AUGUST 1792
Like me, Léon has dressed carefully for our meeting with Robespierre, cultivating a pro-revolutionary appearance. He wears a tight-fitting blue coat with red trim, and a crisp white shirt underneath. Instead of the white pants of his national guard’s uniform, he has chosen black, and added a further revolutionary touch with a small tricolor ribbon pinned to his hat.
“You look well,” I tell him. It’s an understatement; I can hardly prevent myself from staring at the way the coat highlights the broadness of his shoulders and the narrowness of his hips.
He lifts his shoulder in a nonchalant gesture, but the corner of his mouth curls in a brief self-conscious smile. “It’s an important appointment.” Pursing his lips, he studies my appearance, and when he reaches a hand toward my face, my heart flutters in wild excitement. He only tugs a loose curl forward, though, letting it fall along the curve of my cheek. “There. It might help if you look delicate and soft, like you were entirely led into spying by your uncle, whose anti-royalists interests are so great that he recruited you to help him. Your dress is nice,” he adds, almost as an afterthought. “Very revolutionary.”
The small compliment is more than I ought to expect, so I squash the prickle of disappointment that he wasn’t admiring me, only analyzing the strategy of my outfit. I did choose my dress with care, displaying tricolor against the formal cut of my bodice and skirt.
Upon reaching Robespierre’s abode, Léon and I are admitted at once but directed to the library with instructions that Robespierre won’t be available for about half an hour. Léon browses the books, but I’m too restless, and instead stride back and forth across the room, glancing at the papers on the desk with cursory interest, fighting the leftover spy’s urge to memorize them. There’s nothing interesting, though, only notes on the last constitution. Robespierre is too clever to leave secret plans lying about.
“Any other works you’d like to borrow?” I ask Léon, tracing my finger along the spine of a Latin book.
“No. There are things I’m curious to read, but I won’t trouble him to lend them to me.”
Wondering if this means Léon isn’t as friendly with Robespierre as he once was, I glance up at his face, but I can’t tell what he’s thinking. He looks surprisingly serene, although he drums his fingers restlessly along the bookshelf.
“Your collar is a bit crooked,” I tell him, noticing. “May I?” I reach toward a wrinkle in the fold of his white shirt.
“Please.” He clears a sudden hoarseness free of his throat.
When I brush against his neck, expertly tugging the collar straight, he twitches. The movement is difficult to describe: stronger than a tremble, not vehement enough for a flinch. I try not to touch his skin, but the stiffness of the coat means that it takes me a moment to properly fix the collar, and by the time I finish, Léon has gone still again, like a stone settling at the bottom of a pond.
“Sorry.” I tilt my face up toward his, inspecting my handiwork. “It looks better now, though.”
He licks his lips, eyelashes flickering as he looks away, and then back again, his gaze sliding slowly across my skin. Heat trails along my collarbones, coiling around my throat behind the necklace. I can’t help leaning closer to him, my head swirling with desire even though I should be frightened of the upcoming interview with Robespierre.
Léon rocks back on his heels. “We shouldn’t stand so close together. It isn’t proper.”
“Since when have you cared for proper?” I ask, rather waspishly. “You got me drunk and kissed me on the first night we met.”
A shadow curtains his face as he half-turns his head, scowling. “It was my wine—you didn’t have to drink it. And you kissed me first.”
“You wanted me to. And I wanted to.”
“I don’t want to talk about old, tarnished memories.” His sharp words slice into me. “Things are different now. I didn’t have to help you today, you know. Don’t torment me in return; it’s cruel.”
The unexpected admission makes me blink in surprise. “I wasn’t aware I had the power to torment you.”
He begins pacing along the length of the room, moving with fierce, contained energy. “If you didn’t, your betrayal of our trust wouldn’t have hurt so badly. If I felt nothing, I’d be able to forget you. I’d never again remember laughing with you, and I’d never dream of bitter retaliation, of making you feel as wretched as I did.”
“You want to forget me?” More than anything else he’s said to me since Varennes, this feels like a knife twisted into my heart. “I can’t help you with that, since I never succeeded in forgetting you. I don’t want to. But if it’s retaliation you want, you have the means. You have the power and the opportunity.”
“What do you mean?” He turns to face me, eyes narrowing.
My voice drops to a hiss. Even in a haze of fury, I’m conditioned to never speak openly about Varennes. “You know my greatest secret. You know what I did. You could have me bowing under the guillotine for it if you decided to tell your high-ranking friends.”
His lips part, eyes widening in horror. “You believe I could do that? You think I crave such a terrible revenge—that I’m a monster?” He crosses the room to stand in front of me, moving so quickly that I’ve hardly adjusted to his new closeness when he reaches out his hands and places them on either side of my head, fingers tangling in my hair. My breathing falters, my pulse rocketing like fireworks.
“No,” I whisper. My cheekbones grind against his palms. “I don’t believe it. But I think, maybe, I would let you.”
“Jesus Christ, Giselle.” Léon’s grip tightens, fingertips meeting behind my neck, and he draws me closer to his chest, tilting my head back. For one endless, ephemeral moment, my heart beats with frantic excitement and I revel in the warmth of his body pressing against mine. Then his lips cover mine in a hard, hungry kiss, hot as a brand and as dizzying as too much wine. My hands slide around his hips, linking behind his back and pulling him closer to me. I want to hold him forever. From the possessive way he slants his mouth over mine, deepening the kiss and gathering me more firmly into his arms, I think he wants the same thing, but I’m terrified to believe it in case I’m wrong. Then he makes a low growl in the back of his throat and trails softer kisses down my neck, across my exposed collarbone, and I stop thinking at all.
The rhythmic thud of hard-soled shoes on the wooden hall floor outside the library jolts us back to our senses. Léon straightens, loosening his grip on me. The footsteps move past the closed door, fading from earshot. Not Robespierre, not yet. Léon kisses me once more, gentler this time, and then takes a small step back. His eyes blaze with passion and his voice sounds smoky. “This isn’t over.”
I meet his scorching gaze. My lips feel swollen and my skin tingles. “No, it’s not.”
Aware that Robespierre could enter at any time, we seat ourselves in chairs on opposite sides of the fireplace, carefully avoiding eye contact, waiting in heavy silence. At least ten minutes pass before Robespierre swings the door open, and by then we’ve regained a semblance of composure.
“Citoyen Gauvain, how nice to see you,” he says jovially. “It’s been too long.” He turns to me. “And you—Citoyenne Aubry, isn’t it? It is an honor.”
He and Léon exchange small news and pleasantries, and at last Robespierre leans forward in his seat. “What brings you here today, Léon? You wouldn’t bring such a lovely companion to borrow a book.” His politeness doesn’t quite mask the curious glance sidling to me.
“Giselle has valuable information for you,” says Léon. He speaks with a smooth balance of confidentiality and enticement, but I know him well enough to see the strained look around his forehead. “It’s about a prisoner.”
Robespierre turns to me, arching one brow in curiosity.
“My uncle,” I say. “Pierre-Augustin Caron de Beaumarchais.”
“Ah yes. The playwright.” Robespierre’s wide mouth droops in a frown. “His plays were celebrated at court, I believe.”
“And throughout Paris. His plays pleased many people, although it is true that even the queen enjoyed his best one. He knew well enough how to interest the limp minds of the nobles.” I meet Robespierre’s gaze squarely. His eyes glint like a cat’s. “He spied on them for years.”
He straightens, fingers splaying across his thigh, as if he could snatch the truth out of the air. “Indeed? This is a very interesting statement, mademoiselle. In what capacity?”
“He got his start spying for the old king, and it was there he started to despise the excesses of the court. When the revolution began, he returned to spy work, this time against the royal family. He helped me obtain a position in the queen’s household as one of her wardrobe women and recruited me to spy on her. I reported back to him for two years.”
Robespierre squeezes his fingers together, head tilting with attentiveness. “You must have witnessed many remarkable moments. Were you at Tuileries when the family was taken away? Is it true that the queen feared the Assembly would murder them all?”
“I wasn’t present that day.” I feign regret for missing out on such a notable event, but I remember the blood-splashed walls and think anyone would have been mad to want to be there. “I was there when Versailles was stormed and when a riot came through Tuileries in June. The queen was full of fear on both occasions. She trusted no one and wrote often to her family in Austria.” I dislike sharing information with Robespierre, but I know I must give him some things in order to make him believe my story.
Robespierre scowls at the mention of Austria. “That stagnant nation knows nothing of the glory of France.”
“Of course not. France moves toward enlightenment in a way that no country could hope to rival.” Knowing I must bring the conversation back around to my uncle, I make up a small lie. “My uncle always felt such pride for France’s progress.” In fact, I am not sure what he thought of the matter, but I do know that he would swear it true in order to free himself from prison. “I suppose that is why he wanted me to watch the queen specifically. He feared her foreign influence.”
“As all the wisest did.” He leans back, watching me carefully. “If your uncle has been working against the monarchy for so long, why was he suspected of anti-revolutionary activity?”
“Someone must have made a mistake,” says Léon.
Robespierre’s gaze flicks to him, but he doesn’t look satisfied by the simple answer.
“You were suspicious of him on the basis of his plays,” I remind him. “Doubtless, others felt the same. He does have connections, but the reason for them—his espionage—remained a secret of necessity.”
“Of course.” Robespierre interrogates me further about the nature of my spying, asking intelligent, detailed questions that aren’t always easy to answer. Although I hate to do it, I have to give him more anecdotes than I’d like. Still, my information is all so outdated now that it can harm no one. I’m careful not to say anything about Madame Campan, lest she become implicated in current events. I do mention Geneviève, with some reluctance. I don’t think she’d mind talking with Robespierre, whom she admires, about the queen’s household, but I still dislike dragging her into this. “One of the other wardrobe women also spied for my uncle. She can corroborate many of these facts, as well as his dedication to the revolution.” I give him her name and watch the tense lines around his mouth relax. When he bends his head, he looks more trusting. At last Robespierre folds his hands together and reclines in his chair. “It does sound as though an error was made. I shall speak to your uncle myself. No doubt he’ll be back at home again soon.”
“Thank you, monsieur.” Relief that the interview is finally over infuses my tone with an extra note of gratefulness.
He inclines his head. “The truth shall always prevail.”
Fearing he’ll want to visit longer, I try to catch Léon’s eye, but he stands at once and shakes Robespierre’s hand. “It was good to see you, my friend, and I’m sorry to rush away. I must return to the shop.” I know it’s a lie. He told me Monsieur Renard gave him the whole afternoon off.
“I also have work to do. I’m writing a speech to convince the Assembly to create a People’s Tribunal.” Robespierre turns to me. “If your watchful eyes and keen ears happen across any useful information, I trust you know where to find me.” His courteous smile turns sharp. “Your uncle isn’t the only one who knows the value of a good spy.”
“Of course. It’s the least I could do to repay you for your attention to this matter,” I say, but my stomach twists into a knot. I’ve no desire to resume spying, especially not for Robespierre. His watchfulness and ruthless questions make me nervous.
Robespierre escorts us to the door. “One last thing, Citoyenne Aubry. If you see Madame Campan again, I’d be interested to hear of it. She’s close to the queen, isn’t she?”
Momentarily speechless, I try to hide it by ducking my head in assent. “Anything to help, Citoyen.” My lips feel dry. I tell myself that he’s watching Madame Campan, whose connection to the queen is well-known, but the idea that he knows she has visited me makes a knot twist between my shoulder blades. “Thank you again.”
Robespierre sees us off with a cheerful smile, although he looks even more smug than usual to me. As soon as we step out the door into the clean air, I take a deep breath, feeling my heart race with belated nerves.
Léon links his forearm with mine, forcing me to either tug away or lay my fingers along his wrist and walk with him as a proper escort. I choose the latter, but it’s a bittersweet reminder of old times.
Léon and I decipher every sentence of the interview. It helps me calm down, and I feel confident that my uncle’s release comes shortly. When we’ve thoroughly discussed every aspect, Léon’s arm shifts under my hand, sliding free of my grip, his fingertips grazing the underside of my wrist. Twining his fingers with mine, he guides us into a quiet nook around the corner from a bookseller’s shop.
“Must we continue our earlier discussion now?” I’m aware it’s a mild way to describe our fiery argument, the passionate embrace. My body quivers with excitement at his nearness and the way he grips my hand, but I’m also worried my longing for him makes me misinterpret things, that perhaps he only wants us to part on better terms than previously, not to reconcile. I press the wall, giving him space to talk.
“Yes, we must. We agreed it wasn’t over.” Léon leans very close to me. The silken warmth of his breath skims across my neck.
“What are you doing?” I whisper. His lips are mere inches away from mine.
“I’m going to kiss you. Unless you don’t want me to?”
“I thought we were going to argue more.”
“I think we’ve had enough of that,” he murmurs. “It’s behind us now.” His mouth brushes against mine, feather light, with the last sentence, and his hand strokes my cheek gently, enticingly.
I lean into him, fusing our lips in a kiss as tender as the touches leading up to it. I feel like I melt into his arms, fitting there exactly right, nestled against his chest. His fingers move from my cheek, sliding behind my ear, and tangle tightly in my hair as the kiss changes into something fiercer. I let go of his hand and reach for his shoulders, sighing with delight when he wraps his arm tightly around my waist.
“We can’t stay here,” I say breathlessly. “It isn’t proper.” The repetition of his phrasing from our tension at Robespierre’s house makes me giggle with dazed amusement.
“You’re right: I don’t care about proper,” he says roughly, but he chuckles, too, and releases me slowly. “Can we go somewhere?”
“Yes, and quickly.”
He leads us to the watchmaker’s shop, rather to my disappointment. “I thought we were going somewhere to be alone.”
“We are.” Unlocking the door and pushing it open, Léon lifts me off my feet and swings me across the threshold. My skirt billows with the movement. “Monsieur Renard closed the shop for the day. Since I completed my apprenticeship, he takes his family to visit his mother across the Seine one afternoon a week. They won’t be back until bedtime. They always stay for supper.”
I slide my arms around his neck. “I must say, this is all very convenient. Did you intend to seduce me?”
“Until today I didn’t dare hope we’d be so joyfully reconciled. But love always finds a way,” he whispers. “Didn’t you tell me that once?”
“I don’t know. It sounds terribly sentimental.”
“You certainly must have said it, then.” Teasing me, he nuzzles my neck and pushes me toward the stairs. “I wish I could carry you up, but I’m afraid we’d land in a heap at the bottom.”
I go first, deliciously aware of his eyes watching my hips sway. He pushes the bedroom door shut with a loud thump and pulls me willingly back into his arms, his mouth swooping over mine. Being utterly alone washes away the joking of downstairs, rekindling the heat between us, building it higher than before, outmatching the fierce tension of our embrace in Robespierre’s library, eclipsing the excited joy of our reconciliation by the bookshop. Within moments, Léon has unhooked the top of my bodice and is tracing hot kisses along my breasts, his tongue dipping into the valley between them. Blindly, I wrestle with the buttons on his pants and manage to open the front of them, exploring the shape of him with eager fingers. His breath explodes against the side of my neck as he gasps with enjoyment, and then it’s my turn to do the same when he rucks my skirt aside and trails his fingertips up the inside of my thigh.
“Don’t wait,” I murmur into his ear. Lightning flickers over my skin. I feel like I’m burning with desperate desire. It isn’t anything like the first time, when I was nervous and uncertain. I want him badly.
“Oh God, Giselle. You’ll seize all the control I have left.” Instead of bearing me down to the narrow bed, as I expect, he slides his hand past my hips and lifts me onto the edge of the bedside dresser. He kisses me passionately while I rearrange my skirt, raising it higher. His fingers stroke against me until I gasp and squirm. He nestles his hips between my thighs, and I clutch at his shoulders as he sinks deep into me, staring into my eyes so I can see the rush of pleasure suffusing his features. Léon tries to go slow, reaching to stroke my breasts again, but I kiss him, arching my body against his, meeting each thrust. Our bodies grind forcefully together, and it makes me feel delirious. The sudden swell of delight leaves me gasping and whimpering against his mouth, while his motions grow rougher, jerky. I coax his tongue into my mouth, lightly sucking on it, and this sends him over the edge with a hoarse groan, his fingertips digging into my hips.
We smile at each other, breathing hard and pressing butterfly-soft kisses to each other’s cheeks and foreheads. Léon lifts me down, and I sag against him, weak in the legs.
“Take off your dress, my love,” he says.
My brow arches in surprise. “Already?”
“I wouldn’t say that. I’ve been waiting over a year to see your bare skin again. I meant to look at you for a while first, get to know your body again, but instead we both succumbed completely to lust.” He grins.
“Mm. We did.” It feels very good when I stretch my arms over my head.
A wicked glint lights up his eyes. “But we still have a whole afternoon of no interruptions, and I plan on kissing every inch of you.”
* * *
Later, when I sleepily survey the room, I realize we broke the candlestick that stood on the dresser, knocking it to the wood-planked floor.
“Doesn’t matter,” says Léon. “It was always smoky.” His voice softens. “It was good of you to risk so much to have your uncle released.”
“I’m not such an angel. I did it for Eugénie, and also because my uncle knew of my role in Varennes. I feared he’d share, using it to procure his own release.”
He stares at me, aghast. “Would he do that??”
I shake my head, pressing my lips together. “I don’t know. But I couldn’t risk it.”
Pulling me close to him, he tucks my head under his chin, folding me in his arms. “I’m glad you thought of it, to protect yourself.” He runs his hand along the outside of my arm in a long, smooth stroke. “The events of the past year have changed us, haven’t they? We dealt with dangerous secrets, betrayal, riots, violence.… Are we scarred?”
I reach for his hand, squeezing it tight. “No. We are stronger.”
He presses a kiss against my hair. “Good. I don’t want to be apart from you again.”
“You won’t be, as long as I have anything to say about it.”
He rolls me onto my back again, sweeping my hair across the pillow, gently twirling the ends around his fingertips. “I love you, Giselle.” He brushes tiny feathery kisses across my cheeks. “I never stopped, not that whole year we were apart. I felt so hurt and betrayed, but I kept loving you, even when I thought it would be better for my sanity if I stopped. I could hardly understand my feelings, but now everything’s right again.”
“I loved you too, but I felt so ashamed for betraying you that I often avoided you. I worried I’d never be able to face you again, yet I longed for you every day. I’ve loved you for three years, and I’ll never stop.”
His fierce kiss burns like a promise. “And now we’ll look to our happy future,” he murmurs. “Varennes belongs in the past now.”