England's Assassin (26 page)

“Who have you been working with in Paris?” The small man asked removing his jacket so that he might have the freedom to move.

“I work alone.”

“You have a method of contacting London.” Major Rousseau walked to the corner table and looked down, saying, “Describe this,” as he slipped on a set of brass knuckles.

Daniel remained silent, his eyes little more than slits as the Frenchman walked toward him. He struck Daniel on his left side, a dull crack echoing in the small cell. Daniel doubled over blinded by pain and then his sight went completely as he faded into the God given gift of unconsciousness.

Seamus McCurren stood on the docks with his arms crossed over his chest as he impatiently watched the final preparations for the ship that would carry him to Honfleur.

He reached into his waistcoat and pulled out a sterling silver watch and was glancing down when he heard, “You bloody blackguard,” from behind.

“Morning, St. John.” Seamus sighed and then turned to greet the man he was hoping to avoid.

“Don’t fob me off, McCurren.” Christian pointed at his chest, his eyes ablaze with consternation. “You intended to leave me, didn’t you?”

“Aye,” Seamus nodded, seeing no reason to deny what was clearly irrefutable.

“Why?” Christian slammed his trunk to the ground. “Did you think me incapable?” Seamus opened his mouth to speak, but Christian was not finished with his rant. “Do you believe me ‘the irresponsible spare’ as does the majority of the ton?”

That gave Seamus pause. “‘The irresponsible spare’? What are you talking about, St. John?”

“Yes,” Christian mumbled. “I read the account, and the stupid designation, in the Gazette last week. But I can hardly be blamed for Lady Graves pawing me throughout the entire opera, can I.”

Seamus laughed, “I thought that was the point of your taking Lady Graves to the Opera.”

“Yes,” Christian said as if he were a complete idiot. “To have the lady paw me
after
the opera.” Seamus could not help but laugh. “I thought Ian was going to kill me. My brother sat in the front of our box with Lady Appleton and glared at me throughout the entire production. You know how the marquis is when he is irritated.”

“Aye. However, in this instance I believe your brother had good reason to glare.”

“Right, where were we. Oh, yes.” Christian fair head popped up and he looked Seamus in the eye. “You bloody Scots bastard. You were going to leave me while you ran off to Paris alone.”

“Aye.”

“Why!”

Seamus looked at the angry Lord St. John but he could see the hurt in Christian’s light eyes. “I dinna want you to get killed, Christian.”

The tension drained from Lord St. John’s shoulders and he smiled brightly, saying, “Oh, well, if that’s all it was then. When do we leave?”

“When she’s ready” Seamus pointed to their ship as a man with a gruesome scar across his cheek boarded her. “A half-hour, perhaps less.”

“Excellent. Shall we pop round to an inn and have a pint before—“

Seamus grabbed Christian by the sleeve and pulled him toward the dock as a carriage rumbled towards them. They looked at one another when the horses were pulled to an abrupt halt not ten feet from where they stood.

“Lord McCurren?” the driver asked.

“Aye,” Seamus stared warily at the coachman.

“My employer wishes a word.” His eyes darting to the carriage and Seamus glanced at Christian St. John.

“I’ll go with you,” Christian said, not asking.

A footman held the door open and Seamus peered into the dim conveyance.

“Do join me, Lord McCurren,” the familiar voice of Falcon pierced the noisy silence of the busy docks. “Ah, St. John. You too.”

The two men climbed into the conveyance and Seamus glanced at the footman who were busily gathering their trunks and placing them on the back of Falcon’s carriage.

“What has happened?” Seamus asked, surmising correctly as he took a seat opposite the older man.

“We have had a second communiqué.” Christian settled in next to Seamus and the door was closed, leaving a silence that twisted at Seamus’ heart.

“Is he dead?”

“No, no, no. I’m sorry to have given that impression, Lord McCurren.” Falcon tapped on the roof and the carriage rolled away from the docks and the mission Seamus had set for himself. “My apologies.”

“The letter?” Lord McCurren asked impatiently.

“We have just received a communiqué from Paris. Scorpion is going after your brother.”

Seamus stared at the black squabs, searching his mind for distant pieces of information. “Scorpion is the assassin for whom my brother was sent to warn?”

“Yes.”

“Is he capable—“

“Scorpion has successful assassinated ten prominent members of the French government. There is no one more capable. If Scorpion cannot extract Viscount DunDonell, no one can, including you and Lord St. John.”

Seamus met Falcon brandy colored eyes, not sure how to feel. “But I—“

“You have no chance in Paris, my boy. Scorpion does,” Falcon nodded. “I will not lie to you, it is a slim chance at best that they will survive.”

“But there is a chance?” Seamus could feel the hope swelling in his chest.

“Yes, ten dead men can attest to Scorpion’s ingenuity.”

“What do we do now?” Seamus glanced at Christian St. John.

“Wait, Lord McCurren, you go home and wait as the mission is already underway.” Seamus closed his eyes and prayed for Scorpion to have the strength to bring his brother home. “I’ll notify you the moment we receive word.”

One way or the other
. The words echoed in his head.
One way or the other
.

The dirty walls of the notorious prison, Conciergerie, were no match for the filthy scene she was about to witness.

Men and woman from all over France had been gathered, for various reasons, behind the thick stones of the prison, their compliance demanded by the steel fist of France.

It was here that Daniel McCurren had been brought and here that Nicole would extract him.

Or die in the attempt.

She looked up at the dark stones, snow gathering on her lashes as Nicole counted eight soldiers walking along the ramparts of the prison. She glanced at the river Seine to her right and the Cour du Mai to her left where the main gates of the Palais de Justice could plainly be seen.

A sudden gust blew flakes of snow onto her face but it was the stench that came with it that caused Nicole to raise her glove to her cold nose. Nicole lowered her head and made for the front entrance to the famed prison.

“Good evening,” she said to the startled guard. “My name is Madame Damont and I wish to speak with the curator of Conciergerie.”

“I am sorry, Madame but the colonel is not here at the moment.” The young man looked at her elegance in confusion. “It is three o’clock in the morning,” he said as if Nicole were somehow unaware of the time.

“Yes, I am very aware of the time,” Nicole said with irritation. “However, it is not often that my husband is taken to Conciergerie for questioning so please pardon the inconvenience. Now open the door and take me to the man in charge or my father will hear of the treatment I have received here.” The boy paused at the vague threat and Nicole added. “What is your name?”

“Right this way, Madame.” The guard opened the small door cut to the right of the larger gate and pointed toward the main steps at the back of the cobblestone courtyard. “You may inquire with the sergeant on duty as to the status of your husband.”

“Merci,” Nicole said, already walking away.

She crossed the small enclosure unmolested; the cold keeping the sporadic soldiers huddled in the warmer corners against the oppressive prison. Nicole smiled to herself, adding human discomfort to the complex equation of their improbable escape.

She yanking the door wide and Nicole swept into the tiny room the guard had indicated as if she were the Empress herself.

“Who is in charge here?” Nicole demanded, lifting her chin.

The besieged sergeant stopped chewing his baguette and wiped the crumbs from his full mouth, saying, “Might I be of assistance, Mademoiselle.”

“Madame Damont,” Nicole corrected, looking down her nose. “And I very much doubt that you can. I have just arrived home from an extended trip abroad only to find my husband has been dragged to Conciergerie for I know not what reason.”

“Monsieur Damont, you say?”

“Oui,” her eyebrows pulled together with contempt. “Have you no idea whom you have taken into custody? My father, the count, will here of this incompetence.”

“Perhaps if you were to describe Monsieur Damont, I would be better able to locate him?” The sergeant asked in an attempt to avoid political retributions.

“Tall, auburn hair. My husband is a very large man and I find it difficult to believe that you have misplaced him.”

The man’s brown eyes widened and Nicole could see in his shocked features that he had indeed seen Daniel.

“This man is your husband?” the sergeant asked with a note of fear that sent a chill down her spin.

“He is here then?” Nicole held her breath, her heart racing.

“Oui.” The sergeant sputtered and she could breathe.

“Take me to him if you please.”

“I’m afraid--”

“Now.”

“I shall inform the men responsible for your husband that you have arrived, Madame. If you would be so kind as to follow me?” The sergeant bowed, leading her into the belly of the beast.

Nicole paid careful attention to the way in which they walked, meandering through the endless halls of administration and finally descending to the dimly lit cells beneath.

She pushed out of her mind the desperate cries of prisoners beyond her help. She had to focus, had to concentrate all of her thoughts and energy on the mission at hand, freeing Daniel.

He was all that mattered now.

She had long ago given up all hope for herself, but Daniel McCurren was worth saving. The viscount would lead a noble life of honor and dignity. Fighting for those he could help and offering compassion to those he could not. He would remember her, she knew, and perhaps take that knowledge to introduce legislation to protect the blameless of England.

But much like the ill-fated prisoners of Conciergerie, Nicole was beyond saving.

***

Daniel stared through the rounded cell bars wondering how much punishment his body could take before he simply died. Unfortunately for him, Daniel glanced at the sadistic man to his left, Major Rousseau appeared to have the same morbid curiosity.

“Place this in the fire,” The major said handing the young soldier one of the few unused blades before turning to him and saying, “I believe we were discussing Whitehall?”

“You were discussing Whitehall,” Daniel’s said in English, his brogue slurred, his loss of blood causing him to drift in and out of consciousness.

The major hit him in the gut, awakening both Daniel and his broken ribs.

“Whitehall?” Major Rousseau stared down at him and Daniel could see in his black eyes that the major was losing patience.

“Quite an impressive street, Whitehall. Very wide, very pretty in the spr--”

Daniel was struck this time across the left cheek, but he no longer felt the blows.

“I want the names of the men who sent you.”

“I’m certain that you do?” Daniel smirked, very near delirium. “But I’ll not be giving you any names.”

“You British are so smug,” the little man said in heavily accented English. “So sure of yourselves that--“

A knock at the door of their sadistic corner of the large prison drew Major Rousseau attention and his anger.

“Pardon, Major Rousseau. Captain Turgeon has just arrived.”

“Send him in.”

The fair-haired captain came into view, looking at the major when he said, “Major Rousseau, the woman has just awoken and is ready to be questioned.” Daniel closed his eyes in relief. “But as far as I can detect, Mademoiselle Beauvoire knows noth--.” The man glanced at Daniel. “ing. Why have you arrested Daniel Damont?”

“Daniel Damont?” Major Rousseau stared at the captain, shaking his head. “No, this is assassin, Scorpion.”

The captain smiled, amused as he stared through the bars at Daniel. “Well the man may very well be Scorpion, but he is also the man Minister LeCoeur had under observation. Monsieur Daniel Damont.”

The major when rigid, the knuckles of his clenched fists went white. “Go to Tuileries Palace and then bring that lying whore to me.”

Daniel’s heart stopped as knowing there was nothing more he could do to protect her.

Captain Turgeon clicked his heels and bowed before leaving Daniel alone with the man that would kill him… and then Nicole.

“Daniel Damont? I have heard much about you from the minister. He would be pleased to know that you were executed.” The major grinned. “And that you died so painfully.”

A second knock sounded and the sergeant bowed before Major Rousseau.

“
Ce Qui?”

“A lady has just arrived claiming to be this man’s wife.”

Daniel’s head jerked up, his eyed widened by fear. Major Rousseau noted his distress, his lip curling with anticipation as the man looked into his eyes, saying “Search this woman and then bring her here.”

The guard left and Daniel tried to appear unconcerned as his mind focused on the muffled proceedings in the other room.

“Is this woman as beautiful as Mademoiselle Beauvoire?” The Frenchman’s ominous inquiry sent a jolt of fear through Daniel, tightening his stomach. “I most sincerely hope so.”

“I don’t have a wife,” Daniel said, adopting an air of indifference.

“Intriguing why a woman would claim to be your wife, Monsieur?” Rousseau leaned forward, whispering for effect, “Why she would claim to be the wife of a man precariously close to being executed.”

“I’ve no idea.” Daniel shrugged as if bored by the entire affair but the malicious man was not deceived.

“Then let us ask the lady, shall we?”

Major Rousseau rose, opening the metal door which led to the dim corridor separating the three small cells from the cold, granite wall. Daniel turned his head, waiting and praying that it not be her. He could feel his blood rushing through him, pushed by panic as the guard searched the woman in the small office just out of his line of sight.

His ears strained, acutely aware of every brush of silk, every clank of metal and then, final the lady claiming to be his wife came into view.

Nicole.

Their eyes met and Daniel sank heavy against his restrains, despair shredding what remained of his heart. He had endured the hours, the days of torture at Major Rousseau’s skillful hands because he knew that Nicole was safe. That she had once again deceived the very men she sought to destroy.

“Ah, Mademoiselle Beauvoire.” Daniel glanced toward the anger he had learned, through painful experience, to detect in Major Rousseau’s cacophonous voice. The major stiffened, his throbbing jaw confirming the dark man’s darker rage. “Or should I address you as Madame Damont?”

“No.” Daniel hastened to say and the Frenchman turned his wrath on him. “I have no wife.”

“Has this woman been searched?”

“Oui.”

“Then wait outside.” Major Rousseau ordered his guard as he continued to stare at Daniel with malevolence.

But Daniel ignored him, his eyes fixed on Nicole Beauvoire She waited to hear the click of the door closing before lifting her delicate chin, saying, “I have come—“

“Hold your tongue, Mademoiselle Beauvoire.” The major’s black eyes and his fury trained on Nicole. “Or I shall make sure that you are unable to use it.”

“I have never met this woman before this evening,” Daniel said, his injured flesh prickling with fear.

“But of course you have, Monsieur Damont. Captain Turgeon has observed you living together.” The major yanked Nicole to him by roughly grasping her upper arm and shoving her toward the bars of the cell. “You hired Mademoiselle Beauvoire to seduce Minister LeCoeur so that you might then kill him. Do you not recall it?”

“No.” Daniel shook his head knowing that denying Nicole was her only hope of survival. “The lady might have been in the minister’s bedchamber, but I had never seen her before that evening. Captain Turgeon is mistaken.”

“Then the lady was merely Minister LeCoeur’s whore?” Daniel glanced at Nicole’s placid face, her violet eyes unreadable as the major continued, saying, “You were unconscious this morning,
mon cherie
.” Major Rousseau whispered in her right ear, loud enough for Daniel to hear. “It is so gratifying to see that you are now able to resume your duties, Mademoiselle Beauvoire.”

The major’s dark eyes met Daniel’s and he smiled, grasping Nicole breast from behind. Daniel flinched, his hands forming fists, his jaw setting.

“A pity you have never known this woman, never seen her before?” Evariste Rousseau smirking, pressing his lips to Nicole’s elegant neck, his eyes still locked on Daniel. “She tastes delicious. Shall we see how she looks?”

Nicole jerked herself backward and Daniel instinctive shouted, “Don’t,” remembering the abuse she had suffered at the hands of her husband.

“Don’t what?” The major smiled, sliding the sleeves of her pelisse from her arms. “Don’t touch your woman?”

Daniel watched Nicole’s lovely eyes close as Major Rousseau unfastened the tiny buttons at the back of her gown. The cobalt silk slithered to the floor and she shivered stand only in her corset and thin chemise.

“Mmm.” Major Rousseau gazed at Nicole’s body in lustful anticipation. “The woman is stunning, but Minister LeCoeur made a momentous mistake when dealing with Mademoiselle Beauvoire.” He grasped her breast and placed his hand on her hip pulling Nicole backside against him. “The minister treated her like a lady instead of treating her like a costly whore. I will not make such a mistake.”

“Don’t touch her,” Daniel used all of his weight to pull against his metal shackles, but Major Rousseau ignored him, slowly removing Nicole corset until Daniel blurted out in desperation.

“My name is Daniel McCurren, Viscount DunDonell, heir to the Earl of DunDonell. I assumed the identity of Scorpion two years ago and have performed ten assassinations of prominent French military leaders under orders from His Majesty King George.”

“Three days of torture and not a useful word?” The callous man ripped Nicole’s chemise, punishing her for his silence. “But now…”

Major Rousseau words trail off as his mind took in the thick scars traversing Nicole’s back. His eyes widened as he asked, impressed, “Is this the work of France, Mademoiselle Beauvoire?” Nicole refused to answer forcing the man to speculate. “You aid this assassin for revenge, no?” The major asked, carefully observed her pristine features.