Page 48 of Love Beneath the Guillotine
He spun back with a smile.
“I have…” Breathing hard, she reached into her hair and pulled a cascade of flowing blonde locks loose with the extraction of a diamond-encrusted hair pin. “You forgot this.”
While their father huffed and puffed and otherwise very nearly exploded, Henry bowed low, accepted the hand she offered, kissed it, and swept the jewels up with a flourish.
Feeling perfectly confident in his control of the situation, he took the gun back from his sister, and directed the driver to stand by the rest of the group. He offered to hand Catherine up onto the carriage to take the reins, as she insisted on driving, and it was only because she thwarted his chivalry so determinedly that he turned back in time to see a glint of sunshine on a long and sleek circle of iron rising towards Léon’s beautiful frame.
“Ange!” In a moment of perfectly unexpected, strangely romantic, excessive madness, Henry leapt forward to shove Léon to the side. The bullet flew from the barrel the very same second, and a splatter of blood flew up against the pale teak panelling.
Léon landed in the gravel with a scrape and a cry from his own mouth at the shock of Henry, shot and on the ground in front of him. Henry dug fingers into the dirt and pushed himself up, his loaded pistol the perfect answer to the other man’s burning-hot gun.
In a flash, Léon imagined the man’s head exploding right there in front of his daughters, and he scrambled up from the ground, tackling Henry into the carriage, screaming, “Catherine, drive!”
Henry lurched for the doorway, but the volition of the violent movement Catherine called from the animals felled him back into Léon, who locked an arm across his chest. Henry dropped the gun and snapped two hands against Léon’s hold, giving himself enough space to scramble for the door, where he yelled, “I’ll be back for you, you bastard! Don’t you forget this face!”
Léon kicked him right in his wounded arm. “Shut up, Henri!”
“Ow! Or my name!” Henry snapped, clambering back up. And in a moment of cruel retribution, holding the doorway for balance, he screamed, “My name is Léon Lyon! And I’m coming for you when you sleep!”
Léon leapt forward, only to find himself shoved down on a seat with the tip of Henry’s sword pressed so close against the skin of his neck that one bump in the road would have finished him. He inched himself back against the wall, Henry slammed the door closed and took his place opposite, keeping his sword drawn.
“Well, Ange,” he began, breathing hard over tight teeth, pressing a hand to his bleeding arm, “it appears you’ve been kidnapped and framed for a crime you didn’t commit. Would you like to talk about it?”
25
KIDNAPPED
Léon sat open-mouthed at the flippant-sounding comment regarding the fact that his whole world had, in fact, just imploded. “Why would you do that?”
Because you’re exquisite in every sense of the word and this is the only way I can stop you from running straight back to town and turning yourself in.“Larks.”
“This is a joke to you?” Léon cried. “This is a game? My whole life is back there. Everything I’ve ever done, everything I’ve worked for?—”
Henry huffed a laugh. “Who knew you had such a great time lopping heads.”
“It doesn't matter if I have a great time or not! You can’t just… just… Why would you do this? I thought we were?—”
“You thought we were what?” Henry drawled, head high and haughty, just as arrogant as he ever was.
What had he thought? Henry still hated him, of course he did. But it wasn’t as though Léon had missed the fact that he’d just taken a bullet for him.
Henry regarded him coolly, awaiting an answer that never came, then took long fingers to the clasp of his cloak and unfastened it. “You look cold.” He threw it across to Léon.
Léon dashed the cloak to the floor in one angry movement. Henry swished it up with a scowl, dusting it off, despite the blood and gore still clinging to the base of the garment. He settled his eyes back on Léon, who’d now wrapped arms around himself, absolutely freezing in the large, empty space moving at speed, but determined to deny it.
Henry let out an irritated sigh, slotted his sword back in its holster, and instead took out a small flask, silver, and etched with an enormous and ornate ‘V’. He unscrewed the cap, then offered it to Léon, who would have taken his head off in one glance had looks been able to kill.
Henry took a sip, then said, “It’s about time I introduced myself properly. I’m Henri de Villiers. That’s my sister Catherine at the helm. And I want to thank you for what you’ve done for us.”
Léon paid no heed to the fact Henry had just revealed his surname, a mark of trust for a criminal. He hadn’t even noticed. “Don’t you dare thank me, you absolute shit! Where are we going? Where’s Émile? Where’s Souveraine? Are you a highwayman?”
“One thing at a time,” Henry sighed.
“No! Everything right now! Just what have you got me messed up in?”
Henry raised his eyes to the ceiling. “Yes, okay, I’m an occasional highwayman.” Léon laughed in a particularly succinct display of gallows humour, shaking his head, prompting Henry to add, “It’s only to pay the bills.”
“Bills?” Léon snapped, looking over Henry’s clothes yet again. “What bills does a man like you have to pay?”
