Nicole Jordan (8 page)

When he entered the stableyard, he immediately saw his fellow Guardian, Alex Ryder.

Tall and hard, dark haired and dark eyed, Ryder was one of the most dangerous of all their members. He’d once hired out his services as a mercenary and had since developed an unmatched expertise with weapons and explosives. Unlike Thorne, though, Ryder had grown up on Cyrene.

“So what is this about Nate leaving you a letter outlining his suspicions of a conspiracy?” Ryder asked as Thorne dismounted.

“It’s true,” Thorne replied. “He wrote his message more than a year ago, just before his death, but his sister failed to deliver it to me. That task fell to her cousin, Diana Sheridan.”

“The two of them just arrived today?”

“Yes—quite unexpectedly.”

Ryder sent him an ironic grin. “You do always seem to have a surfeit of females after you, old sport. It’s as if your charm is a magnet for anything in skirts.”

Thorne winced. “I would happily exchange my success for a little respite.”

Turning his horse over to a groom, he made his way with Ryder through the bailey to the huge wooden entrance doors of the great hall.

Olwen Castle had been in Sir Gawain’s family for centuries. Standing at the southern end of the island, where the hills were the lowest and most vulnerable to attack, the impressive stronghold was defended by massive walls and battlements bristling with cannon.

The interior was less warlike, with fine tapestries and carpets and gleaming furnishings gracing the great hall, tempering the cold stone. Numerous artifacts of a bygone era were scattered about, however—armor and weapons, swords and maces and shields, many belonging to the knights who had first settled the island more than a millennium ago.

Thorne and Ryder strode swiftly through the great hall and along a stone corridor to a large, comfortable chamber that served as the baronet’s study, where an elderly gentleman sat behind his desk.

Sir Gawain rose at their entrance. Tall and lean and gravely serious, he had shrewd, light blue eyes that seemed to miss nothing. His lined face appeared strained, as if the great responsibility of leading the Guardians for two decades had taken a toll. He also limped slightly—the result of an injury during a mission long ago, Thorne knew.

“Good, you are here,” Sir Gawain said, tugging the bellpull behind his desk. “Permit me to summon Yates.”

They settled in comfortable chairs while they waited. Barely a moment later, a young man hobbled in on a wooden leg. John Yates was a former cavalry lieutenant who had lost a leg in the Peninsular War and who now worked as Sir Gawain’s secretary and chief assistant.

Two years before, Yates had nearly died from his septic wound. Now, beneath his shock of pale blond hair, Yates’s face glowed with good health. Yet his brown eyes were serious as he greeted Thorne and Ryder and seated himself.

It took Thorne only a short while to tell them how Diana Sheridan had found the letter in Amy’s belongings, and then to recount the major revelations in Nathaniel’s message: that Nate had come to suspect a traitor of attempting to expose the Guardians’ identities to the French. And his fear that the lovely brothel madam, Venus, was involved in spying for the enemy.

To protect Nathaniel’s memory, Thorne had decided to keep private Nate’s confession about being duped by the beautiful Venus and his shame at revealing confidential information.

At the conclusion, Alex Ryder was the first to speak. “It seems our unfortunate Nathaniel might indeed have stumbled onto a plot to destroy our order. The French would have been keenly interested in putting an end to our existence then.”

Thorne nodded. Before Napoleon’s hard-won defeat last spring, the French would have been eager to stop the secret society that had played such havoc with their attempts to rule the world.

Yates’s face held a reflective scowl. “That was not the only instance of someone attempting to expose the identities of the Guardians. You’ll recall there was another incident last September. You weren’t here at the time,” he said to Thorne.

Thorne thought back to the previous fall. He and Ryder had both been absent from Cyrene on various missions when two visitors to the island, Danielle and Peter Newham, had been apprehended for stealing a membership roster of the Guardians.

“If I recall,” Thorne mused, “when questioned, the Newhams confessed that they had been hired by an Englishman to discover a list of our members.”

“Yes,” Yates replied. “A man by the name of Thomas Forrester.”

“You sent agents to investigate the Newhams’ story, but the trail went nowhere?”

“It went completely cold. We discovered that Thomas Forrester did actually exist—he had been living in London—but that he had recently died in a fire.”

“I find this highly interesting,” Sir Gawain remarked gravely. “Two apparently separate events begin to appear related.”

“Perhaps Madam Venus had some connection to this dead Englishman?” Ryder wondered aloud.

“It does seem possible,” Sir Gawain replied.

“I intend to find out,” Thorne said.

“And how does Nathaniel fit in?” Ryder asked. “Were Nate and Venus lovers, do you think?”

“It wouldn’t surprise me,” Thorne prevaricated. “Nathaniel was spending an unusual amount of time at her sin club just before his death. And his letter admitted he was investigating Venus and her involvement with French spies. He might have invited himself into her bed in order to learn whatever secrets she was hiding.”

Yates was still frowning. “So what do we do now?”

“I plan to return to London very shortly,” Thorne answered, “to retrace Nathaniel’s steps during his final days. Meanwhile, I want to plant one of our agents in Venus’s club. I thought perhaps Macky might be right for the job, since he’s a former actor. With his physical attributes and thespian skills, he could play the role of cicisbeo.”

Ryder raised an eyebrow. “You want Beau Macklin to get himself hired by Venus to service her wealthy female clientele?”

“Precisely.”

“What a torturous assignment,” Ryder observed, clearly amused.

“But potentially effective. In Venus’s employ, he can keep his ear to the ground and ferret out secrets we couldn’t hope to obtain otherwise.”

“Agreed,” Sir Gawain said, although with evident reluctance.

“Then I have your permission to commission Macky, sir?”

“Yes,” Sir Gawain replied. “And you should also attempt to discover if Madam Venus has any connection to the late Thomas Forrester. Moreover, we shall need to reopen the investigation into Forrester’s death, to determine why he wished to learn the Guardians’ identities.”

Thorne had an even broader goal in mind: to prevent any other Guardians from being killed. But he knew there was no need to state the obvious.

He also realized Sir Gawain was scrutinizing him solemnly. “You must take care, Thorne. If Nathaniel Lunsford was killed because he was growing too close to a traitor, then if you start probing, you could make yourself a target, as well. You needn’t take any unnecessary risks.”

“I won’t take any risk that I deem unnecessary,” Thorne hedged.

John Yates spoke up then. “I wish to be part of the investigation, sir.”

Yates had personal reasons for wanting to be involved in solving the mystery of Nathaniel’s murder, Thorne knew, yet the request clearly did not sit well with Sir Gawain.

“It will inconvenience me greatly to have my secretary absent, you know. You are more valuable to me here.”

“But, sir, I was the one betrayed by Danielle Newham. I want to set things right.”

Sir Gawain’s pained expression faded into resignation. “Very well. I will endeavor to carry on without you.” He turned to Thorne. “When do you expect to leave for England?”

“A week, perhaps. I’ll need time to set up Macky’s ruse. And I don’t want to arrive in London just when he begins work at the club. It could too easily rouse Venus’s suspicions. Also, there are a few other personal arrangements I must make first.”

Out of the corner of his eye, he caught Ryder’s taunting grin. “I thought,” Ryder mused, “that you were rusticating here on Cyrene to escape your father’s machinations. Won’t he present complications if you return to London so soon?”

“Fortuitously I’ve thought of a plan to deal with my father.”

“Oh? Would you care to elaborate?”

Thorne hooded his gaze. “Not just yet. Give me a day or two to see if I can make it work.”

He first had to ascertain if Diana Sheridan would be amenable to his proposition.

His plan was not entirely selfish, for it would also benefit her. And surprisingly, Thorne found himself wanting to aid her. Perhaps his usual defenses had been weakened by the tale of her rejection by a fickle suitor, but Thorne found himself instinctively wanting to protect her. Which shouldn’t amaze him. After all, he had taken a sworn oath as a protector.

At the thought of confronting the spirited Miss Sheridan with his proposal, Thorne felt the stirring of a familiar excitement. What he was considering would no doubt challenge all his powers of persuasion.

But he thrived on challenges.

And he couldn’t help but reflect how damned boring his life had been of late.

“You wish me to do
what
?” Diana Sheridan exclaimed, staring at him as if he had lost his senses.

Thorne couldn’t repress a smile. He obviously had shocked her with his proposal. Upon returning home, he’d summoned Miss Sheridan directly to the drawing room, where he poured them both a glass of sherry before making his proposition.

“I wish you to do me the honor of becoming my betrothed,” he repeated quite seriously.

Her brows narrowing in a frown, she sank down distractedly onto the settee. “I did not think I could possibly have heard you correctly. Barely a few hours ago you told me in no uncertain terms that you refused to be leg-shackled.”

“I still do. It would be a betrothal in name only.”

She pinned him with her darkly brilliant gaze. “If you think to make me one of your conquests, Lord Thorne, simply because you learned of my notoriety, pray let me disabuse you of the notion at once.”

I would very much like to make you one of my conquests,
Thorne reflected silently. Diana had already dressed for dinner in a flattering, rose-colored silk gown that showed her figure to advantage, and he would like nothing more than to slowly peel it from her body and explore her charms….

But he quelled the lustful urge and shook his head. “That could not be further from my intent, Miss Sheridan. On the contrary, I am throwing myself on your good graces. You would be doing me an immense service—saving me from a fate worse than death.”

“Which is?”

“Wedding my father’s choice of a bride.”

“I think you had best explain.”

Thorne settled himself in a chair opposite her, where he could watch every nuance of her expression. “I plan to return to London very soon to look into Nathaniel’s murder, just as I promised you. But to properly focus on an investigation, I need to first free myself from a distracting entanglement.”

“Entanglement?”

“I believe I mentioned that the last young lady to see me nude claimed I compromised her? It was a scheme to ensnare me in wedlock, and her mother is still plaguing me, demanding that I wed the girl. And my illustrious father has taken their side.”

Diana’s mouth curled dryly, as if she understood his dilemma. “That would account for your sudden and unexpected disappearance from England, I suppose.”

“Precisely,” Thorne agreed. “My case is not quite desperate, but I anticipate difficulties if I show my face in London without some sort of defense. A betrothal would offer me shelter from their machinations. And it would put an end to my father’s badgering.”

Humor lit her eyes before she shook her head, whether in disbelief or exasperation, Thorne couldn’t tell. “I always heard you were daring and reckless, my lord, but I think you must be a trifle mad. And I would have to be mad to accept.”

He adopted a lazy smile. “In some circles, you might be considered mad to refuse. Most single ladies of my acquaintance would jump at an offer of matrimony from me. Evidently I was right. You
are
very unique, Miss Sheridan.”

“Why? Because I have the good taste to prefer spinsterhood above allying myself with a rogue like you?”

“Now you wound my feelings.”

“I doubt that is possible,” she retorted lightly. She shook her head again. “So you wish me to pretend to be your betrothed?”

“Yes. It would only be a temporary arrangement, of course. Once Amy is safely settled, you may cry off. That is the usual etiquette—for the lady to withdraw from the betrothal. You simply have to announce that you and I don’t suit.”

“That would be no falsehood,” Diana muttered. “We wouldn’t suit in the slightest. It strains the imagination to think I would ever accept a proposal of marriage from you.”

Understanding her instinctive resistance, Thorne held up a hand. “Please, hear me out before you refuse.”

Skeptically, she crossed her arms over her chest. “Very well, I am willing to listen.”

“There are several advantages to both you and Amy. Not the least of which is the prestige of my family name. You intimated that your reputation is somewhat tarnished by your past elopement. I doubt I’m misjudging to suggest that a betrothal to me would make you more acceptable to society.”