Ok, peeps, here's the gig with this one. As if the last chapter wasn't enough hell, this one gets worse, and now I can finally get started on the actuall plot. Just a few quick clarifcations that I though I should make for this one. Henry Cardinal of York was a real historical figure and the facts I've listed about him are accurate. However, he died in 1807 due to disease. So I've taken a few liberties and extended his life a few years, which really wouldn't have effected history at all, as he was totally obsolete. So, being that the current time is 1809, Henry really wouldn't be alive, but we're pretending he is. And you wouldn't have know if I hadn't told you, so there. Don't be picky. And that's the author's note. Oh, and the past few chapters may have been a bit squeemish and gross, and I appologize for that, and it's the last you shall see of that sort of thing for a rather long while. The story gets good now. Promise. And this author is a review whore! Review, and I will give you a piece of my soul!

Disclaimer: Everything in this chapter is mine, except for Henry Cardinal, Duke of York. He belongs to history. As does Napoleon. Oh, and Chauvelin and Percy aren't mine either. But this chapter is mostly of my own creation. Yippie!

Soon the Moon Will Smoulder

Chapter 14: Let the Fever Strike

Well into the night and the hours of early morning, Lucian lay with Helouise, gently holding her, whispering to her in between soft words and tender kisses, and frequently allowing their passions to rise as they gradually became closer, not giving a damn for tomorrow. Were anyone to witness the spectacle, there would be no questioning the beauty of their actions; between the tenderness of his movements and the gentle moaning of her name, the soft calling for the woman, there could be no doubt that Lucian did love her, which of course was the tragedy of it all. Being of the relation that they were, he could never have her, and though he would never accept this, somewhere inside him, he knew this, and it broke him.

As the room slowly became lighter as it approached dawn, Lucian forced himself from the sleeping girl's side and dressed himself in the black clothing, neatly tying the tricolor sash about his waist. Slowly adjusting himself and fastening his father's sword to his waist, he slung the bag with his most necessary possessions over his shoulder, softly kissed the lovely woman, and left the manor for good, taking one of Percy's splendid bay horses with him. He was off to London for a quick errand before heading off to Dover to catch the first boat to France; it was time that England knew they were in a great deal of trouble. And what better way to notify the English lords of the presence of the son of Agent Armand Chauvelin then by doing away with a member of the royal family?

Although he was already a splendid swordsman, he was in sore need of practice in the area of killing a man, being that his revenge depended on such procedures. After all, the first one must have been the most difficult; after that, he figured that one death was very like another. Hence, it was imperative that he had already become at least familiar with the art of the elimination of an enemy before he landed in France. And besides, what was the point of leaving if he did not go out with a bang?

Being that the first was most likely the most difficult and most personal, it was best not to take the life of anyone he knew on a personal level. And so for his purposes, Lucian had selected for his target a certain Lord Henry Cardinal, Duke of York, as his victim. Though the man was not a member of the current royal family, the duke was the grandson of James II of England, thereby making him of royal blood, and thereby of importance to the country. He had never met the man, only heard of him, and figured that he would be appropriately mourned for when Lucian struck him down. Perfect, let England hate him as he had hated them his whole life. He had effectively managed to damage everyone: his father, Lord Dewhurst, Lord Ffoulkes…

Lucian slowed the horse to a stop as his mind quickly reeled; Blake. He hadn't done anything to damage that detestable boy in the least; if anything, he had helped him get what he wanted. In his desire to be rid of him and to see what he could make him do, Lucian had practically delivered the woman his brother loved right to him; with him gone and no attention in her direction, Allison may well return his sentiments, and Blake would have what he wanted. After all, he did now think that the woman loved him. Snarling in anger, he turned the horse around and headed toward the Ffoulkes estate; he could never have Helouise, and he would be damned if he were to let Blake have Allison. The boy already had everything, and it simply would not do that he could have the woman he loved when Lucian could not.

He arrived at the estate before dawn, the sky still dark, but lightening slightly as the sun began to rise. Riding the horse past the stables and to the back of the house, he looked up to the window that he knew to be Allison's room, smiling in satisfaction as the window was open. Quickly dismounting and tying his bag and sword to the saddle, he climbed one of the trees and easily leaped into the room. Treading softly to where the girl lay sleeping in her bed, he gently brushed back her hair, shook her slightly, and the girl woke with a start, nearly screamed, but he quickly clasped his hand over her mouth.

Eyes quickly adjusting to the darkness, Allison peered up at her assaulter and her heart stopped as her eyes met the splendid gold ones. Relaxing, gently bringing her hand up to stroke his cheek, the hand was removed from her mouth and she softly whispered, "Lucian?"

"The one and the same, Madame."

Sitting up, she flushed slightly as the man kissed her hand. "What are you doing here?"

Smiling slyly, he whispered, "I have come to confess that I have been a bit dishonest with you, but I must know something before I confess."

She gasped slightly. "Dishonest? How?"

"In a moment, Allison. Blake was here this evening, am I correct?" The girl nodded, and he continued, "And he confessed he loved you?" Again, she nodded. "And he is sure that you love him. Do you?"

"No, Lucian, I…" She gasped slightly, held on to his hand, and breathing deeply, she looked him in the eye and gently said, "I love you."

He smirked maliciously and took her into his arms, gently stroking her hair. "My confession, Allison. I told you that I did not love you in an attempt to help my brother win you, but it is clear that shall not happen." Gently cupping her chin and stroking her cheek with his thumb, he softly said, "I do love you, Allison, and I can only hope that you can forgive me for my previous dishonesty."

"You love me?" she asked in wonder, feeling her heart beat much faster. "Do you really love me?"

Cupping her face and smiling with a viciousness that her love struck gaze was impartial to, he firmly responded, "Absolutely." Feeling her shudder, nearly fall against him, he held her close and gently kissed her, quickly becoming more passionate as she instantly returned the affections. Gently pushing her down on the bed, he softly bit her neck, smiling maliciously as she moaned in response. He would make damn sure that this woman was his, never to be his brother's. He would suffer alone, and there was no reason that Blake should not do the same.

He had finished with her just as the sun was rising, had gotten dressed and was ready to go. Quickly taking the woman in his arms, he lightly kissed her on the cheek. "I have somewhere I must go, Allison, and I do not know when I shall return. Wait for me?"

Gasping slightly, and pushing away a bit in surprise, she looked him in the eye and quietly said, "You're leaving me?"

"For a while, yes. But I will be back, I can assure you."

"Where are you going?"

Pausing slightly and considering what he should tell her, he whispered, "France."

"France? Love, that is so far away! What if I never see you again?"

Swiftly kissing her, and going to stand on the windowsill, he replied, "Oh, I can give you my absolute confidence that you shall see me again. Wait for me, darling. I will be back." Smiling softly at the woman's dazed nod, he jumped into the tree, climbed down and mounted his horse; off to London for an engagement with the Duke of York.

The Lord Henry Cardinal was not usually in London, of course, but since it was fast approaching the summer, and the proclaimed "party season", it was not uncommon for nobility of his standing to live in small mansions in London for the time. Fortunately for Lucian, the duke's estate was well known, and it was common knowledge to know the exact location of the residence. Of course, the place was heavily guarded; he was nobility, after all. Sighing in frustration as he galloped across the countryside, he shook his head slightly at the prospects of having to get past the copious amounts of guards and servants. Time to form a plan.

He was almost certain that he was more than capable of outfighting any of the guards; he had spent a good portion of his childhood analyzing several different fencing techniques and had combined what he thought to be the most effective points of each to create an extremely efficient, nearly flawless form of fighting. Of course, the guards more than likely had riffles, so fighting them was out. And he did not particularly want to kill the men; he wanted the first death to be someone of importance, if for nothing else, for the bragging rights that went along with it. No, the man had to be forcefully smuggled out of the mansion, where he would then take him to Dover and do away with him. How to get him to Dover…

Suddenly smiling in triumph, he stopped the horse and quickly dismounted, drawing a pen and blank parchment out of his bag. Why force the man when he would come willingly?

"Terms of peace?" The Duke of York, Henry Cardinal closely examined the letter and looked at the solemn messenger a bit cautiously. "And why not deliver this to the King or the Prince?"

"Both George III and his son have refused audience, but the Emperor is insistent that our two great nations work out an agreement, and he has sent me to you as the closest living member of the Royal Family that may have the sense to cooperate."

"You seem a bit young to be an ambassador, boy."

"I am but a messenger, monsieur. Your country has refused our ambassador." On the inside, Lucian was beaming. He was quite certain that he had no skill for forgery, but it was not necessary in this case; the man had no doubt never set eyes on the actual writing of the Emperor Napoleon. And, if he did say so himself, he passed himself off quite brilliantly as a Frenchman, putting on an accent and everything; really, he felt quite clever.

"And he requests an audience as soon as it is conceivably possible?"

"Yes, monsieur, that is the case. The Emperor has grown rather desperate to repair relations with England. It would be extremely gracious of you if you were to accompany me to Dover and leave on the next boat to France."

Carefully looking over both the boy and the note, he shrugged his shoulders, carelessly stated, "I don't suppose it could hurt to leave this afternoon, provided that I am back in two days time."

"Of course, my Lord. I cannot imagine that it will take long to reach an arrangement that is beneficial to both of our nations."

"I can't imagine that it would." Ringing for his servant, he instructed them to let the footman have the coach ready to depart for Dover in a quarter of an hour. Smiling in sinister delight, Lucian went to wait with his horse for the Duke of York.

"Oh, so you are not too fond of the Emperor, are you, boy?"

Glancing up from the letter that he had been writing, Lucian slowly shook his head and returned to his work. "No, no not at all."

Crossing one leg over another and laughing slightly, the Duke leaned forward and quietly asked, "And why is that, my boy?"

Not stopping in his work, he mechanically replied, "Primarily because he destroyed any semblance of democracy that we had. A man like me means nothing anymore." Lord, he was growing impatient with the man. His tireless question was extremely trying, but he had managed to earn his trust, and they sat together alone in an inn, awaiting the boat to be ready to sail.

"Good man!" the Duke cried, leaning back in his chair. "France needs more fellows like yourself! Got yourself a head on your shoulders, what?"

"Yes, so it would seem…" He finished the letter, quickly signed his name, folded it and placed it in his pocket, swiftly replacing any unused papers and the pen back into his bag. Sighing slightly, he leaned back, and fished through his pocket for his watch. Half past twelve; the ship wouldn't leave until at least one o'clock. His eyes followed the man in a very predator-like way as the Duke got up and stood by the window. The guards were just outside the door; this would have to be done as quietly as possible. Breathing deeply as he stood up and drew the black blade from the sheath, he silently approached the man as he stood with his back toward him; now was as good a time as any.

Swiftly covering the man's mouth with his hand, he placed the point of the blade on the man's middle back and thrust forward, hardly breathing and closing his eyes as he did it. He felt the man go ridged and fall back against him, and not having any idea what to do, he clasped his hand over his mouth much harder than before and pushed the blade as far in as it would go. A few moments, and the warm, thick liquid spilled over his hand and, eyes shooting open in shock and mild horror, he jumped back, withdrawing the blade and letting the man fall to the floor.

He could do nothing but stand there in shock, eyes wide at the sight of the deep scarlet liquid fast running out of the man's body and forming a pool on the floor. Pulled to his senses as the man gasped and moaned slightly, he ran to the man and dropped to his knees at his side, firmly pressing his hand over the man's mouth and placing the length of the blade on his throat; he could not risk any noise, as the guards may enter and discover him. Pressing down and swiftly pulling back, blood instantly began to run from the man's neck, and there was no more sound from the now still Duke of York.

Lucian was going to be sick. Dropping the sword, he quickly stood up and staggered to the corner of the room farthest from the body and leaned his head against the wall, breathing deeply and heaving violently before he vomited. He instantly regretted his decision. He had just killed a man; an innocent man. This lord had never done him any harm and he held no qualm against him, and now his blood ran over the ground, and he was to blame for it. The sight and smell of it was nauseating.

Dropping to his knees and clutching his stomach, the boy wept. He had not wanted his life to be like this. What he wouldn't give to be able to take it all back and accept things as they were. It was no one's fault. He clenched his eyes shut, desperately wished that it would all go away, that he could return home and apologize to the baronet, thank him for all he had done for him and promise that he would try to be better. He didn't want to hurt anyone anymore; he just wanted it all to go away so that it could be as it always was…

He slowly opened his eyes, the dull yellow catching the red that now covered the room. Things would never be the same, no anymore, not after this. He had crossed the point of no return long ago, he knew that now. There was nothing he could do but rush headlong forward. Perhaps things would be better at the end of all this. Slowly standing up, he dragged his feet to the body, gently kicked it. No response from the lord, and any hope the man had that the Duke was still alive was quickly shattered. Picking up the sword, he listlessly pierced the Duke's abdomen and drew the blade across, up and down, and making a bloody mess of the man's remains. Lucian's mind shut off completely, and was only pulled back when he heard the sailors outside calling for the departure to cross the Channel.

Cursing slightly, he quickly took the letter out of his pocket and thrust it into the body's hand. Sheathing his sword and grabbing his bag, he took one last look about the room and shuddered before he threw open the window and jumped out, pausing for only a second as he picked himself off and boarded the ship that would take him home to France.