England's Assassin (24 page)

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 woman, 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.

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 exquisite 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.”

The old man’s bushy brows drew together and he looked at his patient as if only a monster would harm. “You have my word that no man shall enter this room without first going through me.”

Evariste counted the physician’s three chins and thought that would take all of two minutes.

“Very noble, Monsieur, but fortunately unnecessary.” He nodded his farewell. “Captain.”

And then Major Rousseau was walking down the corridor, thinking only of Scorpion and the meeting he had anticipated for so very long.

***

Daniel had been kneeling with his wrists hoisted behind his back for hours. His muscles strained to keep his sagging weight from pulling his shoulders from their sockets, but he was losing the battle, as was intended.

He needed to adjust his weight and the only way of doing that was damn near impossible and most certainly would be excruciating. However, at this point Daniel did not much care. All he could think of was taking the strain from his neck and shoulders, no matter the cost.

He rose to his feet and reached back to grasp the chains above the iron shackles with his hands. The medal mandibles cut into the skin at his wrists, a prelude to what was to come. Daniel gritted his teeth and told himself it was just like all the trees he had flipped down from as a child, only this time there were no limbs, save his own.

Daniel tilted his head forward, his shoulders burning with the increased pressure and then with one determined kick, he was flipping over with his own restraints supporting him. He could feel his flesh ripping as his wrists spun in the shackles, but the moment his feet hit the cell floor Daniel knew the pain was warranted.

His arms, which had been pulled backward for God knew how long, now hung in front of him and his body was grateful. He leaned back and stretched the knotted muscles between his shoulder blades as sweat poured down his temples and blood poured down his forearms.

Comfortable now, his mind returned to the harrowing events of the day. Daniel had spent the ride back to town thinking that the lass did not want him, that she had wanted to be rid of him.

But Daniel knew the moment he saw Nicole Beauvoire that he had been wrong.

He had seen it in her beautiful, violet eyes the moment Daniel had entered Minister LeCoeur’s bedchamber. She had been terrified, not for herself but for him. Nicole had feared for his safety in the minister’s bedchamber and she had feared for his happiness when she had sent him home to England.

But what the lass did not realize and never would comprehend was now that he had experience love there was no going back. He had wanted Sarah Duhearst for wife, had pouted like a child when she married another man. But Daniel now knew that whist he loved Sarah, his dear friend, he had never been in love with her.

Sarah Duhearst would have made a wonderful wife and mother to his children. But love was not so reasonable, so thoughtful in her selection. No, he could not go back to London without Nicole Beauvoire for he would go back half a man. His heart and soul forever in Paris and Daniel knew he could not survive without her.

Even if it meant dying.

Nicole had to be protected and he was the only one able to do that at present. He would give the lass time to escape the city, taking the blame for her assassination and enduring the inevitable interrogation for as long as he could.

He sighed, adjusting the shackles and reviewing the question he might be asked and the answers that would spare her from suspicion. Daniel had never meet the man in the hotel room and prayed that he would be able to spin a credible lie.

Her swooning had been a brilliant touch of drama. No one would suspect such a delectate flower of having done such terrible deeds.

What had Nicole said? She had killed nine men, at least one of them poisoned. LeCoeur would be his tenth assassination. Where had he been living? At the hotel by the docks where he had been staying when they meet. Andre Tuchelles had been his contact. The man had given his life to protect Nicole and could not now be refuted.

Yes, Daniel could pass as Scorpion. He was the sort of man one would imagine to be an assassin. Not her.

He closed his eyes and rehearsed his fictitious life of the past two years. Daniel sat for hours; his body relaxed as he waited for the unavoidable and then it came with the clanking of metal and the clicking of heals.

“The prisoner is in the first cell, Major Rousseau.”

Daniel heard the two men before he saw them. The smaller man from the hotel was holding a file as he walked, but when the dark man looked up he stilled.

“Why is this prisoner not restrained as I ordered?”

The question was asked with a calmness that appeared to chill the young guard to the bone.

“His arms were shackled behind his back, as order. I swear it, Major Rousseau.”

The major looked through the bars and at Daniel’s bleeding wrists and then he met Daniel’s gaze, his black eyes illuminated by a glimmer of respect.

“Did it not occur to you, Sergeant that a man of his obvious strength should have his legs restrained as well?”

“I… No one has ever—“

“He has.” Major Rousseau’s soft words averted the sergeant’s eyes. “Get me a chair and a small table on which to write.”

The young sergeant disappeared into the small office which Daniel had passed through when he was taken to his cell

“Good evening, Scorpion,” the major said, acknowledging Daniel for the first time. “I apologize for not being here sooner, but you left quite a mess in Minister LeCoeur’s bedchamber,
vous comprenez
?”

Daniel said nothing, just continued to stare at the cold, stone walls. The sergeant returned with the chair and a small table which Major Rousseau placed between his thighs as he read the thick dossier he had been carrying.

“We have eight murders for which you have been credited.” The major looked up, “Have we missed anyone?” 

Daniel shrugged as if he spoke not one word of French. “
No vous parlez francais
.”

At this the man chuckled, revealing crooked teeth.

“You wish me to believe that you have resided in Paris for two long years without learning a smattering of French? Are there more than eight?”

“Do you count Minister LeCoeur?” Daniel asked in his most aristocratic French. “Or must the corpse be cold first?”

His eyes flashed but the major showed no other signs of anger as he looked through Daniel, saying, “Oh, I prefer them warm.”

“And defenseless?” Daniel rattled his chains.

“A necessary component of my work. Eight?” the major asked again, giving the illusion of a patient man.

“No,” Daniel shook his head with satisfaction… and pride.

“More or less?”

Daniel smirked, “This is a stupid question.”

“How many more?”

“Two,” Daniel said truthfully, knowing that all murders would have been investigated.

“Who are these two?”

Daniel smiled, having no idea what men Nicole had been sent to assassinate by order of the crown. “What kills have you documented in your derisory file?”

Major Rousseau’s jaw clenched, but he otherwise ignored the insult.

“You poisoned Marcel Martin and you shot General Capette. But why was it necessary to poison then shot Minister LeCoeur? This seems excessive.”

Daniel anticipated this question and had his answer at the ready. “Poisons are unreliable. The woman survived, I made sure LeCoeur did not.”