Read Online Nicole Jordan by Lord of Seduction - Free Book Online
Authors: Lord of Seduction
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loved Nathaniel like a brother. And I meant no insult to you by attempting to conceal his secrets. It wasn’t widely known, but Nathaniel occasionally performed tasks for the British Foreign Office.”
She stared at him. “Then it
is
possible his death was more than simple robbery.”
“It’s possible, yes. Perhaps you understand now why I cannot be more forthcoming. But you may trust me to investigate the matter fully. If Nathaniel met with foul play as the result of some sinister plot regarding his work, I promise you justice will be done.”
She studied him for a long moment, her gaze troubled. “I suppose I must be satisfied with that.”
“I’m afraid you must.” Then, to distract her: “You haven’t mentioned your suspicions to Amy, I hope.”
“No, I never even showed her the contents of the letter,” Diana said, still frowning. “I thought it best to wait until I had spoken to you.”
“I appreciate your discretion. Now, if you will excuse me”—Thorne rose to his feet and gave her a polite bow—“I believe I will set some inquiries in motion.”
He made his escape, aware that her uneasy gaze was following him all the while.
Three
A
s he
rode through the gates of Olwen Castle a short while later, Thorne purposely tried to put Diana Sheridan out of his mind. He needed to focus on the task ahead—unearthing Nathaniel’s killer and the traitor who’d sought to expose the Guardians’ identities to the French.
Thorne knew he would be expected at the castle, since after reading the staggering contents of the letter, he’d immediately sent a message to Sir Gawain requesting an interview.
He hadn’t exactly lied when he’d told Diana that Nathaniel worked for the British Foreign Office. That was the excuse the Guardians often used to protect their identities and to explain their clandestine activities.
Publicly Sir Gawain Olwen was thought to head a small, select branch of the Foreign Office. But few people realized the vast extent of their organization, or how deeply the Guardians permeated present British and other European society. Or knew the remarkable tale of their inception.
The Guardians of the Sword had been formed more than a thousand years ago by a handful of Britain’s most legendary warriors—outcasts who had found exile there. Now the order was run by their descendants and operated mainly across Europe, and it was headquartered at Cyrene because the location offered rapid access to parts of the Continent where crises tended to develop with alarming frequency.
Commanded by Sir Gawain, the Guardians were well connected and well financed, and they functioned something like a modern force of mercenaries—but with a higher calling: protecting the weak, the vulnerable, the deserving. Fighting tyranny. Working for the good of mankind.
For the past three decades, the order had primarily endeavored to meet the grave challenges spawned by the French Revolution and Napoleon’s subsequent rush to conquer all the known world, performing missions far too difficult and dangerous for the Foreign Office to undertake.
And throughout all their perilous endeavors, they’d developed into a band of close friends and adventurers who would die for one another and for their cause.
Thorne would lay down his life for the order without hesitation, for he fiercely believed in their noble ideals. The Guardians had been his salvation. Before he’d joined, his wild, self-indulgent existence had taken him down a path of debauchery and destruction. Now the order not only filled his craving for danger and excitement, but gave him a laudable purpose in life.
It enraged him that someone would plot to destroy the Guardians, and it enraged him more that Nathaniel likely had been a target of such treachery.
But if Nathaniel had been murdered by a traitor, Thorne intended to strike back and avenge his friend’s death. First, however, he needed to develop a plan of attack.
When he
She stared at him. “Then it
is
possible his death was more than simple robbery.”
“It’s possible, yes. Perhaps you understand now why I cannot be more forthcoming. But you may trust me to investigate the matter fully. If Nathaniel met with foul play as the result of some sinister plot regarding his work, I promise you justice will be done.”
She studied him for a long moment, her gaze troubled. “I suppose I must be satisfied with that.”
“I’m afraid you must.” Then, to distract her: “You haven’t mentioned your suspicions to Amy, I hope.”
“No, I never even showed her the contents of the letter,” Diana said, still frowning. “I thought it best to wait until I had spoken to you.”
“I appreciate your discretion. Now, if you will excuse me”—Thorne rose to his feet and gave her a polite bow—“I believe I will set some inquiries in motion.”
He made his escape, aware that her uneasy gaze was following him all the while.
Three
A
s he
rode through the gates of Olwen Castle a short while later, Thorne purposely tried to put Diana Sheridan out of his mind. He needed to focus on the task ahead—unearthing Nathaniel’s killer and the traitor who’d sought to expose the Guardians’ identities to the French.
Thorne knew he would be expected at the castle, since after reading the staggering contents of the letter, he’d immediately sent a message to Sir Gawain requesting an interview.
He hadn’t exactly lied when he’d told Diana that Nathaniel worked for the British Foreign Office. That was the excuse the Guardians often used to protect their identities and to explain their clandestine activities.
Publicly Sir Gawain Olwen was thought to head a small, select branch of the Foreign Office. But few people realized the vast extent of their organization, or how deeply the Guardians permeated present British and other European society. Or knew the remarkable tale of their inception.
The Guardians of the Sword had been formed more than a thousand years ago by a handful of Britain’s most legendary warriors—outcasts who had found exile there. Now the order was run by their descendants and operated mainly across Europe, and it was headquartered at Cyrene because the location offered rapid access to parts of the Continent where crises tended to develop with alarming frequency.
Commanded by Sir Gawain, the Guardians were well connected and well financed, and they functioned something like a modern force of mercenaries—but with a higher calling: protecting the weak, the vulnerable, the deserving. Fighting tyranny. Working for the good of mankind.
For the past three decades, the order had primarily endeavored to meet the grave challenges spawned by the French Revolution and Napoleon’s subsequent rush to conquer all the known world, performing missions far too difficult and dangerous for the Foreign Office to undertake.
And throughout all their perilous endeavors, they’d developed into a band of close friends and adventurers who would die for one another and for their cause.
Thorne would lay down his life for the order without hesitation, for he fiercely believed in their noble ideals. The Guardians had been his salvation. Before he’d joined, his wild, self-indulgent existence had taken him down a path of debauchery and destruction. Now the order not only filled his craving for danger and excitement, but gave him a laudable purpose in life.
It enraged him that someone would plot to destroy the Guardians, and it enraged him more that Nathaniel likely had been a target of such treachery.
But if Nathaniel had been murdered by a traitor, Thorne intended to strike back and avenge his friend’s death. First, however, he needed to develop a plan of attack.
When he
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