Author's Note: Reviews are always appreciated and make me type faster.

Chapter 7

As Jack searched for his room, he paused to inform a servant of the slight mess he'd made in the ballroom and for someone to clean it up. There were, Jack reflected, some advantages to the 18th century and not having to worry about forensics was one of them. He opened the door to his room and went inside to change. Stripping his shirt off, he thought about his Samantha and hoped she would be all right. Though she was likely thrilled with his imminent demise, he didn't like the idea of her being unprotected, Jack decided as he finished undressing. Standing naked before the mirror he noticed the absence of the small scar from Samantha's bullet. Jack's finger traced his tautly sculpted flesh where the wound once had been.

Searching through drawers, Jack scowled at the satin knee breeches and reluctantly selected a pair. As he tossed the expensive garment on the bed, his valet entered and looked horrified at Jack's carelessness. Even naked, Jack could be quite intimidating, as his hands went to his hips and he gave the servant a glare of displeasure. The valet paled slightly, but insisted that the Master sit down and allow him to retrieve the rest of his clothing for him.

Jack sat down on the opulent bed and waited impatiently for the servant to assemble his clothing. He dressed rapidly refusing the valet's offers of assistance and causing him further consternation by refusing to wear undergarments under antiquated garments. When he fought in a while, Jack wanted as much freedom of motion as possible. When the valet started bringing Jack shoes, he contemplated killing him. Pair after pair of curved heels were brought for his inspection.

"I'm going to be fighting a duel, not dancing a minuet. Bring me something sturdy and practical," Jack demanded. At that moment he would have given half a million dollars for a pair of jeans and his Doc Martens. The outrageous fashions that both genders sported among the aristocracy were completely impractical. After selecting the plainest black leather shoes he apparently owned, Jack smiled as his valet got further upset by his refusals of hair powder and cosmetics. Christ, all these years he'd thought he would die of old age with his Samantha or in a blaze of glory and bullets, now he was going to be skewered by a pervert wearing more makeup than a drag queen!

There wasn't time for regrets, Jack decided. Leaving the room he headed downstairs. He had hoped to catch a glimpse of his Samantha, but she didn't appear to be about. It was probably for the best that they not meet again. Those sweet fevered moments at the museum when she had clung to him were what he wanted to take to his grave. Jack was grateful to have held Samantha in his arms even once before his life was over. He walked out of the manor and headed through the misty early morning air towards the small chapel that stood a short distance away. Before he drew his last breath he had to make his final confession.

As Jack entered the chapel, he was met by a young pinched faced priest who had obviously just woken up. Just before dressing Jack had ordered that the estate's priest be woken to hear the Master's confession. A slight smile curled around Jack's lips as he contemplated how to tell the man of scores of murders that he committed centuries later. Best keep it simple, God would just have to understand the slight inaccuracies due to circumstances.

"Should you like to go into the confessional?" the priest inquired.

Jack informed him, "I think we'd better stay out here, I get claustrophobic and this will probably take quite a while.":

"Shall we then?" the priest pointed to a bench.

After a genuflect, Jack started, "Bless me father for I have sinned. It's been," he hesitated then continued, "quite a long time since my confession and I think we'll leave it at that."

"Very well," the man sighed. Then asked pompously, "What are your sins?"

As Jack spoke the priest grew wide eyed and began to shift nervously as Jack detailed murder after murder. The man was white as a sheet and grateful when Jack told him they were through all the deaths that he could remember, although he was quite sure he'd left another half dozen or so out. Then the priest turned scarlet red as Jack began to confess his sins of lust involving thoughts of Samantha and the barrage of women he'd used in her stead. The priest could bear no more and just stood up and shook his head and walked out of the church when Jack began to recall some of the murders he'd forgotten.

Sam walked out of the ballroom and stood on the verandah where Jack had challenged the Marquis. Staring off into the night, she thought about Jack and the rapidly approaching duel. Would he really die? For a long time he had stalked her in shadows and she'd wanted him gone from her life. Was that still what she wanted? No man had ever aroused Samantha as deeply as Jack had at the museum. Even now after seeing him carving up a corpse, she burned with the memory of his kisses and found herself craving more.

But it was more than simple lust that gave Samantha pause. Jack had issued the challenge knowing the man's skill and assuming he would die. Up until earlier tonight, Jack had always worshipped her from afar, courting her with puzzles and roses. Previously, with the aid of physical distance, she had been able to dismiss Jack's overtures and pretend they were meaningless. In Atlanta, pretending to be unaffected by Jack and to fake the expected emotions had been simple. Tonight in France, his romantic gestures couldn't be so easily dismissed.

For the first time in years, she was free from the prying eyes of her well meaning friends and the secret part of her that she hid from them was dangerously close to the surface. Every day she pretended to be Sam Waters, loving mother and agent; but that was just it, it had always been a pretense. The only part of Samantha that felt true emotion, was the dark and secret part that only Jack seemed to know about. His sibilant whispers on the phone, his roses and his notes at crime scenes touched her and that was what truly terrified her about him. Jack scared her because he knew parts of her that she was too scared to and he wanted her to embrace those parts of herself.

Samantha felt an ache in her heart as she considered life without Jack in it. Walking along the verandah she saw a patch of climbing roses on the house, she remembered Jack once telling her he would wither away without her. Now Samantha found herself wondering if she would wither away without Jack. She walked down the steps at the end of the verandah and began to meander across the lawn. Sam knew she needed to try and find Jack, she had to talk to him before it was too late. After all these years, he deserved to hear the truth, even if it was at the very end. She was about to turn back to the house to try and locate Jack when the priest came stumbling and muttering towards her.

He crossed himself as he declared in outrage, "That man is beyond evil Mademoiselle. When he dies today, you will have to look to someone else to bury him, for I'll not be party to such sacrilege."

The man continued into the night and Samantha decided she had a good idea of where to find Jack. She walked to the small chapel slight amusement at the holy man's look of horror rapidly dissolved into anxiety as she approached. Mist swirled gently about the ground heralding the approach of dawn and Sam closed her eyes, vainly willing the night to stay. What could she say to the man who had been in her life for so long, just before his possible demise? Uncertainly, she opened the doors and entered...