The Revolutionary and the Rogue

by Blake Ferre

  They were set to embark on their final escape tomorrow morning. Though Perrin would have preferred to give Henri more time to get his strength back, the longer they waited, the more dangerous Henri’s presence in Paris would be.

  Perrin crept into Henri’s bedchamber. “Are you awake?”

  “Perrin.” Henri was seated upright, his chest bared and sheets drawn low, exposing the bruising on his side and stomach.

  “I’m glad to see you.” Perrin neared the bed and reached out to trace his finger over one of the larger welts. “Does it hurt?”

  “Yes, but I’m feeling much better.” Henri glanced down at himself. “The bruises appear worse than they feel. I must look like hell spat upon me.”

  “I assure you, you look wonderful, my Henri. Because you’re here. Alive. The bruising is but a badge of your heroism.” Perrin tentatively smoothed back the hairs from Henri’s forehead. Past the swelling and bruises, he saw only the smooth flesh and muscles of the man he so dearly admired. “Next time I’m furious with you, though, try not to sacrifice yourself? You insufferable revolutionary.”

  Henri pressed into Perrin’s touch.

  “You’re beautiful.” Perrin leaned closer.

  “What is it about you?” Henri closed his eyes, his lips opening ever so slightly.

  “I wonder the same. I’m drawn to you. Always was. Always will be.” Affection and desire stirred in Perrin. It wasn’t just the physical attraction that made him want Henri. It was that infuriating and wonderful mind of his. The spirit inside him. Dear God, he’d infiltrated a blasted prison to do what he’d believed to be right. “I was so terrified I’d never be able to hold you again.”

  “Oh, Perrin. I feared the same. I just want… I need to feel you again.” Henri uttered the softest whimper, and Perrin was undone.

  “Then so you shall. But I’m afraid it will have to wait. We’ve much to discuss.”

  Henri’s expression darkened.

  “I assure you, it isn’t bad. Unless…” Only a few short days ago, he’d feared he might never have another moment with Henri.

  “Unless what?” Henri’s amber eyes shone with hope…and possibly a bit of fear.

  …

  “We don’t have long, but I needed to speak with you before we leave tomorrow, in case we don’t make it out of the city.”

  Henri nodded, his fingers twisting together. “All right.” He braced himself for the inevitable rejection. Clearly this momentary tryst had been a mistake. An act Perrin regretted.

  “Henri, I…” Perrin drew his fingers through his hair in that nervous manner he always had when he fretted over something.

  “You don’t need to explain yourself.” Henri waved the inevitable apology away. “I understand.” God, he didn’t. He hated this. “I’m sorry for my involvement in Julien’s death, and I realize you’ll never be able to forgive me. And I don’t deserve it.” His traitorous voice cracked.

  “Henri. Stop.” Perrin placed a warm hand on his shoulder, drawing him near.

  Merde, but this was difficult. Henri’s eyes burned as tears trickled down his cheeks without permission.

  “I’m the worst sort of fool.” Perrin wiped the damp intruders from Henri’s eyes.

  “What?” Henri couldn’t risk another breath for fear he hadn’t heard Perrin correctly. Hope pounded in his heart.

  “I’m insufferable, stubborn, and I never should have let you go. You were right when you called me a rogue. I am. The worst sort.”

  Henri’s throat tightened. This was not the speech he’d prepared himself to receive.

  “I didn’t mean those things I said. Not in the way you thought.” Perrin’s voice trembled, and the words spilled out of his rosy lips so quickly, Henri wanted to hear them again, because he must have been mistaken.

  “I wasn’t prepared to say goodbye to Julien. But I finally looked at his portraits, and I realized that I’m ready now. And it might be too late, but I had to tell you. It was wrong to blame you for his death. It wasn’t you that day on the street; it wasn’t you who dragged him away and sentenced him. I was just so damned scared about how much you meant to me.”

  “What are you saying?” Henri held his breath.

  “I’m saying I’m a fool and I love you. I don’t deserve you, but by God, I need you.”

  “Love?” Henri’s voice trembled. “Do you mean it?”

  “Yes. I love you.” Perrin licked his lips. “Can you ever forgive me?”

  Henri entwined his fingers in Perrin’s hair, drawing him closer. Très impossible. He could hardly believe it was real. But Perrin’s kiss was warm, wet, and right. Henri groaned, melting at the contact.

  Holding Perrin tighter so he could not steal the words back, Henri grinned like a fool. “I love you, Perrin de Vesey. Lord knows I don’t deserve you, but I love you. There’s nothing to forgive.”

  Henri covered Perrin’s lips with his own, his tongue demanding entrance. Perrin’s mouth parted with a needy moan. If Henri’s body wasn’t already spent, he would have taken his lover. Injuries be damned.

  “I don’t see how you can want me,” Henri said. “I’m broken inside…”

  “I want you just as you are, flaws and all.” Perrin traced a finger across Henri’s lips. “You’ve seen me at my worst, and you still love me. Nothing could be more beautiful than that.”

  Henri lowered his chin. “And you’ve seen the worst of me.”

  “I think that’s the definition of love.” Perrin kissed the top of his head.

  “Then tomorrow? We leave together?”

  “If you’ll have me.” Perrin winked.

  Henri gazed into his lover’s eyes, humbled by the amount of affection that glistened in them. Not once had he ever thought he’d earn Perrin’s love. And just because they had to leave the city, that didn’t mean their efforts for the Scarlet Crest had to end.

  Lemaire had insisted that each member played an important role. Each act just as necessary and noble as the next. When it came to helping others, there was no rank or higher order required. What was important was the desire and drive to help those in need.

  Henri would find a new way to be of use to their league.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Perched on the edge of a large cart, Henri helped Lemaire load the military supplies on board. They’d arranged the goods upon straw padding that covered a false bottom. It housed a decent hiding space, though it didn’t look wholly comfortable. Behind him stood a second cart, filled to the brim with scraps of wood. It too housed a similar compartment. Henri and his companions would hide within until they passed the city gates. Once through, they’d be safe to ride topside and pose as officers for the remainder of the journey.

  Lemaire set the last crate on board and rubbed his hands together. “Where are the others? We can’t hold off much longer.”

  “They’re saying their goodbyes.” Henri adjusted his dreadful wiry wig and glanced over to the church, where Perrin and Philippe shared an embrace.

  “You’re a good man.” Lemaire bowed his head. “We’ll continue this operation—you can count on that. Plenty of innocents left to help. And I’ve earned myself a few recruits, thanks to you. They’re brave to remain.”

  “I only wish I could join you.” Sensing the rising sun, Henri felt his chest grow hollow with worry and anxiety.

  “You shall. From London. Once those we rescue from the city arrive in a new land, they’ll need assistance restarting their lives.” Lemaire’s words struck a spark of excitement inside Henri. Of course, it would be terrifying to arrive in a new land while grieving the familiarity of home.

  The sound of approaching footsteps sent Henri’s heart into a calamity of frantic beats, fearful that officers might pounce at any moment. But it was Perrin who emerged through the fog.

  Behind him, the actor, Ashford, and the
feathery fellow, Quill, carried Duclos.

  “Hurry. It’s close to sunrise.” Henri waved them toward the carts.

  “La, I’m all for squeezing into tight spaces, but this doesn’t look fun.” The colorful fellow wiggled his fingers.

  Lemaire smiled and winked at Quill. Henri glanced between them, and it seemed like the two had bonded. A forlorn expression settled over Quill’s face before he planted a large grin on his lips and giggled.

  After the companions said their goodbyes and gathered around Lemaire to discuss the method of transport, Henri pulled Perrin into his arms. “We’re really doing this?”

  “Yes. Together, my love. That is, if you still want me.”

  Henri kissed his lover, wondering over the incredible obstacles they’d suffered to reach this moment. All the pain, the fighting… He’d endure everything again for one more kiss.

  Lemaire cleared his throat. “They’re ready.”

  Henri grabbed Perrin’s hand, and the two hurried to their transport.

  “My lord, I’ll miss you.” Philippe hovered at the edge of the cart.

  “I wish you’d come with us. I’m not sure how I’ll manage without you.” Perrin embraced his manservant again with great affection in his eyes.

  “You’ll see me often enough, my lord. I’ll be delivering messages to you from the Scarlet Crest.”

  “It’s time. My cohorts will send word after they’ve passed the city gates.” Lemaire nodded to Philippe and Guillaume.

  Henri rubbed his aching back and stretched his arms and legs, knowing it would be a great long while before he’d stand again.

  Lemaire handed Henri a stack of documents. “Take these. You shouldn’t need them if all goes well, but if you’re questioned en route to your ship, claim you’re part of the crew delivering urgent supplies for our country’s desperate soldiers. The citizenship certificates and ledgers will confirm such.”

  Henri rubbed his thumb over the parchments that he hoped they wouldn’t need to use. “Thank you, Lemaire. For everything.”

  Perrin snugged his arm around Henri’s waist. “I’m not sure how we’ll ever repay you for this.”

  “You can offer your thanks through services to the cause.” Lemaire grinned. “Good luck, my friends. It has been an honor.” Lemaire turned away and motioned for the uniformed drivers to ready the horses.

  Though Henri feared for their friends’ safety, he trusted that Lemaire would find a cunning way for their league to continue evading capture.

  Perrin’s warm lips tickled his neck. “We should hide ourselves.”

  As Henri lowered into the compartment with Perrin, he gazed up at the sky. Violets and pinks of sunrise rose over the haze. The moment was perfect. Somehow, in the midst of so much chaos and struggle, there was beauty to be found. He silently bid goodbye to the city where he’d both lost and gained so much.

  …

  The cart bobbled and rocked almost as badly as a ship. But after an arduous journey past the city gates, Perrin and his friends had thankfully abandoned the confines of their cramped compartments. Lodged against a crate, with Henri beside him, Perrin thanked God their journey had been uneventful. Disguised as officers traveling on official military business, they weren’t bothered along the way.

  He watched in wonder as the coast came into view. It was still difficult to comprehend that they’d made it out of Paris.

  The sunset stretched across the horizon and highlighted Henri’s eyes. The honey-amber glow was so brilliant it took Perrin’s breath away.

  “Shouldn’t be long until we reach the coast,” Perrin said. The silhouettes of large ships congested the harbor up ahead.

  Henri leaned closer, and Perrin wrapped his arm around him. The unified pace of their breaths made Perrin feel whole.

  Henri twisted to face him. “What happens when we reach England?”

  Perrin frowned. “Two men together…”

  “We’d get by?” Henri lifted his fingers to Perrin’s cheek, the contact a welcome comfort.

  “Yes. There are ways to disguise our relationship…to live together without rousing suspicion.” Perrin sighed. “We’ll just have to devise a reason for your being by my side at all times.”

  “A French cousin?” Henri crooked his jaw to the side. “A business partner?”

  “Business partner,” Perrin murmured. “Helping me manage my estate during a difficult time.”

  “Yes. I’d like that.” Henri slipped his hand to Perrin’s thigh and gently stroked the sore muscle. “I can think of a number of ways in which we could amuse ourselves. Cooped away in some stodgy aristocratic estate.”

  Perrin groaned, liking where this was leading. “Yes. There will be plenty of ways to keep ourselves busy. But I’d thought, perhaps, we might work with Duclos. Form an orphanage in Julien’s honor.”

  “My love, I could think of no better way to honor the man who brought us together.” Henri nestled closer and pressed a kiss to Perrin’s neck. “We ought to commission Duclos to paint one of those drawings of Julien into a portrait.”

  “You wouldn’t mind?”

  “If it makes you happy, I wouldn’t mind one bit.”

  Perrin drew his lover tightly against him, wondering at how beautiful it was to think of Julien as a part of his love story with Henri.

  Epilogue

  Perrin wanted nothing more than to hold Henri’s hand, but he had to wait until they were safely inside London’s Crimson Rose. He desperately longed to follow the pull that always surrounded them and touch his lover that very moment. Beside him, Ashford knocked on the door.

  When it opened, the young doorman gasped upon seeing them. One by one, they revealed their rings and were allowed entry. They were welcomed into the club and escorted to their usual table.

  Once they were all seated, drinks in hand, Perrin grinned at his friends. “I’m bloody thankful to be home.”

  “I’m just glad we all made it to the ship in time.” Ashford swallowed half his brandy.

  Perrin snuggled against Henri, taking Henri’s warm hand into his palm. “As am I,” he responded in a deep, husky voice.

  “I’m sure you’re eager to settle in, but I thought we owed it to ourselves to honor the Scarlet Crest.” Quill raised a glass, and the others followed suit.

  “To the Scarlet Crest.”

  “To our newest recruit,” Perrin continued. “My dearest Henri.” He kissed Henri’s cheek, smiling at his revolutionary’s blush.

  Though the others were in high spirits, Perrin noticed the quiet, contemplative look on Quill’s face. He leaned over and whispered, “My friend, you look pale.”

  Quill sighed. “I hope Lemaire is all right. It’s been a week since the last message.”

  “I’m sure he’s safe. Maybe one day you’ll have the chance to see him again. He was quite fond of your knack with rope.” Perrin winked.

  Quill’s grin returned. “Well, of course he was.”

  Perrin took Quill’s hand and squeezed it. “If he’s ever caught in a bind, we’ll know who to send to Paris.”

  Henri’s muscles tensed against Perrin’s side. Perrin chuckled, turning to face the man he loved. “You find my words amusing?”

  Henri smiled. “Always.”

  “Then let me show you to your new home. I can’t wait to make use of every room.”

  Henri’s blush was beautiful and wicked.

  With that, Perrin excused himself from his friends, counting his blessings for everything he’d found in this new life. There would always be a space in his heart where Julien had once been, but his friends and the lover by his side were unexpected treasures to be cherished.

  As he and Henri left Crimson Rose, their arms dropped to their sides. Though their hands would need to remain unlinked on the public streets of London, Henri held Perrin’s heart at all times
.

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  Acknowledgments

  To Lydia. You are the Scarlet Crest to this book. Your guidance throughout has shaped this story into something beyond my wildest expectations.

  To My Editing Team: Lydia, Judi, Amy. For opening my eyes to this story’s full potential.

  To Eva. For giving these rogues a chance.

  To John. For believing in this story.

  Special thanks to my critique partners and writing friends for all your support.

  And finally, I cannot express enough gratitude to my parents for encouraging me to chase my dreams.

  About the Author

  Blake Ferre is a historical romance author whose revolutionary rogues and spangled spies find love and humor in unexpected places. A great admirer of the fashion and artistry from the eighteenth century, her stories weave in details of these luxuries, while also questioning the struggles hidden behind their production. Blake spends her free time painting and playing with her dogs and bunnies. She’s a theatre enthusiast and equally enjoys trips to the symphony. Before turning to writing, Blake competed as an amateur ballroom dancer. After suffering injuries that made it difficult to compete, Blake soon found herself spinning stories. It was during her first trip to Paris and Versailles that the fantasy worlds in her head truly came to life. She vividly pictured historical characters stepping onto the cobblestone streets.

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