Secrets for Seducing a Royal Bodyguard (17 page)

“Silly boy,” she said to her son, patting him on the cheek.

His only response was a sardonic smile.

“Vivien, my love,” she continued. “Your mother is wondering where you are. I told her I would come fetch you.”

She took Vivien by the arm and led her to the door, nodding genially to Cyrus and the prince. St. George followed right behind, forming their rear guard. Vivien, having had
more
than enough of her brother and Khovansky, refused to even look at them.

But she did hold her breath until they reached the safety of the hall.

St. George closed the door quietly behind them. He glanced at his mother, contemplating her with a slight smile lifting the edges of his handsome mouth. “Well done, my lady. I was wondering how we were going to escape without bloodshed.”

Lady Thornbury gave him an affectionate smile. “My dear boy, who do you think you inherited your prodigious talents from in the first place?”

He let out an amused snort. “Certainly not from my father.”

“Very true,” replied his mother with a dramatic sigh.

Vivien stared from one to the other, mystified by their odd conversation as they led her back to the drawing room.

Aden climbed into his mother’s town coach, grateful the hellacious evening had finally come to an end. Thirty minutes after he escorted Vivien back to the drawing room, she quietly excused herself, pleading a headache. Coming so soon after Khovansky’s precipitous departure from the party—the bastard hadn’t made any effort to disguise his foul temper—Vivien’s exit had caused more than a few raised eyebrows.

Fortunately, his mother had jumped up to escort Vivien to her bedroom, exclaiming all the while that she shouldn’t tire herself out so soon after recovering from her illness. Her act might not quell all the gossip, but when the influential Lady Thornbury behaved as if nothing were amiss, then everyone else was obliged to follow suit.

He couldn’t hold back a quiet laugh at the image of the petite and elegant Countess of Thornbury standing up to the infuriated Russian. She pulled her gaze away from the carriage window, where she’d been perusing the night-shrouded streets of Mayfair, and gave him a puzzled smile.

“What amuses you, Aden?”

“I’d forgotten how much fun these evenings were,” he replied with gentle sarcasm. “What a fool I’ve been to stay away all these years.”

She gave an exaggerated shudder. “It was horrid, wasn’t it? Although certainly a great deal more lively than the parties Lord Blake usually gives, I’ll say that much for it.”

“I would happily be spared that kind of excitement.”

She grimaced in sympathy. “I’m sorry you had to be dragged into this mess. But you handled it very well. Eventually.”

He frowned. “What the hell does that mean?”

“Language, dear boy, and you know very well what it means. You behaved like an irrational, jealous male before dinner. Not that you acted much better
during
dinner. Really, Madame Bezrodny was extremely forward and you did nothing to discourage her.”

Aden scratched his cheek. Thank God the carriage was only dimly lit by one lamp because he could swear the skin felt hot under his fingers. He hadn’t blushed in years, but apparently his mother still possessed the ability to embarrass him with only a few words.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” he said, more for form’s sake than anything else.

“Ha. I’m amazed you and the prince didn’t come to blows in the drawing room. Fortunately, Vivien managed Prince Ivan very adroitly. She really is the most remarkable girl.”

Aden crossed his arms over his chest, feeling more disgruntled by the second. “For someone who supposedly doesn’t like the man, she seemed quite chummy with Khovansky to me. She was hanging all over the man during dinner.”

His mother studied him with pity. It was the look she generally reserved for idiots and small children about to be paddled by their nannies.

“What?” he asked defensively. He was a trained spy, for Christ’s sake. He knew how to observe people, and his observations of Lady Vivien had told him she welcomed Khovansky’s attentions. That had made him want to throttle someone, except he couldn’t tell whether he wanted to throttle Khovansky or Vivien, or himself for being stupid enough to care.

“Vivien was clearly trying to placate the prince,” his mother explained, “although I’m not sure why. She loathes the man, I’m certain of it.”

“She has a strange way of showing it, and the prince was more than happy to capitalize on her generous behavior.”

His mother stiffened. “Are you implying that Vivien was responsible for Prince Ivan’s outrageous behavior in the library?”

“Of course not, but he’s not the sort of man a girl can lead around by the nose. Lady Vivien should have realized that before she tried to manage him. If I hadn’t intervened, God knows what would have happened.”

His anger spiked when he thought of how she might have been harmed. When he came through the door of Blake’s library to see Vivien struggling in Khovansky’s foul embrace, a red-hot fury had seized him. He’d lost all control, pulling the prince away from her and hurling him to the floor. Only Vivien’s presence had kept him from giving the pig the thorough beating he deserved.

“She wasn’t flirting with him for the fun of it,” his mother retorted. “That’s not the kind of person she is.”

Aden decided to let that comment pass. Despite his mother’s insistence, Vivien did have that reputation, whether she deserved it or not. And tonight, for the first time, he’d started to understand why some thought she merited it.

“Then what could her purpose be in encouraging the attentions of a man she supposedly dislikes?”

“I suspect Cyrus is forcing her to entertain Prince Ivan’s suit,” his mother replied. “It’s the only explanation that makes sense.”

Aden shifted sideways, trying to ease his cramped legs. He wasn’t used to so much inactivity, being cooped up in carriages or kicking up his heels at balls and boring dinner parties, waiting for something to happen. Tomorrow, he’d take Ranger out for a long ride on Hampstead Heath, shaking the fidgets out of both of them.

“Lady Vivien isn’t a green girl, Mother. Nor is she under her brother’s guardianship. And she doesn’t strike me as the sort of woman who has trouble saying no to a man.”

“True, but I believe that Cyrus is holding something over her head, probably something to do with money. Perhaps Kit has fallen into debt again, or her mother. Lady Blake let slip some weeks ago that Cyrus refused to increase her pin money. She made some alarmed references to being forced to rusticate in the country.”

Aden cocked his head. Now, that was interesting. “And the younger brother? How does he figure in?”

“He’s a dear boy, but quite feckless and a terrible gambler. Cyrus has been forced to pull him out of the River Tick on more than one occasion.”

“And what does any of this have to do with Lady Vivien? As far as I can deduce, she has no outstanding debts despite the fact that she plays rather deeply at the tables.”

“Because, Aden, she feels responsible for her mamma and little brother,” his mother said, her tone indicating the answer was obvious. “Ever since her father died, Vivien has taken it upon herself to keep them out of trouble as best she can.”

He scowled. “That should be Lord Blake’s responsibility.” The outlines of Vivien’s life were finally starting to take shape. He couldn’t say he liked it very much.

His mother shrugged.

Aden rubbed a hand over his face. “So, it’s entirely possible that Lady Vivien’s kidnapper was connected in some way to her family. If one of them owes a large amount of money that could certainly be a motive for kidnapping and holding her to ransom.”

His mother nodded. “Yes, especially since Cyrus made such a point of refusing to pay, despite the fact that no demands even came forward.”

Aden grunted, lost in thought. He’d already spent several days rooting around in the stews, seeking information and attempting to ascertain who’d hired the smugglers in the first place. Frustratingly, that line of investigation had yielded little fruit, so it obviously called for him to look closer to home. The Blake finances deserved investigation.

“And don’t forget Prince Ivan,” his mother added. “You should add him to your list of suspects.”

“I already have.”

In fact, the bastard was moving to the top of the list, if for no other reason than he’d tried to force himself on the girl. Aden would never forget the panicked look on Vivien’s deathly pale face when he pulled Khovansky away, or the way she’d trembled in his arms. Despite her strength of character and remarkable resilience, she was alarmingly delicate. That brought out all his protective instincts, and something more. He’d meant it when he said he wouldn’t let Khovansky hurt her again. He’d kill the man if he had to, or anyone else who tried to lay a finger on Vivien.

His mother drew in a breath, as if about to say something, but then she clamped her lips shut.

“What now?” he asked in a resigned voice.

She grimaced. “You know Vivien is hiding something, don’t you? There’s something she doesn’t want us to know about all this.”

He sighed, hating that she’d confirmed what he’d been trying to deny all along. “Do you think she suspects who was behind the kidnapping?”

His mother nodded reluctantly, and Aden couldn’t hold back a curse. This time she didn’t reprimand him.

“To protect someone? A family member?” he asked.

“I’m afraid that seems the most likely explanation.”

Aden yanked his hat off and threw it on the opposite seat. “How the devil am I to protect the blasted girl if she won’t cooperate on even the most basic level?”

His mother patted his knee, as if soothing him. “Vivien is very loyal, especially to her family. She’s always been that way, but that sense of loyalty has only grown since her father died. He made her swear to take care of Kit and her mother since he knew Cyrus couldn’t be trusted to do that. Vivien takes that promise very seriously, I assure you.”

“She’d even risk her own life to honor it?” he asked, incredulous.

“I’m sure of it.”

“How old was she when her father died?”

“Seventeen.”

Something went tight in the vicinity of Aden’s heart. “That’s a hell of a burden for a girl that young to bear.”

His mother nodded. “You, of course, would understand about that.”

That startled him into silence. Neither he nor his mother ever acknowledged how difficult his youth had been, and how his stepfather’s animus had made him grow up hard and fast. Aden sure as hell hoped she didn’t want to start discussing it now since he hadn’t a clue how to respond on that subject.

“I’ll never get to the bottom of this if the very person I’m meant to protect keeps throwing obstacles in my path,” he said, ignoring his mother’s previous comment.

Before she could answer, the carriage came to a halt in front of her town house. She waited for Aden to hand her down before she answered him.

“You must get Vivien to trust you,” she said, as they waited at the door. “And that means you must spend time with her.”

Hell, no
. That was the
last
thing he needed to do. He was already too involved in this case, and had already let his emotions run away with him. His reaction to the prince tonight had shown him that as clear as lightning streaking across a pitch-black sky.

The door opened and Aden followed her into the entrance hall. “Why can’t you do that, Mother? You’ve known the girl for years. Surely she must trust you.”

She cast him an impatient glance. “Obviously not enough. But she does trust you, which is not surprising under the circumstances. After all, you’re her knight in shining armor.”

“What are you talking about?” he asked through clenched teeth.

“Darling, don’t be so obtuse,” she said as she handed the butler her wrap. “It doesn’t become you. Come into the morning room and let’s discuss what you need to do next.”

Aden wanted to bang his head against the wall. Where was a nice little nest of French spies when you needed it? People who were clearly the enemy, and who didn’t require any sort of mollycoddling or hand-holding?

Then again, he hadn’t done very well with that last batch of spies he encountered. This situation, however, was shaping up to be just as difficult.

Bracing himself for the worst, he followed her into the morning room. “All right, Mother,” he said, watching her settle into an overstuffed chair by the fire. “Tell me what it is you think I should do.”

She gave him a mischievous smile. “It’s very simple, my son. You have to make Vivien fall in love with you.”

Vivien hurried down to the morning room, fastening the last few buttons at her wrist on her way. She’d barely had time to finish dressing before one of the maids tapped on her bedroom door, relaying her mother’s request to join her
immediately
. It surprised her that Mamma was actually up and about given the commotion of last night’s party. Vivien prayed there wasn’t more trouble awaiting her, and before breakfast, too.

She knew a showdown with Cyrus was imminent, but there wasn’t one thing he could say to change her mind. By this time next week, she hoped to have enough money to pay off Kit’s most immediate debts and alleviate the most pressing of the tradesmen’s bills. That should be enough to keep the worst of her troubles at bay.

If not, then a drafty manor house in Yorkshire figured prominently in her future.

She waved the footman back to his front-door post and slid open the pocket doors to the morning room. Expecting only her mother, she froze on the threshold, gaping at Lady Thornbury and St. George. They were seated with Mamma at the small breakfast table, sharing coffee and a plate of pastries.

As St. George rose to his feet, Vivien resisted the impulse to smooth back her hair and straighten her skirts. She’d donned a very plain gown, intending to spend most of the morning in the small conservatory at the back of the house. Digging about in the dirt and repotting plants always calmed her, and helped her mind to focus and work through problems.

But between the faded blue of her oldest muslin dress and the circles under her eyes from lack of sleep, she must look a veritable hag. She could kill Mamma for not giving her some warning that guests would be present, especially
him
.

Telling herself she didn’t really care, Vivien crossed to the table with a smile, dipping a shallow curtsy in response to St. George’s greeting and then dropping a quick kiss on Lady Thornbury’s cheek.

“There you are, Vivien,” her mother exclaimed, looking rattled. “Lady T. and Aden have stopped by for an unexpected visit. So kind to enquire after your health, and so early in the morning, too!”

Vivien glanced over her shoulder to thank St. George as he held her chair. Their gazes caught and the breath snagged in her throat. His obsidian dark eyes mapped her face with careful intent. And from the frown gathering between his brows, he apparently didn’t like what he saw.

Hag.
That would be the word he was searching for.

“My love,” said her mother, peering at her. “Are you quite well? You’re looking rather peaked.” As she handed over a coffee cup, her gaze fastened on Vivien’s gown. “And why are you dressed like that?”

Humiliation crawled up Vivien’s spine. “I was intending to repot some of the rose bushes this morning, Mamma. There’s no point in dressing up for that since I’ll end up covered with dirt.”

Her mother made a clucking sound with her tongue. “I don’t understand why you insist on grubbing around in the soil like a tenant farmer. After all, that’s what servants are for.”

Vivien stared down into her cup. The morning was off to a splendid start, thanks to her mother’s unerring ability to embarrass her.

“I can’t agree with you there, Delia,” Lady Thornbury said. “I like nothing better than puttering about in my garden. Very soothing for the nerves.” She smiled at Vivien. “I wish more young ladies would take up the hobby instead of languishing about drawing rooms or wasting their time in the shops, as they so often do these days.”

Mamma couldn’t resist rising to that bait, and she and Lady Thornbury embarked on a lively discussion of appropriate hobbies for young women. Vivien finally brought herself to look at St. George. Lady Thornbury was used to her mother’s flighty behavior, but he certainly wasn’t.

He watched her from the opposite side of the table. When their eyes met, he gave her a charming smile before lifting his cup to his lips. When he winked at her, she almost dropped her cup in her lap.

She’d never seen him in a playful mood or been on the receiving end when he unleashed a truly devastating smile. Her heart tripped over itself, and she had to carefully place her cup back in its saucer to avoid slopping coffee into the dish. But his smile had done the trick. Her tension eased and a glow of pleasure warmed her limbs.

“And how
are
you this morning, my love?” Lady Thornbury asked her. “I trust you slept well last night despite the evening’s merry excesses.”

Vivien didn’t miss the dry note in her voice, or the real question in her enquiry.

“I’m fine,” she said, although she wrinkled her nose a bit. “Perhaps a little tired. The evening went on quite late, didn’t it?”

“I hope you’re not feeling too knocked about,” St. George said casually. “I intend to persuade you to stroll in the park with me this morning, and I won’t take no for an answer. It’s a fine day and the air is quite mild.”

For the second time that morning, Vivien blinked with surprise. She glanced past him to the window, noting the gloomy, overcast skies and the gusts of wind skittering leaves around the square. Not that she minded a little bluster and fresh air. She’d been intending to go out for a walk later, regardless.

“Really?” her mother opined in a doubtful voice. “It looks quite dreary out to me. Besides, it’s much too early to promenade.”

“Nonsense,” said Lady Thornbury. “It’s very mild out and it would do Vivien a world of good to get some fresh air. Besides, we must let the children have their fun, mustn’t we?” She finished the question by giving Vivien’s mother an arch smile.

Puzzled, Mamma peered at St. George and then at Vivien. Then her eyes went wide with understanding.

“Oh,” she breathed. “Of course! Vivien, that’s a splendid idea. Go up and change right now so you can go walking with Aden.”

Vivien let out a tiny sigh at her mother’s predictable response. St. George wasn’t the sort of man who spent his time strolling about parks with young women, so the only possible explanation for this odd little scenario was that he wished to speak to her about her abduction, without Mamma overhearing it. Unfortunately, an intimate chat with him was the last thing she wanted for a number of reasons, some of which she had no intention of admitting to herself. But if she made too big a fuss she might make him wonder why she wished to avoid him. She’d done that the other night at the ball and she’d sensed his suspicion even then.

And since everyone had lined up against her—her mother so easily manipulated by his mother—it appeared Vivien had no choice.

“Oh, very well,” she replied in a grumpy voice. She ignored her mother’s shocked expression and rose to her feet. “I’ll be down in twenty minutes,” she said in a waspish voice to St. George. “I hope you don’t mind waiting.”

A teasing smile shaped his mouth. “I’m sure it will be worth it.”

She glared at him as she left, and she could swear he laughed softly. How delightful that he found her so amusing.

“Don’t forget to dress warmly,” he called as she swept out of the room.

As she stomped upstairs muttering to herself, she tried to prepare for whatever questions he might ask. And ask her he would, no matter what her mother thought was going to happen. Mamma now clearly expected Vivien to throw herself in St. George’s path. He might be a younger son, but his family was old, distinguished, and, even more important, disgustingly rich. Vivien might have a wealthy prince dangling after her, but Mamma would clearly prefer that her only daughter not be whisked off to Russia.

Too bad St. George’s ulterior motive was investigating her abduction. Rather than promoting a match between them, letting him get closer to
her
meant letting him get closer to the family, Kit in particular. From there, it probably wouldn’t take long for St. George to sniff out what had really happened. After that, it would be a short step to Cyrus finding out, and . . . well, Vivien could not allow that to happen.

After fifteen minutes spent running over vague, innocuous answers to potential questions, she returned downstairs garbed in a stylish wool pelisse in plush, hunter green. She paired it with a dashing hat in the same color and an elegant, dreadfully expensive fur muff. The muff might be overdoing it since it wasn’t that cold out, but it gave her an excuse to keep her hands to herself. The thought of strolling with St. George, her hand tucked cozily in his arm, unnerved her. Under the circumstances—which would no doubt include the necessity of telling him several whopping lies—the less physical contact between them, the better.

St. George waited for her at the bottom of the steps, shrugging into his greatcoat while the footman stood by with gloves and hat. He glanced up as she descended the stairs. His eyes narrowed, but then a seductive and very appreciative smile curled the corners of his mouth. A silly, girlish pleasure had her heart fluttering in response.

That delightful sensation was quickly followed by dismay, because she needed to be careful with him or she might find herself in deep waters. In so many ways he posed a danger to her family’s security and reputation. In his presence, she must never forget that. It would be best to treat him with the wary caution of a potential enemy rather than as a friend.

Her foolish, skipping heart disagreed. After all, the man had saved her life and preserved her reputation. On top of that, he was ridiculously handsome. A girl would have to be dead—or at least apoplectic—not to react to a man like St. George.

He took her by the elbow and gently steered her to the door. “I would say that you look very sensibly dressed for the weather, but no one could call so dashing an outfit
sensible,
nor apply that to the lady who graces such an ensemble so beautifully.”

She darted him a startled look. He was obviously quite adept at flirtation—another talent in a long list of impressive skills. Unexpectedly, she felt rather shy, so she simply responded to the compliment with a smile. Not that he meant anything by those words. He was likely just maintaining the fiction that he was . . . what? Courting her?

He kept his hand under her elbow until they made the sidewalk, then he released her. She once again found herself missing his touch, which only confirmed her wisdom in bringing the muff. Vivien had no intention of developing a
tendre
for him since she had no doubt he would disappear from her life as soon as her problem was resolved.

She actually hated the idea of never seeing him again, and couldn’t hold back a tiny sigh. Naturally, he picked up on it.

“Are you unwell, my lady?” he asked in a solicitous tone.

She realized she loved hearing his voice. It reminded her of something both rough and yet incredibly soft, like rich, chocolate-colored velvet that had been rubbed the wrong way.

“You don’t have to keep asking me that,” she said with a wry smile. “I’m actually much sturdier than I look.”

He kept his attention on the bustle of the street, steering her around a few carts and a lumbering hackney as they headed toward Green Park.

“I do realize that about you, but you had a shock last night.” His mouth pulled into a grim line. “Any woman would be upset by such an ugly incident. I hope the prince didn’t hurt you in any lasting way.”

At the reminder, she had to resist the impulse to slip one hand out of her muff and curl it around his arm. “It was revolting, I’ll grant you that, but he didn’t do anything worse than give me a few bruises.”

At the sharp intake of his breath, she glanced up at him. The harsh cast to his features told her the prince had made a fortunate escape last night, and he might not be so lucky in the future. Not if St. George had anything to say about it.

His anger on her behalf sparked a warm glow in her chest, and she decided to drop her defenses. On this issue, at least, there seemed no reason not to speak frankly. “You’ll think me silly, Captain, but I’m worried for your sake. Your mother provided an excellent diversion last night, but Prince Ivan is not a man who brushes off slights or insults. What you did to him was rather more than an insult. Not that he didn’t deserve it,” she added hastily. “I would have very much liked to throw him to the floor myself.”

They stopped at the corner to wait for a break in the steady stream of vehicles. When a curricle and pair stopped, its driver gallantly waving them to pass, St. George guided her across the street. He hadn’t responded to her last comment, save to give her a questioning look.

“Is there something you want to ask me about Prince Ivan?” she asked.

He looked a little startled. “Am I so obvious?”

“You forget that I play cards. I’ve grown quite adept at reading people.”

He slowly nodded, as if suddenly realizing something. “I’ll have to remember that,” he said.

It seemed an odd response, but he’d already made it clear he disapproved of her activities at the table. Mentally, she tried to shrug it off, but she couldn’t deny that his disapproval stung.

“Your question, Captain?” she prompted.

“Please, call me Aden,” he said as he placed a light hand on her back, guiding her onto the gravel path cutting through Green Park.

She cast him a wary glance. His somber expression of a moment ago had been replaced by another one of his teasing smiles, which he seemed to be employing a great deal this morning. His ability to switch so readily from one mood to the next unsettled her. He was either a very changeable man—which was doubtful—or he possessed the ability to adopt a charming social mask with disconcerting ease. Vivien reminded herself that she was engaged in a battle of wits and, for Kit’s sake, it was a battle she must win.

“That would hardly be proper, my dear sir,” she protested in a polite voice. “I hardly know you.”

There.
That
put him in his proper place.

He grinned at her, and in one moment to the next that smile bowled past her prim defenses, blasting them sideways like a ball knocking down pins. It was a rogue’s smile, a pirate’s smile, transforming his hard, handsome features with a masculine amusement that scrambled her brains.