England's Assassin by Samantha Saxon Read Free Book Online

landing between the first and second floors, her fear won.
    “Let me go!” Nicole said, hitting his arm with every ounce of strength she had, but the man did not budge an inch.
    A wave of panic crashed over her and she kicked and clawed her way to the surface, striking out at anything in her path. She kept flailing until her fists stopped making contact with the solid wall of his body.
    Her sight slowly returned and before she realized that he had released her, Nicole found herself pressed into the corner of the stairwell. Her arms were outstretched, bracing her body against the wall as she struggled to breathe. Disoriented, she remembered the Scot and glanced at him beneath dark lashes.
    He stood with both hands raised as if calming a horse that had just bolted, but it was the look in his turquoise eyes that made her stomach seize with humiliation. His eyes were fixed on her as if she were a madwoman, and his auburn brows were drawn together so tightly that his handsome features were marred by lines of miscomprehension.
    “I don’t like to be handled,” Nicole said, offering a weak explanation for her unwarranted behavior.
    The Scot took a moment to respond as he continued to stare, his mouth hanging open.
    “I can see that,” he replied, his left hand remaining raised as his right swept toward the staircase. “After you, Mademoiselle.”
    Glancing down, Nicole gathered as much dignity as she could muster and then licked her dry lips, saying, “Merci.” before gliding down the stairs as if nothing anomalous had occurred.
    She stepped beneath the open arcade of Place Vendome and stopped, breathing deeply as she stared at the setting sun disappearing below the brick buildings.
    “I’m going to call for a carriage,” Damont said slowly, gauging her reaction to ensure that she had no objection to carriage rides.
    “Oui, merci beaucoup.” Nicole nodded, mortified as she tucked an errant piece of black hair behind her right ear.
    The Scot returned moments later, offering her his arm. She took his peace offering, but could sense the tension in the muscles beneath his exquisite cobalt jacket.
    He handed her up into the conveyance, making sure to give her a wide birth then followed cautiously after her. Monsieur Damont took a moment settled in the seat opposite her and the carriage suddenly became very small.
    Uncomfortable, Nicole stared at his broad chest, wondering when he had purchased the quintessential French attire. The high lapel and fitted waistcoat were exquisite and while she knew that Daniel Damont flattered even the shoddiest of garments, these clothes he wore with ease.
    The man leaned back, placing his right ankle atop his left knee his arms outstretched as he rested them atop the golden squabs. He was totally unconcerned, as she found the lower classes to be, with soiling the expensive garments. He inhabited his clothing and indeed the carriage as if he had been thusly clad and conveyed his entire life.
    She glanced at his profile as he stared out the window, strong handsome features, striking coloring and the unmistakable air of aristocracy which swirled thickly about him. He was of the haute ton, she was certain, and would unquestionably be popular with the gentlemen, but even more popular with the ladies of polite society. All of which begged the question. Why was he here?
    Ennui?
    He looked the sort of man that needed excitement, needed adventure. No doubt, conquering women and wagering on horses would become tiresome for a man of his age and obvious intelligence.
    How old was he? Thirty? No, not quite so old.
    He was a man in his physical and mental prime and Nicole found herself drawn to him. Not so much his physical beauty, although God knew he had that in spades, but his confidence, his acceptance of who and what he was.
    “How did you find me?” Nicole asked in English, more to distract herself from his overpowering presence.
    Her efforts failed when he smiled, pleased with himself, as he