England's Assassin (19 page)

Nicole.

He liked the sound of her on his lips, the taste of her as he made his way down her neck. She pealed his shirt over his shoulders and the lass liked what she found, he could see it in her eyes, her touch. He was forced to let go of her delightful derrière as she impatiently yanked the voluminous sleeves from his arms.

His desire swelled, bolstered by her eagerness as her eyes fell to the counters of his arms like a foundling at a Christmas feast. She was a woman starved and he was determined to let the lass have her fill. He looked down at her hands on his body as they slid rounded the muscles in his chest and the sight; the feel of her touch all but drove him wild.

Daniel leaned back slowly and she liked that too, following him as if joined by threads of mutual attraction. Her palms descended to the flexing muscles of his abdomen as they rolled out on display before her.

Nicole Beauvoire was straddling his thighs, her left hand planted on the mattress as the fingers of her right traced the delineation of his belly as if he were fashioned from glass.

“You like that?” His eyes darted to hers, anxious to capture the foundations of her lust so that he might build on his own.

Her eyes roamed over his chest and stomach, accessing every dip and curve with her lovely hands.

“Yes,” she nodded imperceptible, annoyed to be distracted from her assessment of his form.

Daniel grinned, the airy word winding him tight.

“I’ll not break, lass. Have a good, long feel.”

Her hands splayed on his stomach and he closed his eyes with pleasure, unable to keep them open so that he might witness her shortening breath, her spiraling need. Daniel thought to open them when the moist heat of her mouth closed over his left nipple. He groaned, his hips instinctively flexing, his arms tensing as his hands found her tiny waist.

“Oh, God. Now that’s entertaining, lass.”

Nicole Beauvoire said nothing, moving her warm lips between the taut muscles of his chest. He could feel her soft breasts brushing his hips but his mind was focused entirely upon her lips. She kissed him again were his chest gave way to the flatter, more defined muscles of his abdomen.

Her nose tickled his increasingly sensitive belly and Daniel would have flinched had he not been so aroused. She kissed him again lower, choosing to follow the central line of his stomach. His right hand wandered to the back of her ebony head which contrasted deliciously with the gold of his skin.

He was breathing heavily by the time the lady sat up and pulled the pins from her long hair. The ebony strands fell about her shoulders and Daniel found himself reaching to remove her gown, aching to see her silky hair against her even softer skin.

Her garments were strewn across the floor and she stood before him, more beautiful than Botticelli’s depiction of Venus. But this Goddess was very real and Daniel reached for her, but she stepped away, not allowing herself to be captured.

She glanced at his buckskin and bent down to unfasten only the buttons necessary to pull them from his body. She sat on her knees, pulling the pantaloons from his feet and then her hands were on his thighs. Daniel sat up on his elbows and looked at her as she whispered, “You have such beautiful legs,” her heated breath enveloping his erection.

“Beautiful?” he asked, his voice strained.

“Aye,” the lass nodded, meeting his eye as her hands felt their way up his thighs. He stared, unable to move as Nicole Beauvoire crawled over him. “Very beautiful.”

He swallowed, saying, “I’m glad you like…”

But his mind seized when she pressed her lips to his left hip.

“I do.” The lady lifted her head, her black hair skimming his sensitive length as she moved her head to kiss his right hip. “And do you know what else I find astonishingly alluring?”

“No,” Daniel said, hoping that he did.

“Oui, I think that you do,” she said, her lips hovering inched from the tip of his shaft.

She met his eyes, leaning forward and he was torn between holding her gaze of staring at those moist lips.

“Show me,” Daniel grated through clenched teeth.

His siren ran her tongue lightly round him and he groaned, forcing himself to keep his eyelids open so that he might watch her next caress. The lass smiled, knowing damn well the torture she was inflicting upon him. He licked his lips, his mouth opening in anticipation of her doing the same.

However, this time she stroked his shaft so gently that all he felt was the tease of her excruciating touch. “You’re killin’ me, lass.”

She ignored him, too lost in her own lust to satisfy his needs. And just when Daniel thought he would fall to his knees and beg the woman to end his torture, she took him fully in her mouth, stealing his breath and his mind.

She touched him only briefly before Daniel was lifting her to his lap least he lose all control. The stunning creature was breathing heavily when she sat facing him, her bare backside settling onto his thighs. Daniel met her clouded eyes and kissed her deeply.

His right hand dove between them, but when he felt her wet, swollen sheath, Daniel grunted with anticipation. He leaned forward to capture her mouth, but stopped short when he felt her fingers wrap round his length.

“I want you like this,” Nicole Beauvoire stared at him, her head falling back as she took him inside.

“Alright,” Daniel groaned his ascend, lifting his hips to drive that much deeper.

She produced a soft moan of satisfaction then clutched his neck, lifting herself on her knees, which was almost as pleasurable as her sinking down again.

He sat on the bed grasping her backside, her breast bouncing before Daniel as she rode him. He closed his eyes, concentrating his attention on their joining the pleasure that she was giving, and taking.

It was that thought that was driving him wild, the obvious desire she had for him. He lifted his hip, matching her enthusiasm, driven by every cry of encouragement. She was so close Daniel could sense her abandonment of all else. Sense her need to find pleasure at this moment, at this time.

And he gave it to her, rolling his hips in one deep thrust as she cried out, shaking in his arms. He watched her for a moment and then closed his eyes, releasing himself and his mind of everything but the woman in his arms.

***

Nicole lay sprawled across Daniel Damont’s chest, sated and spent. Just as, she was sure, every woman the man had ever made love to. Her forefinger twirled around the sprinkling of dark hairs on his muscular chest and Nicole wondered aloud.

“How old were you when you first bedded a woman?” Nicole asked in keeping with the playful tone of the afternoon.

Monsieur Damont chuckled, the baritone rumble curling her toes. “A lady should not ask such things.”

“Of course, I shouldn’t ask but I am.” Nicole positioned her chin on her arm so that she could see his striking eyes. “Perhaps I’m merely curious about the private lives of the British aristocracy.”

Curious if other gentlemen were so gentle in their lovemaking, so affable in their demeanor.

“You're not penning an article for some lady’s periodical, are ya?”

Her heart seized at the sight of his lopsided grin, making Nicole want to know all the more. “How old were you?”

“Guess.”

“Nineteen.”

“Fifteen,” the rogue said, impishly.

“Fifteen!” Nicole raised her head in shock.

“Aye, fifteen.” He absently ran his finger along her bare ribs.

“Who was the lady?”

The viscount lifted his arm and placed it behind his head as he searched the canopy and his evidently countless conquests, for the name he sought.

“Mary.”

“Lady Mary,” Nicole said, thinking how much she disliked that name.

“Oh, Mary was no lady.”

“Obviously not,” Nicole mumbled.

The viscount grinned ignoring her slight of his first paramour as he said, “I was rather large for my age, as you might imagine, and that fact did not escape the notice of our upstairs maid, Mary.”

Nicole watched his alluring lips as he spoke, thinking this man incapable of escaping any woman’s notice.

“A week before my birthday I retired to my rooms, only to find Mary lying atop my bed naked as the day she was born.”

“You could have asked her to leave,” Nicole pointed out with a raised brow.

“Aye, I could have, but Mary was a worldly woman of twenty-one who proceeded to share her knowledge for the next six weeks.” He sighed, adding, “’twas the best birthday of my life.”

The blackguard paused a bit too long in blissful remembrance of Mary the wanton maid, causing Nicole to elbow him in the ribs.

“Oww,” he complained.

Nicole rolled her eyes at the enormous man’s low tolerance for pain. “What happened after six weeks?”

“My brother Lackland, who was seven at the time, went to my mother’s bedchamber and told her that he heard a ghost. A ‘wailing woman’.”

Nicole giggled. “He did not!”

“He did,” the viscount said, affronted. “Of course, my mother dinna believe him, but she walked the lad back to his bedchamber only to hear the ‘wailin’ woman’ with her own ears.”

“Oh, dear.”

“She threw open my door, and there I was, bare arsed and banging away a Mary.” His eyes sparkled at the retelling of the unfortunate scene.

“What on earth did you do?” Nicole asked, burning with curiosity.

“I ran like the coward that I am when confronted by my mother, but she cornered me before I reached the bedchamber door. So I stopped in front of her and she looked me straight in the eye,” he recalled, staring at the wall with affectionate respect. “And said, ‘Just because you can rut with a woman does not mean that you should’.

And then she told me to ‘sleep in the barn with the rest of the animals’.” Daniel Damont looked down at her rubbing her shoulder. “I slept there for a week, in the dead of a highland winter, mind ya.”

“As you deserved,” Nicole pronounced, laying her head on his chest. She nestled against him, still smiling and wanting to stay there for the rest of the day.

The thought was disturbing.

She planted her hand on his exquisite chest, pushing against his strength.

“I’m afraid that I have things--” 

“Don’t,” Daniel instinctively pulling her against him, unwilling to let her go. “Just stay here with me a while longer. The weather is miserable and we’ve nothing to do but snuggle.”

“Snuggle?”

The lass said the word as if she’d no notion of its meaning and Daniel leaned back to catch a glimpse of her expression.

“Aye, snuggle.” He wrapped both arms around her waist, luxuriating in her soft heat as she leaned her head back against his shoulder. “Like two rabbits in a burra’.”

“Minus the dirt and smelly fur.”

“It’s a hard woman that does not like bunnies, Nicole Beauvoire, but I shall forgive ya as you’re very warm. I suppose you dislike children too?”

“No, I adore children.” Daniel smiled with surprise, pulling her tighter. “Just not smelly ones. I’ve always wanted…” The lady stiffened and Daniel’s heart clenched. “I always wanted four or five of my own.”

I
, a devastatingly singular word. “I’m so sorry you lost your husband before—“

“I have to prepare for my meeting with Minister LeCoeur,” she interrupted, getting out of bed. Daniel felt her loss against his side as he watched her bend down to grab her rumbled dress from the floor. “Are you still willing to help me prepare the meal?”

“I said I would.”

“Yes, well…” She disappeared beneath her dress and emerged, saying, “People say lots of things they don’t mean.”

“And I,” he said with such emphasis that the woman turned to meet his eye. “Am not one of them.”

“Forgive me, Viscount DunDonell,” she said, distancing him and leaving Daniel bleeding on the ground he had just lost.

Nicole stared through her carriage window at the drizzling rain that continued to blanket the capital. She adjusted her coverlet for the third time, finding it difficult to stay warm. She was cold from the inside out and as Nicole rolled to a stop before the Ministry of Police, she wondered if she would ever be warm again.

As she had been today.

“We have arrived, Mademoiselle Beauvoire,” her coachman said as he opened the carriage door.

Nicole glanced at the ornate building and looked down at her man, his black hat turning gray with a fine layer of mist.

“Please take this,” she handed him a missive, “to the office of Minister LeCoeur.

Nicole sat back and waited, positioning herself flatteringly in the corner of the squabs and trying desperately not to think of Daniel McCurren. She had never met a gentleman such as he, nor, she suspected, would she ever meet one again.

The viscount was so large, so physically dominating yet he never used his size, his pure masculine power to threaten or intimidate her in anyway. The man seemed to have a true appreciation, no more than that, he seemed to have a true affection for the fairer sex that Nicole had never witnessed before.

When he spoke today of his mother there was an underlying respect for the woman that had raised seven McCurren males. He had even admitted, exaggerated thought it may be, his cowardice when dealing with the countess.

How many gentleman of the ton would treat a woman not only as his equal but his better?

Nicole smirked and the rain fell.

The viscount was too good to be true and she reminded herself to be on her guard. She had only known Daniel McCurren a fortnight and Nicole was sure he would disappoint soon enough. It was far better for her not to give him the opportunity to do so.

She would rely upon herself as she always had done and perform the assassination. For men like Joseph LeCoeur never disappointed. They were bastards from the start and at least with the minister, she knew what to expect.

***

Joseph LeCoeur opened the door to his outer office and was surprised to see a liveried coachman speaking with his assistant, Major Rousseau. The two men looked toward him and Joseph knew instantly that he was the subject being discussed.

“Bonjour, Minister LeCoeur,” the coachman bowed. “I have a message…” He pointed to a communiqué in Major Rousseau’s suspicious hands. “My employer, Mademoiselle Beauvoire, has instructed me to await your reply.”

His cynical assistant met his eye and Joseph dampened his anticipation. Breaking, with great amusement, the golden seal impressed with a single apple of the fair Eris. He read the brief missive and the suggestion there within before turning toward the lady’s coachman.

“Inform Mademoiselle Beauvoire that I would be delighted to join her for luncheon and shall be down momentarily.”

The lady’s coachman bowed, leaving him alone with the all too austere Evariste Rousseau.

“You know nothing of this woman, Minister LeCoeur,” the major, reminded.

Irritation swelled and Joseph suppressed it saying, “The lady is being investigated.”

“Then you should avoid contact with the woman until the investigation is complete.”

Joseph raised a brow at his assistant’s demanding tone. “Are you suggesting, Major Rousseau, that I remain celibate while you undertake an exhaustive investigation of the lady in question?”

“Of course not, sir, I merely suggest that you find another woman known to us.”

“Tell me, Evariste,” the minister’s smile was caustic. “Have you selected my bed partner or am I allowed a choice.”

The major accepted the reprimand, lowering his black eyes. “There are many woman on our list that—“

“Will do?” Joseph forgave the young man his ignorance. “A woman is more than a warm place to bury your cock, Evariste. When you are older, you will understand the enticement of quality rather than quantity of lovers.”

His assistant shrugged in dutiful acceptance of his employer’s assertion then moved on, saying, “You are to meet with Emperor Bonaparte at three o’clock this afternoon. It is now one o’clock.”

Joseph chuckled at the man’s final attempt to dissuade him. “Never fear, Evariste,” he said, reaching for his greatcoat. “I shall return no later than half past two.”

“Captain Turgeon.” Major Rousseau called to his bodyguard.

“No.” The minister waved his guard from the room. “I need no protection for this excursion.”

“Minister LeCoeur, you are making yourself vulnerable unnecessarily.”

Joseph laughed his mind on the stunning woman waiting for him just downstairs. “Oh, being alone with Mademoiselle Beauvoire is very necessary.”

“If I am to be given the responsibility of seeing to your protection, then I must insist that the captain sit with the lady’s coachman so that he might be on hand—“

“You insist?” Minister LeCoeur felt his hackle rise and he turned to meet his assistant’s steady gaze.

However, much to his surprise the major did not acquiesce, saying, “Yes, minister, if you refuse to take minimal precautions when venturing out in public then I fear I can no longer be responsible for your safety.”

“Are you offering me your resignation, Major Rousseau?”

“If you leave the protection of the Ministry without Captain Turgeon then, oui, I am.”

Joseph smiled, appreciating the major’s steely mettle.

“Mon Dieu, Evariste! You worry like a woman. Very well, the captain will sit in the rain with Mademoiselle Beauvoire’s coachman.”

His assistant bowed, relieved and then called, “Captain Turgeon.” The fair guard opened the door and bowed for them both. “You will accompany Minister LeCoeur this afternoon and inform Mademoiselle Beauvoire’s coachman that the minister is required back by half passed two this afternoon.”

Joseph roared with laughter and glanced at the man that would protect his life with his own. “Then let us depart, Captain Turgeon, as we appear to be on a very tight schedule.”

The captain left the outer office and Joseph glanced at his assistant, making sure that the major knew his interference was being tolerated. “Have the documents ready for my meeting with Emperor Bonaparte.”

Major Rousseau bowed deeply and with great respect. “All will be as you require, Minister LeCoeur.”

The moment Joseph closed the door his mind was on Mademoiselle Beauvoire. He had not stopped thinking of those eyes, those exquisite breasts since the theatre four nights ago and he prayed that he too had occupied the forefront of her mind.

The captain at his heels, Joseph rushed down the marble step of the Ministry of Police eager to taste that quick tongue but slowed his pace as he approached her costly carriage, not wanting to appear too enthusiastic.

Her coachman bowed, holding the door wide as Joseph stepped into the interior of the carriage.

“You gave me ten minutes in which to join you,” he said, closing the door against the soft rain and all intrusion. “I make progress, no?”

“No, not particularly.” The lady enticed him with her smile and Joseph sat on the squabs next to her as the conveyance lurched forward. “I just thought allowances should be made for the weather.”

“Very kind of you,
mon cherie
.” He shrugged out of his greatcoat and glanced at the silver trays set atop the opposite squabs. “I see we shall be dining in?”

“Oui,” the striking woman sat up, pleased with herself. “I thought a picnic would be far more enjoyable than dining at some miserable cafe.”

“And far more intimate?” Joseph glanced at her beautiful face, her ample décolletage and he savored the sight.

“I had not thought of that,” the nymph teased, placing her gloved finger against her alluring lips.

Joseph stared at them, the smells of the food mingling with his carnal appetite.

“What is on the menu, Mademoiselle Beauvoire?” he asked, anxious to feed.

“I’ve no idea what is to come, Minister LeCoeur” she smiled. “Shall we find out together?” The lady leaned forward, her breasts on full display as she lifted the silver [plate warmer]. “It smells wonderful, if a bit pastoral.”

The delicious image of Mademoiselle Beauvoire in a shepherdess costume flashed before his mind and Joseph grinning, saying, “Oh, I quiet enjoy the pastoral.” He reached for the wine in hopes of pouring as much of the intoxicating liquid down the girl as quickly as was possible. “Did I not tell you that I was raised on an estate in southern France?”

“Really?” The woman was truly astonished, causing him to laugh.

“Not all ministers are hatched, Mademoiselle Beauvoire.” He cut a piece of meat and speared it with his fork. “Some of us were reared,” Joseph finished, placing the braised pork in his mouth while he enjoyed the melodious sound of her laughter.

“Why did you not stay on your ‘pastoral estate in southern France’?”

Joseph lifted his eyes from his dish and met hers. “Revolution wreaks havoc on the countryside, and the capital’s allure was far too powerful for a bucolic boy, such as myself.”

“I don’t believe you for a moment,” the lady lifted the red wine to even redder lips. “You were never a ‘bucolic boy’, you’re far too ambitious.” Joseph smiled at her astuteness. “No, it is far more likely that you were hatched in the basement of the Assemblee Nationale.”

Their eyes held as their minds filled with sensual possibilities.

“What else do you have to offer me?” Joseph leaned across the enticing woman, placing his empty plate on the far side of the carriage.

“Grapes,” she smiled, taunting him.

Joseph watched her pluck a grape from the vine and lifted it to his mouth, asking nonchalantly, “Have you plans for this weekend?”

Merde!

Scorpion’s political inference was intolerable but to have the British assassin interfere with his seduction was more than he could abide.

“Oui, I’m afraid that I do.” Joseph raised a brow, hiding his frustration as he leaned forward to take the tender morsel in his mouth. “Why do you ask?” he inquired, aching for her to admit her desire of him.

Mademoiselle Beauvoire shrugged her graceful shoulders and his eyes dipped to her beautiful breasts. “I’m—“

“Amorous?”

“Uncommitted,” she corrected.

“Ah,” Joseph picked a plump grape and outlined her lips with glistening juice. “Now we make progress.”

He watched, mesmerized as her lips parted and the tip of her tongue gently caressed the smooth flesh of the grape. The woman took the fruit into her mouth, followed by the length of his finger and flash of lust scorched him when her tongue stroked his finger as if it were him.

“I shall be gone the entire weekend,” Joseph said, his mind whispering of ways to fit her in or rather fit him in her. “I have been invited to Empress Bonaparte’s Toussaint Feast.”

“Pity,” Mademoiselle Beauvoire purred in his ear as she arched her back in invitation.

He could do both, Juliet thought, burying his lips between her spectacular breasts. Lord Cunningham had ordered Scorpion to perform the spurious assassination on Saturday at the feast. However, once the Englishman was captured, he could treat himself to Mademoiselle Beauvoire.

She would be his personal reward.

Joseph smiled, liking the idea of Scorpion in Major Rousseau’s vicious prison while he lived life to the fullest, savoring such a stunning woman.

Unless the girl would have him now?

He kissed her deeply, his one goal to bury himself between her thighs. Joseph wrapped his arms around her waist and pulled her against his aching cock, his right hand descended to the obstruction of silk skirts only to be stopped by her soft words.

“I think not.”

“You would leave me unsatisfied, Eris?” Joseph’s grinned seductively then leaned forward to kiss her lovely neck.

“Better you than me, Minister LeCoeur,” the lady said, caressing the hair at the back of his head. “If I were to spend mere minutes draining you of your lust, I would most assuredly be the one left dissatisfied.”

“What would satisfy you, Mademoiselle Beauvoire?” Joseph asked, wanting any glimpse into the mind of this incredible woman.

“Hours of unfettered exploration,” she ran her hand between his thighs, causing his jaw to clamp down on his self-control. “And days of carnal repetition.”

“A weekend?” he smiled.

“At least,” she grinned, their eyes holding.

“I am permitted,” Joseph leaned forward, kissing the plentiful swells of her breasts. “To bring a guest to the festivities.”

His fingers swept the golden gown from her right shoulder, hoping that he had distracted her enough so that he might bare her breast to view.

“Is that an invitation?” Mademoiselle Beauvoire swept her gown to its rightful place, leaving him once again to speculate.

“Oui.” Joseph met her arresting eyes.

“Impossible.”

“Why?” His dark brows furrowed and the woman looked at him as though he were mad.

“You are Minister of Police! You will be watched from the moment you arrive at the Tuileries Palace.”