England's Assassin

by Samantha Saxon

  Nicole’s heart stopped, but she was too experienced to allow her tension to become visible. “Questioned?”

  “Perhaps, I say too much?” The marquis shrugged. “But then again, I would be most pleased to have you annoyed with your escort. I was asked by Minister LeCoeur’s men if I knew from where you hailed. I told them that I had not known you prior to the masquerade and I am afraid, mon cherie, that I informed them of you fallacious invitation.”

  Nicole went pale, her spine stiffening.

  “You are annoyed with me, Oui?” Marquis La Roche smiled and inclined his head toward her. “I beg your forgiveness, Mademoiselle Beauvoire, and am more than willing to atone for my indiscretion.”

  “Mademoiselle Beauvoire,” a footman called, her room now ready for occupation.

  Nicole rose and looked down at the amused marquis. “You appear to be too late, Marquis Le Roche,” before walking out of the Empress’s saloon with her head spinning.

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Evariste Rousseau examined his pistols, before stepping down from the carriage that would carry the illustrious Minister of Police to the Empress’ Toussaint feast.

  “You two come with me.” He motioned to the most experienced guards. “The rest of you remain with the landau.”

  The major man swept down the arcades of Place Vendome, his eyes scanning the square as the sun descended behind the architectural balanced of its buildings.

  “Wait here,” he said, posting the two guards at Minister LeCoeur’s front door, wary of a frontal assault.

  Evariste lifted the heavy brass ring and knocked. A footman opened the door and the major said not a word, looking through the man and toward his employer.

  “Punctual as always, Major Rousseau.”

  Evariste ignored the compliment, thinking it his duty to arrive when ordered. “Your valet and luggage have been sent on to make ready your room.”

  “Excellent,” the minister stepped from his home, the two guards at his heels. Joseph LeCoeur placed his beaver skin hat upon his head then stopped when he caught sight of the carriage. “A bit much do you not think?”

  “Pardon?” Evariste asked, confused.

  “Seven men, Major Rousseau?” the minister smiled. “Am I so very frail?”

  “Scorpion—“

  “Scorpion,” Minister LeCoeur spat, stepping into the landau. “Is but a man and my horses have their limits. No more than four guards. You and I shall ride inside.”

  “Oui, Minister LeCoeur, but might I remind you that Lord Cunningham was guarded by a mere five men.”

  “Very true, Major Rousseau,” the minister smiled, adding, “But Cunningham was not guarded by you.”

  Evariste inclined his head, honored and deeply proud to have his talents acknowledged.

  “There is another matter,” Major Rousseau began with caution, the carriage lurching forward. “Which I feel must be discussed.”

  “Go on.” Minister LeCoeur’s eyes narrowed with interest.

  “Mademoiselle Beauvoire--”

  “God above!” Evariste was interrupted by an exasperated exhalation. “Have you nothing better with which to occupy your time?”

  “The lady is—“

  “The lady is my mistress!”

  “The lady is a charlatan,” Evariste said, crossing the line for the minister’s own protection.

  “You had better have proof of that ascertain, Evariste, or our association is very much in danger.”

  Their eyes met, held.

  “You lose your head with this woman,” Major Rousseau said, trying not to feel the sting of betrayal. “So much so, that you would dismiss a man who has served you faithfully for six years?”

  “Tell me of this information,” Minister LeCoeur grated through clenched teeth.

  “Mademoiselle Beauvoire leased her apartment—“

  “I know all of this,” the minister rolled his eyes. “You tell me nothing new.”

  “Were you aware that the woman has hired no servants bar a coachman?” Minister LeCoeur eyes darted to his and Evariste felt the vindication. “Were you aware that Mademoiselle Beauvoire forged her invitation to the masquerade ball at which you met?”

  “How do you know this?”

  “Marquis Le Roche was most helpful.”

  The major watched his employer’s mind hone. “Go on.”

  “A Parisian merchant sends packages to her sister in Honfleur. Yet, no family of prominence is known by name of Beauvoire in the entire city nor in the region for that matter.”

  “Did you inquire as to the family Damont?”

  “Oui, none in Honfleur have ever heard of Daniel Damont.”

  “And in Paris?”

  “I was able to locate the apartment of Monsieur Damont,” Evariste said, pausing with smugness. “At Place Vendome.” Shocked stilled Minister LeCoeur and Evariste continued the torrent of unpleasant information. “They have been residing together for--”

  He was interrupted when Minister LeCoeur’s fist came down atop his exquisite beaver skin chapeau, crushing it.

  “Enough of Mademoiselle Beauvoire,” Minister LeCoeur said, his nostrils flaring, his lips struggling to conceal his anger. “Tell me of your preparations for Scorpion,” the minister ordered, turning his attention where it should be.

  Major Rousseau began his report of the exhaustive measures taken to capture this most elusive of English assassins.

  “You will have but one room assigned to us thus limiting the access Scorpion will have to your bedchamber. I have two of my most trusted men guarding your bedchamber door, and, in consideration of the General Capette’s assassination, I felt it prudent to position two men on your balcony.”

  His employer nodded in approval. “And you?”

  “I will be at your side the entire evening, Minister LeCoeur.”

  “Bon.”

  “As you know,” Evariste reminded him of his cleverness. “I selected the Toussaint feast as the sight for your assassination as the guests will all be searched upon arrival and the footmen are all guards, highly trained to protect Empress Bonaparte.

  They have, naturally, been informed of the situation, leaving Scorpion to deal not only with our men but with hers as well.”

  “How many men have we?”

  “Combined with those of the Empress?” Evariste took a moment to calculate in his head. “Over one hundred.”

  The minister raised a brow, impressed. “The guards at my bedchamber door, Scorpion will anticipate. The other guards are to be kept out of sight lest we send Scorpion scurrying beneath his rock.”

  “As you wish, Minister LeCoeur.”

  “I want him, Evariste.” His employer smiled. “I want the British bastard badly.”

  “You will have him, minister,” Major Rousseau vowed. “On that I give you my word.”

  Chapter Thirty-Two

  The road one miles south Les Mureaux turned sharply to the left and Daniel was slammed against a barrel in the back of a dilapidated wagon, waking him.

  His eyes snapped open but he was blinded by pain throbbing at the back of his head. He blinked, taking in the dim light that peeked through the sides of a dirty canvas tarp. Wooden crates piled with sacks of grain dominated the cramped space and Daniel was left to ponder his whereabouts in a tiny corner of the wagon.

  Nicole! He remembered.

  She was going to carry out the assassination of Joseph LeCoeur as she had always planned. Daniel tried not to feel the sting of her betrayal, tried not to feel as though his coming to Paris had made no difference to her plans, to her. Nicole had not rejected him, Daniel told himself, but perhaps believed that she was shielding him from harm.

  He glanced at his bound wrists and ankles, not sure that this was what the lass had in mind.

  “It grows dark,” Daniel heard in French from somewhere at the front of the wagon. “We had better make camp before we arrive at Les Mureaux. We have no need of our cargo bellowing in the background as we make our way through
town.”

  A second man chuckled and Daniel knew that he had very little time. He pulled at the ropes tied around his wrist, but if there was one thing a sailor knew how to do, it was tie a sturdy knot. His ankles were similarly bound and he felt a wave of desperation as the wagon pulled off of the main road and rambled to a halt.

  Daniel lay back down and closed his eyes, thinking as the first rope was being pulled through the canvas tarp with an unsettling hiss. The light assaulted his eyelids in waves as the tarp billowed at each point where his captures concentrated their efforts.

  “I die of hunger, Michel, and Les Mureaux is but a mile--.”

  “No, we shall dine at camp.”

  “The boy is correct.” A third man said. “We shall be at sea soon and I myself could make use of a woman before—“

  “Honfluer, you can eat and fornicate as much as you like in Honfluer.” The tarp was pulled back with a snap and Daniel had to concentrate not the flinch as the flood of light bombarding his eyelids. “We’ll not be paid the remainder of our fee until this man is safely aboard. Now, get him out of there.”

  “Damn, but the man is big,” the younger man complained. “Cannot we just leave him here?”

  “It is November and the sky gathers to snow.” The man in command said as if the boy were an idiot. “He would freeze.”

  “We have woolen blankets that—“

  “Stop your noise, Mathias,” the third man growled. “Grab his ankles and we shall pull him to the edge then lift him together.”

  Daniel cracked his eyelids and waited patiently as the lanky lad planted his right knee on the edge of the wagon. The other sailors watched with little interest as the youngest of their crew reached for Daniel’s ankles. But the moment he felt the man’s fingers, Daniel struck, spreading his knees and grasping the young sailor in a headlock before the lad knew what hit him.

  Daniel looked up, ignoring the lad’s blows on his thighs as Daniel stared at the other more worldly men. The shorter man brandished a knife and took a step forward, but it was to the tall man that Daniel addressed himself to when he said, “I’ll break his neck if you do not release me.”

  Their weathered leader hesitated and Daniel twisted to the left and the lad screamed, his neck strained.

  “You’ve been paid half of your fee.” The tall salior rolled his eyes at his own stupidity for revealing such information. “Take what you have been paid or this will end badly.” The man stared, gauging Daniel’s determination so he added, “My fiancée is in danger and I will not hesitate to kill all of you to save to her,” to make clear his desperation.

  The man in command, nodded. “Unbind him.”

  “Why?” the shorter sailor holding the blade asked in a huff. “There are three of us to his one!”

  “The gentleman means what he says, I seen it in his eyes. He will twist Mathias’ head off and then fight us both tooth and nail. It is not worth the risk.

  We’ve been paid well to get the man to a place we were already headed. So count yourself fortunate and let us go find warm food and warmer companionship in Les Mureaux.” The tall man jerked his head toward Daniel. “Unbind him.”

  His disgruntled capture walked toward him and Daniel squeezed tighter on the lad’s head and neck, causing him to moan in pain, his hands pushing against Daniel’s knees.

  “My hands first,” Daniel ordered.

  The subordinate obeyed, sickened by the loss of income. The shorter man leaned down and slit the ropes tied around Daniel’s ankles and then stepped back to a safe distance, putting away his dagger.

  Daniel eased his hold and the young sailor jerked backward stumbling as he sucked in one, long breath. “Bastard,” he mumbled, terrified.

  Jumping to his feet, Daniel stared at the tall man. “I’ll be needing a horse.”

  “No,” he said simply, crossing his arms over his chest.

  “The lady who hired you, she was a beautiful brunette, Oui?” Daniel asked, his temper boiling to the surface.

  “Pretty eyes,” the salty agreed.

  “That lady is my fiancée.” Sticking to his original lie that somewhere in the deep recesses of his soul Daniel wanted to be true. “And she is in grave danger.”

  The man shook his head. “Even if I believed you, Monsieur, which I have not said that I do, the captain would have my hide for losing those horses.”

  Daniel glanced at the men determining their leader to be the most formidable of the three. But then he remembered, glancing at his wrists.

  “Here,” he unfastened his sapphire cuff links and tossed them to the sailor. “I’ll purchase your horse and you can buy twenty before you arrive at Honfluer.”

  The tall man glanced at the jewel in his hands and then his eyes darted to Daniel’s. “The lady truly is in danger?”

  “Oui,” Daniel nodded adamantly.

  “Pierre, saddle the grey.” Their leader ordered before turning to Daniel adding, “He is the fastest of the two horses and if you follow that road,” the man pointed down a path which seemed to follow the bank of the river. “It will lead you back to Paris.”

  “How long?”

  “Six hours,” the sailor said, regretfully. Daniel grasped the saddle and swung onto the horse when the man asked, curious, “Why would your fiancée hire us to kidnap you, Monsieur?”

  Daniel smiled weakly, answering, “Because she is in love with me,” before turning the horse and galloping down the road, praying that he would make it to the Toussaint feast in time.

  ***

  Nicole placed her hand on the door of her second floor bedchamber and paused. She was stilled by the knowledge that Minister LeCoeur more than likely knew who she was and why she had come to the Toussaint feast.

  Why else would he have made inquiries of her?

  She could think of nothing and now was faced with a choice. Leave now, assuming of course that she could, or carry out the assassination, knowing that she would most probably be arrested before she has the opportunity to perform it.

  Neither choice was very appealing. Nicole had known when she was given the order to kill the Minister of Police that her chances of survival were minimal. And when Daniel Damont had arrived at her doorstep informing her that the orders had been forged by the French, she was sure of it.

  But flee…

  Where would she go?

  Nicole took a deep breath and became the person she loathed, the person that she was so very good at becoming.

  Scorpion.

  She opened her door and strolled into the hall, noting the footman lined egress as she smiled at the other society women. Nicole stared fascinated as the ladies flocked like migrating birds in the same direction, heading toward the first floor grand entryway where they would be joined by their gentlemen escorts. Ambition abounded in the form of shimmering jewels and low slung bodices that afforded the women of Paris the opportunity to find a protector, if not a husband.

  The gentleman too held ambitions. They had traveled to Tuileries Palace to be seen by society, by their emperor and then to end their Toussaint Feast by bedding the woman they desired so that they might feel alive even as they honor the dead.

  Joseph LeCoeur had such ambitions, sending to Nicole’s bedchamber a message informing her in flowery French of his arrival and of his eagerness to see her again.

  But why? To arrest her or to bed her.

  Finding herself at the top of the enormous staircase, Nicole looked out over the elite of France. She made one last adjustment to her plum colored gown and placed her hand on the balustrade as she descending into pit of hell.

  Nicole scanned the throng for her prey and then she found him. The minister was speaking with a group of elegant gentlemen to her left. One of the men was speaking and then the group broke into muted laughter with Minister LeCoeur snickering appropriately. But then the minister’s eyes drifted to his right as if he had sensed her. Their eyes met and held.

  Without turning to look at his companions, his lips moved and
the other men all looked up at Nicole. Disconcerted, she smiled and fidgeted with her diamond earbobs. The man with whom the minister had been speaking raised a brow and whispered something to which Joseph LeCoeur answered, leaving their group and walking to the foot of the marble stairs.

  “Mademoiselle Beauvoire,” the minister said, bowing deeply when she stood on the last step.

  “Minister LeCoeur.” She inclined her head toward him.

  The minister raised his stiff back and then his head, holding out his arm and saying as she took it, “You look stunning, mon cherie.”

  She inclined her head toward him and then gave him a cursory assessment. His black evening jacket was a credit to the subtlety of his tailor, exquisitely fitted to the minister’s square shoulders and elegant in its simplicity. His cravat was elaborate, but not exceedingly so, adorned only by a blue sapphire pin which harmonized the blue of his all too astute eyes.

  “And you look exceedingly handsome, Monsieur LeCoeur.”

  He smiled as if pleased and they wandered into the saloon in which the Emperor’s guests await their host. “Champagne?”

  “Oui, Merci.”

  He nodded imperceptivity to a passing footman who rushed over, holding out the solid silver try as the minister retrieved two crystal flutes filled with quality champagne. The footman bowed before leaving and Joseph LeCoeur handed Nicole a glass, lifting his in an intimate toast.

  “May tonight bring us everything we desire.” The minister gazed at her face and then his eyes dipped lower to speculate before returning her eyes and finally to her lips. “And more.”

  He watched and Nicole taunted him as she set the champagne flute to her parched lips, swallowing before licking them of the excess and breathing, “To tonight.”

  His eyes flared and they stood staring at one another until the minster lifting his glass to drink for no other reason than to occupy his mind with other thoughts than taking her to bed.

  “Madame’s’ and Monsieur’s’,” the crowded saloon became silent as conversation ceased, the guest brimming with anticipation. “May I present to you the Emperor and Empress of France?”