England's Assassin (8 page)

Nicole returned to the apartment at seven o’clock that evening after having endured her final fitting with her modiste and consulted with the apothecary.

She was mentally tired and drained of all emotions, using all of her energy to spin a web that would end in yet another man’s death. Turning the key in the decorative lock, she opened the front door and was immediately engulfed by an array of appetizing aromas.

Nicole scanned the entry as she pulled her reticule from her wrist, setting it next to the keys atop the useful marble table. She walked to the dining room and stopped, trepidation filling her as she saw the polished mahogany table set for two.

The fine bone china was edged with gold and the hand-painted flowers were echoed by the enormous bouquet which sprang from a stunning Baroque vase sitting in the middle of the dining room table. Claret had been allowed to breath in an exquisitely cut crystal decanter which was matched in design by the glasses placed to the right of their gold spoons.

A noise from the kitchen drew her attention and Nicole continued on, stopping when she saw Daniel Damont busily preparing their dinner. He stood before the stove wearing neither jacket nor waistcoat, only buckskins and a thin linen shirt. The white shirt was un-tucked with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows. The voluminous fabric drawn to his narrow hips by the ties of an inadequate apron that she knew would swallow any woman.

She smiled at the sight of him and when he began to whistle Nicole almost forgot why he was here, picturing instead the boy that had been forced into a Scottish kitchen.
A very large boy.
She stared at his broad back, his firm backside as he faced the stove.

She really should make him aware of her presence.

Her lips parted with the best of intentions but no sound escaped them. He was so tall, so male that she was finding it difficult to look away, to give up the pure pleasure of watching him move.

He glanced to the right, reaching for a plate and Nicole blurted out, “What are you doing?” before he had a chance to catch her to staring.

Startled, he turned and looked directly at her. ”I’m cookin’ dinner. You dinna eat while you were out?”

“No,” Nicole admitted, her stomach responding to the enticing smells with a low growl.

“Good.” Daniel Damont smiled, open and friendly and she immediately became suspicious. “Have a seat. I’m just serving up our meal now. Oh,” he said, over his solid shoulder as she walked into the dining room, “I’ve left the parcels from the list atop your bed.”

“Thank you.” Nicole sat down on the cushioned chair, not entirely sure that she liked his entering her bedchamber. Or perhaps she like the vision of Daniel Damont lying, nude, next to a brown paper package far too much. Her cheeks flushed as the focus of her fantasy walked into the room carrying three ceramic bowls.

“Here we are. Quail,” The man placed a bowl with braised quail topped with sautéed mushrooms on the table. “Sautéed potatoes and buttered carrots.” He set the remaining bowls in front of her and then took the seat at the head of the table that she had left vacant. “I apologize if ‘tis a bit rustic.”

“No, it…” She met his striking eyes. “It smells wonderful, thank you.”

He pulled his chair forward then reached for the decanter, pouring them both a glass of claret. Nicole reached for the [dish] of quail but he stopped her saying, “Allow me,” before serving her a delectable breast.

She watched, starving, as he served her the potatoes and carrots, but a niggling cautiousness caused her to pause before eating the marvelously prepared meal.

Monsieur Damont met her eye, confused by her hesitation. “Did you want me to pray before—“

“No.” The man continued to stare and she dropped her eyes the moment he groaned with understanding.

“My god, you really are an assassin.” His gold fork struck out, spearing a mushroom, a carrot, and a wedge of potato from her plate. “Poisoned a few people, have you?” he asked not needing an answer.

Nicole blushed, ashamed that he had interpreted her hesitancy correctly.

“One or two.” She admitted with painful honestly, banishing the faces of those men to the darkest recess of her memory.

Her cuisinier placed the food in his mouth, chewing as he reached for her claret, not his. Sipping the burgundy liquid, he smiled and then declared, “There, you’re safe.”

Nicole glanced at his handsome features, thinking she did not feel safe at all.

“Thank you. I appreciate your efforts and apologize--”

“No apologizes necessary.” He lifted his glass, inviting her to join him.

She sampled the claret and was surprised by how much she enjoyed the crispness of the brandy mingled with the sweetness of the wine.

“This is very good,” Nicole said, understanding for the first time the popularity of the imported drink amongst the gentlemen of the British aristocracy.

The Scot chuckled, saying, “Yes, it is,” making her feel decidedly uneasy.

Why she was so discomfited, she was not sure. She had never worked with anyone but Andre Tuchelles and that was primarily to receive her orders. This, however, was different. Daniel Damont intended to stay by her side while she constructed and sprung her elaborate snare.

But that was not what was causing her discomfort.

Nicole took her first mouthful of quail and moaned, “Mmmm,” in appreciation of the simple flavors.

Daniel Damont beamed, and as she looked at him Nicole understood that her anxiety came from wanting him here. She had trusted Andre, but she had never been attracted to him. Nicole placed her lips on the glass where his lips had been and then swallowed a large portion of claret and continued to eat.

The food filled her stomach while the claret warmed her mind and Nicole felt as though she was devouring her stress along with the sumptuous meal.

“Thank you, again,” she said when she had finished. “The meal was quite delicious.”

“You sound surprised.” He grinned, making her warmer still.

“Let us say impressed.” Their eyes held until she pushed her chair back, lifting her plate and his from the table. “I’m afraid I must return to my observations of Minister LeCoeur. The masquerade in tomorrow evening and any piece of information about the minister might prove helpful.”

Monsieur Damont rose, his fingertips brushing hers as he took the plates from her hands. “Then please allow me to tidy up,” he offered, looking down at her with those stunning eyes that made her chest collapse with breathtaking desire. 

She acquiesced, withdrawing to the large salon facing the picturesque square. Removing her slippers, she sat on the floor and absently stared at Minister LeCoeur’s empty apartment. The sun was descending, leaving a soft yellow glow that illuminated the perfectly manicured grounds of the square. She scanned the fashionable couples that meandered through the awning of trees, confirming that the minister was not among them.

Nicole noted the time in her journal and then lifted her opera glasses to peer into the open windows of Joseph LeCoeur’s apartment.

The minister collected Roman antiquities and he seemed uncommonly fond of Julius Caesar. An interesting hero for the Minister of Police, a public servant, a man purportedly devoted to the liberated people of France.

“May I join you?”

Nicole gave a start and turned to see Daniel Damont standing five feet behind her, holding the half empty decanter and two clean glasses which dangled upside down from his elegantly long fingers.

“If you wish,” she said, amazed that he had asked.

The Scot poured more claret and handed her the heavy crystal, but before sitting on the floor he walked across the room and brought back a small wooden table.

“Do you play chess?”

She did, of course, but Nicole waited to answer until she had considered his reasons for asking.

“Yes, but I think perhaps—“

“Mademoiselle Beauvoire you will be sitting here well past midnight as we both know Joseph LeCoeur spends the evenings with his mistress. I am simply trying to occupy our minds whilst we wait for the illustrious minister to return home.”

She took a sip of claret as she thought, but before Nicole could answer the man was bending over the minuscule table and lifting the lid.

Her eyes opened in surprise and he eliminated her confusion, saying, “The table detaches so that chess may be played in bed or on a carpeted saloon floor.” The man set the painted board between them, retrieving the many chess pieces.

“Now what color would you like to—-No, wait.” He stopped himself, a broad smile brightening his already dazzling features. “You, of course, will be black… and I, rescuer of ‘damsels in distress’, will naturally.” He lifted the white knight. “Be white.”

White knight, indeed.

“But then you shall go first,” Nicole teased, the claret releasing her mind from its carefully constructed confines. “Not very gentlemanly for such a white knight.”

“Oh, But I am the most chivalrous of knights.” His eyes sparkled in the dissolving sunlight and she was captivated by the sight. “We both know that you prefer for your opponent to make the first move.”

Nicole stiffened, tearing her mind from the pleasing form of his face to gaze into the man’s perceptive soul.

“The pretty knight has a brain.”

“And our Scorpion is full of venom.” But it was Nicole that felt the sting. Their eyes held and Monsieur Damont grinning, saying, “My turn I believe.”

“Yes.”

Daniel looked down at the board, stunned by the wounded look in her beautiful violet eyes. He had meant to tease, to play and enjoy one another’s company. Positioning his knight, he sat back and considered the implications of his little discovery.

Scorpion was indeed human.

The fact that she waited to assess a situation before choosing a plan of action had been evident from the moment he arrived at the boarding house. From the moment she had gathered information by letting him talk, providing only what was required to further her inquiry and establish his credibility as courier for the crown.

But this pained reaction to her deadly vocation needed further investigation. Surely, he had merely misconstrued the subtle changes in her facial expressions.

“How do you intend to kill Minister LeCoeur?” The woman flinched, her hand hovering over a pawn for the briefest of moments.

“I think it best if you do not know.”

“But you’ve decided?” Daniel looked at her, making sure to keep his face blank, his eyes vacant but watchful.

“Yes,” she nodded irritably as she positioned her queen within striking distance of his knight.

Interesting.

Perhaps Scorpion was not as keen on killing as her namesake would imply and perhaps the task of enticing her away from her assignment would not be as difficult as he had anticipated.

“Well lass, you might know how to play chess, but I’m afraid you’re not very good at it.”

The white knight took the black queen.

The lass blushed, embarrassed by her ill-considered move. She had left her queen, her most powerful weapon, open and vulnerable to his attack and they both knew it.

“I’m sorry. I don’t think I shall be able to concentrate on the game. I really must watch for Minister LeCoeur.” Mademoiselle Beauvoire turned her regal head and stared out the saloon window.

Daniel sat for a moment, thinking as he moved the chess pieces about the board.

“I’ve killed a man,” he offered, deciding. The woman’s head snapped up so quickly that Daniel was sure she had injured her neck. Now that he had her attention, he continued, “Two actually.”

“Did you forget the other man?” she asked sardonically.

“No.” He would never forget the second man. “They attacked me together, so I think of it as one event.”

Mademoiselle Beauvoire looked at him, studied him, her surveillance of Joseph LeCoeur completely forgotten. “Why did you kill them?”

“I was traveling to my estates in Scotland when they ambushed me.” Daniel thought back, feeling no remorse only the bitter taste of an objectionable occurrence. “I shot the first man as he pulled me from my horse. The second highwayman had a knife. I didn’t, so I broke his neck.”

“And yet you object to
my
role in this war?”

Daniel paused, astounded that she had so misinterpreted their previous discussion.

“Not at all. You and your counterparts are a necessary component of war. I merely said that I would have difficulty fulfilling that roll.”

“But you have killed before!”

“Aye, but that was in defense of my life.”

“Oh, I see.” She nodded. “You will save yourself, but not others.”

“Now, that ‘tis a bit harsh as I am here tryin’ to save yours.”

“I don’t want saving.” Daniel’s forehead furrowed and he glanced into depths of her striking eyes. But whatever meaning had been infused in those words vanquished when she asked, “Why have you not gone to war, Monsieur Damont? Why have you let other men die for your country?”

Guilt overcame him as Daniel thought of the injuries, the hardships that Aidan Duhearst had endured defending Britain.