Secrets for Seducing a Royal Bodyguard (31 page)

“Put aside your fears, for the moment, and concentrate on what you feel for Lady Vivien. What does
that
particular emotion tell you?”

Aden tried to do as Dominic bid him, ignoring the pounding of his heart and the frantic rush of blood through his veins. No. He tried to
feel,
not think. What did his love for Vivien tell him to do?

He closed his eyes and groaned as the answer became brutally obvious. “I never should have left her.”

“Exactly right.”

Opening his eyes, he sprang to his feet. “I can’t waste another moment.”

Dominic nodded. “Go.”

Aden grabbed his coat and hat, cursing under his breath. “I am an idiot. A complete, sodding idiot.”

Dominic’s sardonic laugh followed him out the door. “Of course you are. You’re a man in love.”

Vivien locked her travelling trunk, smiling at the servant Aden had assigned to protect her. “Thank you, Evans. Could you please ask Mr. MacDonnell or one of the footmen to come up and fetch this? I only have to finish packing my overnight bag and I’ll be ready.”

Evans, a lanky, capable woman, scoffed as she grabbed the trunk. “That won’t be necessary, my lady. I’m just as strong as those fellows. I’m a better shot, too,” she muttered as she hoisted the trunk on her shoulder.

Vivien could believe it. Evans might pretend to be a lady’s maid but her talents clearly lay elsewhere. The older woman wasn’t very adept at dressing one’s hair or pressing a gown, but she’d watched over Vivien like a mother cat with a single kitten. Her quiet but supportive strength had been a blessing these last few days since Aden decamped for London without one word of warning.

Sighing, she folded a shawl and stuffed it into her portmanteau. Evans and MacDonnell vehemently opposed her departure, trying to thwart her every step of the way. She’d finally taken matters into her own hands, sneaking out yesterday to hire a post-chaise for this morning. MacDonnell had pitched a fit when Vivien told him while he was serving her yet another solitary meal in the dining room last night.

“My lady, you can’t leave,” MacDonnell had exclaimed, clutching a tureen of dumplings to his waistcoat. “You are to remain here until either Captain St. George or Sir Dominic returns or sends for you. It’ll be my head if I let you leave. Besides,” he added rather desperately, “I’m sure the captain will be back any day now.”

She had politely responded by noting that short of locking her in her bedroom, there wasn’t a thing MacDonnell could do to stop her. And if he
did
lock her up, she’d simply crawl out the window and down the trellis, then find her own way back to London on the common stage.

Eyeing her morosely, MacDonnell had finally agreed, with the stipulation that he and Evans go with her. Vivien was secretly relieved, since the idea of travelling alone was rather daunting. Only the dawning realization that she might be stuck in St. Clement for weeks had enabled her to overcome her doubts about disobeying Aden’s strict written edict to obey every one of MacDonnell’s orders.

We’ll just see about that, Captain St. George
.

Scowling, she shoved her nightgown into the overstuffed bag and sat on it to force it closed. Every time she thought about Aden’s last words to her—and she thought about them every two minutes—the blood rushed hotly through her veins. His rejection had left her stunned, then annoyed, and then hot with humiliation and anger. It had taken all her willpower not to dash out of her room after him, but the knowledge that she would likely burst into tears when confronting him had kept her from doing so.

When she’d finally calmed down enough to think, she’d realized that Aden’s reaction had made perfect sense—in a thickheaded, masculine sort of way. For most of his life he’d seen himself as an outsider. It didn’t matter that he had the bluest blood in the land—and hadn’t
that
revelation about his real father been a shock—he’d been deliberately rejected by the people in his life who most mattered. He felt unwanted and unworthy, the walking definition of a scandal, and someone who didn’t deserve a normal life.

As she’d mulled that over, shivering in her cold bed, Vivien had succumbed to tears. Not for herself, but for the lonely little boy who’d managed to grow up into the best kind of man, and yet one who still believed nobody wanted him. After she’d cried herself out, she’d decided it was better to wait until the morning when she could tell Aden in the clear light of day that she had every intention of marrying him and that he’d best get used to the idea.

Which had obviously been a huge mistake. For several hours, she’d let the staff convince her that he would surely return, but eventually her instincts had told her the truth. If she wanted a life with Aden, she would have to fight for it and force him to confront the illogic of his rejection—both of her, and of the life they could build together.

She fastened the straps on the portmanteau and took one last look around the cozy, quaintly decorated room. It had been a refuge these last weeks, as had the town and the new friends she’d made. She’d already sent a note round to Mrs. Pettigrew saying that she and
Mr. Parker
had been called back to town but hoped to return soon. A month ago, she would have shuddered to have to lead such a quiet, uncomplicated life. But now her life in London seemed restless and empty, full of noise and motion but holding very little meaning. Here, she’d found contentment and happiness. With Aden by her side, she could envision building a life that had little to do with the empty glitter of
ton
life and everything to do with love.

Draping her pelisse over her arm, she hoisted her portmanteau and headed for the door. Balancing the heavy bag on her hip, she propped the door open with her foot and thumped her way into the hallway. But as she started for the stairs a loud bang sounded from below, followed by raised, angry voices and several vibrating thuds.

Alarmed, Vivien dropped her bag and rushed to the head of the staircase. Before she reached it, the sound of a harsh, familiar accent sent fear crashing through her veins. She pressed herself against the wall, keeping out of sight as she tried to catch her suddenly fractured breath.

From the other horrible noises filtering up the stairs, it was clear he’d brought a whole band of thugs with him, who were now engaged in battle with MacDonnell and the footman.

She sucked in a tense breath, realizing she had only a few seconds to escape, either through one of the upstairs windows or by the hidden set of stairs in the closet in the back bedroom. Aden had shown it to her as a precaution when they’d first arrived, but now it looked like her best chance.

Keeping her back to the wall to avoid creaking floorboards, she crept away from the staircase. If she could get out, she’d run straight to Mrs. Pettigrew’s house and hide there. Then, when darkness fell, she’d—

“Vivien, I know you’re up there,” called a familiar voice that brought her up short. “I suggest you come down right now, or else I’m afraid your servants will come to harm.”

She rested her head against the wall, shaking with anger. She’d never liked her older brother, but at this moment she truly hated him.

“Vivien, come down right now,” Cyrus barked.

“I heard you the first time,” she yelled back.

She pushed herself away from the wall and took several deep breaths, trying to slow the mad tripping of her heart. She needed a clear head and strong nerves to get through this, although she had little idea what she could say to either man except
no
.

A bitter smile twisted her lips as she walked slowly to the staircase. Aden had said no to her the other night and look where it had landed her—alone, in trouble, and without him to protect her.

Her courage almost failed her when she reached the top landing and beheld the chaotic scene in the entrance hall. At least five rough-looking men in greatcoats milled about the small space, and both MacDonnell and Evans had been bound, gagged, and shoved against the wall. Over their gags, both sets of eyes glared fiercely at their captors. Davis, the footman, was stretched out on the floor, unconscious and with a bloodied mouth.

Standing off to the side stood Cyrus and Prince Ivan. Her brother looked rumpled and furious and, classically, extremely put out. The prince, however, simply stared up at her with an expression both calculated and triumphant, like a hunter who’d just run the fox to ground.

Spitting out a curse, Vivien flew down the stairs and rushed to Davis, mindlessly pushing her way past the two thugs standing over the unconscious man.

“Vivien!” Cyrus exclaimed in an offended voice. “I’ll thank you to watch your language before the prince.”

For a second, she gaped at him. Even the prince levelled an incredulous expression in her brother’s direction, clearly thinking him an idiot.

“Sod off, Cyrus,” she said through clenched teeth.

Ignoring her brother’s idiocies, she carefully felt Davis’s skull, trying to assess his injury. Fortunately, he moaned and his eyelids started to flutter.

“Lady Vivien, I must ask you to get up from the floor,” Prince Ivan said in a cold voice. “Such behavior is not fitting in a woman of your station.”

“And does it befit
your
station to employ thugs to pummel servants and engage in kidnapping?” she snapped. “I wonder what the Russian ambassador will say when I tell him exactly what transpired here today?”

Khovansky’s gaze blasted her with cold rage. She resisted the impulse to shrink away from him and huddle on the floor. No matter what, she would not bend before him.

“For God’s sake, Vivien, get up,” Cyrus grumbled, casting the prince a wary look.

He reached down and pulled her to her feet, bringing his mouth close to her ear. “Do not make him angry,” he hissed. “The man’s quite demented.”

She pulled away. “You’re only discovering this now?” She didn’t bother to lower her voice.

The prince regained his control. “My lady, I suggest we repair to your drawing room where we can discuss this situation like rational people.”

“There is nothing remotely rational about this situation,” Vivien retorted. She was proud at the steadiness of her voice, even though her insides quaked like a jelly mold. “You need to take these brutes and leave this house. Immediately.”

The prince gave her a courteous little bow. “That is my intention, once we have come to an arrangement.”

Crossing her arms over her chest, Vivien stared back, refusing to move or say a word.

Khovansky shook his head regretfully. “You force my hand, Lady Vivien. Please remember that everything that happens today will be a direct result of your actions.”

He gave a nod to one of his men, a large brute with a twisted nose and misshapen ears. With a feral smile, the man hauled Evans up, holding her by the collar so her feet barely touched the floor. With a lightning fast motion, he struck her across the face with an open palm.

Evans’s head snapped back as the sound of the vicious slap echoed through the hall. Vivien choked out a cry and instinctively leapt forward, only to be hauled back by her brother.

Prince Ivan tilted his head and studied Evans, still held in a punishing grip by his man. Above the gag, her red face had already started to swell but her eyes glowed with fierce defiance.

“Shall we go into the drawing room and chat, Lady Vivien?” Prince Ivan asked. “Or shall my men take your maid into the kitchen and continue with the lesson? I assure you, the results will not be to your taste.”

Vivien’s insides cramped with horror as she stared at the prince. “Where are the rest of the servants? The cook and the other footman?”

“They are in the kitchen. You may be sure that all your servants are safely confined. All of them,” Khovansky added for emphasis.

Vivien’s last, faint hope that one of Sir Dominic’s men might have escaped withered.

“My dear lady, there is no need for any more harm to come to your servants,” the prince said in a soothing manner. “If you will cooperate, all will be well.”

“Vivien, don’t be an idiot,” Cyrus said, a pleading note creeping into his voice. He glanced at Evans then swallowed hard, looking rather ill. “Let’s just go into the other room and talk. Please.”

Vivien darted a glance about the hall, taking in the leering, ugly expressions on the faces of Khovansky’s men. She had no doubt they would do exactly as their employer commanded and enjoy it.

Almost choking on her frustration, she nodded. “I’ll do what you say, but only if you solemnly promise not to harm any of the servants.”

Khovansky gave her another of his ridiculously formal bows.

“I want to hear the words, Your Highness,” she insisted. “Promise they will come to no harm.”

Behind their gags, both Evans and MacDonnell protested incoherently. The thug holding Evans shook her in his grasp, like a cat shaking a mouse, until she fell silent.

Khovansky placed his hand over his heart. “You have my word as a prince,” he said.

A shiver slithered up Vivien’s spine. She would pay dearly for what the prince saw as an insult to his honor. That would come later, however. For now, she had to focus her thoughts on keeping the servants free from harm.

She nodded and turned on her heel, bypassing the large drawing room and leading the way to the morning room. It was small, which meant that most of Khovansky’s thugs would be forced to wait in the hall. She wasn’t entirely sure, but she thought she recognized a few of them from the night she was abducted. Simply looking at them made her mind want to freeze with panic, and she needed all of her wits at her call.

Cyrus and the prince followed her into the sunny, south-facing room. Khovansky closed the door behind him and, with a gracious sweep of his arm, indicated that Vivien take a seat. By his demeanor, one might almost think he’d come to make a polite morning call. That, more than anything else,
did
convince her that the man was truly insane.

Warily, she perched on the edge of one of the low armchairs. She loved this room, with its cheerful tones of cream and yellow and comfortable furnishings covered with gaily floral chintz fabric. A searing pain of regret flared in her chest as she remembered the breakfasts she’d enjoyed with Aden here, chatting to him over coffee and newspapers, falling more in love every day.

Those memories now served no other purpose but to taunt her.

Her brother lowered himself onto the chair next to her, peering up uneasily at Prince Ivan. Cyrus opened his mouth to speak, but Vivien cut him off.

“How did you find me, Cyrus?”

He flinched, but then brought himself under control. “From the letter you wrote to Kit.”