England's Assassin (4 page)

London, England

October 17, 1811

Falcon was seated in the study of his London town home enjoying a plate of kippers and parsnips when he felt a sudden breeze sweeping up his back.

He lifted his glass and took a sip of seventy year old scotch before saying to his uninvited guest, “Good evening, Mr. McCurren was it?” without even looking toward the closing door.

There was a pause and then a young man in his mid-twenties walked silently across his Aubusson carpet and took the seat opposite him and in front of the small fire.

“That’s right. Seamus McCurren as my card has indicated for the past four days.”

The young man was exceptionally handsome, as all the McCurren’s were. However, Seamus McCurren was darker than his brothers, less striking in his coloring but more ominous in his carriage.

Falcon stared, intrigued.

“Yes, Smith mentioned that you had been so kind as to drop by. I apologize for not having been available before this evening.” He smiled, the model of civility. “How may I assist you, Mr. McCurren?”

The man leaned forward and handed Falcon his own card. “You can tell me where my brother has gone.”

Falcon glanced at the card as if seeing it for the first time then raised his gray eyebrows along with his sloping shoulders. “I’m sorry, and your brother might be?”

The young lord sneered. “Viscount DunDonell, Daniel
McCurren
. You see I believe you might know his whereabouts as I found that card…“ The gentleman pointed toward his hand. “In his home.”

“Oh, yes,” Falcon nodded, staring at the black and white card baring his own name and title. “Viscount DunDonell. I do recall visiting the viscount Monday last. Oh dear, has the viscount gone missing?”

“Yes, my lord, the viscount has gone missing.” Falcon could see the man’s anger in the set of his jaw, but no were else. “And as you were the last man to see him, I thought you would be so kind as to point me in his direction.”

Falcon shrugged. “I’m sorry, but I’ve no idea where the viscount has gone. Have you checked hospital?” The old man offered, helpfully. “Footpads are—“

“Yes, my father, the Earl of DunDonell,” he pointedly reminded him. “Has made inquiries.” The gentleman leaned back and crossed his legs in one elegant motion that declared his intention of staying as surely as if he had drawn a pistol. “But I thought you a more likely source of information.”

“Well, I am sorry to have disappointed.”

“Oh, but you haven’t my lord.” The young lord shook his dark head. “You are everything I imagined you to be.”

“Odd that you have imagined me at all.”

“Is it?” The man held his eyes.

“Yes,” the old man laughed. “Now, if you will forgive me, my dinner is getting cold.” Falcon picked up his sterling silver fork and looked at the young gentleman.

“Then you will not object if I contact the newspapers?”

Falcon was finding it very difficult not to flinch. “And why would you do that?”

Seamus McCurren leaned forward an acute intelligence flared in his hazel eyes. “My brother has disappeared and if you have no idea of his whereabouts, I see no alternative than to alert the local authorities and newspapers of Viscount DunDonell’s disappearance in hopes of his safe return.”

A smile spread across the old man’s features and he chuckled, saying, “The duke has underestimated you, my boy.”

“Glenbroke?”

“Yes, Glenbroke,” the old man mimicked the boy’s Scots brogue which had suddenly thickened. “You have out played me, just as your brother did.”

“Where is he?”

“Paris.”

The gentleman paled. “Why?” he asked, simply.

“I needed a courier we could trust to issue a warning to agents working in France. Glenbroke recommended you.” The young lord’s dark brows pulled together in surprise and Falcon continued. “I went to Viscount DunDonell’s home to inquire as to your direction and he volunteered for the assignment.”

“Why would Daniel—“

“A woman? That is the only reasonable explanation for a gentleman to deteriorate so markedly and so rapidly.” Seamus McCurren stared not giving a flicker of confirmation so Falcon continued their repartee. “Frankly, I believe the viscount does not care if he survives.”

The man inhaled and the tension returned to his jaw. “And why would you say that?”

“The viscount commented that he had six brothers to succeed him.”

“Aye, but none willingly.”

Falcon saw the distress in the young man’s eyes and he decided to ease his fears. “Your brother is simply delivering a message, Mr. McCurren and will return in one week’s time. It is really a very simple assignment.”

“‘The best laid plans of mice and men…’” The gentleman’s complex eyes met his, neither needing him to finish the famous words of the Scots poet Robert Burns for they hung in the air like a black cloud.

‘
Leaves us nought but grieve an’ pain’

Paris, France

October 20, 1811

Nicole walked through the expensive apartment in the most exclusive section of Paris with disappointment etched in her refined features. She adjusted her four carat diamond ear bobs and stared at the enormous canopy bed of the master suite as if it were a cot.

“And this is all you have available at present?” she asked the young man responsible for leasing the ten room apartment. 

The fair-haired clerk not only groveled at her financial feet, but made it increasingly clear that he was desirous of her feminine favors as well.

He seized her upper arm and laughed indulgently as he guided her toward the bedchamber window.

“Oui, this is the only furnished apartment with five bedchambers, two saloons, a music room, a morning room, and a library available in all of Paris.” She turned her head and stared out at the magnificent square as he intended her to do. “So beautiful,” he whispered so close to her ear that she could feel the heat of him against her back.

Fighting down a surge of panic, Nicole turned to face him. She looked into his grey eyes and gave a coquettish smile, saying, “You’re correct, it is a spectacular view.” Her delicately arched brows rose. “When can I have it?”

The man blinked, still staring at her large breasts. “Pardon?”

“The apartment,” she nodded, her black curls bouncing prettily. “When might I take possession of the apartment?”

The man’s carnal thoughts deteriorated and he shook his head to dislodge his brain.

“Uh, let me see,” the clerk said, breathing awkwardly as he walked across the room to reference his superfluous legal documents. “You may move in now if you wish, Mademoiselle Beauvoire.” 

Nicole turned to stare out the window again, but this time she was not looking at the stunning view of Place Vendome. Her eyes were firmly fixed on the enormous apartment across the square, owned by the man she had been ordered by Andre Tuchelles to kill.

“Excellent, where do I sign?”

***

Daniel waited until she had stepped away from the window before stepping out from beneath the canopy of trees. He had been searching for Nicole Beauvoire for three days and now that he had found her had no intention of alerting her to his presence.

Striding across the square, he made for the apartment while straightening his quality, if a bit fussy, waistcoat. The damn tailor had added to his already exorbitant fee, claiming that his height and broad shoulders would require addition yards of brocade, blue silk.

But he had paid, knowing that a new wardrobe would be required if he were to follow Mademoiselle Beauvoire into the upper echelons of Parisian society. She, of course, had already made the transformation.

He could scarcely believe her metamorphosis when she stepped from her carriage not half an hour ago. Her ebony coiffure and lilac silk gown were designed to impress and the immodest neckline meant to draw attention to the web of diamond shimmering above her breasts.

Or the reverse.

The missive he had discovered in her bedchamber revealed very illusive game that would only be baited by the most tantalizing of morsels. And after seeing her as she was, as she should be adorned, Daniel had no doubt that Joseph LeCoeur would be hooked.

***

Nicole paced impatiently as the young clerk sat in the carved wooden chair of the gaudy desk extracting the documents that would require her signature.

“May I inquire as to how long you intend—“

A knock at the entrance to her newly acquired apartment disrupted their conversation, drawing both their curiosity and their attention. With a quill in one hand and a fistful of papers in the other, the clerk began to rise.

“I’ll see to the door.” Nicole said with impatience, wanting nothing more than to be rid of the tedious man as soon as was possible.

She strolled through the apartment and opened the door, ready to dismiss the intruder. But when she looked up to see Daniel Damont staring at her with a knowing grin, her mouth fell open from searing shock.

She reached for her pistol but before she could withdraw the weapon from the pocket of her gown, he seized her in a kiss that took her breath away.

He pressed her against the entryway wall, his tongue slipping into the heat of her mouth and extracting a soft sigh which gave him grounds to band his left arm more tightly around her waist. His right hand burned its way down her spine before grasping her backside and fitting her firmly against his powerful body.

And, God, how well she fit.

She could feel the hard muscles of his thighs shifting as he bent her backward, kissing her more deeply, more thoroughly; the moist heat of his mouth an alluring balm to her lips. His capable hands continued their carnal exploration and then, with jarring ease, he lifted her upright.

His reluctance to break their embrace was palpable as he stared down into her eyes, whispering, “Hello, Scorpion.”

Fear and shame shot through her and she was incapable of speech, incapable of turning away from his incisive gaze.

“Mademoiselle Beauvoire,” the clerk’s voice echoed nervously. “Is this man… known to you?”

Nicole blushed, her eyes turning to ice when she realized he had kissed her merely for the benefit of the clerk who stood gaping at them from down the expansive hall.

Her anger located her tongue, sharpening it. “As a matter of fact—“

“Careful.” Damont whispered, raising her own pistol between them, his back to the clerk.

Nicole sucked in a breath, unable to believe that his kiss had so disarmed her that he had literally rifled through her pockets and disarmed her.

Incensed, she looked up to meet his eye and was humiliated further when he arrogantly said, in English no less, “I believe that is the second time I’ve made you gasp. Now tell your amorous companion that you are indeed well…” He winked. “Acquainted with me and then get rid of the lad.”

“Why are you here, Monsieur Damont?” she spat, infusing all of her frustration into the performance.

“To see you,
mon cherie
? Why else would I have come all this way.” She could hear the amusement in his perfectly accented French and she wanted nothing more than to slap him.

So, she did. Hard.

Before turning to the astounded clerk and demanding, “Where do I sign?”

Nicole snatched the quill from the clerk’s hand and he hesitantly pointed to the bottom of several papers. She was busy signing the legal documents when she saw the clerk shrink in his chair. Not that she needed to witness the cowardly display to know the Daniel Damont was towering over her, watching every dot, every loop that she made.

“Are you purchasing this apartment, darling?” he inquired, rubbing his crimson cheek. “It appears a trifle small for you, don’t you think?”

Tired of playing games, Nicole turned to the clerk with a dismissive smile. “Is that all?”

“
Oui. Merci
, Mademoiselle Beauvoire,” the clerk said, stuffing the remaining papers into a leather satchel and leaving the apartment as quickly as was possible.

“Why are you here, Monsieur Damont?”

The man’s lips parted and Nicole could not help but remember how they tasted. So, she was distracted when he breathed, “You’re Scorpion.”

She lifted her gaze to meet his eye and was surprised to see uncertainty contorting his handsome features. And then the truth hit her with absolute certainty.

He was not sure
.

She remained silent, gathering information as she let him talk.

“Why did you not meet me at
Les Helios
?”

Nicole scoffed, saying “Well,” as she tilted her head to one side. “After discovering that you had killed Scorpion’s contact, meeting you seemed ill advised.”

“Andre Tuchelles is dead?”

He was staring at her with such astonishment that she blinked, saying with a tad less conviction of his guilt, ”You know very well that Monsieur Tuchelles is dead.”

“You think
I
killed him?” he all but yelled.

“How else would you have extorted that missive?”

Bewildered, he opened his mouth to defend her charge and then his sky blue eyes cleared.

“Andre Tuchelles struck me as the sort of man that would die rather than write a communiqué that would surely endanger Scorpion’s life.”

The Scot was right. Damn him.

Andre had to have known that he was a dead man either way. He never would have sent an assassin to her doorstep. Never. He had sent the missive referring to Scorpion as ‘he’ merely giving Nicole time to decide if she wished to return to England.

It would seem that the Scot was telling the truth and someone else had killed Andre Tuchelles after he left. A man she had every intention of meeting.

But he did not need to know why she was going to stay in Paris. Nor did he need to know why she could never return to England.

“You are, Scorpion, aren’t you?”

“Yes,” she nodded, suddenly cold.

“You’re a woman?”

“Yes, thank you for pointing that out to me. I can see why Falcon hired you.”

“My apologies, I’ve just never met a woman capable of—“

“Of killing a man?” she scoffed, wishing she were not capable of such a thing. “Do you have siblings?”

“What?” He blinked. “Yes, six.” He was still staring at her and Nicole felt the sting of it.

“Six?” She chocked and then Nicole recalled the point she was trying to make. “And if a man tried to harm the youngest, what would your mother do?”

“She would rip the man apart.”

Nicole lifted her chin and smirked, “Then considering me the mother of England.” She hid her sorrow and forced herself to meet his beautiful eyes. “If that helps eases your conscience.”

“I was not my intention to offend.” His eyes remained on hers. “I can see why you have been so… successful. No one would suspect—“

“A woman?”

“Aye.”

Nicole turned away from the pity pulling at his striking features and knew that London would be no different. She had seen the same expression for an entire year as she was paraded from Newgate to the Old Bailey.

She could not do it again.

“I’m not leaving Paris.” The man was so stunned he could not even speak, so she continued to confuse him, saying, “You hand me a missive from Andre Tuchelles, informing me that the French have infiltrated our ranks, further ordering me to disregard his previous commission of assassination?”

The Scot nodded, slowly.

“So, pray tell, which missive should I disregard? The one written by Andre Tuchelles, who I have known for two, very long, years; or the one delivered by Daniel Damont, who I have never laid eyes on before the night Andre is murdered and who may very well be a French agent himself?”

The man rocked back on his heels and she could see his mind spinning.

“I see your difficulty, truly, but this assassination is a trap orchestrated by the French to capture Scor… you.”

“Most likely, but better to err on the side of caution.” She rose, smoothing out her expensive gown. “Don’t you think?”

“No, I don’t,” he exhaled, interpreting her intention to leave the apartment correctly. “You’ll be killed if you go through with this assassination.”

“And so will LeCoeur.”

She took one step toward the door and he blocked her path with one long stride.

Daniel’s heart was pounding in his chest and he’d no notion what to do. His benevolent distraction of patriotism had just turned into a nightmare. He licked his lips, trying to think of a way to convince the lass that he was telling the truth.

“How could I be a French agent if I brought you a missive barring Monsieur Tuchelles’ seal?”

She shrugged, the motion echoed by her plentiful breasts as they bounced in the bodice of her gown. “Which you could have forced Andre to write before you killed him.”

Daniel speared his fingers through his thick hair and said, “Damn” with all the frustration he was feeling. “Is there nothing I can say to convince you that I was sent by the Foreign Office?”

The girl said nothing but he could see a powerful mind at work behind those bewitching eyes.

“No,” she finally said. “I am afraid we are at yet another impasse. You are either telling the truth and Andre Tuchelles sent you, a British agent, or you are lying and are a representative of France sent to capture Scorpion. I have no way of knowing.”

Daniel smiled fully as he found an answer that he was sure would convince her. “If I am an agent of France then why have I not arrested you?”

She did not even hesitate before saying, “Because you hope I will lead you to Scorpion and other British agents working in Paris.”

Daniel held out his arms, defeated. “You’re Scorpion!”

“But you don’t believe that I am Scorpion.”

A shadow of doubt passed over his face as he looked down at the petite woman and she saw it.