Nicole Jordan (41 page)

Another blow claimed Thorne’s full attention then. Pinning the struggling Finch with his weight, Thorne managed to pull his knife from his pocket and hold the blade to his opponent’s throat.

Finch instantly went still, although both of them were breathing hard after their bout.

Thorne glanced down the hall, seeing that the footman was on his feet again and moving quickly toward the door in pursuit of Birkin. Yates, hampered by his wooden leg, was rising more slowly.

Just then the brawny figure of Sam Birkin backed through the doorway, his hands held high over his head in surrender.

Diana was holding the man at gunpoint, Thorne realized, a chill squeezing his ribs.

He wanted to curse her for putting herself in danger when he’d specifically ordered her to remain out of it, but he couldn’t help it; he felt himself grin. The sight of the elegant lady facing down a much larger brute was highly entertaining and roused his sense of pride at the same time.

She kept her pistol trained on Birkin, while her glance searched the hall. When it came to rest on Thorne, he saw the relief in her eyes and knew she had been worried for him.

But she merely raised her pistol a slight degree and asked coolly, “Now what am I supposed to do with him?”

Thorne gave a bark of laughter and climbed to his feet, hauling Billy Finch up after him.

When Finch looked hard at the front door, as if judging whether he could get away, Thorne grinned again. “You are welcome to try. I’m just looking for an excuse to perforate your spleen.”

He clamped a hand over Finch’s shoulder and turned him toward the rear of the hall. “Mr. Yates, let us escort our friends to a more suitable room. We need to have a little chat. And Ned,” he added, addressing the footman, “take Miss Sheridan’s pistol and search the house to see if there are any other bloodthirsty culprits lurking about.”

“Aye, m’lord.”

By this time Yates had recovered his own pistol from where it had fallen, so he took control of the prisoner from Diana and brandished his weapon at Birkin.

They escorted their captives to the kitchen and made them sit on the floor while they proceeded to bind their hands and feet with twine.

Diana, noticing that Thorne’s cheek was bleeding from a cut, found a dry dishcloth and silently pressed it to his wound. With a slight smile, he took the cloth from her, then settled a hip on the long wooden table and proceeded to interrogate the prisoners.

Initially both bruisers remained sullenly mute, until Thorne commanded Yates to check Birkin’s chest for bullet wounds. Yates was none too gentle when he ripped open the burly man’s shirt and exposed a healing scar in his left shoulder, most likely from a lead ball.

“I shot you, didn’t I?” Thorne prodded.

Birkin sent him a look of savage dislike.

“It’s all the same to me, but you’ll hang for highway robbery unless you convince me to show you leniency. Who gave you your orders to kill me? Your mistress, Venus?”

Billy Finch answered for his cohort. “Nay, it warn’t her.”

“Who, then?”

“It was ’er brother Thomas.”

Thorne went very still. So, it
was
true—Kitty had been speaking of Thomas Forrester. “How is that possible? I was under the impression Thomas Forrester died in a fire seven months ago.”

“ ’E didn’t die.”

“Shut yer trap,” Birkin snapped.

Finch scowled back. “I ain’t dancing on the gibbet for the likes of you.”

“Ye’re just as guilty as me—”

Thorne gave a weary sigh. “My good sirs, I’ll thank you to spare your breaths unless it’s to answer my questions. Let’s start at the beginning. You say that Thomas Forrester is actually alive?”

Billy Finch nodded reluctantly. “ ’E was wanted for treason, so ’e burned down ’is lodgings to make it look like ’e was dead and killed a bloke so there would be a body.”

Thorne tried to hide his frown. If Forrester had fabricated his own death last fall, then it possibly put a different slant on the events of the past weeks and months, including his own suspicions of Venus.

“Is this Madam Venus’s house?” Thorne asked, sweeping an arm around the kitchen. “I was told she came here occasionally to visit her lover, but that wasn’t the case, was it? She came here to see her brother.”

“Aye,” Sam Birkin growled.

“And Forrester was the one who ordered you to kill me? Not Venus?”

Birkin gave a terse nod. “Our orders came from Forrester. ’E wanted you dead.”

“Why?”

There was a brief pause. “Ye’re a Guardian, ain’t you? Seems like Mr. Forrester ’ates all Guardians.”

Thorne saw Diana’s frown of puzzlement, but she held her tongue as he quickly changed the subject and asked a different question. “What about Nathaniel Lunsford? Who killed him last spring? The two of you?”

“Nay, ’twas Forrester that knifed ’im, I swear it.”

“Did Madam Venus have a hand in it?”

Birkin shook his head. “She grieved when she learned of it.”

“Where is Venus now?”

“I don’t ken,” Birkin answered. “We ’aven’t laid eyes on ’er since last week. She told us we couldn’t kill you, and if we tried, she would ’ave our skins. She wasn’t ’appy, I can tell you that. Mayhap she went to give ’er brother a piece of ’er mind.”

“Then where has Forrester gone?” Thorne pressed.

The two bruisers glanced at each other.

“We can’t say,” Birkin muttered.

“You can’t, or you won’t?”

“Can’t. Forrester ain’t even in the country, as far as we know. ’E planned to set sail last week.”

Thorne felt his heart lurch. “What was his destination?” he forced himself to ask casually.

“Some island, ’e said. On the other side of Spain.”

This time Thorne felt his blood go cold. Thomas Forrester was likely sailing for Cyrene, no doubt to carry out his plans for revenge against Sir Gawain Olwen and the Guardians. But had Venus sailed with him? That would explain her disappearance five days ago. The two of them likely intended to avenge their parents’ deaths by killing Sir Gawain.

Narrowing his eyes, Thorne met Sam Birkin’s gaze. “Tell me, when exactly was the last time you saw Forrester?”

“Thursday. ’Twas afternoon sometime.”

Then he had no time to lose. Forrester likely had sailed Thursday night and so had five days’ head start already.

Thorne stood up, thinking furiously. He first had to see to Birkin and Finch, to arrange their incarceration in prison until he could deal with them. And if at all feasible, he wanted to confirm Forrester’s destination by examining the rosters of all the shipping agents in London. He had to alert his crew and order his schooner made ready to sail as soon as possible, which likely would not be until tomorrow evening. He would have to send Diana home—

Remembering her presence, he looked up to meet Diana’s troubled eyes. Out of all his tasks, he suspected this last would prove the most difficult, for she was watching him intently. He would have to offer her some sort of explanation, Thorne knew, for why he had to follow Forrester to Cyrene, but he wasn’t looking forward to answering the questions she was certain to ask.

Diana made no protest when Thorne escorted her to her carriage so that she could be driven home, since he promised to call on her as soon as he was able. But as he started to hand her inside, she directed her coachman to take her to Lord Thorne’s house instead.

“I intend to wait for you there,” Diana said sweetly to Thorne, ignoring his scowl of exasperation. Until now she had been patient and meekly obliging, but it was time he stopped fobbing her off with concerns for her safety and told her what was happening.

The wait, however, proved surprisingly difficult for Diana. Thorne’s majordomo and household staff welcomed her and made her comfortable in the drawing room, but her agitation wouldn’t leave her.

For one thing, her nerves were still unsettled from the fear and tumult of the day, particularly their brief brush with danger.

Upon hearing shouts and gunfire coming from inside the house, she’d left her carriage against Thorne’s orders and approached the front steps just as that huge brute Birkin came racing out the door. He was too wild-eyed and frantic to see her at first, so reacting instinctively, she had stepped into his path and put out her foot, tripping him and watching him land with a satisfying thud, then raising her pistol when he tried to struggle to his feet. He obviously believed her threat to shoot him, for all the fight suddenly seemed to drain out of him.

But it was her concern for Thorne that had unnerved her more. She couldn’t help remembering the alarming scene that had met her eyes when she’d followed her prisoner into the house: Thorne locked in a savage struggle, then holding a knife to his opponent’s throat, his own face bloodied and bruised.

She knew he was capable of violence, but seeing him risk his life again like that had set her emotions in turmoil. Her relief that he’d emerged relatively unscathed barely outweighed her fear for him, knowing those men and others—including Venus’s brother, apparently—were determined to kill him.

A final source of agitation was her frustration at being kept in the dark. Her distress over Venus’s evident culpability was only compounded by her ignorance regarding the murderous machinations of this Thomas Forrester.

There was far more to the tale than Thorne had revealed thus far, Diana realized, and she wanted answers.

She also knew that her own personal wishes would have to be put on hold for now. She’d had every intention of ending her betrothal to Thorne the next time she saw him, but the need to keep him safe from a murderer certainly took precedence over her desire to keep him safe from an obligatory marriage to her.

It was nearly ten o’clock before Thorne joined her in the drawing room, looking tired and grim. He went straight to the brandy decanter and poured himself a full measure of the amber liquid before settling in an armchair across from her.

Diana set down the book she’d been attempting to read and waited.

Thorne took a long swallow of brandy and then met her gaze. “So where do you want me to begin?” he asked simply.

Relieved that he understood her need and that she wouldn’t have to fight to drag the information out of him, Diana smiled faintly. “I suppose you should start with the unknown element in this mystery. Who is Thomas Forrester, and why does he want you dead?”

“He’s Venus’s older brother. I first learned of his existence from the administrator of the girl’s orphanage in Rye. As for his motives, I presume he dislikes the fact that I’ve been investigating his possible treason. Our government has long suspected him of collaborating with the French.”

“Nathaniel suspected him also? He mentioned French spies in his letter to you.”

Thorne grimaced. “Yes, there’s no question now. Nathaniel was on Thomas Forrester’s trail last spring. I spent the past four days in Sussex confirming it—and tracing Forrester’s footsteps. Last fall he was nearly arrested for treason, but then he reportedly perished in a fire when his lodging house burned down. Today was the first inkling I’ve had that he was still alive. I now realize why.”

Diana was silent for a long moment while she searched Thorne’s face. “Do you mean to tell me about the Guardians?”

Thorne’s body went very still as he eyed her warily. “I swore an oath of secrecy, Diana.”

“I presumed as much. It’s long been clear to me that you’re hiding a deeper secret than merely the motive for Nathaniel’s murder. You are intent on foiling some sort of wider intrigue, aren’t you? Was Nathaniel a Guardian? I think I deserve to know,” she added softly when he remained mute.

Roughly Thorne ran a hand through his hair and finally exhaled a sigh. Diana did deserve to know why Nathaniel had been killed, and why he himself was in danger now. Not only had she proved herself, but he’d come to trust and respect her abilities and judgment. Yet he still had to preserve his oath to the order.

“I cannot tell you much. There are too many lives at risk. Once we’re wed, it will be a different matter.”

She hesitated at that. “What
can
you tell me? You don’t just work for the Foreign Office, do you?”

“No. We’re a centuries-old order, established to fight tyranny and evil. A society of protectors, if you will, charged with upholding a noble cause. We keep our existence clandestine, since revealing our activities could destroy our effectiveness and imperil not only our members but those we aid. That’s really all I can say about it.”

Although Diana frowned, she seemed prepared to accept his explanation. “Does your Aunt Hennessy know about the Guardians?”

“No, she knows nothing of it. She thinks I perform a few commissions now and then for the Foreign Office and for Sir Gawain Olwen, but she has no notion that I’m one of Sir Gawain’s chief representatives in London.”

“What about your father?”

Thorne’s mouth quirked in a wry smile. “Oh, yes, my father knows I joined the order. In fact, he’s the one who sent me to Sir Gawain in the first place, because he thought I needed redeeming.”

A flicker of amusement crossed Diana’s features as she scrutinized him. “And were you redeemed?”

“For the most part. As an outsider, my father isn’t privy to our secrets, but he does realize that what I do is often dangerous—which is the prime reason he’s so set on me marrying and siring an heir.” His smile fading, Thorne leaned forward, his own gaze intense. “I believe in our cause, Diana. I would die for it. But I can’t share any more details.”

The troubled look she gave him suggested she wanted to press him, but she refrained. “So what do you intend to do now?”

Silently blessing her, Thorne leaned back in his chair. “There is a strong likelihood that Forrester means to kill Sir Gawain, and I must stop him.”

“Kill Sir Gawain?” Diana asked in alarm.

Thorne nodded. “I’m certain he will attempt it at some point. Forrester has long wanted revenge against the Guardians, and I expect he considers this his last chance.”

“But how can you stop him?”

“By reaching Cyrene before he does. I’ve ordered my ship made ready to sail tomorrow night with the tide. My schooner is undoubtedly faster than anything Forrester could command, but he will have nearly a week’s head start. And it would be helpful to confirm that’s where he is headed. At the moment, Yates is scouring London shipping agents, trying to discover if Forrester booked passage on any packets destined for the Mediterranean or perhaps hired his own vessel. We haven’t time to check any other ports such as Falmouth or Southhampton.”