England's Assassin (18 page)

Nicole entered the small doors of Saint Gervais at four o’clock in the afternoon. She bowed her head, making the sign of the cross as she turned to climbing the ancient steps to the floor above.

The final steps were the most difficult as her soul longed to be in the presence of God. She emerged into the vaulted chamber and looked up at stained glass windows set aglow like a fine wine by the afternoon sun.

She was alone in the chapel, and immensely thankful for it, as she had many things to discuss, many burdens to bear. On the whole, Parisians seemed to prefer the majesty of Notre Dame, but it was here, in this intimate chapel, that Nicole found comfort. She knelt in front of the small alter, clutching Falcon’s missive in her right hand.

It was clever of Nicole’s ‘sister’ to send a missive directly to Monsieur Gaulet’s toy shop, but then Falcon had always been clever. It was easy enough to explain to the elderly shopkeeper that her ‘sister’ had not yet received the location of her new apartment and that she must have taken the direction from the package sent Friday last.

An appreciative smile and an expensive purchase for her ‘nephew’ had quelled any suspicion the old man might have had about the letter. Nicole had left the shop and read the missive as she strolled along the wide boulevards. However, it was not the wind that had driven her to the sanctuary of Saint Gervais but rather the information contained within the brief communiqué.

A Frenchman was suspected of single-handedly killing six Englishmen, including the notorious traitor Lord Cunningham. Falcon had given a description of the man, but to little affect as Nicole had no idea who this deadly assassin might be.

Minister LeCoeur was lethal, to be sure, but he had been with her at the time of the murderers not to mention was far taller than the man described. No, Joseph LeCoeur was not the man for whom Falcon had risked exposing her location, her identity as Scorpion.

Predictably, the old man had rescinded the fabricated order of assassination, warning her of this unidentified adversary in the process. Yet, as she knelt at the alter of Saint Gervais, Nicole could not think of a solitary reason for abandoning the sanction.

Both she and Falcon knew what awaited her if she returned to England. The old man had fought for her release two long years ago, and it had been granted by the Foreign Office.

Conditionally.

If Nicole Stratton agreed to accept the Foreign Office commission then she was also consenting never again to set foot on British soil or her execution would be carried out. She had become an orphan of England, an assassin with no home and no country. She had become Scorpion, a hollow instrument used by the crown to further his majesties interests in France.

No, she would never go back to England. Better to die at the hands of the French for a noble cause than to be executed by her countrymen for an injustice.

Either way her life was over.

The only question remaining, would she take another life with her? Nicole paused, never before having questioned the necessity of an assassination.

Initially, she had performed the sanctions out of fear and self-preservation. Kill or be killed. And then it did not seem to matter, nothing seemed to matter. The men chosen were as evil as was she. She had been ordered to kill them and they deserved to be killed. It was quite simple, black and white.

Until she met him.

Daniel Damont had put ideas in her head, disturbing thoughts of justification and the right of one man to judge another.

It was all very disconcerting.

“You have been in prayer for quite some time, my child. Is there something of which you wish to speak?”

Nicole looked up at the elderly priest, his hands clasped in patient contemplation, his sagging face lifted by kindness. She sat on the wooden pew and opened her mouth and then closed it, capturing her thoughts.

“It is alright, mon petit. We are very much alone and all matters discussed shall remain between us and these four walls.” He smiled, his teeth hidden by his thin lips. “You are very troubled, oui.”

It was not a question and all Nicole could do was whisper, “oui.”

“You have a confession?” The priest leaned toward her with concern, his eyes holding hers.

“No. Not yet.” Her eyes filled with shame and the kindly man nodded.

“Ah, you contempt a sinful deed, no?”

“Oui,” Nicole admitted, coerced by his gentleness.

“It is sometimes good to discuss these things?” The priest waited patiently and the silence stretched as Nicole made her decision to confide.

“If a man has determined to steal from another,” she met the man’s faded eyes, “And has confessed so to me, but I take no action. Am I then—“

“Yes, you also are guilty of the sin of theft.”

Nicole eyes filled with tears, knowing in her heart the truth of the priest’s pronouncement.

“If you had attempted to dissuade this ‘thief’ or had warned the man to be robbed… No, you would be absolved of this sinful crime. But to sit by complacently and watch this theft occur.” The priest shrugged. “This is wrong in the eyes of God.”

Nicole cried harder, searching for any doctrinal ambiguity. “And if this man cannot be dissuaded?”

“His victim must be warned.”

“And if I am harmed as a result of this warning? Is this right with God?” Nicole could not keep the bitterness from her tone. 

“Fear,” the old priest said regretfully, “is not an acceptable excuse for sin.” He placed his hand on hers. “If righteous men fail to protect the innocent of this world then wickedness will have victory and dominion over us all.”

Nicole thought of the countless men and women of Britain’s haute ton that had sat by allowing her ordeal to continue, knowing it was happening, going to happen again.

The innocent must be protected.

“I am not a righteous woman.”
And never would be.

“A righteousness man is determined by righteous deeds.”

“And if one sin is committed to prevent a greater evil?”

“Such sins are for God to determine. If a man feels justified in accordance with the laws of God… prayer and his own heart must guide his path.”

“You have been of very little assistance, father.” Nicole smiled, disheartened.

The priest lifted his hands, conceding her point. “Men do not enter the house of God seeking easy answers, merely righteous ones.”

“I would have preferred the answers I wished to hear.” She met his eye in feigned annoyance.

“And I would have preferred to be taller.” He shrugged again and Nicole could not help but laugh as the elder priest rose to his diminutive height, saying, “Take all of the time you wish,
mon petit
. God will listen to your prayers.”

“But will he answer them.”

“Oui, he always answers prayer.” The priest held up a bony finger. “Just not always in the way we would like.”

Nicole sat for a moment longer, contemplating what the priest had said.

She had known what he would say, but perhaps that was why she had come to Saint Gervais. Nicole knew that the priest would never condone the assassination. But she knew also that God had given her such terrible trials so that she might understand the need to protect the powerless. She knew that God had made her strong enough to exact punishment, no matter what the personal cost.

In her heart, Nicole knew that the assassination of Joseph LeCoeur was not murder, but defense of the innocent in the midst of a wicked war devised by wicked men.

***

Nicole Beauvoire returned to the apartment sooner than Daniel had expected.

He tossed his leather bound copy of Atala by Chateaubriand on his bed and stood in the doorway of his bedchamber, his fingertips grasping the doorframe just over his head.

“That did not take long?”

“No, the toy shop had no other patrons today.” She glanced in his direction and for a moment Daniel regretted having removed his jacket. “I see you have given up your observations of Joseph LeCoeur.”

Those violet eyes were rather fetching when she was angry.

“Minister LeCoeur left his home several hours ago,” Daniel said, following her into the back parlor as he tucked the tails of his linen shirt beneath the soft buckskin of his breeches.

“And how do you know the minister has not returned?”

Daniel ducked his head and glanced out the window. “Still gone.” He grinned, winking.

The lass was not amused.

“Monsieur Damont, the Empress’s Toussaint Feast is in two days and while I realize this assignment impinges upon your imbibing, please keep in mind that it is my life with which you are playing.”

“You’re the one playing games with your life, lass. We both know you could leave for London tonight. I’ve nothin’ to do with it.”

The irritated woman sought a retort but found none. “Well, if you insist on staying, you might at least aid me in the observations.”

“He’s gone.”

“I know he’s gone!” She snapped then closed her eyes and sighed with frustration for allowing him to successfully exacerbate her. “I know Minister LeCoeur is gone at present,” she looked at him calmer, more controlled.
God, she was pretty.
“But you might at least have napped in front of the window.”

Daniel stared at her angry expression and was unable to resist teasing her.

“I tried but there was far too much sunlight,” he lied.

Nicole Beauvoire rolled those beautiful eyes and he laughed, grabbing her arm as she walked away.

“Here,” Daniel handed her the journal with detailed observations up to twenty minutes ago. “He’s been gone for…” Daniel glanced at the mantle clock as she opened the journal. “Two and a half hours.”

“Three-quarters.” Her dark head was bent over the open journal and her index finger pointed to the middle of the last page on which he had written. “Minister LeCoeur has been gone for two and three-quarter hours.”

Daniel nodded his head. “Oh, well, that’s different then.”

“There is no need to be rude, Monsieur Damont.”

“Nor, apparently, is there a need for gratitude.” The lady blushed and he added, “And my name is Daniel.”

“You’re correct.” Mademoiselle Beauvoire closed the journal, folding her hands over it and sighing as if he were some old woman to be coddled. “Please, accept my apologies.”

“No.” Daniel shook head and her fine black brow furrowed.

“No?”

“No, I don’t accept your apology.” He leaned forward. “You dinna mean it.”

“What?”

“You dinna mean a word of that apology and we both know it.”

“I did too!”

“No, you did not, but you can have another go if you wish to make it right.”

“Oh, this is ridiculous, but if it will ease your sensibilities…” Mademoiselle Beauvoire swallowed and looked into his eyes with exaggerated contrition. “Viscount DunDonell,” he nodded. “Please accept my apologies for…” She blinked. “Please, accept my apologies for not…”

“See! You dinna even know why you are apologizing.”

“Of course, I do,” she said and he grinned, indicating doubt. “I apologize, Viscount DunDonell, for being rude.”

“There,” Daniel cooed, full of sarcasm as he placed his hands on her delicate shoulders. “That was not so difficult and if you like I can sit here with you while you watch the empty apartment across the way.”

“Shut up.”

Daniel laughed, his arms dropping to his side as he walked toward his bedchamber.

“I’ll just retrieve my book and I suggest you find something to entertain yourself. Joseph LeCoeur will most likely be gone to the ministry for the rest of the afternoon.”

Daniel opened the door to his chamber and reached across the bed, lifting the leather bound copy of
Atala
from the velvet duvet. The door closed and Daniel spun round only to see the deadly Mademoiselle Beauvoire staring up at him.

“Did ya want my book?” he held the novel out, confused.

The lady took snatched the book from his hand then tossed it on the bed as she continued to stare, making him decidedly nervous.

“You suggested I find something with which to entertain myself.”

“Aye,” Daniel agreed with considerable trepidation.
“Well, I don’t have time to read,” she said, pushing him in the chest. Daniel sat down on the bed, overbalanced and looked up at the woman who was already unfastening the second button of his shirt. “You don’t object do you, Daniel?”

Daniel?

“Hell no, lass,” he chuckled, anticipation widening his eyes the moment Daniel took her sensual meaning. “I don’t mind at all.” She was standing between his thighs and he kissed her neck. “I only hope all future apologies are equally as satisfyin’.”

A feminine tisk of irritation sounded overhead and she thought to step away from him, but Daniel had placed a firm grasp on that lovely backside, whispering, “I’m only jesting, Nicole,” as he kissed her neck just below the ear.