Lord of Fire by Gaelen Foley

Author:Gaelen Foley [Foley, Gaelen]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi, pdf
Published: 2012-02-05T16:17:48+00:00

In the elegant suite at the Pulteney Hotel, Rollo Greene stared, aghast, as the soulless blond giant looked in the mirror and gave his white cravat a final tug, then slipped his loaded pistol into the holster concealed beneath his formal black tailcoat.

“Not on Guy Fawkes Night, Bardou, for the love of God!” Rollo choked out. “It is a festival night! The streets will be filled with civilians—children!”

“You were assigned to assist me, Greene. Do not tell me how to carry out my mission,” Bardou replied coolly.

“Look here, sir, I can’t speak for you French, but massacring civilians is not how we in America conduct business!”

Bardou laughed. He turned away and swaggered across the plush room to Sophia. Her arms folded over her chest, the tall Russian beauty leaned against the console table by the wall with all the sleek, wary mystery of a Siamese cat. Rollo saw the fear and hostility that flared in her almond-shaped eyes as Bardou approached her, but she did not attempt to escape his attentions anymore, as she had earlier, resigned to having been overpowered by the man. She flinched slightly as Bardou grasped her hips and pulled her against him, burying his face in the crook of her neck.

Rollo winced and looked at the ground. He wished there was something he could do to help her, but he could not afford to oppose Bardou on his treatment of the woman when it took all his nerve to press the matter of Guy Fawkes Night. The annual bonfire festival was held throughout England every year on November the fifth, two weeks away.

Bardou was still concealing the details of his plan from him, but Rollo had begun to realize that the former Napoleonic spy had far more mischief up his sleeve than he had been hired to wreak. Clearly, Bardou’s French hatred for the English ran much deeper than did the Virginia planters’ grudge. They had wanted something done on a smaller scale, more specifically aimed at the British military, preferably the navy.

Rollo knew that if somebody didn’t stop Bardou, innocent people were going to die; and if the world found out that a group of powerful Americans was behind the coming firestorm, there would be shame and infamy for his president, dire consequences for his country. Not to mention his own career would be ruined for having bungled his assignment.

“Bardou, I am only asking you to reconsider the timing of your attack,” he wheedled him. “I am certain that the gentlemen in Virginia intended no such radical action against the populace of London—”

“Shut your mouth!” Bardou roared, turning on him, tearing himself away from his mistress.

Rollo’s eyes widened as Bardou crossed the room to him in three titan-sized strides, grasped him by the lapels, and threw him up against the wall, nearly putting him through it.

“I give the orders; you follow them,” he snarled. “Stay out of my way, or you are going to end up at the bottom of the river.” He released him roughly.

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