by Blake Ferre
Were all the citizens of the Republic so horrendously afraid to speak their minds that they spoke only of cockades?
“Yes, and what do you think about the ongoing discussion of military uniform buttons?” The rosy-cheeked man tilted his head to Henri, eagerly awaiting his opinion.
“Buttons?” Henri made every attempt not to roll his eyes. “I’m sure the National Convention will determine the appropriate messages to be displayed on our buttons.”
Buttons? People truly worried over symbols of the new Republic while traitors continued to roam the city, plotting to tear their fragile government down from the inside? Out on the front lines, the soldiers cared little of whether they wore their old style of uniforms or new ones. They simply wanted something warm, functional—and to not die in them.
Lord knew, their uniforms had changed several times over, yet the Republic had no money to provide enough of said attire. These citizens knew nothing of the struggles he’d endured. The soldiers in the National Guard desperately needed food and supplies of any kind, often marching rough terrain in worn boots and weathered clothes.
Henri turned away from the conversation before he opened his mouth and said something he’d regret.
In the center of the room, the former comtesse chuckled with two Committee members, putting on the performance of a dedicated supporter. Henri began to doubt he’d find any sign of her true nature in this stagnant room.
Turning to escape the salon, he found himself face-to-face with Luc. The rosy-cheeked drunken officer stumbled over his own boots, arm wrapped around a petite companion who struggled to hold him up. Henri grimaced when Luc pulled her in for a sloppy kiss. He didn’t want to imagine how revolting the man’s lips tasted.
Still, Henri resented the man for his freedom to kiss whomever he chose in public. Though the new Republican laws revoked any punishments against sodomy, he’d heard of cases where men had been charged for public displays of lewd acts. Thus, Henri was forced to sneak kisses in dark corners.
Or, in the case of one particular aristo, near the servants’ entrance. The very kiss that had branded itself on Henri’s mouth for the past day. De Vesey. The mere thought of those heated lips still made Henri’s own mouth tingle.
Do not think of those lips.
Merde. He was thinking about them again.
The rogue had only been taunting him. He doubted de Vesey was capable of any real affection. If only Henri hadn’t been caught sneaking inside the man’s home. Or better yet, Henri should have heeded his father’s wisdom and not succumbed to his temptation to sneak at all.
Turning his back to Luc, Henri moved away from the salon until he found a small, secluded courtyard. Much of the greenery had been replanted. Gone were most of the flowering bushes, and in their place were the remnants of a failed vegetable garden. A result of an act the Committee had passed with the intention to feed impoverished Parisians.
With the first spurts of winter, these little efforts hadn’t flourished.
“Chevalier.” The former comtesse flitted her fan and waved him back into the hall. He feigned a smile and joined her at the far entrance, well away from the main room and its guests. “I hope you’ve enjoyed my gathering?”
He leaned away when she clamped two firm hands around his arm, her bosom on full display.
“Citoyenne de Lévesque, this evening has been a pleasure.”
He tried to pull away, but she clawed her fingers into his forearm.
“I wanted to ask you… That is…” She looked to her left and right as if she didn’t want anyone to hear. “I was wondering if you’d come across that English aristocrat, de Vesey?”
Lightning struck his nerves, and all rational thought left him. “De Vesey?” he sputtered. A mixture of delight and horror swam through his veins. What were the chances she’d ask about de Vesey? The sides of his head throbbed as he leaned closer, succumbing to the woman’s grip. “I haven’t seen him, but I doubt I’d notice.” Liar. Even the man’s most chiseled scowl cast a blazing heat inside Henri’s heart.
“Oh, so you know of him?”
Henri silently cursed. He was supposed to be investigating her, not the other way around.
“I’ve heard he’s remarkably generous. Apparently, he donated a fortune to the National Guard, supporting our troops.”
Henri tensed and pressed a knuckle to his lips. It had to be a fabrication. Though he wanted to believe the charity genuine, his heart refused to trust de Vesey. If Luc was right and a number of people accepted bribes, it was possible de Vesey had used the donation as a means to some other favor. Henri reminded himself that the Comte de Bertram had gifted his sister with a number of lovely gowns before destroying her.
“I find it curious that he barricaded himself in that exquisite home of his. It’s a shame not to fill it with a large family.” With a flutter of her fan, de Lévesque whistled.
Henri was about to protest that it wasn’t that large, but he held his tongue. She didn’t need to know he’d seen the inside of the man’s home.
“You aren’t hoping to fill it, are you?” The last thing he needed was a fortune-seeking former comtesse competing for de Vesey’s attention.
He’s mine.
Mine? Henri rubbed the underside of his jaw, just above the cravat. The aristo was in no manner his, nor would the bastard ever be. Not unless he was on his knees, begging… Henri clasped both his hands behind his back, purging the unacceptable thoughts from his mind.
“Chevalier? You look unwell. Is something bothering you?”
Henri stiffened and pulled at his cravat, the empty hall too stuffy and warm for him to think clearly.
“You aren’t jealous, are you?” She chuckled, still waving that irritating fan. “You’ve never professed any interest in courting me.”
Jealous? Oui. Over you? Non.
“Do you think de Vesey is?” He cleared his throat. “Seeking a bride?”
She grinned, lightly slapping her fan against his chest. “How should I know? He’s hidden in his home for a year.”
A year? How on earth could de Vesey sprout up at every turn when he’d been hiding away for so long? And why the seclusion? Because he’d been sneaking traitors out of the country with Duclos?
A bead of sweat dripped along the back of his neck. Ridiculous to be sweating, given the weather. Using his free hand, he wiped it away.
“Are you sure you’re well, citizen?”
He adjusted his cravat and looked around the hall for an open window. This was exactly why he needed to avoid all investigations surrounding de Vesey. A trickle of fear poured through his chest. Given that de Vesey had received a missive from the Scarlet Crest—the same organization mentioned on the burned note Luc had found in Duclos’s fireplace—it seemed inevitable that Henri would be forced to investigate him further.
“Look at you. You are jealous.” De Lévesque trailed her finger down the front of his dark blue waistcoat.
“Of course. How could I not be jealous?” Henri figured if he flattered the digging mistress she’d stop her barrage of questions.
“I’m surprised no one has earned his affections. I’m sure he’s received many offers. He’s incredibly wealthy.”
Ah. Angling for money. Henri pressed a knuckle to his teeth, attempting to maintain his composure. “You’re vying to be the one he finally marries?”
Before answering, she looked over his shoulder and grinned. Henri turned his head and winced. Of all things… Entering from the opposite side of the hall was the Englishman himself. De Vesey’s lean frame barely filled his velvet justaucorps, but the bright scarlet color made his eyes glimmer. Dipping his gaze, Henri wasn’t surprised to find the aristo’s rose-colored lips had curved into a false grin.
Don’t think of those lips.
Parfait, he was still looking at them.
“He’s
gorgeous,” de Lévesque whispered behind her fan.
You should feel the way he kisses.
It didn’t help that he looked so roguishly dashing. The shadows that had once adorned the viscount’s eyes had completely disappeared. His cheeks seemed less hollow, and he had an overall energy to his stride. The closer de Vesey came, the more Henri’s body thrummed. Enamored by the man’s beauty, he’d almost forgotten the former comtesse.
“De Vesey.” He cleared his throat. “You’ve met our host? Citoyenne de Lévesque?”
“Of course. I recall seeing this beauty not so long ago.” De Vesey kept his eyes on Henri, but Henri knew immediately that he’d lied. The former comtesse had only just informed Henri that the man had stayed in his house this past year.
Henri’s grip on de Lévesque’s arm tightened, and she squeaked.
“I believe you’ve tired of your current companion?” De Vesey grinned at the former comtesse, using a flirtatious tone that Henri wanted to cast from his ears. “Would you do me the honor of a promenade?”
She flittered her fan and sighed. “That would be lovely.”
“Don’t worry, Citoyen Chevalier. I’ll return her to you.” The pest winked, leaving Henri speechless.
What was de Vesey doing here? Why come to a social gathering after a year in isolation? He had to be up to something.
The pair floated across the hall together, de Vesey majestic in his every stride. Henri swept his gaze down the length of those well-formed thighs. As his attention trailed upward, Henri’s breath caught. De Vesey had brought the former comtesse closer, into a quick embrace. Henri jabbed the nearest wall with his fist, seeing the two on such intimate terms.
Suddenly, with such swift movements that Henri nearly missed it, de Vesey slipped something into de Lévesque’s skirts.
Rage boiled within him. It was confirmed. The two were in league. Henri itched to pounce and grab the message but remained frozen in place. If he followed de Lévesque, he’d likely sneak a glance at the letter. But he’d miss the opportunity to learn more about de Vesey. Henri crinkled his nose. There was nothing more to learn from the man himself. If de Vesey was an enemy of the Republic and that message sealed his fate, Henri’s work would be done.
De Vesey strode toward him, stripping Henri’s lungs of air. The decision was taken from him. He ached to suck in a hearty breath, but the rogue had snagged control of his every bodily motion. Even Henri’s eyes refused to drop from his gaze.
When de Vesey stood close enough that Henri smelled the scent of brandy and something fresh like sandalwood, Henri dropped his attention to the finery of the aristo’s gold-trimmed waistcoat, lowering his assessment to the man’s loose-fitted breeches. De Vesey nearly looked the part of a proper gentleman. But the small flaws in his ill-fit clothes made him more appealing. Appealing?
When Henri looked up, de Vesey’s smug grin disappeared. “Your lady left to entertain the salon guests in the drawing room.”
“She’s not my lady.” Henri folded his hands in front of his waist and held them together for dear life as de Vesey’s eyes trailed down his chest. “I’d never involve myself with her sort.”
“What sort is that, hmm? Do you prefer someone a little more difficult to catch? A man like you enjoys the hunt.”
Henri had the notion that staying in de Vesey’s presence would be destructive, yet he couldn’t move. “I… I’ll not be baited by you.” Though he stuttered the protest, he feared de Vesey had already succeeded.
“You were jealous, weren’t you?” de Vesey purred, that irritating grin curling in victory. “Walk with me. Your cheeks are flushed, and you look like you need fresh air.”
Henri’s heart drummed in his ears, the pressure unbearable. “Together?” His throat too dry, the words stuck to the roof of his mouth.
De Vesey leaned forward, placing his lips infuriatingly close to Henri’s ear. “You haven’t stopped staring at me since I arrived. I wonder if you’re still thinking about that kiss. I know I am.”
…
Perrin placed his hand on Chevalier’s shoulder, tempted to drive his fingers into those annoyingly well-formed muscles. The moment he’d spotted Chevalier speaking to the very comtesse Perrin had been tasked to find, his blood had gone both cold and fiery at once. He wanted to shout at the man to leave him alone. But every time he encountered the officer, some part of him enjoyed their skirmishing in spite of himself.
He guided Chevalier toward a dreadful excuse of a vegetable garden. Grand statues stood around the perimeter, surrounded by skeletal plants and withered leaves that simply couldn’t withstand the cold. When he had Chevalier out of view from the soiree or salon, or whatever the event was supposed to be called, Perrin pushed the revolutionary behind a large plinth that held a barren vase.
Chevalier gazed into Perrin’s eyes with a wild stare. Their chests moved in frantic unison with heaving breaths that stoked a delightful friction between them. It had been so long since Perrin had craved the press of another man against his body. Memories of that kiss flooded his mind; the velvety caress of those lips awakening a fiery need inside of him. Perrin glanced down to Chevalier’s mouth. So very near to his nose. But he shouldn’t, couldn’t allow himself another taste. He had no reason to hunger for this man.
Perrin closed his eyes and shoved Chevalier’s shoulders more firmly against the plinth. Dear lord, the man’s body was solid. Strong and powerful. Oh, Perrin wished he could cast all wanting for this man aside. Not only was Chevalier a sneak, he proved a danger to Perrin and his friends. The mission he’d accepted tonight was too important to lose sight of.
“What are you doing here?” he asked.
“Committee matters are not of your concern.” Chevalier set his jaw, and Perrin knew he’d never be able to make him open up by use of force.
Given his size and position—and oh, what a position it was—Chevalier held the advantage. But Perrin noticed how the officer’s eyes dipped to his mouth. “You’re right. Sniffing out false traitors is of no interest to me. But you, on the other hand, seem to have quite the interest in my lips.”
Chevalier huffed a breath, and his shoulders slumped forward, bringing his lips to Perrin’s cheek. It was a mere whisper of a kiss, but the contact unfortunately affected Perrin just as much. His mind went blank, and he all but forgot why he’d drawn the man into such a private spot.
So many enjoyments could be shared under the cover of these shadows. No one would know. He loosened his grip and massaged Chevalier’s sternum, drawing a small moan.
“If you’re not here for me, perhaps you’re investigating someone else, hmm? Tell me, which of these attendees smells the most of treason?”
“I-I…” Chevalier’s thoughts seemed too hard at work, likely trying to spin more lies. His jaw set, and his eyes darted to the left.
“Come.” Bastard that he was, Perrin held on to that word a little too long, and if he wasn’t mistaken, Chevalier whimpered. “I won’t tell a soul. Do you think it’s the comtesse? One never knows where traitors lurk about.” He spoke in a low voice, drawing in his prey. “Were you hoping to expose me?”
Chevalier squeaked at the taunt. The high-pitched noise was surprisingly genuine, and clearly the officer was embarrassed by having made it, given the way he tried to puff his chest and lift his chin. But Perrin delighted in that small display of the man behind the revolutionary. Not so strong. Not so unaffected by Perrin’s touch.
“Damn you.” Chevalier’s eyes darkened, and his resistance returned with stiffened muscles and that stonelike exterior.
Unable to resist the temptation, Perrin pressed their lips together. And oh, how the boulder of a man crumbled for him. Every taut muscle gone pliable, molded by Perrin’s touch. It was magnificent. Even better than the first kiss. But it equally seared through Perrin’s own barriers, through every thought that warned him the man was his enem
y.
But right when Perrin expected Chevalier to push him away, the man challenged him, of all things. The prey aimed to outsmart the hunter with a simple stroke of his tongue upon Perrin’s. Oh, the firm, heated feel of him. Perrin needed this. So terribly much.
Chevalier’s arms wrapped around his backside, pulling Perrin all the closer. Perrin was trapped. And the worst of it was, he wanted it.
A fever raged through Perrin’s body in spite of the chill in the air. Chevalier pulled one hand from Perrin’s backside and dug it between them, struggling to release the fastenings of his waistcoat.
“Allow me.” Perrin couldn’t resist the urge to assist. He lowered ever so slightly, crouching so that his lips met the first button. Kissing Chevalier’s fingers, he traced his tongue over them. When a soft cry escaped Chevalier, Perrin nibbled at the button and snipped it free with his teeth.
“My buttons…” Chevalier’s protest was weak at best, so Perrin continued his assault and pried a second button free before raising himself to reach Chevalier’s neck.
On the verge of gaining the advantage once more, Perrin kneaded his fingers along Chevalier’s throat, tugging the complicated folds of his cravat free. Before Chevalier could attempt any protestation, Perrin lapped at the salty skin. They moaned in unison. Exquisite. To Perrin’s delight, Chevalier’s knees caved, and he latched his arms around Perrin’s neck. The hold was filled with need and urgency, as if the man saw Perrin as the last link to life itself.
“What brought you tonight? Did you know I’d be here?” he questioned again, though Perrin really didn’t care any longer what the reason was, for his lips met the officer’s overheated flesh. Perrin wanted more.
Chevalier sucked in a deep breath. “I’ve no idea what you’re speaking of.”
Perrin offered him another smoldering kiss, waiting until he had more of Chevalier’s weight succumbing to his hold. “I want to hear you confess.” No, he didn’t. But the way Chevalier resisted and submitted at the same time was all too addicting.
Chevalier, insufferable revolutionary that he was, battled against Perrin by pressing his lips together. The man hated this. He didn’t want to cave. But when Perrin suckled his neck once more, a different confession tumbled from Chevalier’s mouth. One just as dangerous. “I want you.”