She sampled the claret and was surprised by how much she enjoyed the crispness of the brandy mingled with the sweetness of the wine.
“This is very good,” Nicole said, understanding for the first time the popularity of the imported drink amongst the gentlemen of the British aristocracy.
The Scot chuckled, saying, “Yes, it is,” making her feel decidedly uneasy.
Why she was so discomfited, she was not sure. She had never worked with anyone but Andre Tuchelles and that was primarily to receive her orders. This, however, was different. Daniel Damont intended to stay by her side while she constructed and sprung her elaborate snare.
But that was not what was causing her discomfort.
Nicole took her first mouthful of quail and moaned, “Mmmm,” in appreciation of the simple flavors.
Daniel Damont beamed, and as she looked at him Nicole understood that her anxiety came from wanting him here. She had trusted Andre, but she had never been attracted to him. Nicole placed her lips on the glass where his lips had been and then swallowed a large portion of claret and continued to eat.
The food filled her stomach while the claret warmed her mind and Nicole felt as though she was devouring her stress along with the sumptuous meal.
“Thank you, again,” she said when she had finished. “The meal was quite delicious.”
“You sound surprised.” He grinned, making her warmer still.
“Let us say impressed.” Their eyes held until she pushed her chair back, lifting her plate and his from the table. “I’m afraid I must return to my observations of Minister LeCoeur. The masquerade in tomorrow evening and any piece of information about the minister might prove helpful.”
Monsieur Damont rose, his fingertips brushing hers as he took the plates from her hands. “Then please allow me to tidy up,” he offered, looking down at her with those stunning eyes that made her chest collapse with breathtaking desire.
She acquiesced, withdrawing to the large salon facing the picturesque square. Removing her slippers, she sat on the floor and absently stared at Minister LeCoeur’s empty apartment. The sun was descending, leaving a soft yellow glow that illuminated the perfectly manicured grounds of the square. She scanned the fashionable couples that meandered through the awning of trees, confirming that the minister was not among them.
Nicole noted the time in her journal and then lifted her opera glasses to peer into the open windows of Joseph LeCoeur’s apartment.
The minister collected Roman antiquities and he seemed uncommonly fond of Julius Caesar. An interesting hero for the Minister of Police, a public servant, a man purportedly devoted to the liberated people of France.
“May I join you?”
Nicole gave a start and turned to see Daniel Damont standing five feet behind her, holding the half empty decanter and two clean glasses which dangled upside down from his elegantly long fingers.
“If you wish,” she said, amazed that he had asked.
The Scot poured more claret and handed her the heavy crystal, but before sitting on the floor he walked across the room and brought back a small wooden table.
“Do you play chess?”
She did, of course, but Nicole waited to answer until she had considered his reasons for asking.
“Yes, but I think perhaps—“
“Mademoiselle Beauvoire you will be sitting here well past midnight as we both know Joseph LeCoeur spends the evenings with his mistress. I am simply trying to occupy our minds whilst we wait for the illustrious minister to return home.”
She took a sip of claret as she thought, but before Nicole could answer the man was bending over the minuscule table and lifting the lid.
Her eyes opened in surprise and he eliminated her confusion, saying, “The table detaches so that chess may be played in bed or on a carpeted saloon floor.” The man set the painted board between them, retrieving the many chess pieces.
“Now what color would you like to—-No, wait.” He stopped himself, a broad smile brightening his already dazzling features. “You, of course, will be black… and I, rescuer of ‘damsels in distress’, will naturally.” He lifted the white knight. “Be white.”
White knight, indeed.
“But then you shall go first,” Nicole teased, the claret releasing her mind from its carefully constructed confines. “Not very gentlemanly for such a white knight.”
“Oh, But I am the most chivalrous of knights.” His eyes sparkled in the dissolving sunlight and she was captivated by the sight. “We both know that you prefer for your opponent to make the first move.”
Nicole stiffened, tearing her mind from the pleasing form of his face to gaze into the man’s perceptive soul.
“The pretty knight has a brain.”
“And our Scorpion is full of venom.” But it was Nicole that felt the sting. Their eyes held and Monsieur Damont grinning, saying, “My turn I believe.”
“Yes.”
Daniel looked down at the board, stunned by the wounded look in her beautiful violet eyes. He had meant to tease, to play and enjoy one another’s company. Positioning his knight, he sat back and considered the implications of his little discovery.
Scorpion was indeed human.
The fact that she waited to assess a situation before choosing a plan of action had been evident from the moment he arrived at the boarding house. From the moment she had gathered information by letting him talk, providing only what was required to further her inquiry and establish his credibility as courier for the crown.
But this pained reaction to her deadly vocation needed further investigation. Surely, he had merely misconstrued the subtle changes in her facial expressions.
“How do you intend to kill Minister LeCoeur?” The woman flinched, her hand hovering over a pawn for the briefest of moments.
“I think it best if you do not know.”
“But you’ve decided?” Daniel looked at her, making sure to keep his face blank, his eyes vacant but watchful.
“Yes,” she nodded irritably as she positioned her queen within striking distance of his knight.
Interesting.
Perhaps Scorpion was not as keen on killing as her namesake would imply and perhaps the task of enticing her away from her assignment would not be as difficult as he had anticipated.
“Well lass, you might know how to play chess, but I’m afraid you’re not very good at it.”
The white knight took the black queen.
The lass blushed, embarrassed by her ill-considered move. She had left her queen, her most powerful weapon, open and vulnerable to his attack and they both knew it.
“I’m sorry. I don’t think I shall be able to concentrate on the game. I really must watch for Minister LeCoeur.” Mademoiselle Beauvoire turned her regal head and stared out the saloon window.
Daniel sat for a moment, thinking as he moved the chess pieces about the board.
“I’ve killed a man,” he offered, deciding. The woman’s head snapped up so quickly that Daniel was sure she had injured her neck. Now that he had her attention, he continued, “Two actually.”
“Did you forget the other man?” she asked sardonically.
“No.” He would never forget the second man. “They attacked me together, so I think of it as one event.”
Mademoiselle Beauvoire looked at him, studied him, her surveillance of Joseph LeCoeur completely forgotten. “Why did you kill them?”
“I was traveling to my estates in Scotland when they ambushed me.” Daniel thought back, feeling no remorse only the bitter taste of an objectionable occurrence. “I shot the first man as he pulled me from my horse. The second highwayman had a knife. I didn’t, so I broke his neck.”
“And yet you object to my role in this war?”
Daniel paused, astounded that she had so misinterpreted their previous discussion.
“Not at all. You and your counterparts are a necessary component of war. I merely said that I would have difficulty fulfilling that roll.”
; “But you have killed before!”
“Aye, but that was in defense of my life.”
“Oh, I see.” She nodded. “You will save yourself, but not others.”
“Now, that ‘tis a bit harsh as I am here tryin’ to save yours.”
“I don’t want saving.” Daniel’s forehead furrowed and he glanced into depths of her striking eyes. But whatever meaning had been infused in those words vanquished when she asked, “Why have you not gone to war, Monsieur Damont? Why have you let other men die for your country?”
Guilt overcame him as Daniel thought of the injuries, the hardships that Aidan Duhearst had endured defending Britain.
“’tis not possible.”
“Why? Are you afraid of battle?” she scoffed, making him wonder what had happened to this woman, this girl who should be thinking of nothing more that the latest London fashions.
“No, I’ve often ached to fight on the Peninsula, but…” He closed his mouth, already giving her more information than he had intended. “What about you, Mademoiselle Beauvoire?” she blinked and he smiled. “How did you come to be in Paris?”
The angry light drained from her eyes, leaving them blank and lifeless.
“My husband.”
It was a kick in the gut and Daniel felt a bastard.
There were many wartime widows, many women grieving the loss of their husbands. But few women that loved so much, so deeply that she would avenge her husband’s death by killing those she thought were responsible.
Daniel felt a twinge of envy, yearning to be loved so well. But Sarah Duhearst had chosen another man and he had been left with an emptiness that was reflected in the beautiful eyes of a grieving widow.
“I’m sorry, lass,” he whispered.
Tears welled in her eyes and Daniel knew he had pulled them from her. He reached out and dried her cheek with the back of his fingers.
“I’m so sorry for your loss.”
“You’ve nothing to be sorry for.” She stared at him and he wanted nothing more than to put the life back in her eyes.
“Aye, I do. I’ve caused you pain and for that I’m sorry.” Daniel reached out and pulled her to his chest, letting her quiet tears soak the front of his shirt.
He stroked her back and her dark hair, soothing her with soft Scottish words whispered in her ear; words of comfort, words of consolation for this woman so deprived of nourishment, so starved for the tenderness of a loving husband that the lass clung to his tenderness as if she were drowning.
“I’m so sorry,” he lifted her chin so that she could see the sincerity in his eyes, the understanding in his heart.
His fingers disappearing into the soft curls of her ebony hair and he could feel himself warming with desire for this courageous woman. His eyes remained fixed on her lovely face as he continued his rhythmic strokes, his sympathetic caresses at the back of her head.
Their eyes held and Mademoiselle Beauvoire leaned ever so slightly toward his hand, the claret leaving her drained of all thought, all resistance.
The gesture was all the encouragement he needed. Daniel guided her toward him as he bent to taste her alluring lips. She was so soft, so sweet but he was shocked by the strength of craving that met him. The longing of a woman deprived of a man’s touch for far too long.
He parted her lips and delved into the heat of her mouth where he was greeted by the bold strokes of an experienced woman determined to extract every drop of pleasure from the embrace.
She reached up, cradling the back of his head and when her tongue swirled its way down his own, Daniel’s lust went spiraling with it. He wallowed there in the rushing current of mutual attraction as she darted deeper into his mouth, tasting, exploring, enjoying. Until, suddenly, she pulled her head back, suckling his bottom lip as she reluctantly released the sensual sensation.
Her eyes drifted open and he stared down at her, his blood bumping down his neck as it drained from his light head.
“I think you missed a spot, lass.” He grinned, his voice as rigid as his erection. “You best go back and get it.”
Daniel bent his head, looking forward to the second tantalizing round but the girl placed her fingers over his lips.
“No, I think that is enough practice for one day.”
“Practice?” His stomach tightened, preparing to be struck.
“Yes, for the masquerade ball tomorrow night. Minister LeCoeur is very experience and it has been quite some time since I have seduced a man of his caliber.” Mademoiselle Beauvoire stared at him, showing no signs of the heat that still surged through his body. “But apparently it is rather like riding a horse, one never quite forgets.”
The girl rose, taking his temper with her. “No, lass, I’d say you stayed yer mount quite nicely.”
“How kind.” She smiled politely then started toward her bedchamber. “I think I shall have a bath before Minister LeCoeur returns. Would you mind keeping watch in the interim?”
“I live to serve, Madame Beauvoire” Daniel said with a searing sarcasm that apparently missed its mark.
“Thank you,” she replied sweetly before disappeared behind the double doors of her bedchamber, leaving him a frustrated heap on the sitting room floor.
***
Nicole sat, shaking in the chair nearest her bedchamber doors.
Why had he touched her! But she already knew.
She pulled a handkerchief from her pocket and covered her mouth, smothering a sob. She pressed harder, clamping down on her self-control as she forced herself to swallow her distress, her hurt.
Daniel Damont had kissed her because he wanted to go home. He had been sent to retrieve her and his misguided chivalry was keeping him here.
She was keeping him here.
But if he could lure her, get her to accompany him willingly then his task would be complete and he could, with a clear conscience, return safely, triumphantly to the bosom of Britain’s haute ton.
And, God, she had been willing. She had allowed the claret to lower her defenses and he had capitalized on her weakness, swooping down to exploit a woman’s vulnerabilities, her need to be loved.
Well, not all women were so weak, so foolish as to believe a man’s lust was anything more than that. A base need to spill his seed as often as the opportunity presented.
But the manipulation was not entirely his fault. Nicole had allowed him to detect her weakness, her attraction to him and he had used his sensuality against her. No, she was not angry with him but rather with herself. She had not guarded herself against his sensory attack.
She should be thankful, she supposed, that he had not simply drugged her and thrown her on the next ship to Honfleur. No doubt that would be his next tactic once he realized that his seduction had failed.
He would try again, she was sure, after her wanton response to his caress, it was inevitable. Nicole took a deep breath and mentally girded her loins, preparing herself for his further advances. She had played him well, had confessed to a carnal curiosity as pertaining to her work, her assignment.
Minister LeCoeur was indeed a young man, not such a buck that any lure would entice. No, the minister was of an age to know what he preferred, to know what type of bed sport would arouse him. She would have to spend the evening in thoughtful consideration of the best means of breaching the minister’s sensual defenses, of embodying Joseph LeCoeur sexual fantasies.
All the while, avoiding Daniel Damont and her own.
Chapter Sixteen
Paris, France
October 24, 1811
An invitation to masquerade ball hosted by the Marquis La Roche was very difficult to procure, but Nicole had managed, as she always did. She had to. Prudent ministers rarely ventured out in public and when they did they were surrounded by highly trained guards.
However, for the powerful marquis, exceptions were made. Her target had become a minister by knowing with whom to align himself and by knowing which men to appease. He was cautious, clever and never made a move without con
sidering every possible outcome of that decision.
But the minister did have a weakness.
He enjoyed competing.
A virgin was no match for his prowess while forcing a woman to his bed would be equally disappointing. No, she suspected, after hours of discreet observation that a woman equally matched would arouse Minister LeCoeur interest far more than the virtuous lady.
Competition was fuel to his fire and Nicole dressed accordingly. She had ordered a black lace mask cut in the shape of a butterfly and edged all the way around with small diamonds. But she had chosen not to line the mask with satin so as to leave the pliable lace to reveal provocative glimpses of the woman beneath.
Her eyes had been decorated with the kohl she had asked Monsieur Damont to purchase and the black cosmetic had the effect of intensifying the violet color.
Anxious, Nicole reached into the bodice of her gown and adjusted her breasts, lifting them to give a more titillating view than was provided by the low slung neckline of her distinctive costume.
Mademoiselle Beauvoire sat back as the carriage rolled steadily toward the masquerade ball where she would make her first contact with Joseph LeCoeur. She closed her eyes, rehearsing what she would say, what he might say in return as she rolled her head from side to side, trying to lessen the tension pulling at her neck.
However, her anxiety returned the moment the carriage came to a stop. Nicole reached down and gathered her capacious skirts then stepped down from the luxurious carriage. The crisp autumn air stung her cheeks as she looked up at the enormous Château which was artfully lit by hundreds of flickering torches.
Glancing at the arriving guests, Nicole adjusted the yards of black tool which her modiste had painstakingly sewn in confusing swirls to the black silk of her skirt. Satisfied, she tugged at her long black gloves, taking care not to dislodge the ring of diamonds capping the gloves well past her elbows.
Her carriage clattered down the drive and Nicole swallowed her distaste of the task before her then walked up the pretentious staircase into the enormous home of the Marquis La Roche. Nicole smiled contentedly as she looked down at the dancing couples, noting that she was the only woman in view dressed entirely in black.
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