England's Assassin

by Samantha Saxon

“Oh, you were entirely correct, Mademoiselle.” The minister nodded. “Now, take off your gown slowly so that I might truly enjoy your search.”

  Nicole did, glancing at the balcony as she considered her alternatives.

  “Don’t bother, mon cherie.” Minister LeCoeur, laughed. “I’ve two guards posted on my balcony waiting for far more treacherous game than that of an ambitious woman.

  Five.

  Nicole let her gown drop to the floor, making sure that her petticoats went with it.

  “I am a poor girl who seeks a rich husband,” she shrugged her shoulders appealingly, standing in nothing more than a lace chemise and sheer stockings. “What is so wrong in that, Joseph?”

  His eyes meandered down her body and Minister LeCoeur lifted the pistol saying, “kick your gown over there.” He jerked his head to the left, but his eyes remained on her, unable to look away from his prize. “And then remove your lovely chemise.”

  “Are you frightened of me, Joseph?” Nicole leaned her head so that he could view the line of her neck as she removed her right ear bob and then the left, setting them on the small table between them.

  “Frightened, no.” The minister motioned with his pistol to hasten her undress. “Aroused, very much so. Slowly,” He took another sip of champagne. “Remove the chemise, slowly.”

  Nicole peeled the lace garment from her arms and she could see the anticipation in Minister LeCoeur eyes as she clutched it with her right forearm just above her nipples.

  “And this other guest?”

  “Stop talking.” Nicole smiled, performing for him by removing the pins from her hair and letting the soft curl fall around her shoulders. “Much better,” Minister LeCoeur observed.

  “The chemise?”

  “Oui,” the word was all air, propelled purely by his lust.

  She watched the minister’s features carefully as Nicole let the chemise slither over her large breasts before falling to the floor. Minister LeCoeur’s lips parted and his breathing increased, all thoughts of the danger he was in gone from his lecherous mind.

  “Do I disappoint you, Joseph?” she asked, seductively.

  “No.” The minister licked his lips. “You are everything that I had dreamed you to be.”

  Nicole smiled playfully and looked at the champagne bottle.

  “Might I have some champagne, Joseph?” His gaze drifted to her eyes. “From the looks of you, I think you shall cause me to build quite a thirst.”

  Nicole poured herself a flute of champagne before carrying the bottle toward him, filling his glass as she said, “Do put the pistol down, darling. If you are to be my lover I would much prefer it if you were to use two hands.”

  The minister grinned, looking over her before placing the pistol on a side table still within his reach. Nude, Nicole kept to the fire waiting for him to walk toward her before beginning the negations.

  “As my new lover, what are you prepared to offer me?”

  Joseph LeCoeur grasped her breast as if evaluating a new acquisition. “Your freedom,” the minister raised a brow meeting her eye.

  “Well, that is a bit less than I had hoped for, darling Joseph, but I suppose it is a start. To freedom then.” Nicole raised her glass in sarcastic toast.

  “Now why don’t you start earning that freedom, Mademoiselle Beauvoire.” It was not a question as the minister tossed back the remainder of his champagne, setting his glass on the mantle so that he could grasp her left wrist.

  Minister LeCoeur sat again in the wing backed chair, pulling her in his lap. Nicole could feel his erection as his hands and mouth fell to her breasts. She closed her eyes repelled by his touch and watched as his breathing became labored.

  “Joseph,” Nicole whispered in his ear.

  “Oui,” the minister’s hands were shaking and he lifted his head to kiss her neck.

  “Did you know that many liquids form pretty crystals when are dried?”

  “What?” Minister LeCoeur head fell back against the chair and he stared at her, his coloring off.

  “It is true,” she nodded, continuing his education. “Many substances crystallize when left to dry and I find that they can be fashioned to resemble small diamonds.”

  The minister grabbed his stomach as the first tremors shook him, and being an intellectual man, he glanced at the champagne, realizing who Nicole was and what she had done.

  But it was too late. His muscles were useless, paralyzed by the powerful poison and Nicole knew that he had but moments to live.

  So she stared down at him, saying in way of explanation for his execution, “For all the men you have killed, the women you have destroyed and the children you have allowed to starve in the streets. I execute you in the name of the crown.”

  The minister fell back in his chair, dead and Nicole felt… nothing. No hatred, no guilt, not even a flicker of patriotism. It was this that frightened her, this lack of feeling. After General Capette's murder she had felt despair, but now she was nothing more than an empty shell.

  She bent down and retrieved her garments, dressing slowly before dropping in the chair opposite Minister LeCoeur’s lifeless body, thinking to enjoy her last hours of freedom. Nicole glanced at Minister LeCoeur’s pistol, entertaining only briefly killing one of the balcony guards… but not the other.

  What did it matter?

  She was tired of killing and would be dead if she returned to England. Either by hanging at Newgate or by watching Daniel McCurren marry another woman. And he would. He was too passionate a man and too fond of children not to marry.

  She only hoped that he was not too angry with her for sending him home where he belonged, where he deserved, and that he would always hold a small space in his heart for her.

  Nicole sipped her champagne and stared at the fire, waiting for dawn and regretting poisoning the entire bottle of quality champagne. She glanced at the mantle clock vaguely wondering if she would have time to sleep. No doubt, Major Rousseau would interrogate her for hours when he discovered the minister’s body and Nicole wanted to be rested for the ordeal.

  Major Rousseau. A chill went through her as she recalled the sadistic major. The man enjoyed hurting people. You had only to look at him to know that it was true. Her husband had been cast from the same violent mold and Nicole never understood why.

  Lord and Lady Stratton had been the kindest of people, had even tried to protect her from their vicious son. When Lady Stratton took ill, the weary woman had confided that her son had always been violent, even as a child. Foxhounds would go missing, only to be found dead days later.

  Lady Stratton had even suspected her own son of murdering his first wife, but had not been able to bring herself to believe her child capable of such a thing. So, the lady had chosen to believe what her son had told her, that his wife had been killed in a carriage accident.

  Then Charles Stratton had married a child just turned eighteen and Lord and Lady Stratton had feared for her life. They had watched Nicole carefully, inviting her to visit often. When the signs of abuse had begun, they were no longer able to deny his true nature.

  Lord and Lady Stratton had threatened to disinherit their son and he had come home, blaming Nicole for the loss of his family and his fortune. Her husband had beaten Nicole in a drunken rage and she had killed him, before he killed her.

  Upon hearing the news, Lady Stratton died of grief. Not, Nicole suspected, for the son she had lost, but for the man her son had become. Lord Stratton had discreetly come to Nicole’s defense during her trail. But it was decided amongst the male members of the peerage that a woman killing her husband was an undesirable precedent to set.

  Unfortunately, Nicole had stabbed Charles so many times to insure he was indeed dead, that her argument of self-preservation was rather difficult to defend.

  So, the widowed Lord Stratton had approached his closest friend for assistance.

  Nicole had met Falcon only once, when he had presented his proposition a week before her execution. He needed a woma
n, a lady in fact, of noble breeding to infiltrate the blue blood of Paris.

  Initially, Nicole had been confused as to why the old man would choose her. She spoke French, of course, but so did every other London society lady. This was not a sufficient enough reason, in her mind, to pardon a murderer from prison and then he had explained.

  Falcon needed a woman, a lady, capable of killing, and that was a far more difficult dearth of character to come by. A woman lacking a conscience was a rare and infinitely useful anomaly for the Foreign office.

  So, Nicole had agreed, asking only that the men she assassinated were as deserving of death as her husband. And they had been, all nine horrible men that had, in various ways, abused their people and their power.

  Nicole stared at Joseph LeCoeur and her conscience was clear. She regretted only that she was capable of killing and that she had not meet Daniel McCurren when she was an innocent girl of eighteen, before she had been hardened into this empty shell.

  She drained her glass of the last drops of bubbly and savored the tart taste on her tongue. Nicole’s eyes drifted to the poisoned champagne bottle and she smiled, thinking of the disappointment Major Rousseau would feel if she were to drink it.

  She reached for the bottle, the hollow golden earbob clanking as she filled her crystal flute to the rim. Lifting her glass, she stared at the tainted bubbles, amazed that there were no indications of the poison in the innocuous looking libation.

  The apocathary had been correct.

  She glanced at the balcony doors and wondered how long she had before the soldiers would be relieved. Nicole hoped that she would have the evening to herself that she might even have time to sleep.

  The clock struck half past midnight.

  Daniel would be sleeping.

  He was well on his way to Honfluer and then the viscount would travel to England. Nicole smiled with contentment, knowing that her years as Scorpion would end with her saving a life rather than taking one.

  Nicole blinked away forming tears and then lifted her glass. She sniffed the champagne and detecting no order, tentatively took a sip.

  Amazingly, it tasted no different from her first glass and Nicole knew that she would have no difficulty in drinking the entire contents.

  She pressed the crystal rim to her lips then heard a man on the balcony scream as if he were falling. Her head jerked toward the velvet drapes which parted with a snap and her eyes went wide when Daniel McCurren staggered into the room.

  No!

  He glanced first at her then at Joseph LeCoeur’s lifeless body and Daniel knew he was too late. The viscount turned and his stunned eyes met hers, full of sorrow and pain.

  “Daniel,--“She began but wrapped her arms around her stomach as the cramps seized her.

  A crash at the bedchamber door drew Daniel’s attention and he franticly swept the room with his eyes, looking, she prayed, for a place to conceal himself.

  Why did he not leave?

  They heard a crack at the bedchamber door and Daniel reached for the pistol on the table next to Joseph LeCoeur’s body. But he would not be able to defend them. Major Rousseau had far too many men. Run! Her mind screamed, but the word was stuck in her throat, pinned there by the fast acing poison.

  Daniel lifted the pistol to Minister LeCoeur’s chest and as the bedchamber door burst open, he fired, killing a dead man.

  Time slowed to a painful crawl and Nicole watched, horrified, as the smoked cleared and the deafening bang dissipated.

  “Long live King George!” Daniel shouted before being wrestled to the floor by the three French guards.

  Nicole stared at Daniel, her eyes filling with tears. He had come back for the same reason she had sent him away.

  He was in love with her. He was giving his life for her.

  The room was dimming and Nicole knew she did not have much time. She reached for Major Rousseau’s jacket to tell him that Daniel was not to blame, to tell him that she was the assassin, that she was Scorpion. But the poison coursing through her racked her body and she fell to the floor.

  Her head rolled to the side and Nicole watched helplessly as Daniel was being dragged from the room. Her view of the horrific scene was blocked by black shadows and Nicole blinked, her mind trying to make sense of the rounded lines that moved above her. She blinked again and her eyes settled on the face of Major Rousseau just before she sank into darkness.

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  Major Rousseau stared at the unconscious woman on the bedchamber floor then looked up at the man he had waited so long to meet.

  “Bonjour,” Evariste smirked, annoyed that the man epitomized the excesses of the British. He was altogether too large, too handsome and too arrogant to be an assassin. And yet here he stood. But he walk not be able to stand for long. “Take Scorpion to my cells at Conciergerie.”

  “Oui, Major Rousseau,” the more senior man offered, giving a very prudent and deferential bow.

  “And if he escapes,” Major Rousseau met the older man’s eye. “I will kill you personally.”

  The guard bowed again then rushed from the room to secure the prisoner, but Evariste mind was once again on the odd scene set before him. He stepped over the woman’s body and examined Minister LeCoeur as the minister sat in his chair just as he had been when Evariste had left him last night.

  He bent down and touched the minister’s bluish lips and then examined the bullet wound. The blackened hole appeared to have little blood seeping from a shot to the heart. Yet, it was Evariste’s experience that the heart tended to gush until it stopped from beating.

  The major looked at the woman on the floor, at her labored breathing and his eyes darted to her nearly full champagne glass. He stepped over her again and called for the two footman attracted by the sound of gunfire.

  “Discreetly,” Major Rousseau said, raising a finger to punctuate his point. “Find a physician and bring him here to me.”

  “Oui, Monsieur.” The shorter footman bowed.

  “You, come with me.” The larger footman followed him into the minister’s bedchamber. “Close the door.”

  Major Rousseau stepped over the girl and picked up the full glass of champagne, saying, “Drink this,” to the remaining footman who was of the same approximate weight and height as Minister LeCoeur.

  The footman glanced at Joseph LeCoeur’s stiffening corpse and hesitated. Evariste thought to threaten him, but decided that second round of gunfire would be unwelcome by Emperor Bonaparte.

  “Minister LeCoeur was shot,” Evariste reminded the guard as if the man were an idiot. “And she,” Major Rousseau looked down at the girl. “Has merely swooned.”

  “Then why—“

  “Do you question me?” Evariste stared at the man.

  “No, Major Rousseau, I would never question you. I merely wondered for what purpose--”

  “You are the minister’s approximate size.” Evariste said as if this explained everything. “The minister did not resist his assassin and I would like to know how much champagne would be necessary…”

  “I comprehend,” the footman said, consuming the entire glass, satisfied by Evariste’s convoluted logic.

  “Now, if you would place the girl on the bed.”

  The footman lifted the small woman easily, carrying her across the excessive room to the elaborately carved four poster bed. He bent over and gently set the woman on the duvet. However, when he rose, the footman staggered backward, his eyes widening in fear as he fell to his knees, pain drawing the veins from his neck before he feel over dead.

  Major Rousseau’s left brow rose, impressed with the alacrity at which the poison killed. He glanced at the bottle and smiled, thankful to have a portion left from which to ascertain its origins.

  His eye returned to the beautiful woman on the bed. Mademoiselle Beauvoire could not have imbibed much of the champagne or she too would surely be dead. Evariste watched the slow rise of her chest and he leaned over, placing his ear against the soft mounds of her exq
uisite breasts.

  Her heart beat was steady, yet slow and as he listened, Evariste stared at her cherry red lips that were slightly parted to expel her silent breath. He lifted his head and circled the unconscious woman’s lips with the tip of his finger, imagining what deeds he would have that pretty little mouth perform.

  She was his to control and he revealed in the knowledge. His finger descended over her chin then neck and he smiled with anticipation as it continued toward her décolletage. His hand slid into the bodice of her gown and Evariste grasped her right breast, his cock pulsing with need the moment he touched her softness.

  Mademoiselle Beauvoire was indeed stunning and he could understand Minister LeCoeur’s obsession. However, now that the minister was dead, he would have her in celebration of Scorpion’s anticipated capture.

  Once he delivered to Napoleon the notorious British assassin, Scorpion, Evariste would no doubt be elevated to a new rank with even greater privileges of power.

  “Auvior, mon cherie.” Major Rousseau leaned over and licked the woman’s neck, whispering in her ear. “I shall wait until you regain your strength so that I might enjoy taking it from you.”

  He gave her breast one last, lingering squeeze and then released her just as the physician entered the minister’s bedchamber accompanied by Captain Turgeon.

  “You have captured him?” the captain asked.

  “Oui,” the major nodded and then pointed to the footman on the floor and address himself to the physician. “This man is dead. Poisoned after drinking Minister LeCoeur’s champagne.” Evariste meet Captain Turgeon’s perceptive eye. “The woman is still alive. It appears as though she had little of the tainted liquid. The lady is your patient and your primary concern.”

  “Oui, Major Rousseau. I will need a maid to help me undress the young lady.”

  “Bon, you may ask Captain Turgeon for anything you may require as I will leave him here to guard your patient.” Major Rousseau was leaving the room when he stopped and looked at Captain Turgeon, “And if the woman wakes, notify me at once.” Evariste grinned ever so slightly. “I shall be at Conciergerie.”