England's Assassin

by Samantha Saxon

  Chapter Twenty

  “I must admit that I’m rather impressed. These are quite good seats.” Nicole smiled up a Joseph LeCoeur both of them knowing that their boxed seats were the best in the house.

  Her escort seated Nicole closest to the stage and then sat on her left, saying, “Yes, they’re not at all bad.”

  “And what production will we be seeing this evening, Minister LeCoeur?”

  The man shrugged, his slashing lips pulling into a subtle grin. “I’ve no idea.”

  Nicole laughed, staring into his grey eyes as she said, “Not an aficionado of the theater, I take it?”

  Minister LeCoeur leaned forward. “Then you would be wrong, mon cherie. I very much enjoy the theater, but at the moment I am much more interested in you.”

  A bell sounded three times, indicating that theater goers should take to their seats. Nicole turned her head and watched the crème de la crème of Parisian society sit in the beautiful theater as if there were not a care in the world.

  As if there were not a war raging throughout Europe.

  The candle light began to dim, but just before it faded completely movement from the box across the theater drew her attention. Her eyes widened in disbelief as she watched Daniel Damont lead a beautiful brunette to one of the four glided chairs.

  His smile was devastating and the woman with him was completely charmed. The gentleman sat in his chair and turned toward his lady… and her. He bent his head and whispered in the woman’s ear and just before the last of the lights was extinguished his striking eyes met Nicole’s.

  She leaned heavily against her chair for support and then felt the heat of Joseph LeCoeur’s thumb as it made a sensual arc on her bare shoulder.

  “Would you care for a glass of champagne?”

  Nicole turned toward him, but allowed his hand to remain resting on the back of her chair. “That would depend on the quality of the champagne.”

  Joseph LeCoeur smiled his hollow cheeks, filling with amusement as he turned to pour from a bottle that had been left to chill by one of the minister’s many footmen.

  “My men have been order to supply champagne equal to the quality of the woman who drinks it,” he explained, handing her a glass. “And for you, my dear, they have been asked to supply the best France has to offer.”

  “Merci,” she replied, thanking him more for the compliment than the exceptional champagne. Nicole held his eyes as she tipped back her head, swallowing the airy alcohol as if it were him. “Mmm, a very high quality.”

  Joseph LeCoeur threw back some champagne to quench his thirst and Nicole turned her attention to the actor whom had just entered stage left. But from their prime position, Nicole was able to observe Daniel Damont, yet look as though she were engrossed entirely by the production and not the alluring man in the box to her right.

  Monsieur Damont bent over to whisper in the worldly woman’s ear and his lips pulled back into that contagious smile. Her stomach flipped as she remembered the feel of those beautiful lips on her neck, her breast as if they were on her still.

  Her eyes flicked back to the stage and she smiled, knowing that last night, Daniel Damont had wanted her, that Daniel Damont had followed her to the theater because he was concerned for her safety.

  Nicole sniggered, realizing that the man had acquired a companion in less than an hour all because he feared Britain’s most successful assassin incapable of ensuring her own safety.

  “You are enjoying the play?”

  She felt the heat of Joseph LeCoeur’s question down her neck and Nicole turned to look up at him with a genuine grin, saying truthfully, “Oui, I am enjoying the evening very much,” before glancing back toward the stage.

  Nicole spent the remainder of the first act enthralled in the production and ignoring the periodic stares from both men. Monsieur Damont was easier to disregard from shear proximity so when the lights blazed at intermission she turned her back to him entirely, giving her full attention to Minister LeCoeur and the commission for which she had been created.

  “So, what did you think?” Nicole asked, playfully.

  The elegant man raised his left brow and Nicole could see why women found his confident continence so alluring.

  “Of the play?”

  Nicole leaned toward him, her eyes aglow. “Oh, you were not thinking of the production? Now you simply must tell me what you are thinking or I shall expire from curiosity.”

  Minister LeCoeur bent his head and whispered, “This is neither the place nor the time to tell you what I have been thinking, indeed, envisioning since the moment I laid eyes on you, Mademoiselle Beauvoire.”

  Nicole sucked in a breath, wondering what this dangerous man would ‘envision’ if he had the slightest indication that she was Scorpion.

  “I can only imagine,” she said, looking at him from the corner of her eye.

  “I very much doubt that, mon cherie.” However, his lust faded, replaced by irritation as his dark brows pulled together. “Who is the man which follows you with such determination?” He indicated Monsieur Damont with a slight toss of his head.

  Nicole glanced at Daniel Damont as he flirted outrageously with the brunette in his box, while keeping his turquoise eyes fixed firmly on her.

  “That,” she rolled her eyes, “is my cousin. My stepfather’s nephew to be precise.”

  “You were lover?”

  “Oui,” Nicole nodded, knowing better than to lie. “A long time ago and before I understood.”

  “Before you understood what?”

  Nicole shifted under his scrutiny, laughing as she said, “Men.”

  He gave an elegant exhalation of laughter. “And what did this step-cousin teach you of men?”

  Nicole turned and held his eyes, making sure that he understood her meaning. “My cousin taught me that a man who appears quite capable, might very well be a fumbling fool.”

  “And how do I appear to you, Mademoiselle Beauvoire?” the minister grinned, delighted that a man as handsome as Daniel Damont had been maligned as an incompetent lover.

  “You, Minster LeCoeur, strike me as a man whom savors the subtle nuances of lovemaking, a man who savors the curve of a woman’s breast.” His gaze dropped to her décolletage as she leaned increasingly closer to his ear.

  “A man whom savors the heat of a woman’s mouth, the silky flesh of woman’s inner thigh, the heady taste…” Nicole ran her tongue, ever so slowly, ever so lightly, around the outer edge of his right ear. “Of a woman’s flesh.”

  The tip of her nose nuzzled his temple as her heated words penetrated his mind, “the sound of a woman’s voice as she begs ‘yes’ just before trembling with ecstasy while you plunge, headlong, to find your own. ”

  The lights of the theater dimmed and Nicole caressed his thigh with the white satin glove that insulated her, to some degree, from the intimacy of touching him.

  “That is the sort of man, the type of lover, I envision you to be, Minister LeCoeur.”

  The minister’s left hand stilled hers on his upper thigh, his gloveless fingers curling between her own.

  “If we were not in this theater, mon cherie,” his eyes met hers, “you would not have to envision at all as I would already have you pressed against the wall.”

  He had meant to shock, she could in his eyes, but she knew also that he had rarely himself been surprised.

  “Promises, promises, Minister LeCoeur,” she whispered, sliding her hand from beneath his but not before feeling the lean muscles of his thigh go instantly rigid.

  The remainder of the production went by in one continuous blur of color and sound. Nicole attempted to concentrate on the play, but it was difficult to be attentive when under such scrutiny.

  Daniel Damont continued to watch her progress with Minister LeCoeur while she witnessed his obvious success with the brunette, a countess if she remembered correctly.

  The woman was taking every opportunity to touch Monsieur Damont. Not that Nicole blamed her, any woman, for
wanting to touch such male perfection.

  Just once.

  But must the countess be so obvious and must Monsieur Damont be so responsive? They were making a spectacle of themselves, and no doubt, distracting other patrons from the production as much as they were disturbing her.

  Thankfully, the production ended and she and Minister LeCoeur rose to exit their box. Nicole felt a hand at the small of her back as the minister guided her out.

  “Oh, my reticule.” She bent down to retrieve the silk bag and when Nicole looked up her mouth fell open as she glimpsed the countess leaving her box with her hand on Monsieur Damont’s backside.

  Her jaw set and Nicole said, “Found it,” convinced that Daniel Damont would not be returning to the apartment while she risked her life for crown and country.

  “Are you alright?” Joseph LeCoeur glanced back at the empty box and then to her face, speculation dancing in his eyes.

  “I’m a touch heated, I’m afraid.”

  “Ah,” he smiled, reassured. “Then let us get you outside so that you might become more comfortable.”

  ***

  Joseph LeCoeur smiled to himself as they descended the front steps of Le Royale.

  The woman on his arm had proven to be as stimulating he had hoped and he was enjoying the anticipation before he took her to his home and his bed.

  His most extravagant carriage was waiting, as ordered, directly outside the entrance to the prestigious theatre. Joseph grasped Mademoiselle Beauvoire by the upper arm and guided them toward his conveyance but ten feet from their goal the provocative woman stopped cold.

  She turned to face him and smiled pleasantly, saying, “Thank you for a most enjoyable evening, Minister LeCoeur.”

  “Surely,” he chuckled. “Our farewells can wait until I escort you home, Mademoiselle Beauvoire?”

  “Ah, but to whose home?” The girl smiled broadly, knowingly, as her enticing lips pulled up provocatively at one corner. “Furthermore, Minister LeCoeur, I never tolerate an audience unless I have invited them to watch.”

  “I’m afraid you have completely lost me, mon cherie.”

  “Have I?” The woman walked away and he felt unbalanced, confused until she stopped in front of his bodyguards, saying, “Good evening.”

  His eyes narrowed and his interest peaked. The girl was not only stunning, she was intelligent. Joseph’s pride had required that his guards remain on the periphery of any function that his men remain in the shadows, unseen.

  But she had seen them.

  Mademoiselle Beauvoire had looked passed the footmen and servants and identified the two most dangerous men in the theatre. Surmising, correctly, that his guards would also be present when he made love to her in his bed, in his own home.

  No, Nicole Beauvoire was no simple conquest. She was beautiful, intelligent and rich, a lethal combination to any man, a combination that could prove quiet useful to a minister’s wife.

  Joseph chuckled, thinking how ironic to consider the one woman in Paris that would surely turn down his proposal of marriage. But of course, that was the allure. At this moment, he was not entirely sure that lady would bed him, but Joseph had the distinct feeling that once she did, he would want her again and again.

  Flesh to flesh, mind to mind.

  He buttoned up his lust behind his black silk jacket then looked at the more senior of his guards.

  Captain Turgeon walked discreetly to his side and the minister whispered, “I would like the preliminary report on Mademoiselle Beauvoire,” as he watched her carriage ramble down the crowded cobblestone street.

  “Now?” The captain’s blue eyes widened with alarm and Joseph turned his attention away from the enticing subject being discussed.

  “Oui.”

  Captain Turgeon inclined his flaxen head, making no further protest. “Mademoiselle Beauvoire has been in Paris for two weeks only. She acquired her apartment through a leasing agent…” The captain reached into his breast pocket, referencing a small pad of parchment. “Monsieur Pinoche. After considering three other apartment of comparable value, Mademoiselle Beauvoire settled upon her current residence because she enjoyed ‘the view of Place Vendome’.”

  “She is wealthy?” Joseph asked, his mind relegating her to mistress if she were not.

  Captain Turgeon looked down. “Mademoiselle Beauvoire paid cash for the first three months of her lease and her clothing and--“

  “You tell me nothing.” The minister dismissed the Captain’s answer with a wave of his hand. “Her family? I wish to know of Mademoiselle Beauvoire’s holdings.”

  The captain paled and Joseph reminded himself that the man had gathered a great deal of information in a short amount of time.

  “The leasing agent did say that he thought her from a large city in Northern France.”

  “What made him believe this?”

  “A gentleman arrived as she was signing the lease. Tall, auburn hair and from his clothing, equally wealthy.”

  “Yes, I know this man. Daniel Damont,” Minister LeCoeur said coolly.

  “The gentleman kissed Mademoiselle Beauvoire intimately, calling her ‘darling’ and speaking to her as though they were long time acquaintances.”

  Joseph bristled, his spine stretched by masculine competition. “And how did the lady respond?”

  Captain Turgeon smirked, saying, “Mademoiselle Beauvoire slapped the gentleman, asking ‘Why he was in Paris?’ Joseph smiled to himself but his satisfaction faded when the captain added, “The leasing agent was then asked to leave but said it was quite apparent that the two had been lovers.”

  “Merci,” the minister nodded. “Now go round to this leasing agent’s home and dissuade the man from speculating on Mademoiselle Beauvoire’s personal affair.”

  “Right or left hand?”

  “Left,” Joseph said, feeling magnanimous.

  Captain Turgeon bowed, but before he had turned away the minister had a second thought. “And investigate Monsieur Damont. I want to know what brings this man to Paris.”

  But he had an idea.

  Daniel Damont had traveled from northern France to find his lover. A woman, Joseph thought hungrily, that must be well worth the trip.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  It was now midnight and Daniel sat, cornered in his carriage by the beautiful Countess Constantine. Her hands roamed over his waistcoat as she looked longingly into his eyes.

  “I thought that we could go to your apartment, Monsieur Damont. You can don that Marc Antony costume and I can become your Cleopatra.” Her hand descended, skimming his shaft as she continued down his thigh. “You can conquer me all night,” the countess whispered, kissing him.

  Daniel lifted his head to dislodge himself from her mouth. “Well, Countess Constantine, have we really known one another long enough to be… ‘conquering’ each oth--”

  The sophisticated woman laughed, removing his cravat. “I do not believe Marc Antony asked Cleopatra if she desired to be ‘conquered’.”

  “Now, that is where you’re mistaken, Countess Constantine. Cleopatra--” Daniel groaned as the woman expertly caressed his length. He pulled her hand away and concentrated on their inane conversation.

  “It is believed that Cleopatra seduced Antony to force… Oh, bloody hell!” The countess was unbuttoning his pantaloons, ready to service him then and there, when the carriage stopped in front of her home as per his instructions. “Here we are,” Daniel announced, hastily retying his cravat.

  “Surely, you jest?” the woman asked on an incredulous huff.

  “I very much enjoyed our evening, Countess Constantine.” Daniel smiled politely and opened the carriage door, holding his hand out to her. The countess stared at his hand as if she’d no idea what it was and then slowly, reluctantly accepted his assistance.

  “You arrive at my home less than an hour before opening curtain and abandon me at my door less than an hour afterward. I’ve no idea what you are about Monsieur Damont,” her dark eyes met his. �
��But I do know that I detest being used.”

  “As do I, Countess Constantine.”

  They stared at one another until the countess conceded his point. “Most men dream of being my bed fodder.”

  “Feed on someone else, countess, as I prefer to entertain women for whom I am fond. Good Evening.”

  Daniel bowed, pausing at the truth of his statement.

  He had always enjoyed women more in bed if he first enjoyed them outside of it, if he had experienced an affable affiliation prior to carnal knowledge.

  In short, if he gave a damn about them.

  “Sod me,” he said, climbing into his darkened carriage a bit shaken.

  Daniel closed his eyes and leaned his head against the squabs, trying to comprehend his epicurean epiphany. It would seem that he cared more for a woman’s mind than her body.

  The idea was indeed disturbing for if one were to chase such circular logic it would then follow that his happiness was dependant upon the incomprehensible mind of a woman.

  He was surely doomed to a life of miserable solitude.

  Yet, Daniel understood now why he had developed such an affinity for Sarah Duhearst. He had known the lass since he was ten years of age, had danced with her, gone to birthday celebrations, ridden with her and her brother more times than he could remember. He cared for Sarah and knew that she would have made an excellent wife and companion, an excellent mother to their children.

  And she was. Sarah was an excellent wife and mother to the Duke of Glenbroke’s children.

  Daniel felt the ache of loss in his chest, but was beginning to wonder if it were the loss of the friendship, the loss of the caring he wanted so desperately to give her.

  No, he would have to be more guarded with his affections. More careful to shield himself from women he could not and never would have.

  Unattainable, women like Nicole Beauvoire.

  But why these women? His father had instilled a deep protectiveness of the fairer sex in all seven of the McCurren men. This tendency would undoubtedly need to be overcome, but Mademoiselle Beauvoire was more than capable of taking care of herself.