England's Assassin by Samantha Saxon Read Free Book Online Page A

spoke in a deliciously thick brogue, saying, “I followed yer target,” as he tossed a rolled parchment in her lap.
    Damn!
    Nicole stared down, not having to read the parchment to know what it said, but she could not believe that he had found it, could not believe that she had been so careless as to have left it. Yet, his giving her the communiqué was further proof that Daniel Damont had indeed been sent by the English to extract her from Paris.
    Damont?
    That was not his name, of course, and she wondered if she had known him in London, if her father had introduced her to his family when she was a child.
    No, she would have remembered him. But he was older than she and as she had never made her debut it was highly unlikely that their paths had ever crossed.
    “Where are you taking me?”
    Nicole again swept her hair behind her right ear, trying to appear at ease as she asked the question that would inevitable draw his mind back to her fit of panic. The man met her eyes and proceeded with such caution that she wanted nothing more than to be enveloped by the velvet cushions on which she sat.
    “We must retrieve our belongings and transfer them to the apartment. I assume,” his eyes swept over her extravagant gown. “That you are no longer in need of the items in your burgundy trunk?”
    “As a matter of fact, I am.” Nicole looked out the window, feeling his amused condescension to the core. “One never knows when those gowns might become useful.”
    Monsieur Damont shrugged. “Very well and then I thought we could dine. I have not eaten a bite since Minister LeCoeur arrived at his office.”
    Appalled, Nicole turned from the window and stared at him in surprise. “That was at eight o’clock this morning!”
    “Aye, I’m starved.” He chuckled. “But I dare not miss you merely because I was peckish.”
    ***
    Daniel’s fork paused on the way to his mouth as he sat staring at the beautiful woman opposite him in a private dining room of an exclusive café located at the Palace Royal.
    It was not her breathtaking appearance that had impeded his progress, but the manner in which she was separating the breast meat from the bone of her duck a la rounge. She worked with the precision of a skilled surgeon and Daniel felt a chill dance down his spine as he contemplated how she had acquired such deadly proficiency.
    “How old are you?” he asked badly, breaking every gentlemanly decree every made.
    The woman blinked several times as if she had not heard him correctly.
    “Why do you wish to know?”
    He could hardly tell her the truth, tell her that he wondered how old she was and how long she had been executing men for money.
    “Just curious.” He looked down at his meal. “I thought as we are going to be spending the next three weeks—“
    “Two and a half.”
    “Pardon?”
    “We will be spending two and one half weeks together, after which you can return to London with your conscience clear.”
    “I would prefer to go now.”
    “I’m not stopping you.”
    “Aye, you are.” He nodded, his anger causing him to revert to English. “I canna leave you in Paris, knowing that you are placing yourself in danger.”
    “If I choose to do so then what difference could it possibly make to you?”
    Daniel grinned, incredulous. “No gentleman can leave a lady unprotected.”
    “Is that a passage from some sort of tonish pamphlet given you when you enter polite society? ‘No gentleman shall leave a lady unprotected’ which no doubt follows ‘No gentleman shall rut with a whore unless wearing protection’.”
    Daniel could not believe the coarse words spewing from such a pretty little mouth. “A gentleman would rather forfeit his own life than see a lady harmed.”
    At this, the peculiar woman threw her head back and laughed.
    “Oh, Monsieur Damont you are so utterly naive. I can see now how they convinced you to leave the comforts of the haute ton. ‘Damsel in distress’ was it?”
    Her hilarity was so