Page 45

45

HENRY SETS TO WORK

H enry’s room was oddly warm when Léon stepped in.

Like a hot day after rain on scorching cobblestones.

Only it didn’t smell like rain.

It smelled like flowers.

It was violet and jasmine essences, to be precise, swirling in a mist in Henry’s bathtub, which glistened copper orange in the dim room, lit only by firelight.

He’d drawn thick curtains over the rough mess of boards on the windows, and the room was incredibly peaceful.

Incredibly intimate.

Léon heard the click of the door behind him, turned his head, and felt the press of Henry’s chest against his back.

“What are we doing?”

Henry wrapped hands around him, pulling at the thread on his vest. “You’re undressing.”

He shook his head, catching Henry’s fingers.

“We can’t. Not in here. They’re all just downstairs.”

Henry turned him around.

“We’re not doing anything. Not unless you want to. And in case you do…” He stepped away, sliding a small bolt across the door.

“Henry, no. We can’t.”

“Then we don’t. But you’re still having a bath.” Henry came around behind him again, placing hands on his hips to push him across the room until he could see the light mist of steam rising up.

Deeply doubtful, Léon asked, “In there?”

“That’s right.” Henry dropped his vest to the floor and took his shirt over his head, ignoring every half-hearted protest that was mostly offset by Léon’s curiosity.

But he stilled again at the water’s edge, searching Henry’s eyes as if trying to detect a joke.

“You just… You get in it?”

“All of you.” Henry gave an encouraging nod.

“Trust me. It’s wonderful.”

“And…” He tried to ignore the fact that Henry was undoing the string of his breeches.

“This is something you all do?”

“No. It’s one of… Well, it was one of five bathtubs in Paris, last I checked.” He ran fingers around the waistband of Léon’s pants.

“It’s a ridiculous luxury, and you won’t find them in England. But I heard about it, and it sounded delightful, so… See what you think.”

Fingers sent a thrill over Léon’s hips as Henry dropped his breeches.

“Okay.”

“In a moment.”

“What?”

Henry had him stripped naked, the light of the fire licking his magnificent body.

“Nothing. I just…” He held onto Léon’s hand and moved a step away.

“I want to remember you like this. These small fragments. Just in case.” Two pairs of melancholy eyes met in the dark.

How strange it was to be naked before him.

To have those warm and adoring eyes on him.

To feel beautiful and wanted.

To want someone so beautiful.

So unobtainable.

Léon pulled him close, the press of Henry’s clothes against his bare skin melting him.

He kissed him once, then Henry moved away, determined that Léon should have this experience.

“Be careful you don’t slip. And it’s hot. If I’ve made it too hot… Just try a toe first.”

With a shy smile, Léon dipped the toe.

His smile deepened, then he sank it a little further, submerging a foot.

“It is nice.”

“Excellent. In.” Henry would have shoved him if he could, eager as he was to see Léon happily ensconced.

But it only took a few more seconds for Léon to settle down, holding the sides of the tub as he went.

Eyes wide, still cautious, his lovely lips popped open as the water rose up his back.

He let out a small moan, and Henry dropped to his knees.

“Good, isn’t it?”

“It’s amazing. It smells…” He took a breath in.

“It smells so good. Is this why you smell so good?”

Henry laughed.

“I haven’t had a bath for about three years.”

“Oh.” Léon chuckled.

“Well… Don’t you want this?”

“Not as much as I want to see you in it. And look, it has this plank.” Henry grabbed a piece of wood and slapped it across the top, locking it into a cavity on one side.

“Now it’s a table. Which means…” He walked to his desk and grabbed a bottle of brandy, pouring it into a crystal glass.

It shone like diamonds in Léon’s eyes.

Just like Henry did.

“Now you sit there.”

Léon frowned up at him.

“And what?”

“And nothing. You sit there. For hours if you like. And if it gets cool, you tell me, and I’ll boil more water. And I’ll be right here.”

With a perplexed twist of his lips, “We just sit here?”

“We just sit here.”

“Ah.” Léon looked around, bemused.

“So this is Paris?”

“This is Paris,” Henry declared.

Then, with a cheeky smile, “How am I doing?”

Léon took a sip of brandy, adoring eyes sparkling over at Henry.

“I’m tempted to stay a little longer.”

Henry's hastily dispatched letters were soon answered, hand delivered by the servants of his small circle within hours of his sending them out. Catherine brought the first of them to his door with a soft knock, which made Léon sink deeper into the bath to avoid being seen. He needn’t have. Henry only opened the door the slightest crack to talk to her, then returned to his desk with his precious correspondence and his ruby ring sparkling on his finger.

“Thank you,” he said, holding up his hand to show it off. “I thought it might be lost. But I didn’t want to ask after you already went through so much for me.”

Léon watched Henry settle into his chair and take up his quill, “What’s the meaning of it?”

“Hmm?”

“I assume there is one. Given you haven’t parted from it. And if it’s from an old lover, I’ll be very sorry it came back intact.”

Henry laughed. “No, Ange. I can promise, you’re the only man in my heart.”

“Good,” said Léon, taking a sip of brandy.

Henry turned the sparkling jewel over with his thumb, considering it, then he let out a small sigh. “It’s quite silly, really. But my mother gave me this when I turned eighteen. I love it and I wore it religiously. And when things fell apart… Well, I still loved it. And her too. Even if she refused to see me. Or Catherine.”

He dipped the quill in the ink, then held it just above his letter, thinking for a moment before turning to Léon. “Do you remember what you said in the cottage about that sense of family? Having those people you love, who love you, who you can depend on?”

“Yes,” Léon replied softly, trying not to let himself think too hard about his own family.

“I can’t say I really had that, not the way you describe it. My father isn’t a warm man, nor a good one. And my mother…” His eyes narrowed a little as he studied the ring. “I suppose this ring represents family, as though I might ever get it back. But the fact is, I don’t want them back. It’s the idea of it, I think. What it represents.” He huffed out a light laugh, then pressed quill to paper, scrawling. “I told you it was silly.”

Léon watched him a few seconds, but his busy hand and intent form betrayed no upset. “Do you miss them?”

Still writing, “My mother, a little. Sometimes. My father, never. I didn’t like him much to begin with, but after that…” He dipped his quill and wiped off the excess ink. “Some things can never be forgiven.”

Henry’s mail continued to arrive, and he read every note greedily, while Léon leaned his head against the back of the bath and watched swirls of mist disappear into nothing from the heat of the latest delivery of scorching water.

He heard the occasional name uttered by Henry, felt the mounting excitement as each new piece of information was added, all of it culminating in one crackling statement that came some time mid-afternoon. “Ange, I’m taking you to a party.”

Henry was up and across the room, throwing a wardrobe wide open, even as Léon sat forward to stare after him. “What are you talking about? We’re boarded up in here. We’re not going to any parties.”

“It’s a secret party. Catherine and I are invited, which means you’re coming.” Without looking, he added, “Because you’re my partner.” Henry held shirts up to the light, deciding on their presentability after four years hiding in a cupboard.

Léon blushed and murmured, “Do you really think of me that way?”

Henry stilled his movements. “Yes. I see a future with you. And you said you see it with me too.”

“But our situation…”

He threw a shirt down and turned away. “I don’t care about it.”

“We have only a week,” Léon reminded him.

Henry stepped to his side, kneeling down. “It’s not a week. Not once you settle in. You will want to stay. And you will be my partner.” Léon pursed his lips to take the kiss Henry offered. “You already are my partner.”

Seeing little use in spoiling Henry’s happy mood by reminding him of reality, Léon said, “But you know we can’t just go out like that. Together.”

“Why not?” Henry, back at the bed assessing clothes, flashed him a fast grin. “It hasn’t been illegal for men to be in love in Paris since the revolution took a hold.”

“What?” Léon spilled some water over the side of the tub in surprise. “Officially? When did that happen?”

“Last year,” replied Henry, throwing a maroon shirt down on the bed. “Liberté, égalité, fraternité. We’re all equals now, in every sense of the word. Do you see what I’m saying? This isn’t just some daydream, wishful thinking on my part. Revolution is now. Change is now. This is the first country I know of where you and I can legally be together. Now, wasn’t that worth taking a few heads?”

Léon laughed as he turned Henry’s crystal glass in the firelight, the irony of their (current) elite positioning not lost on him.

Henry continued, “It’s seventeen-ninety-two, Ange. We’re living in the future. It’s about time we started acting like it.”

“And have you tried these new laws?” Léon mused. “Do you know any men who have?”

“Someone has to.” He said it just as flippantly as a man used to dealing with very few laws might.

Léon’s head eased back. “Henri, sometimes I think you thrive on trouble.”

“Nonsense. I thrive on kind and orderly civilisation. The best the world has to offer, and it’s all here at our fingertips.” Those fingertips fell warm on Léon’s shoulders, pressing a little massage into them as he kissed Léon’s cheek. “And I thrive on you. And you’re going to look spectacular tonight. Now sit up. I’m going to wash your hair.”

“Stop it, no you’re not.” Léon swatted his hands away.

“Yes, I am, Ange.” He reached some soap off the mantlepiece. “And I’ll do it a thousand more times. And you and I will watch the world change beneath our window, and one day, we’ll say, we were there to see it. We were there to help change things. We were part of the greatest cultural shift in all of history.”

The way Léon adored Henry… For every little thing he did, but above all, for the way he spoke. Every word was unspoiled, unchecked optimism. It was all goodness and a belief in a greater good. It was a life and hope not stamped down by bitterness and dead ends.

When Henry talked like that, it seemed to Léon that maybe some of his dreams weren’t really so far-fetched. If a man like Henry, a year older than Léon, could come as far as he had and still believe in such beautiful ideals… perhaps everyone could. If only they got the head start in life that Henry had. Money. An education. Space and time in which to dream of better things, then make them happen.

It was a brutal contrast to Léon’s own world, every single piece of it.

“Henri,” he said softly, leaning into the hands that worked a melting massage over his scalp. “Does it ever strike you as hypocritical that this is your bedroom, and this is your house, yet you’re a champion of people who could never touch this way of life?”

Henry, not at all offended like Léon had worried he might be, let out a soft laugh. “It does seem silly, doesn’t it? But that’s exactly the point. Everyone should have lovely things. Everyone should have this.”

“A big house, and a bedroom of their own, and a bathtub?” Léon scoffed and took a sip of his brandy. “You’re being ridiculous.”

Understanding the displacement Léon must be feeling as Henry lavished attentions on him, Henry said, “You have as much right to these things as any other man. And I want you to accept that. I want you to realise what you are, and I want you to see this revolution the way I do.”

Henry took a jug up and began washing the soap from Léon’s hair. “I know I’ve had it easy. So easy it makes me ashamed sometimes. But I’m no less right for it. The fact is, two peasants and a pitchfork don’t make a revolution. Change only happens from the top down. They’ll tell you it’s the commoners rising up, because it makes a great story. But an illiterate man will never be allowed to fill the void the King leaves when we take his head. That role will be given to the educated, the wealthy, the well-connected. There’s no shame in being amongst their ranks if my object is to keep them on track. Quite the opposite. We have real power here. Not the violence of the streets, but the fire of our words. It will take both those things combined to overthrow the monarchy, and to deliver everything that’s been promised.”

He pulled a bottle off the shelf—something that, when he opened it, smelled like springtime, only better. His fingers turned slick yellow with oil, then they came down on Léon’s shoulders, gently at first, then with thumbs working a long and firm line beneath Léon’s shoulder blades.

Léon let out a deep groan. He had never once had a shoulder massage. Never dreamed of setting foot in a world like this. Never had another person wash his hair since he was a child.

Henry, undoing all the deep knots of stress in Léon’s muscles, spoke gently into his ear, while Léon closed his eyes and settled into him. “You are my partner. You are my Ange. An angel down here in the muck and the filth, and you’re the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen. And I will worship you. And I will wrap you in fine things and I will treat you like the treasure you are. Because you’re precious to me. And nothing that happens outside this room changes that. In here, it’s you and me, and it’s the way I love you.” He slid a hand beneath Léon’s jaw, tilting his face to meet soft lips with a gentle kiss. Léon searched his eyes, golden warm, adoring, confident. Henry said firmly, “Everyone deserves this. This is worth fighting and dying for. This is worth putting everything on the line. You’re my one love, and there isn’t a thing I wouldn’t do to keep you here with me for the rest of our lives.”

Léon held back the words that danced on the tip of his tongue.

To tell Henry how he felt, then to crush him a week later by leaving, was unadulterated cruelty.

But that was the moment Léon knew, clear as the crystal glass in his hand, he had fallen in love with Henri De Villiers.

When Léon finally got out of the bath, hot and wet and smelling delectable, Henry strongly suggested he take a nap. “Just there on the covers. If you like.”

“Just on top?”

“Just there.”

Léon caught his notion. “Like this?” He climbed onto the high bed, indulgently posed on all fours. The silken strands of embroidery beneath his fingers sent a wave of pleasure through his arms. He gave Henry a suggestive glance over his shoulder—Henry, who stood by the bath, fingers on his shirt, having quite forgotten his task.

Léon stretched his arms out long, something feline about him, then laid himself out on the quilt, perfectly naked.

Henry thought hard about the suggestion Léon had made that they should not immediately fuck upstairs, while everyone was doing whatever they were doing on the other side of that mahogany door. But Léon had one leg out long, the other hitched up a little, the curve of his ass so prominent, Henry wanted to bite it. “Fucking hell, Ange.”

Léon smiled back drowsily, angelic face resting on his arms, puff of golden hair curling around his green eyes. “What?”

“If you don’t want me to fuck you right now, why do you look like that?”

That smile so innocent, as though he didn’t know what he was doing. “You told me to lie here.”

Henry threw his shirt to the floor. “What else will you do if I tell you?”

“Anything,” he said softly.

It was difficult for Henry to unlace his breeches, his dick pushing the string tight. “You’re irresistible.”

“Then why are you over there?”

“We-we-we-we’ve— You just said not to!” Henry blustered. “And you’re all stretched out, and your skin is so soft, and… Jesus christ, what I’d like to do to you.”

Sleepily, “You’re going to make me come all over this nice clean bed if you keep talking like that.”

Looking at the bath, then at the object of his desire, then at the bath, “Are you hard?”

“So hard for you.”

“Are you teasing me right now?”

With a laugh, “Yes.”

“You’re diabolical.” Henry, hard on and all, climbed into the tub, and sank beneath the water to soak his hair and every other frustrated part of him. He was soon back up though, drinking in Léon, who hadn’t moved an inch, who watched him, eyelids closing slowly, the same beautiful smile.

Henry flicked his hair back, sending a shower of drops onto the carpet, unable to tear his gaze away. “Roll onto your side.”

Smiling a little deeper, “Like this?” Léon propped his head on one arm, supported by an elbow, and rolled back to expose his abs, his thighs, and his gorgeously erect dick.

Henry wet his lips. “You’re like a work of art.”

Léon used long fingers to draw his leg up at the knee, tracing slowly along his thigh, pausing on his hip.

The way that room suited him. The way that life could suit him. He was made to be a kept man.

Henry wrapped his fingers around his dick. “I want you to stroke yourself, slow.”

Léon closed his eyes and hummed out a quiet agreement. His hand moved over his cock, one long, slow, lazy stroke, just as instructed.

Henry’s hand moved a little faster. “Are you thinking about me?”

“Yes. Henri…” The way he whispered his name. “I wish it was your tongue. The things you did to me in that room…”

“Keep talking.”

“The way you sank my dick into your mouth…”

“Mmm.”

“All the way.”

Another breath of pleasure as he watched Léon getting off on the thought of him.

“The way you pull my hair back when you fuck me…”

“Faster.”

“I like being under your control, Henri. I like what you do to me.”

“Fuck, Léon.”

“I wish your dick was in my mouth right now. The way I wanted you in that alley. Fuck, I would have done anything you said…”

“Okay, stop.”

Léon’s hand paused like a ballet dancer on the final note. Exquisite. He was exquisite.

Henry, through gritted teeth, “You’ll lie on your back, hands on the pillow.”

There was a huff, a bite of his lip, but he did it. He did it with an arch in his spine that begged Henry. “I want you.”

Henry held the edge of the bathtub with two hands to control himself. “I’m saving you for later.”

Léon’s legs pushed into the bedspread as he tried to ease his frustration. “What will you do with me later?”

“If this revolution goes to plan?” Henry said. “I’ll marry you.”

A soft laugh from Léon. Henry was an incurable romantic in every sense of the word. “I would love to be your husband.”

It was the closest he’d come to telling him the truth of his feelings, the very depth of them. The idea though, the fantasy, wrapped Léon in as warm and comforting an air as the fire did, crackling away in the background as his eyelids grew heavier, as he sank deeper into the bed, as Henry kept a quiet and protective watch over him, letting him drift off into the most indulgent sleep he’d ever had.

Henry would have loved to do more. He would have taken Léon over and over all day long. But Léon was exhausted. He’d been through too much, and now, above everything else, Henry needed to wrap him up safe, to give him time to find his feet.

Plus, he had plans. Filthy plans. And he wanted Léon close to bursting with desire when he put them into play.

He relaxed in the warmth of the bath, sipped brandy, and waited. And it was only when Henry heard Léon’s even breathing, when he was sure he was in a very deep sleep, that he finally dared to look down at his arm. He untied the bind of the handkerchief, his shoulder flinching away from him as he did it. Closing his eyes, he peeled the material back. The bullet wound was red and swollen, deep purple at the edges, the ache of it working itself right up into his chest.

It was bad. It was very bad. Salt and vinegar hadn’t done a thing for it.

But they’d made it to Paris.

Henry breathed hard as he sank his arm beneath the water, a thousand knives slicing into him anew.

They’d made it. And he’d be damned if he’d let one more worry touch Léon.

He glanced over at him, so peaceful, a soft smile about his lips, laid out on Henry’s rich quilt. Exactly as he always should have been.

Henry was making the right decision. He would see to the arm. But first, he had to convince Léon to stay.

When he climbed out, some time later, Henry washed and dried and salted his wound. Then he wrapped it tight, all the way down his biceps, determined to hide any sign of the infection from Léon’s precious eyes.