Page 84 of Love Beneath the Guillotine
With a narrowing of his eyes, “What do you mean he wasn’t there? How can you know that?”
“They told me he fled. Months ago. Because of tension in the city. This is what I’m telling you, Henri. Paris isn’t what you think it is?—”
“Of course it is!” Henry cut him off, switching jarringly from panicked to excited in the space of a heartbeat. “But Léon, can’t you see? This is fantastic!”
“I thought this was a disaster?” Léon said, befuddled, as Henry’s hands fell on his shoulders.
“It was, but it’s not now. Not if he’s not there.” His hands flew together with a happy clap. “Ange, this is perfect!”
“It is?”
“It is! This is the very thing. Everyone, right where we want them. In Paris!”
“But I don’t want Émile or Souveraine in Paris!” Léon protested.
“You need to just calm down. Don’t you think all these reports, all these awful things you keep hearing, maybe it’s propaganda?”
“No, I never thought that, not once.”
“It’s that bastard ex-king, Louis. Of course, he’s spreading all kinds of terrible rumours about the city. You can’t really believe the streets are running red.”
“There’s a surprising amount of blood in one human body,” Léon mused.
“Then there you have it! You know, Robespierre, when I knew him, was staunchly against the death penalty. Why would that have changed?” Léon opened his mouth to speak, and was cut off with, “Truly, I promise you, now they’re at the house, which they probably already are, everything will be totally fine. No more troubles, from here on out. You can trust me on this.”
“I don’t know if?—”
“And Léon!” He grasped Léon’s hands, curling his body against him in feverish excitement, so taken with all the very new and wonderful ideas flooding his mind. “We would be idiots to travel by daylight, wouldn’t we? We-we-we could get caught, right?”
Léon gave a small shrug. “Well, yes, but we have to catch up?—”
“So what if,” he leaned in close, lowering his voice, “we hide out here.”
Léon looked around, stupefied. “What do you mean? Where?”
Henry nodded towards the closed door of the inn. “No one else has seen us. It’s still early. Let’s just… spend the day here. Together…”
“Another day?” Léon whispered. He scanned the door like it was a gateway to Heaven. Like Henry’s suggestion was some distant and mythical concept far too removed from reality to be a possibility. “We can’t just?—”
“Yes, we can,” Henry said firmly. “They’ll be safe, I promise you.”
“But—”
“And you’re not doing them any favours by getting caught.”
“I hadn’t intended to get?—”
“And the horses are tired. And Destroyer and Azazel really want to come to Paris.”
“Azazel?”
“Come on, Léon. Please. Please. Please.” And this last word he continued to repeat every time Léon attempted another sentence until his exuberance verily beat Léon into submission.
“Okay. Do you think…” Léon glanced at the door again, keen but anxious. “What if… What if they find out? About us…. wanting to be… together?”
“It’s okay. We’ll get two rooms. Or-or a room with two beds, and that will be that. It’s totally common. Nothing to worry about.”
“Do you think so?” One more day. One more precious day.
