The Revolutionary and the Rogue

by Blake Ferre

  De Vesey bellowed a harsh laugh. “You overheard my conversation with Ashford. You spied on me. And then you told your cohorts all about it, didn’t you?”

  “Don’t be ridiculous.” Henri’s voice raised an octave, making him sound like a liar. But why hadn’t he told?

  “I never should have kissed you.” De Vesey’s voice cracked. “Was it all an act? Freeing that family on the street? Did you stage that performance in front of my house to win my confidence so you could arrest my only remaining friends?” De Vesey snarled and snapped his teeth at Henri.

  Henri cursed but held the man at bay. “You’re making me think aristos truly are demons.”

  “I don’t have time for your foolery.” Again, de Vesey snapped his teeth at him, though Henri managed to hold the rogue away.

  The aristo was turning out to be more trouble than he was worth. “I’ll give you someplace to put that mouth if you don’t stop that.” Henri’s cheeks burned both from the cold and from his raising frustration. “I don’t want to hurt you. I wholeheartedly regret saving you, but I did it. I put my life on the line for you. I could have turned you in. But I didn’t.” He couldn’t. And that was the worst of it. Henri hardly understood it himself, but an urgent force within him called to protect this man. His enemy.

  De Vesey snarled. “You’re up to something. You’re no better than the rest of them. How many people have you sent to the guillotine, Chevalier?”

  “How dare you. You think I enjoy the bloodshed?”

  “Yet you’ve blood on your hands.”

  The retort jabbed Henri directly in the chest. Not that he’d expected more from the aristo.

  “How many people have suffered in order to put gold trim on your well-tailored coats?” Henri flipped their positions, pressing de Vesey’s backside to the gate. He struggled to open it. In one motion, he forced de Vesey through to the other side. The momentum caused them both to stumble to the ground, and soon Henri was on top of de Vesey.

  “You bastard…” De Vesey’s resistance lessened.

  “If this is how you thank all your rescuers, it’s a wonder you’re still alive. Right now, officers have probably already arrested Ashford.”

  “If Ashford goes down, you might as well take my head. I’ll never forgive you.” De Vesey shoved at him, but Henri had the advantage in size and position.

  What a ridiculous predicament. After an aristo had destroyed his world, here Henri was, pleading for one to accept his help.

  But something inside Henri believed de Vesey was different. The fact that he aimed to save his friend, even if it meant his own demise, proved the man was nothing like the aristos from Henri’s past. He doubted the Comte de Bertram would have sacrificed himself, not even to save his own children.

  “Do you have a death wish?” Henri gripped de Vesey’s cravat, bringing their lips close together.

  De Vesey rolled his head from side to side. “Don’t you understand? He’s my friend. He’s in trouble.” De Vesey’s voice trembled, but the anger was gone. “I hate you.”

  “Hate me if you must. I can’t risk you,” Henri rasped.

  “Why?” De Vesey ceased his struggling.

  Henri wished he had an answer. Some reason why he behaved in such a manner around the beguiling aristo. “I don’t know.”

  Slowly, de Vesey’s body melted in acceptance. Henri was probably a bastard for enjoying the sensation.

  “What if something happens to him?” De Vesey’s voice was tiny, barely a muffled whisper.

  “I—I don’t know.” Henri’s tongue stuck to the top of his mouth. Could he really act against the Republic? Even if he thought, perhaps, that Ashford wasn’t a dangerous man, it didn’t give Henri the right to go against the government’s wishes. Who had he become? Withholding information on potential traitors? Warning them? His father would never forgive him. And yet… “I find myself drawn to you.” The confession broke free, past all logic or reasoning. He longed to keep de Vesey all to himself. To explore and dig deeper into the man. The aristo was a conundrum.

  Henri’s hands shook as his fingers dug into the smooth fabric of de Vesey’s waistcoat. Almost too perfectly, he grazed a sharp corner of parchment. Henri held still. He could slip it from de Vesey. So easily.

  Henri listened to the rapid beat of de Vesey’s heart. With each frantic thump, his connection to the aristo grew. A dangerous and stupid notion. Henri needed that document…to keep them both safe. Yes, perhaps he also intended to spy—a bit.

  He stroked the smooth fabric, earning a soft rumble from de Vesey’s chest. Astonishing, how Henri’s body tingled from that gentle sound.

  He continued to play with de Vesey’s chest, waiting until the man tipped his chin upward. “I don’t understand you.” De Vesey pulled him closer, squishing their bodies so tightly together it was difficult to tug the parchment from its hiding place. The proximity masked the moment when Henri slipped the offending thing into his own coat.

  He nestled his cheek over de Vesey’s untamed hair, hoping this wasn’t all a dreadful mistake.

  “Halt!” Luc’s ragged snarl sent blades through Henri’s chest. “By order of the Committee of Public Safety, show yourselves!”

  “Run,” Henri whispered before he pushed off de Vesey.

  Behind him, Henri heard de Vesey’s footsteps trailing away. He closed the gate, blocking de Vesey from his cohort’s grasp.

  “Chevalier?” Luc squawked. “What are you doing back there? And who the hell was that man?”

  Henri glanced over his shoulder at de Vesey’s retreating form. “He’s no one.”

  “You’re lying to me.” Luc pushed at the gate, aiming for de Vesey.

  “He’s my—er—lover,” Henri blurted in a moment of desperation before immediately covering his mouth. What the hell had he done? Though the claim held no risk of criminal charges, given that such laws had been removed from the new constitution, it wasn’t something he’d hoped to share with his colleague.

  The statement stopped Luc in his tracks. “Your what?” His lips curved with revulsion, but he didn’t speak any slanderous words.

  “You heard me. And I’d prefer if this could be something you keep to yourself. It’s not information I readily share.” Curse de Vesey and Henri’s incessant need to insert himself into whatever dealings the aristo was involved in.

  “Tell anyone? Chevalier, you’re the one who must never speak of this. Do you hear me? And try to keep your friends away from our missions.”

  Henri’s heart thudded. Luc’s response certainly wasn’t a loving gesture, but it was far less abrasive than he’d expected. Not that he’d ever planned to share his private affairs with his colleague. Luc wasn’t the sort of man an officer could sit back and have a personal chat with.

  “Citoyen Cyrille! I’ve caught someone trying to escape,” a voice echoed over the courtyard.

  Henri’s heart shattered. Non.

  “Come out from behind those bars, Chevalier. We’ve a traitor to arrest.”

  Henri wasn’t sure if he was relieved or disheartened when he saw the face of the captive bound between two officers. Ashford cursed as they dragged him through the slush.

  “He attacked several officers. The rest of the actors have escaped,” one of the soldiers reported.

  Luc cursed. “Shut down the theater and search the premises.” Pushing past Henri, he didn’t glance back.

  Shut down the theater? Under Luc’s order alone? Since when had the chain of command diminished?

  Henri clutched his cloak over his chest, hugging the document well hidden from his companions. He shivered as he watched the officers retreat with their prize. Henri ought to be happy they’d caught an enemy of the Republic. But he sensed Ashford’s innocence. He needed to look at the documents before his cohort caught wind of them. Luc would only make a hasty accusation, whereas Henri
aimed to seek the truth. Ashford deserved a fair and just assessment.

  Henri had always been certain about his missions in the past. Strategically thought out his every action. Since meeting de Vesey, he’d begun to act on instinct alone. Thoughtless actions spun by emotions. Dangerous. And yet, he’d never felt more alive.

  Chapter Ten

  “I’m going to strangle that blasted officer.” Perrin ducked beneath the lowest wooden crossbeam of Crimson Rose’s backroom, nearly spilling his brandy. He tossed back a swig, hoping its effects would be swift enough to erase all memory of Henri Chevalier.

  False Knight. Lying Knight. Insufferably handsome Knight. Savior Knight?

  Perrin glanced around the room, noting the distinct absence of their host. “Where in the bloody hell is Guillaume?” Perrin wanted to get this damned meeting over with so he could chase down Chevalier and get those documents back.

  “Sink me. It doesn’t add up.” Quill teased the top button of his waistcoat between his fingers. “Why would Chevalier help you if he was planning to arrest you? He did let Ashford go.”

  With his free hand, Perrin wagged a pointed finger at nothing in particular. “He restrained me. Refused to let me chase after Ashford.”

  “I’d personally like to thank Chevalier for stopping you.” Philippe brushed his arm. “Always acting without thinking, my lord. It would have been foolish to chase after Ashford with those officers on high alert.”

  Perrin didn’t want him to be right. It was easier to hate Chevalier than to face what the alternative might mean. “Without those documents, we’re dead in the water.” Why couldn’t the officer simply have stolen the note Perrin had been tasked to have him find? Scoundrel that he was, Chevalier had taken the citizenship certificates Ashford had handed to Perrin. This was a disaster.

  Quill tapped his finger on the table. “You’re sure you didn’t drop them?”

  “Of course not. I slipped them in my waistcoat, Chevalier held me against a fence, we fell to the ground, and then they were gone.”

  “Held you against a fence? Tumbling upon each other?” Quill hummed. “Sounds like fun to me.”

  The club’s back door whisked open, sending a hefty breeze across the room. The flames in the hearth danced with the shadows along the walls. Guillaume stormed across the planked wood floor, his cheeks flushed. The heavy door slammed with a thud so strong it shook the table and jostled the decanter with a hollow clank.

  “Curse the Committee and their Law of Suspects. I swear, every day there’s a new obstacle and fewer regulations. It makes our work all the more difficult. Officers shutting down the theater upon their own whims?” Guillaume’s lips moved in a blur of shapes as he spilled the words like a racing stream. “It’s one small condolence that our leader was able to ensure that Ashford was taken to La Force.” Guillaume braced himself on the edge of the table.

  “How is that a good thing?” Philippe asked.

  “Because it means we can get Ashford out when we go in for Duclos.”

  “About that. There’s a minor hitch in the plan. I’ve lost the citizenship certificates.” Perrin figured he might as well confess now.

  “Lost them? How could you have lost them?”

  “Chevalier…” Perrin didn’t need to say anything further.

  Rage filled Guillaume’s eyes. “That officer? Just because you lost Julien and care little for your own head, that doesn’t make it all right to risk the operation.” Guillaume rubbed the back of his neck and exhaled. “I’m sorry. Dear God, forgive me. It was wrong of me to say that.”

  “I don’t have a death wish.” And for the first time in a great long while, Perrin actually believed it.

  The door to the club’s interior room opened a small crack, followed by a light knock. A young man stuck his head through. “Excuse me, Monsieur Guillaume. A citizen came to the door using the false password.”

  Perrin and his companions groaned in unison.

  Guillaume huffed and raked his hands over his coat. “Will this day never end?”

  The young fellow cleared his throat. “Monsieur, what do you want me to do with him?”

  “Let him in.” Guillaume fiddled with his unruly cravat. “Looks like we have an unwelcome visitor.”

  The pit in Perrin’s stomach and the looks his friends aimed at him told Perrin exactly who the intruder might be.

  Insufferable Knight. Sneaky Knight.

  “You’d better settle this quietly.” Guillaume grunted. “You might not understand all the moves, but keep in mind that one thoughtless action could lead to our ruination.”

  “I’m sorry.” Perrin bowed his head. “This whole situation has scrambled my better reasoning.” Too much had changed far too quickly. He’d gone from living in isolation, misery, and boredom to a continuous battle.

  Guillaume squeezed his shoulder. “This city does that to a man.”

  “Indeed,” Perrin said and pushed through the secret doorway to meet the man who’d stolen Perrin’s very sense of reason and chopped it into bits…and yet made him feel more alive than he had in a great long while.

  Still vacant of the usual life, warmth, and chatter, the main area of the club held a number of foreboding shadows. Perrin dragged his fingers through his wind-kissed hair, not that he cared what Chevalier thought of him. He spotted the officer dressed in common garb, a long black cloak draped over a dark brown jacket and a cream waistcoat.

  “What are you doing here?” Perrin spoke in a flat tone, a warning for Chevalier not to toy with him.

  Chevalier’s eyes grew wide. “You’re here.” He folded his fingers, the knuckles red and cracked. Not that Perrin cared. Much.

  “Did you not expect me? Thus far, you’ve seemed rather good at spying.”

  Chevalier glanced at his hands and shrugged. “I’m not sure what to think. I’d just hoped…”

  “Oh, don’t bother. Just…follow me.” Perrin didn’t look back as he made his way toward the staircase behind the main bar.

  Upstairs, he tested a door that was cracked open. The interior was unoccupied, though glowing flames still crackled in the fireplace. The moment he closed the door behind them, Perrin leaned against the polished surface, clutching the raised trim for support.

  “Make this quick, Chevalier, because the very sight of you pains me.”

  Chevalier pressed his brows so tightly together, his entire forehead was marred by wrinkles. “I know you’re angry, but I only aimed to help you last night.”

  “Help me?” Perrin balked. The audacity of this officer. “You arrested my friend and prevented me from saving him. You think that was any help? Oh, but let’s not forget you stole something last night as well. I’m not about to drop to my knees in gratitude.”

  “I— Not even I know what I’m doing here. What happened last night… It can’t happen again.”

  “Agreed.” Perrin scowled, sickened by the conniving officer.

  “I hate to say this, but your friend has a great deal of denouncements against him. That play…along with other statements about Robespierre he’s spoken to others in confidence.” He waved his hands in the air as if churning empty space might make his words sound better.

  “That doesn’t make the arrest right. Last night, you spoke of your passion for justice and fair trials, yet the Terror has stripped away the very constitution the Revolution fought to—” Perrin pressed his lips together, remembering exactly what Chevalier was. An officer. One who might arrest him for those very words. “My friends are good men.”

  “Who are suspected of sneaking traitors out of the country!” Chevalier opened and closed his hands into fists as if strangling the very air. “What do you think will happen when enough aristos gather support against France? They’ll rally our enemies and annihilate our cause with an army too massive to defeat. More war. More death. Another king. The end of freedom.�
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  “Freedom?” Perrin laughed. “People only flee from this miserable city so they might survive. If you’d stop beheading everyone, they’d have no reason to run off to begin with. It’s only a matter of time before every last citizen is denounced. My friends bear no more guilt than you.”

  Chevalier pressed a finger to his chest. “Me?” he sputtered.

  “Yes. By your logic, I’m as guilty as my friends. Which makes you a traitor for helping me.”

  Sticking his nose toward the ceiling, Chevalier scowled. “That’s not the same.”

  “Not the same? Ha!” Perrin scoffed and stepped toward the fireplace. The heat from the flames danced across his face. “Accept it. You’re as guilty as the rest of us.”

  “I believe in the heart of the Revolution. Wealth shouldn’t be squandered.”

  Perrin was tempted to pull his hair from his scalp. “And Robespierre doesn’t squander it? The Committee and their hoarded antiquities? Stockpiled supplies and food?”

  “They intend to share everything equally with the public. These things take time.”

  Frustration and anger boiled inside Perrin’s veins. “Time? Look around you. People still starve. Do you truly believe the Terror is working?” Perrin narrowed his eyes, taking in the officer’s discomfort. The way he scratched at his breeches like they pained him. The shifting of his weight from one foot to the other. “Admit it. You already fear it isn’t. That’s why you helped me last night.”

  “I might have helped you, but I’ll not do so again. I acted against my better judgment. It was an act of haste—desperation. I don’t… I’m not one to protect traitors.” Chevalier rasped the words, protesting far too much.

  “I’m flattered.” Perrin lowered his voice in a mocking tone.

  “I’m beginning to regret taking those documents. I thought if I looked first, I might give you a fair chance to explain. But whatever you’re involved in must stop.” Chevalier stuffed his hand into his coat pocket and retrieved a folded set of parchments before throwing them into the fire. “Go ahead. Save them. Commit your treason.” Chevalier gave a sharp inhale as if it pained him. “I hope you enjoy your cell.”