Secrets for Seducing a Royal Bodyguard (4 page)

A quiet voice in her mind issued an additional warning, too. If she wasn’t careful, she was in danger of elevating her rescuer to some exalted, almost godlike status. That would be a mistake. He was clearly composed of flesh and blood and could be injured or shot, even killed, as easily as she could. And there hadn’t yet been a man she could depend on since her father died, not even her beloved Kit. As much as she loved her little brother, he had a tendency to make life both complicated and difficult, and to fail her when she needed him most. As for Cyrus, her elder brother, the less said the better.

No, St. George had taken her this far, and she had no doubt he would do his best to see them safely the rest of the way home. True, he was formidable, resourceful, and handsome—not that handsome figured into the equation, of course—but she’d learned long ago not to put all her eggs in one basket. It was best to have some kind of plan to fall back upon, in case something bad did happen to them . . . to him.

She drew in a shaky breath, trying to think. But after pondering a few moments, she decided that more information was required to formulate a workable plan. She had questions, and perhaps St. George had some of the answers.

“Mr. St. George,” she began, “do you have any idea who—”

“Hush,” he murmured against her hair. “We’re nearly there, but let’s make sure we arrive in one piece. We’re not out of danger yet.”

Vivien froze. She hadn’t noticed, but the trees had thinned out. A moment later, they broke from the forest and the shadowy outlines of a hamlet came into view. Only a field and a few hedgerows stood between them and civilization. Two days ago she would have laughed to call such a place civilization, but right now the teacup town might be the most beautiful sight she had ever seen.

The big horse lifted its noble head, scenting the breeze. St. George tightened his grip on her and urged the animal into a canter.

Vivien clutched the arm of steel wrapped around her waist. Relief that they had cleared the woods rushed through her, but she still hadn’t forgotten the question she’d been about to ask, and she had a vague, vexing sense that her savior had deliberately cut her off. She had no idea why but she had every intention of finding out.

If they didn’t get killed or recaptured first.

The canter across the fields had been free of danger—although Vivian’s bottom had not taken kindly to the jouncing—and they rode to the edge of the tiny hamlet. There, beneath a massive oak, waited a travelling coach and four horses, almost hidden in the deep shadows cast by the arching branches of the mighty tree.

As St. George brought them to a gentle stop, a form detached itself from the obscured outlines of the carriage and moved forward to greet them. It resolved into the shape of a man, one of average height but with an impressive breadth of shoulder. He wore a slouchy hat pulled low over his brow and a greatcoat that swept down past the top of his boots. Drifting silently forward, he took the bridle of St. George’s horse, holding the beast steady for their dismount.

Vivien was pondering how best to maintain her dignity while scrambling from her immodest perch when St. George tightened his hold on her, swept his leg over the animal’s neck, and smoothly carried them both to the ground in a flowing drop. She gulped down a startled shriek—though Vivien made a point of
never
shrieking—as St. George set her carefully on her feet.

Her abused toes curled into the frigid dirt and she staggered. His big hands wrapped around her waist. “Have a care, my lady. We don’t want you taking a nasty tumble.”

Her flaring temper served as a welcome respite from the fear that constantly hovered on the edge of reason. She was cold, exhausted, still fighting remnants of the laudanum, and heartily sick of being afraid.

Shoving the pathetic remains of her once-stylish coiffure out of her eyes, she glared up into his handsome, impassive features. “Perhaps if you gave me warning before flinging me about like a sack of potatoes I wouldn’t need to be so careful.”

For a few moments he stared at her with the same bemused look as when she’d snapped at him after stubbing her toes. As suddenly as it had flared up, her irrational anger faded, and Vivien began to feel rather foolish.

After several seconds of uncomfortable silence, St. George’s mouth twitched as he tried and failed to repress a smile. “Forgive me, Lady Vivien. It was not my intention to discomfort you.”

In the dim glow of the carriage lamps, his eyes gleamed. He was laughing at her, when there was nothing even slightly amusing about their situation.

Not that she could entirely blame him. She was acting like a ninny and she knew it. Yes, she’d been kidnapped, mauled by thugs, and dumped in a smuggler’s cave, but that hardly excused her demented behavior. Events were certainly looking up, but her rescue wasn’t over. Until she had reached the safety of her bedroom in the family mansion in Berkeley Square, with the brawniest footman in her brother’s household standing guard, Vivien couldn’t afford to succumb to the vapors.

Besides, nothing excused her rudeness to the man who had saved her life.

She forced herself to meet his still-amused gaze. “Forgive me, sir. I had no cause to scold you. I cannot think what led me to do so.”

His smile was warm and unexpected, and so charming that Vivien’s breath caught in her throat.

“No apology is necessary, my lady. It’s a wonder you’re still standing on your own two feet, given what you’ve been through.”

“Yes,” she replied faintly, staring up at him.

She couldn’t move, couldn’t formulate a sensible response. She had the oddest feeling she could spend the rest of the night staring at him and be quite content. If not for the fact that her feet had been transformed into blocks of ice and danger still threatened, Vivien just might have done so. She could only hope she’d have the opportunity to stare at St. George at some later date when someone wasn’t trying to kill them.

“Beggin’ your pardon, Cap’n,” said a rumbling voice from behind her. “But time’s a’wasting. Beacon’s men are probably already on your trail.”

Vivien had forgotten the fellow patiently holding the horse’s bridle. Whipping around, she peered across the field at the woods, straining to see but barely able to make out the line of trees against the midnight sky.

St. George settled a comforting hand on the small of her back, gently steering her toward the coach.

“Probably,” he answered. “Although they struck me as the most inept bunch of criminals one could imagine. Still, it won’t do to underestimate them.”

He sounded not the least bit worried. Annoyed, more than anything else, as if the men who pursued them were little more than an inconvenience.

As St. George nudged her toward the coach, the other man moved ahead to let down the steps. He gave her a deferential nod, following it up with a kindly smile. By his ease of movement and his general air of stealth, she’d thought him to be a younger man. But in the light of the carriage lamps she could see his grizzled whiskers and the deep lines etched around his mouth. Despite the smile, he had a grim, hard cast to his features, as if life had thrown too many challenges in his path.

She gave him a tentative smile back, rather at a loss for words. A casual word of thanks and a nod, as if he were simply a footman escorting her on a round of errands, hardly seemed appropriate to the occasion.

An unexpected tremor wracked her body. The men who’d kidnapped her
were
dangerous, no matter what St. George might think. She’d sensed it in their handling of her, had seen it in their cold, lustful gazes. They would have raped her if they could, and killed her without a second thought. Only the threat of reprisals from the man who’d ordered her kidnapping had held them back. Of that, Vivien was certain.

As if he sensed her growing anxiety, St. George gave her back a slow, reassuring stroke. Sensation rippled up her spine and heat flowed from his gloved hand into her rigid muscles.

“My lady, I’d like you to meet Tom, my batman.” St. George said. His calm tone wrapped around her like the warmest of cashmere shawls, settling her flustered pulses. “Neither of us will let anyone hurt you.”

Tom touched the brim of his hat. “That’s right, my lady. You’ll be home and safe and sound before you know it. The cap’n and I will see to that.”

Blinking back a sudden sting of grateful tears, Vivien hesitantly touched Tom’s sleeve. “Thank you for helping me, Tom. I’m so very grateful.”

He made an embarrassed, clucking noise with his tongue. “No thanks necessary, my lady. What’s the world coming to when a young lady can be snatched right from her carriage in the middle of Mayfair? It ain’t right, and I told the cap’n so in no uncertain terms, too.” He looked mightily aggrieved.

She let out a watery laugh. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, even if the circumstances are less than ideal.”

While she and Tom were exchanging bizarre pleasantries, St. George stepped away to have a quiet word with the coachman. Vivien could see only the outline of a large, greatcoated man holding the reins of the restive horses, but she could hear him speaking in a low, urgent voice to his master.

“Is something wrong?” she asked anxiously as St. George returned to her side.

“Not in the least. I was simply conferring with my coachman on the best place to change horses. We’ll be on our way this very moment, Lady Vivien.”

She breathed a sigh of relief and took his outstretched hand. As she put a foot on the step of the travelling chaise, the coachman uttered a curse. St. George cast a glance over his shoulder at the field behind them.

“Aye, that tears it, Cap’n,” barked Tom. “They’re onto us.”

Vivien froze, awkwardly poised on the carriage step. She craned her neck to see around St. George’s broad shoulders. Unfortunately, the thick, obscuring clouds chose that moment to inconveniently part, and a half moon cast its rays across the shorn field they had crossed only a few minutes ago. Four horsemen broke free from the trees and pounded toward them, crouched low over their animals and bearing down on her party with reckless speed.

St. George’s hand tightened on hers. “Get into the carriage,” he said in a voice of icy calm.

Her body gripped with a strange paralysis, Vivien could only stare at the horrifying vision of her captors closing in on them. One of them raised his arm, pointing right at them. The sound of a pistol shot rang out, and a second later the branch above her head cracked, raining bark down onto the roof of the coach.

St. George let out a low curse. He yanked his hand free from her clutching fingers, seized her about the waist, and dumped her onto the floor of the carriage. She went down in a heap, tangled up in her frothing skirts and her velvet cloak.

“Stay down,” he snapped.

Flailing, Vivien struggled to right herself, fighting the material twisting about her legs. She finally managed to get up on her knees, gaping up at St. George. Braced against the door frame, his body shielded her from the danger racing toward them with a thundering beat.

Heart thudding painfully in her chest, she peeked around his legs, straining to see something—anything. But the vision of her kidnappers bearing down on them made her want to scramble into the corner of the coach, cover her ears, close her eyes, and pray for deliverance with every shred of piety in her soul.

The villains were already halfway across the field and closing fast. Vivien made a silent, desperate vow that she would go to church every Sunday without fail, even if their pastor gave the most boring sermons in London. It would be a small price to pay if she could escape this unending nightmare.

Pistol fire exploded once more, dangerously close and spooking the horses. The carriage jerked forward, slamming her into the seat. St. George slipped one foot off the step as he struggled to keep his balance. The coachman yelled, obviously attempting to wrestle his horses under control, but the carriage continued to lurch as the animals tried to bolt.

Righting herself, Vivien wrapped her arms around St. George’s knees and pulled back with all her might. He steadied himself, then snapped instructions to the coachman who finally managed to bring his charges under control. Tom, now mounted on St. George’s horse, flashed by the door of the carriage and sailed over the low hedge separating the laneway from the field. He headed directly toward the advancing horsemen.

St. George spared her a quick glance. “Thank you for your assistance, Lady Vivien. You can let go now.”

Stunned, she ignored him. She gazed in horror after Tom, who was charging in a foolhardy manner across the open field.

Vivien yanked on the hem of St. George’s coat. “Why are you letting him do that? He’ll be killed!”

“He’ll be fine,” he replied in a maddeningly calm voice. “Now, let go of me, Vivien. And this time you
will
stay down on the floor.”

Startled by the use of her name, she did as he ordered. He produced a large pistol from somewhere inside his coat, took swift aim, and discharged it. At almost the same time another shot from somewhere just above her head roared out. The coachman, obviously as well armed as his master.

Vivien crouched on the floor, covering her ears against the deafening reports and silently commanding her stomach to stay put. The laudanum had already made her feel queasy, and finding herself in the middle of a pitched battle didn’t help.

St. George gave a satisfied grunt. “Two down, two to go.” He pounded his fist on the top of the carriage. “Spring them, John. It’s time to go.”

He pivoted as the carriage lurched forward, pulling himself in and slamming the door shut in one swift, economical motion. Somehow he managed to avoid stepping on her although his booted legs crowded her against the rise of the seat. He reached for her, lifting her up and depositing her gently on the opposite seat, where she collapsed against the cushions, a breathless wreck.

For a long moment they stared at each other. Vivien sucked in huge breaths, convinced her heart would race up her throat to plop out onto her lap any moment. Every part of her body shook and she knew she must look like a wild-eyed escapee from Bedlam. St. George, however, was practically lounging in his seat, watching her with an expression that managed to convey both an absence of alarm and a readiness to spring into action. Considering what they had just experienced, she found it disorienting.

He cocked his head, studying her. “Were you injured when I lifted you into the carriage, Lady Vivien? You look unsettled.”

Her jaw sagged. Vivien began to wonder if the man was mentally unbalanced. Not at
all
a comforting thought under the circumstances.

“You didn’t lift me into the carriage, Mr. St. George,” she croaked. “You
threw
me into the carriage. I assure you, there is a decided difference.”

His mouth twitched. “I apologize for that, but events dictated swift action.”

Blast the man for looking like he wanted to laugh.

“As for why I am unsettled, I can think of a dozen reasons,” she said. “However, at the moment, I am most concerned about your man, Tom. Why in heaven’s name did you leave him behind to confront those villains? Surely he will be killed!”

As she voiced the awful words, her chest pulled tight and she could barely breathe. She pressed a fist to her mouth, trying to hold back tears. As grateful as she was to be free of the monsters who’d taken her, she couldn’t bear the idea that Tom—or anyone else—might have died while saving her.

St. George stripped off his gloves and leaned forward, taking her cold fingers between his blessedly warm hands. That brought them only inches apart, and she stared helplessly into the dark depths of his raven eyes. She felt trapped in his gaze, exposed, but not in any way that frightened her. Rather, it commanded all her attention so that no fear and no other emotion could be allowed to intrude. She bit her lip, holding back a fierce need to melt across the narrow space between them, into his arms and strength.

He gently smoothed a finger across her pursed mouth. His eyes narrowed, his glittering gaze catching on her lips and remaining there.