Nicole Jordan (47 page)

Diana clamped her hand over her mouth to mute the scream welling in her own throat. Thorne had jolted to a halt, his head smashing against the wall at his back. Now he hung suspended upside down, one leg hooked precariously over the edge.

Needles of fear stabbed through her as she watched, afraid to move, afraid even to breathe. For the past hour she had imagined Thorne locked in a deadly battle with Thomas Forrester, but nothing she’d envisioned was as terrifying as this.

Thorne remained there for an endless moment, while Diana wondered frantically why he was waiting so long to try to right himself.

“He must be attempting to regain his bearings,” Yates said beside her. “Striking the wall like that no doubt knocked him half senseless and drove the breath from him, as well. And now he’s trying to summon his strength.”

That must have been the case, Diana realized, for Thorne finally began to move. Reaching up slowly with one hand, he clutched at the stone parapet and managed to wrap his fingers over one of the crenellations.

Then he seemed to take a deep breath and stretched up his other arm, grasping the edge.

Paralyzed, her fists clenched, Diana watched his struggle. She could almost feel his muscles straining as he strove desperately to pull himself up.

“Please, God…” Every prayer she could think of clamored in her mind; every nerve and sinew in her body willed him to succeed.

An eternity later, he managed to hook one arm around the crenellation.

He held on for a long moment. Then with a final, fierce effort, he hauled his torso up and heaved himself over the wall.

A sob of relief choking her, Diana squeezed her eyes shut and swayed in the saddle. Her vision was swimming from all the blood rushing to her head, for her heart had suddenly starting beating again.

Through a daze she heard Yates’s whispered prayer of gratitude. “Thank God.”

“Yes,” she rasped so weakly that Yates turned to give her a sharp glance.

He apparently noticed she was shaking, for alarm etched his countenance. “You are quite pale, Diana. Do you want to dismount and lie down?”

She managed a wan smile. “No…I am fine…really. But that was so terrifying.”

“Indeed. But Thorne has had countless close calls before this, and he always manages to survive. You really shouldn’t worry for him.”

She bit back a helpless laugh. It would be impossible for her not to worry about Thorne. Now, however, she just needed to see him, to assure herself that he was safe and alive and unharmed.

With Yates, she waited anxiously to gain access to the castle. She was aware that a score of other riders milled about behind her—no doubt islanders summoned to the castle’s defense—and she heard Yates speak to several of them. But she paid them little mind. When the drawbridge was lowered a few moments later, Diana was the first one across.

Upon reaching the bailey, she abruptly halted her horse, searching wildly for Thorne. All the fighting seemed to be over. A number of people crowded the courtyard, some of whom were obviously prisoners—Forrester’s brigands, of course—and others who must be the castle inhabitants.

To her right, some distance away, she saw a group of men in earnest consultation, and her heart leapt when she recognized Thorne’s golden head a moment before he turned and spied her. She spurred her horse toward him, while he broke away at once, moving to intercept her.

When they met, he grasped her mount’s bridle to steady her, then reached up to haul Diana from her saddle, into his embrace. She wrapped her arms tightly around his neck as Thorne kissed her fiercely. She was half-laughing, half-sobbing, wholly rejoicing that he was alive as his hot mouth wordlessly gave her the reassurance she so desperately needed.

Even so, she was still trembling when he finally drew back, and she felt another stab of fear upon realizing his forehead was matted with blood.

Thorne’s mouth curved ruefully at her gasp. “It’s merely a scratch from an encounter with a rock,” he assured her. “Otherwise I’m uninjured.”

He was doubtless stretching the truth, she could tell from his poor bruised face. But he gave her no time to question him before grasping her elbow and guiding her away from the group of men behind him. “You don’t want to see this.”

“See what?” Diana asked, reflexively looking over her shoulder.

He had been standing over a prone figure—the body of Thomas Forrester, Diana realized, her stomach lurching. Of course a fall from that tremendous height would have rendered any features beyond recognition. And that could so easily have been Thorne lying there….

She reeled dizzily, clutching his arm, and was grateful for the bracing effect when he planted another firm kiss on her lips.

Just then a silver-haired man came forward, a welcoming smile on his lips. Distractedly, Diana recognized Sir Gawain from her previous visit to the island several months ago.

Graciously he took her gloved hand. “I understand I owe you a major debt, Miss Sheridan. Permit Yates to make you comfortable in the drawing room while we deal with matters here. I will join you as soon as may be, to offer you my gratitude in a more civilized fashion.”

“Yes, go with Yates,” Thorne seconded. “I mean to return to the harbor to fetch Venus.”

“If you will come with me, Diana,” Yates said, taking her elbow.

Reluctantly she yielded, accompanying Yates into the castle. But she halted when they reached the great hall, preferring, she explained to her escort, to remain here where she could see what was happening.

Yates was not overjoyed to disregard his superior’s orders, but he didn’t press her. Instead he led her to an out-of-the-way corner and let her watch.

More people had congregated in the vast hall—some prisoners, some wounded, and some dead, Diana saw with a shudder. There were weapons strewn on the floor and furniture overturned, as if a battle had taken place here.

She could sense the subdued mood that had fallen over the castle, and in the succeeding interval, she learned why: Thorne might have triumphed in killing his foe, and the remainder of Forrester’s men had surrendered without a fight, but two of Sir Gawain’s servants had been killed defending the castle, and several more were wounded.

During the next hour, the island doctor was sent for to care for the wounded, arrangements were made to bury the dead, and the disposition of the prisoners was decided. And Thorne reportedly returned to the harbor to escort Venus under guard to the castle, since Sir Gawain wanted to interview the madam personally.

The meeting was to be held in the baronet’s private study, and Diana was permitted to attend, to her surprise.

Sir Gawain himself escorted her there and settled her in a comfortable sitting area with a glass of wine, along with John Yates and Santos Verra, the jovial Spaniard whom Thorne had said was a former smuggler.

She was barely seated when a striking, dark-haired man sauntered in—an Englishman by the name of Alex Ryder, whom she had met during her first visit to Cyrene. With his black-eyed gaze and smoldering intensity, Mr. Ryder looked so dangerous that Diana now suspected he was also a Guardian like Thorne.

A few moments later, they were joined by another virile, even taller gentleman, who was introduced to her as Mr. Trey Deverill. Diana was immediately struck by his powerful build, bold gaze, and strong, sun-bronzed features.

Both Ryder and Deverill would make excellent subjects for a portrait, Diana found herself thinking.

Sir Gawain must have been waiting for the newcomer, for he commented immediately, “Excellent timing, Deverill. I have asked Miss Sheridan to give an account of all her dealings with Madam Venus, and I wish you to hear it.”

Diana complied readily, telling them everything she could remember about the conversations during their portrait sittings and the pertinent events afterward: Venus’s confessions about being an orphan, the nearly lethal coach holdup by the club’s two bruisers, Venus’s subsequent disappearance from London, Kitty’s eavesdropping, capturing the two bruisers who’d admitted Thomas Forrester’s intent to kill Thorne and his earlier murder of her cousin Nathaniel.

Sir Gawain’s gentle, probing questions showed a keen mind as he drew details from Diana that she forgot she even knew. And he listened carefully to her opinions about how seriously Venus had been involved in her brother Thomas’s conspiracy.

When the baronet praised Diana’s courage, however, and thanked her for her efforts in behalf of the Guardians, she demurred, saying that anyone would have done the same.

Alex Ryder’s crooked smile was amused. “If you think that, Miss Sheridan, you greatly overestimate human nature. I would say Thorne is extremely lucky to have you.”

“I am indeed lucky,” Thorne drawled in agreement as he entered the study.

Her head lifting abruptly, Diana drank in the sight of him. He still looked the worse for wear, and she found herself upset by the languid, careless smile he gave her. The wine had fortified her, so that her nerves were calmer now, but she shuddered to remember how narrowly he’d escaped death—and here he was, acting as if he’d performed no more strenuous a feat than a stroll in Hyde Park.

Her attention shifted a moment later, though, when Venus was led in by two guards.

Diana surveyed the beautiful madam with sadness, noticing for the first time that her gown was stained and torn; but then Venus would have had nothing else to wear during the long voyage to Cyrene, if she had indeed been forced to accompany Thomas against her will. Additionally, her wrists were raw from her bonds, Diana saw, wincing.

Dismissing the guards, Thorne brought Venus forward and made her known to the baronet and then to the other gentlemen in the room besides Yates—Ryder, Deverill, and Señor Verra.

Sir Gawain was extremely polite to her, offering her wine and waiting until she was settled beside Diana before speaking.

“My condolences on the death of your brother, Miss Forrester.”

Dismay flashed in her green eyes, but she met Sir Gawain’s gaze steadily. “You may address me as Venus, or madam. Miss Forrester died a long time ago.”

“Very well, madam. I am certain you comprehend our need to investigate the events leading to today’s tragedy.”

Venus glanced briefly at Thorne, who had remained standing. “Lord Thorne suggested as much. You want a full confession.”

“The truth would be preferable. We lost two good men today, with several more injured, one critically.”

For the first time she lowered her gaze. “I am truly sorry for that. I did not want it to happen.”

“Perhaps you will be so kind as to explain why your brother was so set on achieving my demise.”

Absently Venus rubbed her ravaged wrists with her thumbs. “I believe you know why, Sir Gawain. Thomas has always wanted revenge.”

“I should like to hear your perspective.”

She looked up again to regard him levelly. “It is simple. We hated you. We hated the Guardians, but you most of all, Sir Gawain. We were mere children when you killed our parents. We were sent to toil in work homes, under brutal conditions. You cost us everything: our family, our future, our innocence.”

The elderly man gave a soft sigh. “I regret the death of your parents, Madam Venus, but you are laboring under a severe misconception about what actually happened.”

A humorless smile twisted her lush mouth. “So Lord Thorne tells me. Apparently my father was the one who killed my mother after taking us all hostage. He refused to surrender and be hanged for treason.” She shook her head briefly. “You must forgive me if I have difficulty accepting that account. For twenty years I have believed otherwise.”

“Nevertheless, it is the truth. You were a mere child at the time, however, so I can understand how you might have misconstrued events. But pray continue. You were explaining how your brother was driven by hatred of me, and that you shared his hatred.”

“Thomas was all the family I had. When he rescued me from a life of toil and poverty, I was more than willing to follow him.”

“How did he become set on destroying the Guardians?”

“His entire life he sought to discover your identities. But it was only four years ago, when you visited London, that he recognized you as the man who led the raid that resulted in our parents’ deaths. Then another of your enemies, a Frenchman, identified you as a Guardian. It was then that Thomas hired French agents to learn all he could about you and your fellow Guardians, where you lived, how you functioned, what your vulnerabilities might be.”

Observing Venus, Sir Gawain steepled his fingers and pressed them to his lips in grave contemplation. “Tell me about these French agents. I presume they were Bonapartists?”

“Yes. Some of Napoleon’s chief delegates. They were nearly as eager for your destruction as my brother was, since the Guardians were responsible for thwarting their goals on numerous occasions. Together with Thomas they hatched a plot to achieve your downfall. Killing you would not only satisfy my brother’s need for vengeance, but decapitate the head of your order and cripple its effectiveness, as well.”

“But they failed, did they not?”

“Because Napoleon was unexpectedly defeated. After the emperor’s abdication last April, Thomas could no longer rely on the French to aid him. And your isolation here on Cyrene made it difficult to gain access to your secrets.”

“So last fall he hired two informants to infiltrate our island society to discover our identities? Danielle and Peter Newham.”

Venus nodded. “They were charged with developing a roster of your membership. But Thomas’s ultimate goal always was to kill you, Sir Gawain.”

“How did Nathaniel Lunsford become involved?”

Venus looked down at her hands once more. “By chance he saw Thomas in the company of a French agent and so began watching for other signs. Nathaniel soon realized my brother was colluding with the French and set about gathering proof for an arrest.”

“Which is why your brother killed him?”

“Yes.” Her voice was a mere whisper.

“And what role did you play, madam?”

“Yes, tell him,” Thorne interrupted. He had propped a shoulder casually against the wall, but his voice was hard. “Tell Sir Gawain what you confided to me a short while ago during our ride here.”