Page 33 of Restored

Henry

Henry stood at the window of Christopher’s drawing room, looking down at the street below. The street where Christopher now lived. This was a quiet corner of London. Not fashionable but reasonably well-to-do, and the house was much larger than the one he’d bought for Christopher in Paddington Green.

He hadn’t been sure if Christopher, would agree to see him. The footman who greeted him had been wide-eyed from the moment Henry gave his name. He’d respectfully—and rather too trustingly, in Henry’s opinion—shown him into what looked to be the best room of the house, before offering to have tea sent up without even checking with his master.

When the same footman had opened the door again less than ten minutes later, Henry had half-expected to be asked to leave, but the man had merely said that Mr. Redford would be down in a few minutes, if he would care to wait.

And that was what Henry was now doing. Waiting nervously. Staring unseeingly out of the window at the street below as his mind whirred with thoughts.

When the drawing room door finally opened again, he spun on his heel.

The footman was holding open the door, and the man who was stepping forward, into the room, was, quite possibly the most elegantly dressed man Henry had ever seen. His clothes were beautifully tailored, his hair perfectly coiffed. His face—

It was the same face.

“Christopher—” The name escaped him on a shaky breath.

Christopher Redford was just as he had been nearly twenty years ago—and he was so very different.

For several long moments, they stared at one another. Henry couldn’t have moved or spoken to save his life. His gaze moved over Christopher hungrily, absorbing every fascinating detail. His hair was a more seasoned, darker gold than before, but otherwise he wasn't much changed. Still slim, still fine-featured, unmistakably the same man, only older.

The same; and different.

He was still beautiful, Henry thought, but there was a slight reserve—a coolness even— in the green eyes. And there were lines of character etched in his face that hadn’t been there before. Henry found he wanted to study him, to step close and explore all the minute changes time had wrought.

Perhaps he would have done so, if Christopher hadn’t given a wintry smile, inclined his head almost mockingly, and said with devastating and chilly politeness, “Well. This is rather unexpected, I must say.”

Henry’s heart plummeted.

In that instant, he saw that Christopher was miles distant, holding himself back behind a politely inquiring mask. Beneath the mask, Henry detected traces of wariness and anger. He saw it in the tension in Christopher’s jaw. In the slight glitter in his eyes.

“I’m afraid Kit sees no point in meeting with you. So many years, you know.”

Henry swallowed, hard. “Christopher, I—”

“Please,” Christopher interrupted, his smile a little savage. “My friends call me Kit.” He threw the name at Henry like a dart, the ‘t’ very precise and sharp. “Though you may address me as Mr. Redford.”

Henry blinked at him. Although it had been plain from his conversations with Jean-Jacques that Christopher did not remember him fondly, the sheer hostility the man was giving off shocked Henry. The last time he had seen Christopher, they had been lovers.

And now this.

Evidently, Henry was not considered a friend. In fact, by the look on Christopher’s face, he was very much the enemy.

Henry cleared his throat. “Thank you for agreeing to speak with me,” he tried again, moving forward a step. Christopher immediately stepped back, keeping the distance between them the same as before.

Henry stilled. He tried again. “I recently met Jean-Jacques—I believe he mentioned to you that he’d seen me?”

“He said he saw you in Mercier’s, with your wife,” Christopher said tightly. His lips twisted into a mockery of a smile. “I understand congratulations are in order. Again.”

Henry gave an uncomfortable laugh. “Oh, no, not at all. Unless you mean to congratulate me on my first grandchild. The lady I was with was not my wife, you see. Marianne is my daughter.”

Christopher’s eyes widened at that, and his cheeks flushed pink. “Oh,” he said, seeming entirely discombobulated. After a moment he added, a little shakily, “Well, it seems I’m even older than I thought.”

Henry let out an undignified snort of laughter at that, making Christopher glance at him in surprise, then rub his left ear in an uncomfortable gesture that was somehow endearing.

Henry said lightly, “You are not the one who is about to be a grandfather. Imagine howIfeel.”

Christopher stared at Henry for long moments, his gaze unwavering. At last, he sighed and said, wearily, “Why are you here, Henry? Really, I mean.”