Page 62 of Beyond the Lavender Fields
Caroline did not pull away from him, as he’d half expected her to. But he could not read the look in her eyes. Wariness? Eagerness? Of course his heart had chosen the one woman he couldn’t decipher. “The last time I was left alone in an office with one of the clerks, it led to his humiliation,” she said. Her arms stayed stiffly across her middle. If only he could get her to loosen her posture. They were friends, after all. Or perhaps a little more.
“I would hope he’s made amends by now.” His shoulder brushed hers. No response to his touch. She stood as though he hadn’t initiated anything. In the kissing games with his brother and Émile, Gilles would have taken her lack of response as an invitation. But Caroline had proved him wrong in such assessments on too many occasions for him to attempt anything now.
“Amends? I don’t know I would say that.”
He turned and planted a hand on the sill on either side of her so that she was caught between his arms. Warning bells blared in his mind. This was too forward. He could get dismissed if anyone passed that open door. But no more forward than her actions at the lavender fields. “How have I not made amends?”
Her lips pursed. He’d let her answer before he went in for the kiss. The pounding in his ears seemed to echo through the still room. She cocked her head. “For one, you are attempting the exact same venture you did that afternoon, as though you learned nothing from the debacle.”
Gilles let a grin melt across his face, the boyish grin that had gained him ground on even the toughest of targets. “Come, that’s hardly fair. You gave me no time to kiss you back Saturday.”
Caroline averted her eyes and took interest with something in her pocket. Was that a blush on her cheek, or a flush of anger? He’d affected her somehow. “Quel dommage! A missed opportunity.” Her voice carried a hint of forced flippancy.
For two months he’d dreamed about kissing Marie-Caroline Daubin. She’d teased him. Twice. The first time into thinking she wanted it, and the second into thinking she didn’t. Her light breath whispered against his skin, matching pace with his own. He leaned in.
A flurry of wood and silk attacked his face. Gilles ducked away, his hand coming up to block Caroline’s fan. In a moment, the broadside was over as she walked briskly out of his reach.
Gilles threw up his arms. “What is this? You were perfectly willing last week.”
“Did you think that gave you permission to kiss me whenever you wished?” she asked, flouncing toward the door. “Mais, non. It was more to show you what you’ve been missing during your little games.”
Gilles closed his eyes, dragging a hand through his hair. He willed his heart to slow its raging. “I told you I haven’t played those games in months.”
Her shoulder lifted and fell. The stupid fan beat before her, partially obscuring her face. “Now you have good evidence why you should not, in case you are ever tempted to indulge again.”
“Caroline, what is this?” She was playing games just as terrible as any he’d played. Surely she could see that.
The waving of the fan slowed, and the mischievous sparkle dissipated from her eyes. “We should go. My mother is expecting my father and me soon. I hope she’ll settle for just me.”
Gilles’s throat tightened as he spoke. “Very well.” Perhaps it was best to just let the argument fall, to take her home and forget this longing that had taken root. As if that glorious evening had never happened.
They had just turned ontola Canebièrewhen Caroline stopped and tugged Gilles’s arm for him to do the same. “What is that?”
A crowd ofrévolutionnaireshad gathered at the square, much like they had for the tree planting and the send-off of thefédérés. His stomach twisted. Unlike those rallies, the only music filling the air was the murmur of agitated voices. “We should get home.” Not all therévolutionnairegatherings led to violence, but enough did.
Caroline released his arm and hurried toward the large group. Gilles groaned. Her attire was neutral enough today. He had to hope that would suffice to keep her unnoticed by the grumbling masses.
Some sort of platform had been erected at one end of the square. A few men paced atop it, their heads a bit above the rest. Shouts punctuated the low conversations, and Gilles strained to decipher what they said. As Caroline moved closer to the platform, the people squeezed in tighter. He snatched her hand so he didn’t lose her, and she let him keep hold of it.
She took them around the side of the crowd. Vertical beams towered over the men on the platform. Gilles had assumed them to be scaffolding from the building behind, but on closer examination they looked to be standing on their own.
Caroline pulled up short, and Gilles had to grab her shoulders to avoid knocking her over from behind. A cart with waist-high bars stood off to one side. Between the bars, a balding man in ragged clothing sat on the floor of the cart with his hands tied behind his back. That could signify only one thing.
Ciel. They needed to get out of here.
“Probably a nonjuring priest,” someone muttered near them. Caroline stiffened.
Someone barked an order from the platform, and a man pulled on a rope connected to the two beams. The afternoon sun glinted off a sheet of metal that rose between the two sides of the wooden frame. The bottom edge was angled and sharp.
Hisses rippled through the crowd. Words for the device he’d read and heard about but never seen.Louisette.Guillotine.
Gilles back stepped, trying to pull Caroline with him. “Let’s go. We need to—”
She pulled out of his grasp and approached the guard at the side of the cart. “What is happening?”
The guard reached up to open the gate on the back of the cart. “What do you think is happening,mademoiselle?” At the front of the cart, someone unhitched the horse. Unbalanced on its single axle, the cart flopped forward. Inside, the prisoner skidded against the rough floor. The guard hoisted himself up to drag the unfortunate man out while others steadied the wagon.
“What is he accused of?” Caroline demanded.
