Page 82 of Love Beneath the Guillotine
Léon said, “I had a family. I had a beautiful family. My mother was so good to me. So full of love. My father, he was kind, and his hugs… They were warm. I miss that. It’s been years since anyone…” He fought back his tears, and failed. “I miss them every day. I miss the feeling of being in a room full of people, and you know they love you. No matter what. Émile was so little. He remembers some of it. But after my father…” Rather than give into the tears any more than he already had, he hardened. “My mother wasn’t the same after that. She couldn’t love anymore. Or not the same way. And what I’d become changed her, and Émile didn’t handle any of it well. His dad was gone, you know? And I tried to help. Because then we found out she was pregnant. She was going to have another baby, and…”
His expression pulled tight, and he pressed his lips against the words. “The baby came early, and… and she was dead. A little girl. Dead already. And then… my mother got a fever.” His shaking fingers plucked the bird quickly, unsteadily. “And then it was just us. Marie, my Godmother, she was my mother’s best friend. She was grieving my mother too, but she helped us through everything. She couldn’t take us in. She had nothing, no room, no food. But we all made do, because what choice do you have? But then… She ended up getting caught for theft. They said she killed the man she stole from, but I know she didn’t. She stole what she found on his body. But he was already dead. And maybe that was wrong, but he didn’t need it. And she had kids to feed. What was she supposed to do? I wish she’d come to me. I would have done something. We were saving that money. And I had it. If she’d only asked…” he whispered. “And I loved her.” Tears welling up, “And that was a very bad day.”
For the first time, Henry understood why Léon had been blind drunk that night. That he’d hired a babysitter so he couldtry to manage the trauma of the whole mess alone, just for that one night. Then Henry had stuck a knife under his chin.
He shuffled around to be by his side, taking an arm around his shoulder, which Léon leaned his whole body into, saying, “I wish I had some control. I’ve never had that. It was all I could do to keep a sharp blade.”
Henry kissed his hair, rubbing his arm. “It’s a rotten world. And I made it even worse for you.”
Léon tilted his head up. “Kiss me.” Cradling him, Henry leaned down and placed the requested peck on his lips. Léon caught the collar of his shirt and held him close. “I’m not happy you did it. But I’m glad we’re here. Together at last.”
Love—or whatever it was—bloomed in Henry’s heart, full and strong, an obsessive flush of it. He kissed Léon again, then wrapped his arms tight around him, holding him close against his chest.
Léon mused, “You don’t seem English.”
Henry’s laugh was relief, a breaking of tension, and a deep fondness. “I’m not. Not really. English mother, French father. And while I’ve spent most of my life there, I’ve lived a lot of it in Paris too. I was schooled there for years. France is home to me, just as much as England. Even more so now.” This last comment he delivered with a gentle kiss on Léon’s cheek, laying the implication out for him. “I’m not going back to England, and in Paris?—”
Léon laughed. “Always ‘in Paris’.”
“The only thing it’s missing is you.” Henry kissed him again. Léon yielded easily, and how sweet his skin felt beneath Henry’s fingers. “Explain to me, how can one man be so alluring?”
“I wanted you,” Léon whispered, eyes closed, letting his jaw be kissed as though he were a Greek god born for the purpose of pleasure. “That first night, when you took me into the alley. I wanted you.”
Henry paused, lightly shocked, certainly amused. “In the alley?”
A gorgeous, becoming embarrassment turned Léon’s head away, which only drew Henry’s keen lips, hot breath on his ear, as he slipped a hand down towards Léon’s firming cock. “What did you want me to do?”
“Everything, Henri.” Léon pressed against him. “There isn’t a thing I wouldn’t have done for you if you’d just asked.”
“Fuck,” Henry hissed. “Are you serious?”
Léon’s tongue met his swiftly, cheekily. “I hoped that’s why you’d taken me there. I wanted you to make me.” Henry’s dick begged for Léon, so he tried to pull away, but Léon caught him around the neck. “Do it now.”
“Why are you so enchanting?”
“If you’re enchanted, then don’t stop.”
Henry shook his head, willing as his body was. “We can’t here.”
“Why not here?”
“Do you know how these things work? I can’t just…” He let out a sharp gasp at the delicious bite on his shoulder. “Believe me, I want you. You’re so tempting.” Henry laid a strong hand on Léon’s throat, which Léon responded to with rapt obedience, stilling. “When you said you’d never kissed a man, I didn’t believe you. Because I can see your lips. They’re irresistible.” He kissed them. “But if you haven’t, then I’m going to guess you haven’t done all the rest either.”
The irresistible lips twisted. “Does that matter?”
“Léon, if we do it now, I’ll hurt you. And I want it to be good. I want you to remember me that way.”
For the first time in his life, Léon got to enjoy a different kind of intimacy. Henry’s refusal was a care of him. He felt how much Henry wanted him, and he pushed it, over and over, inspiring a day of kisses and embraces, and promises of what was to comeshould they get a chance to be alone somewhere more suitable, as Henry explained the ins and outs, so to speak, of his plans for Léon.
They watched the sun sinking with foreboding, and they heard the calls of evening animals with heavy hearts.
As they left, the little cottage, which had at first seemed so broken down and damp and miserable, felt like the warmest, safest place on earth.
It was a mercy the horses moved for them, because neither would have been able to find the strength to do it themselves. They got along far too well. Far too well, now they’d finally bridged the gap, and they walked their animals so close their knees touched, refusing to miss a word the other had to speak, all through the night.
When they finally got to Amiens, it was many hours later and still dark, but chimneys were smoking and people were making all the busy movements of a new day opening. They rode on the western side of town, just as far on the outskirts as they thought might still be within city limits. They commenced an inn by inn search for their group.
It took only three, some distance apart, until a very tired man, called from his bed, asked sleepily, “Léon Lyon?”
