Secrets for Seducing a Royal Bodyguard (14 page)

“You are known for playing deep and often, and for winning,” he finally said. “Very consistently, I might add. Gambling to such a degree is a rather unusual avocation for a gently bred, unmarried young woman.”

Normally, it didn’t bother her that some members of the
ton
disapproved of her behavior. Almost everyone gambled and played cards, even young ladies like her. Of course, most young ladies didn’t bet the kind of sums she did, or play at tables with experienced gamblers, most of them men. But Vivien wouldn’t apologize for that. She’d learned long ago to take pride in her skills and to leave shame behind. Yes, some might find her conduct bordering on the disgraceful, but she’d far rather face a little gossip and the occasional snub than have her mother reduced to impecunious dependence on Cyrus. Or see Kit land in debtors’ prison or the army.

But for the first time in a long time, her cheeks heated with shame, both for herself and for her family. She didn’t like that one bit.

“Do you disapprove?” she challenged, lacing her fingers together in front of her as she waited for him to answer. She would
not
apologize for what she did, nor stoop to defend it. If he didn’t understand, so be it.

He studied her, part of his face cast in shadow by the flickering light of the wall sconce behind him. His gaze was veiled, unknowable, and Vivien suddenly realized how little she understood him. Their enforced intimacy of a few nights ago had been nothing more than a trick of the emotions, generated by the bizarre and dangerous situation. She might have fooled herself into thinking she knew him but, in truth, he remained a stranger.

But a stranger whose approval, for some reason, she craved.

Just when she began to think he wouldn’t answer, his lips parted. “It is not my position to approve or disapprove, my lady. Only you can be the true judge of your own behavior.”

Which clearly meant he
did
disapprove, putting him in the camp of those who judged, and found her behavior wanting. She stared at him for a few seconds before she found a way past the irrational disappointment to answer him.

“Well, I shall leave you to your own devices then, Captain. I wouldn’t want my scandalous behavior to shock you more than it already has. Good night.”

Impatience flashed across his face, breaking his iron control. “That’s not what I meant,” he said, reaching for her.

Somehow, she evaded his grasp, slipping away into the crowd. As she moved between the tables, she resisted the temptation to look back. But her chest squeezed with a horrible combination of resentment toward him and dissatisfaction with herself. Even worse, she missed him by her side, an emotion that surely qualified her for the madhouse. How could she long for the company of a man who disapproved of her, and probably saw her as no more than a troublesome obligation foisted on him by Sir Dominic?

No. The sooner she forgot about Captain Aden St. George, the better. She had business to attend to this night, and she needed to have all her concentration focused on that business.

But as Vivien slipped into an open place at the loo table, she couldn’t help one glance back at the door. St. George was gone, thank goodness, but her concentration had probably departed with him. Fighting a headache from the noise and heat, and from her own tangled feelings, she put her markers down on the table.

When she lost three tricks in a row, she knew her luck had vanished with St. George.

Susan beamed as she finished curling Vivien’s hair. “You look a picture, my lady, God’s truth. Those Russian lords and princes will be falling all over themselves to sit next to you.”

Vivien managed to give her maid a sickly smile. That was her exact fear, and from one Russian prince in particular. Lord knows she’d made every excuse to avoid her brother’s dinner party to honor the Russian ambassador once she’d confirmed that Khovansky would be attending. But Cyrus wouldn’t hear of it, thundering that she must attend or face any number of vaguely uttered threats. Even when their mother had offered to play hostess in her stead, Cyrus had still carried on, reducing Mamma to a quivering bundle of nerves. Finally, Vivien had relented in the certain knowledge that Cyrus would make everyone in the house miserable if she didn’t.

Susan moved about the bedroom, tidying up and putting away discarded clothing. Vivien rummaged around in the drawers of her dressing table until she found the gold fan that matched her dress. It wouldn’t be just an accessory, not tonight. Between the roaring fires in the overheated rooms Cyrus insisted upon and her anxiety over Khovansky, she’d be in a nervous lather all night. Truthfully, she already was.

She’d done what she could to minimize contact with Ivan the Terrible, like sneaking down earlier and switching the place cards at the dinner table. Khovansky would now spend dinner between the Dowager Countess of Markwith, the deafest woman in the
ton,
and Lady Peaksworth, the most talkative. The fact that Vivien had been reduced to such a childish subterfuge was a sad indication of how desperate she’d become.

Gathering up her fan and gloves, she did a last check of her shimmering gold silk dress and headed for the door. She couldn’t wait for the evening to be over since she had better things to do—like winning enough money to pay off Kit’s debt. Thanks to St. George and his uncanny ability to fluster her, Vivien’s winnings at the Darlington ball had been meager. The man was a menace to her peace of mind and she needed to stay well away from him, especially given the next step in her plan.

Before she could reach the door a brief knock sounded. Cyrus let himself in, looking pompous and harried.

“What is it, Cyrus?” Vivien asked as she pulled on her gloves. “The guests will be here any minute and I don’t want to be late.”

Her brother scowled at her from under his thick, dark brows. Of the three Blake children, only he took after their father. Tall and rather heavyset, he carried himself with the same innate dignity. Cyrus, unfortunately, had not inherited their father’s kind nature. Her brother combined the worst of their parents’ dispositions—Papa’s ponderous dignity combined with Mamma’s selfish nature did not make for a happy combination of traits.

“This will take but a minute,” he said, giving Susan a brusque nod of dismissal.

When Vivien let out an audible sigh, he cast a dark glance her way then stalked over to the fireplace. He turned around and lifted his coattails to warm his backside.

“As you know, Vivien, Prince Ivan will be attending our party this evening.”

She barely managed to keep from rolling her eyes. Trust Cyrus to state the obvious. Repeatedly.

“What you might not know,” he continued, “is that the prince has asked my permission to court you. Naturally, I assured him that his suit would be most welcome, both to you and to the family.”

A haze of anger clouded her vision. Fists clenching, Vivien charged forward a few steps and then came to an abrupt halt at the startled look on her brother’s face. She sucked in a deep breath, struggling to contain her fury. Blustering at him would only make matters worse.

“You had no right to make any such claim, brother. I have already made it clear to His Highness that I am not interested in his suit.”

Cyrus looked offended. “I never took you for a fool, Vivien. Unlike Mother and Kit, you actually have some brains. But in this matter, I do believe your wits have gone begging.”

“You are entitled to your opinion, but I cannot agree,” she snapped. “In any event, I reached my majority long ago, and I need neither your approval nor disapproval in this matter. And since I have no intention of marrying Prince Ivan, this discussion is officially over.”

She turned her back on him and headed for the door.

“It is not, Vivien. You are dependent on me for your financial support, and I will certainly withdraw it if you defy me. And Mamma’s and Kit’s as well.”

She stumbled to a halt, almost tripping over her pretty, gold-embroidered slippers. She
did
drop her fan, and she used the few seconds needed to pick it up to recover her countenance. When she turned to face him, her stomach fell at the shocking and unrelenting contempt in his gaze. Had her brother always disliked her so much, or had it gotten worse over the last few years? She could no longer tell.

“You would do that?” she asked, incredulous. “Do you loathe us all that much?”

He snorted. “Don’t be such a dramatic little fool. I’m doing this for
you
. For all of us. The Blake family teeters on the verge of ruin, Vivien.”

Her breathing stalled in her throat. Had he found out about Kit’s debt? “What in heaven’s name are you talking about?”

“You know very well what I’m talking about. Mamma’s extravagance is ruinous, and Kit’s not much better. Not a day goes by that I don’t receive some outrageous bill from one tradesman or another.” He scowled, thrusting his hands behind him and puffing up his chest. “If I didn’t keep such a close eye on things, the pair of them would have bankrupted us long ago. And there’s no knowing how much they’ve lost at the gambling tables and are hiding from us.”

Vivien finally let out her breath. At least he hadn’t discovered that horrible secret.

“That is indeed unfortunate, but how does Mamma’s or Kit’s spending habits affect my decision?” she asked, trying to sound like she didn’t already know the answer.

He scoffed. “You’re not a green girl, Vivien. You know very well. Prince Ivan is willing to pay off
all
of the family’s accumulated debts, and also make you a very handsome settlement with very generous provisions for pin money.”

Cyrus paused, then let out a ghost of a laugh. “In fact, I can’t believe how much the man is willing to spend on you. A fortune, in fact. It’s quite remarkable.”

An icy thread of apprehension curled through her. She could practically hear the wheels turning in his head, calculating how the marriage—and the money—could benefit his political career. This was bad. Catastrophic, in fact. With a settlement like that, even Mamma and Kit might press her to accept.

“I don’t care if it’s enough money to pay off the Prince Regent’s debts,” she said, her voice tight with impending panic. “I have no intention of accepting the offer.”

“Christ, Vivien, what’s the matter with you? Not only will you be marrying a man as rich as Midas, you’ll be a princess! What girl doesn’t want that?”

“I don’t,” she flared back, waving her arm. “Whatever you might think of me, I’m not that shallow. Nor do I care to be forced into the position to say good-bye to my family and friends—possibly forever—and move to Russia. Lord, Cyrus. I don’t even speak the man’s bloody language!”

A quiet fury seemed to settle over him and his gaze turned flat and hollow. He took a menacing step forward and it took all her discipline to hold her ground. Cyrus loved to bluster and storm about, but he’d never intimidated her. This reaction to her refusal was different. She found it almost frightening.

“Then I suggest you start learning Russian because my mind is made up,” he answered in a voice as harsh as rocks grinding under a wheel. “If you do not marry him, I will send you and our mother north to the estate in Yorkshire. You will both stay there until you come to your senses.”

She stared at him in horror. The Yorkshire estate was nothing more than a small manor house on the edge of the moors, a legacy from a paternal uncle who’d died without issue. It was barely habitable, and miles from anything that resembled a town. Mamma would have a complete breakdown, and Vivien would go insane having to deal with her.

Her face felt numb. “You wouldn’t dare,” she hissed.

He curled an imperious lip. “Need I remind you that I control the purse strings in this family? And if you do refuse, not only will I exile you to the north, I will cut Kit’s allowance, as well. That will leave him with two choices—join the army, or go to debtors’ prison. And I will
not
be buying him a commission.”

She flinched, as if he had slapped her. Without the funds to buy a commission into an elite regiment Kit’s only choice would be to join the infantry. And then where would he be sent? Some horrible battlefield? Or India, to die of disease?

“Cyrus, you mustn’t do this,” she pleaded. “The prince . . . he’s . . . I don’t like him. He’s not a good man.”

A strange expression flitted across her brother’s face. Was it guilt? She couldn’t tell because it disappeared so quickly.

“Well, he’s not an Englishman,” Cyrus admitted grudgingly. “But if you give him a chance, I’m sure he’ll grow on you.”

“It’s got nothing to do with his nationality,” she gritted out. “And I’m certain he will not grow on me.”

Cyrus shook his head. “Then I have nothing more to say to you. On the morrow, you and Mamma will begin packing for your trip to Yorkshire.” He turned on his heel and headed for the door.

Vivien clutched her forehead, trying to think. “Wait,” she cried as his hand wrapped around the doorknob.

He slowly turned back, not bothering to hide the triumph on his broad, fleshy features. In that moment, any lingering remnants of affection Vivien harbored for her brother died a swift death.

“What is it, my dear?” he asked in a falsely affectionate voice.

Repressing the impulse to fly at him, Vivien gave him what she hoped was an apologetic smile. “Perhaps I was too hasty. Cyrus, surely we can talk about this.”

“We’ve talked enough,” he said impatiently. “Our guests will be arriving momentarily. Make your decision, Vivien. One way or the other.”

“Yes, well, I might have been a little too hasty in my judgment of the prince. Perhaps we should spend more time together, get to know each other. I’m sure you’re correct that Prince Ivan will improve on further acquaintance.”

Cyrus barked out an ugly laugh. “You think I’m a fool, don’t you? You cannot charm your way out of this dilemma, Vivien. Not with me.”

She stared at him, truly sick and tired of being treated by men as a mere pawn to move around the chessboard of their ambitions and desires. But she couldn’t afford to let him see the depth of her disgust.

“For God’s sake, I’m not saying no. I’m saying I need a little time to get used to the idea, before you force me into an engagement by making an announcement without my agreement. Have you forgotten that little more than a week ago I was abducted and brutalized? Must I be put in the position of thinking my own brother is little better than the villains who kidnapped me?”

His eyes widened and his fleshy features paled. When she continued to glare at him, he shifted his gaze off into the corner. “Forgive me,” he muttered. “You seemed fully recovered or I would not have broached the subject.”

“Well, I’m not. And forcing me into an engagement before I’m ready is
not
the act of a loving brother,” she said in a severe voice.

He stiffened, and Vivien realized she’d overplayed her hand. She opened her mouth, intending to placate him, but he waved an irritable hand.

“Whether you find me a loving brother or not is beside the point. You have a duty to your family, as do I. I will tell Prince Ivan that you are willing to entertain his courtship, although no formal announcement will be made at this point in time. That should satisfy His Highness.”

Vivien nodded weakly in relief. She had no intention of ever accepting the prince’s proposal, but at least she’d bought some time to put her plan into effect. With a little luck, within a few weeks she should have most of the money she needed to reduce Kit’s and Mamma’s debts to a manageable level, and enough to set the three of them up in a small town house, if necessary. A very small town house, but it would at least gain them their freedom.

“Very well,” she said. “I will agree to your terms.”

He nodded and his color returned its normal, ruddy hue. “It’s time to go down,” he said, opening the door. “Come, Vivien.”

She was hard-pressed not to refuse, but there was little to be gained by provoking his temper.

Repressing the urge to bash Cyrus over the head with a heavy object—the fireplace poker would do nicely—Vivien took his arm.

 

 

“I’m sorry, darling, but I don’t know what else we can do,” Vivien’s mother said in a dramatic whisper. “Cyrus can be the most stubborn man in the world when he gets an idea in his head.” Her bright blue eyes, so pretty and youthful-looking, rounded with dismay. “I don’t want you to marry Prince Ivan either, not if you don’t want to. But I simply cannot bear the thought of being exiled to Yorkshire. I will die, I know it!”

Vivien cast a glance around the crowded drawing room. Her mother’s dramatic tones had attracted some attention, including that of Countess Lieven, the wife of the Russian ambassador. Her sharp eyes, alive with curiosity, settled on Vivien and her mother.

She gave the countess a gracious smile before turning back to her mother. “Careful, Mamma,” she said in a low voice. “We cannot speak of this without attracting attention, and we don’t want that.”

“But what are we to do?” her mother moaned. “Cyrus swore he would—”

“I know what he said,” she said firmly. “I will take care of this.”

Mamma eyed her with doubt. “If you say so.” She glanced across the room to one of the big bow windows where Prince Ivan stood talking with Cyrus. “Perhaps it wouldn’t be so bad,” she said in a musing tone. “After all, he
is
a prince and frightfully rich.”