England's Assassin

by Samantha Saxon

  “You would be amazed at what a man can survive.” The major’s shoulders lifted and a noise escaped his lips in what Joseph assumed was laughter. “Just ask our friend being held in London.”

  “Oui, Lord Cunningham endured several months of your company, if I recall.” He stared at the man, remembering the meticulous medical attention Major Rousseau had given Lord Cunningham after inflicting equally meticulous torture. “But this time I want Cunningham killed and quickly. A proven traitor has no allegiance to anyone. He will sell any secrets the British are willing to buy.”

  His assistant pointed to the black seal. “Does he know about--?”

  “No. I never spoke of Enigma.”

  “I shall report to you when I return.” The agile man walked toward the door and then stopped, turning. “Did you require anything from my journey?”

  “Oui, merci,” Joseph said, appreciative of the major’s thoughtfulness. “I want his tongue.”

  Major Rousseau smiled fully this time, revealing crooked teeth. “May I do it before I kill him?”

  Joseph LeCoeur raised his left brow and stared at the cold, dark eyes of his most accomplished assassin. “I would prefer it.”

  The man bowed then left the room as the minister returned to weaving the net that would snare Major Rousseau’s talented English counterpart, Scorpion.

  Chapter Four

  A soft tapping at her bedchamber door pulled Nicole from peaceful oblivion back into the depths of her despair. Irritated, she ordered her heavy limbs to function as she lit a candle and stared at the clock sitting atop her armoire. The gold hands glistened, reading three forty eight and she knew only one person who would venture out to a ladies boarding house so early in the morning.

  Her British contact, Andre Tuchelles.

  Trepidation engulfed her, bringing her fully awake. She grabbed the damp bathing cloth and wrapped it around her body, tucking the corner between her full breasts. Improper, she knew, but Andre had seen her in far more revealing brothel costumes and she needed to get him inside her bedchamber before he was seen.

  Bare footed, she strode across the carpet, her left hand holding a candle while her right opened the simple wooden door.

  “What…” But her words dissolved when she saw that it was not Andre that stood at her threshold.

  The hair at the base of her neck bristled and her breath was extracted by the force standing before her in the deceptive form of a man; a very handsome man with auburn hair and impossibly wide shoulders covered by an ill-fitting russet jacket. His square jaw was set in a determined line and she made the mistake of looking up to meet his penetrating gaze.

  “My apologies, Mademoiselle?” he whispered in French, his expressive brow drawing together in confusion as he glanced about the bedchamber and found that she was alone. “I was told that an acquaintance of mine was in residence at this location.”

  “I…” She blinked, lost in the sky blue of his eyes. “Am afraid that your information was incorrect, Monsieur. I have been living at this location for well over two months.”

  The man nodded as if he understood, but clearly he did not. “Well, thank you very much. I’m sorry to have disturbed you,” he said, bowing with a refined elegance that came only to a man with command of his body.

  A beautiful body she could not stop herself from envisioning.

  Flushed, Nicole lifted the towel, suddenly very aware that she was nude beneath the thin, white cloth. She smoothed down her black curls which had dried to a tangled mess about her shoulders.

  “Do not concern yourself,” she said, smiling pleasantly and trying to ignore the disappointment she felt as he turned away from her.

  She watched the immense man take two steps down the hall and then he stopped, removing something from the breast pocket of his jacket. Nicole tensed with a rush of anticipation when he walked back saying, more to himself than to her, “You spoke English.”

  Damn!

  “Pardon?” Nicole feigned ignorance, her eyes innocent and wide. Her mind, wary.

  “When you opened the door a moment ago,” he stared, reassessing this new information… and her. “You said ‘what’ in English.”

  Nicole swallowed then considered her options and found that she had none. She stood before him completely vulnerable, her only weapon, herself.

  “Did I?” she asked in French.

  His sensuous chuckle made her toes curl, but it was the accompanying smile that slay her. “Oui, you did.”

  “I don’t think--” she began, still recovering.

  “Oui,” he said, his voice dropping to baritone murmur as he stepped into her bedchamber, forcing her back as he closed the door behind him. “You did.”

  Nicole listened to her heart pounding in her ear as her visitor lifted his right hand. She was about to pay for her sins but had no desire to see the instrument of her destruction. She willed herself to stare into the soul of the man that would exact her punishment.

  However, when no punishment came, she glanced down, her brows drawing together when she saw not a weapon in his large hand, but a missive displaying Andre’s familiar seal.

  “My friend wished for me to deliver this to…” He caught her eye. “Scorpion.”

  Nicole’s jaw dropped. Why had Andre not come himself?

  But the enormous man confused her further by asking, “Where might I find him?”

  Him?

  Her head was spinning and she tried desperately to sort things out in her mind.

  This man comes barring Andre Tuchelles’ seal. Yet, Andre did not identify her as Scorpion. Why?

  “Andre is well, I trust?” she asked, stalling.

  Trust.

  Andre was protecting her. He did not trust this man and was warning her to be cautious.

  “Very well, when last I saw him.” Her visitor grinned, fully aware that she had avoided answering his question.

  “Then why is he not delivering this message to Scorpion himself?”

  “Andre Tuchelles is leaving Paris.”

  “What?” Nicole gasped, feeling completely abandoned.

  “I have been commissioned to warn Scorpion that British agents working in France have been compromised.

  The Foreign Office sent me to deliver the warning as the French may already be watching Monsieur Tuchelles. Andre Tuchelles is at returning to London for his own protection and Scorpion has been ordered to do the same.”

  Return to England!

  Nicole was having difficulty breathing, so she sat on the faded duvet and attempted to think. She could not go back to England. They would arrest her the moment she arrived.

  Misinterpreting her distress, the large man sank to his haunches, saying, “I’m quite sure our government would welcome Scorpion’s… collaborators.”

  Confused, Nicole looked up, meeting his eyes and as she stared at the clear, blue depths, realization dawned. He believed her to be Scorpion’s lover. Yes, that would be this man’s intrinsic conclusion and it could be used to her advantage.

  “Let me read the missive.” She reached out to grasp the thick paper but the man rose, indecision etched in his masculine features.

  “You will forgive me if I deny your request, Mademoiselle. This communiqué to be given to Scorpion and Scorpion alone.”

  They seemed to have reached a stalemate and Nicole was losing her patience. She stood, looking up at the enormous messenger and vaguely wondering if she could retrieve her pistol before he could stop her.

  “What did Andre Tuchelles say when he gave you the letter?”

  The man lifted his left eyebrow in what she was discovering to be condescension. “How does that signify as you are not Scorpion?”

  Nicole swallowed her sarcasm, choosing rather to become the flirt. “Yes, but I am Scorpion’s lover.”

  The man’s gaze slowly descended, taking in every detail of her scantily clad figure and causing her to blush.

  “Yes, I’m quite sure that you are,” the messenger said, his eyes r
eturning to hers. “Therefore, you should have no difficulty in informing me of his direction.”

  Discomfited, Nicole rolled her eyes in a manner she hoped conveyed frustration.

  “I don’t know where Scorpion resides. He insisted I remain ignorant for my own protection.”

  “And his,” the man added with a note of disapproval.

  Nicole stared at the acerbic man, her tone turning sugary when she asked, “Perhaps if I read the missive I would be able to help you locate Scorpion. Andre Tuchelles undoubtedly sent you to me for a reason.”

  The man blinked, his square jaw setting as he apparently concluded that he had no other option.

  “Very well.” He lifted the missive over the expanse that separated them and Nicole was once again struck by how large a man he was. She pulled the communiqué from beneath long finger, but her progress was stopped as he tightened his hold on the folded parchment. “But I shall read it when you’ve finished.”

  Nicole agreed, breaking the seal and praying that Andre’s art for ambiguity was displayed to full affect within the one page document.

  Scorpion,

  You are in grave danger and must abandon all previous orders. The French are closing on your location. Trust no one and return to England immediately. This man has been sent to arrange for your transportation.

  Andre

  Nicole stared at the untidy scrawl of Andre’s typically fluid hand.

  “This was written in haste?” she asked, handing the innocuous missive to her formidable guest.

  “Yes,” his forehead furrowed, a spark of intellectual admiration growing in his turquoise eyes. “Monsieur Tuchelles wrote the communiqué while packing his belonging in hopes of boarding a ship that was scheduled to set sail…” The handsome man pulled a gold watch from his shoddy waistcoat, causing Nicole to pause at the incongruity. “Not twenty minutes past.”

  “And Scorpion’s ship?”

  “Les Helios sails for Honfleur in three hours where we will board a Dutch merchant vessel willing to transport us back to England.”

  Nicole let the information settle in her mind before choosing a course of action.

  “Bon.” She walked to the armoire and removed a modest blue dress, tossing it on the bed. “If you would be so kind as to turn your back.” The man opened his mouth to protest, but as the cloth was already sliding down her nude body, he quickly turned with suspicion still lingering in his astute eyes. “I shall locate Scorpion while you pack my possessions and we will rendezvous at Les Helios in approximately one hour.”

  The courier gave an incredulous grunt, saying over his left shoulder, “I thought you had no idea how to contact the man. ‘For your protection’, I believe were your exact words.”

  She stared at his broad back, hoping for divine guidance in formulating a credibly lie. “I believe I said I had no idea ‘where Scorpion resides’. I do, however, know of an establishment he frequents.”

  Nicole finished dressing then spun to face the armoire and retrieve her pistol from beneath a threadbare chemise. But before she could slip the weapon into her skirt pocket, she heard the unmistakable click of a firearm being cocked behind her head. She stilled, her mind reeling.

  “What are your intentions with that pistol, Mademoiselle?” he whispered in her ear as he peered over her left shoulder, carefully watching any movement of her right hand.

  Nicole licked her lips, suddenly very articulate. “The streets of Paris are very dangerous. I always carry a weapon when I venture out at night.”

  There was a long pause and then she felt the enormous man step back.

  “You don’t need a weapon.” Confused, she turned to look up at him. “I will be with you,” the courier added with such arrogance the she almost believed him.

  “No.” She shook her head adamantly. “You will draw far too much attention. Scorpion is a very jealous man. One look at you and he will very likely shoot you before you have the opportunity to explain your commission.”

  “Will he?” The man’s sensual gaze made her immediately regret voicing the backhanded compliment.

  “Oui,” she mumbled, distracted and as she peered more closely at his striking features. A thought tickled the back of her mind, presenting itself in the form of a question. “You’re a Scot?”

  He looked like a big, handsome altogether too tempting Scot.

  “Aye,” he whispered, uttering the first English word she had heard in two years. Well, almost English. “But how did ya know? My French is perfect.”

  Nicole raised a haughty brow and walked toward her bedchamber door. “Yes, it is. However, it was your Scottish bravado that gave you away.”

  “A man is what he is, Mademoiselle,” the courier’s amused words caressed her back like a fire in winter and she could not help but feel the touch of heat.

  Nicole turned as she reached the door, saying, “Until he is not, Monsieur,” dousing them both with a splash of cold reality. “I suggest we hurry as I fear you will not survive long in Paris.”

  Her escort bowed gracefully, adding to her growing suspicion that he was gently breed. “I believe I shall manage for three hours.”

  “Perhaps,” she mused, infusing the word with a considerable amount of doubt. “Scorpion will want to know your name.”

  “A careful man, this Scorpion.”

  “Very.” She held his eyes.

  “Daniel Damont at your service, Mademoiselle…?” He inclined his noble head toward her.

  “Beauvoire, Nicole Beauvoire,” she offered, not hesitating to give the name she had assumed that terrible day two years ago.

  Chapter Five

  Daniel McCurren was drunk and had been for a year.

  He scratched his chest where his heart should have been and stared through the countless ships floating on the Seine, wondering how the bloody hell he had come to be in Paris.

  Damnation, he was not even their first choice!

  Of course, he had been foxed when Falcon proposed this little excursion, but that was no excuse for poor judgment. No, he had known precisely the danger he was getting himself into and if he were truthful, he knew why he had volunteered.

  “Monsieur Damont?”

  Daniel nodded, his attention drawn toward the approaching captain of the ship that would carry them to Honfleur. The sturdy man trudged down the gangplank, his large hand curled around a whalebone pipe as he removed it from between lips obscured by a dense gray beard.

  “Oui.”

  “Welcome to Les Helios. I believe you have secured passage for three?” the captain asked, scouring the docks for his wayward travelers.

  “Your remaining guests will be joining us shortly.”

  “Bon.” The captain of the ship snapped his thick fingers and a boy of no more the fifteen appeared at his side. “Please, allow me to stow your luggage in your cabin?”

  The boy made a move toward the trunks and Daniel stilled his progression with a slight lifting of his right hand. “I prefer to await my companions.”

  “As you wish, Monsieur Damont.” The captain inclined his head then turned his mind to the harried activity on deck, leaving Daniel alone with his thoughts.

  Curious thoughts of this strange British assassin, Scorpion.

  It was quite ingenious of the man to lodge in a women’s boarding house. The establishment would never be searched, never be watched by the French army. The only danger lay in being seen by one of the female lodgers and that could be explained away with one seductive smile, one wink from a healthy young buck visiting his beautiful mistress in the dead of the night.

  Daniel shifted his weight, uncomfortable with the vision of Nicole Beauvoire forming in his mind. He crossed arms over his chest and his eyes narrowed as he considered her small burgundy trunk to the right of his brown Hessian boot. It was not so much the chipped paint or dented hinges that peaked his interest, but rather the size of the trunk itself.

  In all of Daniel’s twenty seven years, he had never met a woman with a war
drobe so small. It had taken him no more than ten minutes to pack the girl’s earthy possessions and place them in the shoddy trunk. She had no jewelry, no hair combs, not even a miniature portrait of her family to take back to England with her.

  He shook his head in disgust, wondering what sort of man would provide his lover so few comforts. The woman was obviously educated, beautiful…

  Stunning, really.

  His mind returned to the moment she had opened the door in nothing more than a tattered bath sheet. Those unusual violet eyes widening with surprise, her black hair falling around her shoulders as if she had just made love.

  The thought made his mouth go dry and Daniel realized that it was the first time he had been enticed by a woman in well over a year.

  He felt the familiar burn of envy for men with a woman to welcome them home. A woman to greet them wearing nothing more than a damp bath towel that clung to every exquisite curve of her luxurious body.

  Men like Scorpion, men like… Glenbroke.

  Censuring himself, Daniel closed his eyes and filled his murky mind with thoughts of seducing the tantalizing girl. She would respond he knew. He had seen the spark of attraction in her lovely eyes, had felt the pull of the hunt coursing through his veins.

  However, that would hardly endear him to Scorpion, the crown’s most effectual assassin. An assassin, it would appear, unable to satisfy his beautiful paramour. Daniel chuckled at the irony and tried to put the alluring Mademoiselle Beauvoire out of his lecherous mind whilst he waited for her deadly lover to arrive.

  ***

  Nicole took one last look at the unmistakable figure of Daniel Damont before slipping from the shadows of the noisy dockside tavern, Le Grotto.

  She had followed him from her apartment and then on to his lodging, but not once had her escort veered from their arrangements. There were no French soldiers, no ruffians waiting to carry Scorpion off the famed Parisian prison, Conciergerie. He had, in fact, done precisely what he told her he would do and for some incomprehensible reason, she was pleased.

  Surely, it was her accurate assessment of his honorable character that gave her pleasure, not the thought of spending several days alone on a ship with such an attractive emissary of the British government.