? I met women tonight, unlike any I’ve met before. And they said things no one has ever said to me. And now I feel… I feel like I’m at a loose end. And I feel a bit lost.”
Thrown by her unexpected train of thought, “Things have been hard. And that’s my fault.”
“It is,” she replied coolly. “You put me in a very difficult position. You did it a lot of times.”
Even if it was true, he hadn't expected to hear it. But her next words surprised him even more.
“You have always protected me. And you have always respected me. And I love you for that.” She took his hands, tears stark in her eyes, swelling to overflowing, landing on her soft cheeks. “If you are determined to leave Paris in a week, I will come with you. But if you should be inclined to stay a little longer…” She looked to the floor, a strange shyness about her. “Cathy has asked me to consider it, if you would, and… I wanted to let you know that I would be happy to stay here. For a time.”
“A time…” He didn’t trust the words to be true—imagined his brain had incorrectly processed them somehow in his desperation to hear them. “Do you mean… Are you saying you’d like to stay in Paris?”
“I’m saying I should…” Her hands tightened on his. “I think I should like to attend another party like that.” Souveraine’s head moved close, but instead of taking the kiss on his lips that would have been her right as his betrothed, her soft kiss landed on his cheek. “Goodnight, Léon.”
She passed out of the room without a sound, while Léon stood alone and bewildered.
Had that just happened? Was Souveraine falling for Paris just as Léon was?
This Paris of ex-cathedrals and executioner friends and baths and food and alleyway blowjobs?
This Paris of Henry…
A bolt of sheer happiness shot through Léon, and he sprinted upstairs, loudly slamming his bedroom door in a pathetic show of modesty. Henry ran to their adjoining door, and the two met in the middle. Léon threw his arms around Henry, plastering a hard kiss across his lips. Henry braced him with powerfulstrength, holding them both stable, his fingers pulling on Léon’s stupid cravat. “Did you have a good night, Ange?”
“The best night, Henri. The best night of my life.” He worked at his breeches while Henry pulled his coat back over his shoulders. “The way you looked tonight.” He slipped an arm free, grabbing Henry’s neck. “The way you speak, the thoughts in your mind, the words that you say, the fire in your heart. I want to burn alive in it.” He shoved Henry back towards the bed, slipping his shirt off. “What you did to me, in the alleyway…” He climbed on top of Henry, straddling him. “It doesn’t end now. Not ever.” He leaned over and kissed him. “I can’t get enough of you.”
Gasping for air, overwhelmed by the declaration, Henry caught his cheek. “Does that mean…”
“I’m staying, Henri. I’m staying if you’ll have me.”
“If I’ll have you?” Henry pressed their lips together, a hand running down his back. “If I’ll have you? Léon… You’re my dream. You’re everything I want.”
“Henri… I love you. I love you and I love you and I love you a thousand times over. I should have said it sooner. I should have told you already. I love you, and I’m not leaving. You were right. Paris, the revolution, it’s everything.You’reeverything. You’re… What the hell is that?” He poked at the squishy spot he’d just come across in Henry’s coat.
With a sly grin, “It’s butter, Ange…”
“It’s…” Léon gasped, eyes wide. “You stole the butter from the party?”
“I stole the lot of it.”
“Oh.” Léon kissed him. “You’re a perfect criminal.” He kissed him again. “I love you.” Another kiss, then desperately devoted eyes. “Tell me you love me.”
Henry leaned forward, pushing Léon up with him. “I love you, Ange.” Complete happiness, complete peace, spreadthrough every inch of Léon. “I told you I wouldn't let you go. I thought it would take more than a single night to convince you?—”
His finger came down on Henry’s lips. “That’s where you were wrong. Because I already loved you. I already loved you, and I’ll never stop telling you now. It’s you and me. And I’m so in love with you. For the rest of my life.”
Despite their recent tryst in the alley, despite the throbbing pain of the bullet wound in his arm, despite the exhaustion in every inch of his being, Henry attempted to push Léon onto his back to ravish him.
But Léon had other ideas.
He held Henry where he was, legs locked on either side of his thighs. “Not tonight, my sweet.”
