Secrets for Seducing a Royal Bodyguard

by Vanessa Kelly

  She jumped a bit, then settled. Shyly, she pushed back a bedraggled lock of hair and gave him a tentative smile. “If I could survive this incident with all limbs intact, I would be very grateful. I don’t know what Mamma would say if I came home without my toes.” She gave a little snort. “Actually, I do. She would find that more horrifying than anything else.”

  He studied her face in the flickering light of the carriage lamps. Her bow-shaped mouth had flattened into a cynical line.

  Interesting.

  And disturbing. One so young and lovely should have no call to wear an expression like that. But from the little Dominic had told him about her family, Aden wasn’t completely surprised.

  “And you’d have the devil of a time finding dancing slippers to fit,” he said as he began to carefully knead her feet. “You’d have to stuff the toes with rags to keep the slippers from falling off.”

  She snickered, and the muscles in the back of his neck loosened. Why the hell he should care about her relationship with her family was a mystery. In his experience, families were more trouble than they were worth. The only relevant question about Lady Vivian’s mother and brothers was whether they’d had anything to do with her abduction. Given the fact that her older brother, Lord Blake, had flat-out refused to pay any kind of ransom—even before one had been demanded—certainly put him in a category of suspicion.

  Glancing up, he was pleased to see she had finally relaxed, snuggling into her corner and closing her eyes. Much of the tension had drained from her face, although her delicate features were still devoid of color and she carried bruise-like smudges under her eyes. Those should quickly fade once she had food and proper rest.

  Allowing a rare feeling of satisfaction to slip through him—a genuine sense that his actions tonight had made a difference—Aden concentrated on massaging her feet. At some point, he needed to question her and extract as much information about her kidnappers as she could recall. And he needed to know why she thought she’d been abducted. Lady Vivien was clearly an intelligent woman, more so than the average flighty ton female. She might very well have observed something—even unconsciously—that would help narrow his search for the villain who’d planned this.

  For now, though, he would let her rest.

  And he would allow himself the oddly pleasing task of taking care of her. As he rubbed her feet, stroking warmth and life back into them, his senses opened to her. Her feet were slender and high-arched, delicate like the rest of her, with skin like living silk under his touch. Carefully, he stroked a bit higher, moving over her ankles. He glanced up, checking for her reaction, but she was quiet and still. Slowly, he inched farther up to her calves. The soft skin chilled his fingertips, and he almost convinced himself that he touched her only to bring the warmth back to her limbs.

  Liar.

  It had been months since he’d been with a woman—too long, given how simply touching her ankles primed him for more. The last woman he’d taken had been a pampered beauty, a plump, sophisticated confection he’d thoroughly enjoyed. Compared to her, Lady Vivien was too slender, bordering on unfashionably thin. But she had gentle curves and a supple strength to her body that he found disturbingly attractive.

  Aden frowned. Disturbing was unacceptable. Women offered a respite and a release, an interlude of charming companionship. Nothing more. Not by preference, but by necessity. His work dictated he suspend that part of his life, perhaps forever. Emotional entanglements always complicated an agent’s life. Hell, they complicated life, period, and since he’d found out the dirty secret of his birth, he’d done everything he could to separate himself from the overwrought passions that too often came with close relationships.

  Of course, his own family had been only too willing to assist him in establishing that distance. But there was something about Lady Vivien that tested the high barriers he’d wrought around his emotions. At this point, it was merely a light tapping on the wall, but it—

  “You haven’t answered my question, Mr. St. George.”

  He jerked, coming back to himself. Damn, stroking her like that, like she was a sleepy, purring cat, had tipped him into a mental lull. He’d practically forgotten they’d just escaped one of the most notorious gangs in the West End. Not that he had any doubts Tom had eliminated their two remaining pursuers, but Aden had played the fool to let his guard so thoroughly drop.

  The fact that he’d done so—despite the incident in France only a few weeks ago—told him just how dangerous a distraction Lady Vivien posed. Little wonder she’d garnered the reputation as one of the most fascinating women—and gamesters—in the ton. Yes, she was lovely and intelligent, but that didn’t explain it. Still, he’d have to spend more time with her to decipher that puzzle, and he had no intention of doing so. He couldn’t afford to like her, for either of their sakes.

  Briskly, he wrapped her feet into the folds of the blanket. When he finally met her gaze, she looked heavy-lidded and sated, and some of the color had returned to her cheeks. She looked like she’d just come from a man’s bed after a night of thorough shagging.

  Christ Almighty.

  He lifted her legs and shifted off the seat, tucking the blanket around her limbs. Moving to the opposite bench, he pulled his coat around him. Now she looked puzzled, her luscious lower lip thrust out in a little pout that begged for a response. That did nothing for his self-control, but it certainly had a marked effect on his burgeoning erection.

  He forced himself to give her an impassive stare. “What question would that be, my lady?”

  When she rolled her eyes he had to repress a smile. He hadn’t forgotten her question and she knew it.

  “Who are you?” she repeated with a decisive tilt of her chin. Her tone brooked no attempt at evasion.

  He gave her a lazy smile. “As I recall, we did exchange introductions. I am Aden St. George, at your service.”

  Now her lovely eyes narrowed with irritation. “Yes, of the Thornbury St. Georges. But that tells me next to nothing. You obviously know a fair amount about me—from Sir Dominic, I assume. But I still know very little about you.”

  He shrugged, holding his silence. After all, there was very little he could tell her.

  A frown creased her brow and she glanced toward the window of the coach. And just like that, damned if she didn’t begin to look nervous again, her gaze flickering back to him and then once more to the window.

  Mentally, he sighed. The less she knew about him the better, but he didn’t want her stewing all the way back to London. The last thing he wanted was for her to fret herself into a state of hysteria.

  Not that she hadn’t conducted herself with a great deal of aplomb so far. In fact, when he’d almost fallen off the step of the coach, she’d had the presence of mind to grab onto him. But now she had nothing to do but think, and worry over her abduction like a kitten with a toy. She had no control over events—even over her own person. She’d been mauled and terrified, and had lived for hours with the threat of rape. Aden had more than a passing acquaintance with helplessness, and if answering a few questions restored a measure of her dignity then he would do what he could.

  Within limits, of course.

  “What is it you wish to know, my lady?”

  “Are you in the military? Tom called you captain, after all.” She waved a vague hand. “And other things, too. Few men of the ton would be comfortable sneaking about damp tunnels and subduing dangerous criminals.” She frowned. “In fact, that sounds more like—”

  He cut her off. “Yes, I’m with the Royal Horse Guards.” Partly true, since he’d served for six months in The Blues when he’d finished university. But it hadn’t taken Dominic long to recruit him into the Service. His “commission” with the Guards was nothing more than a convenient cover, used only when necessary.

  She raised her eyebrows. “Then why aren’t you with your regiment?”

  “I’m on leave, temporarily attached to the Home Office.”

  “So that’s how you
know Sir Dominic.”

  He gave her a slight smile, not answering. To the world at large, Dominic worked for the Home Office. Only a select few knew he was one of the most powerful spymasters in England, with extensive connections in both the highest and lowest circles of English society. On any given day Dominic could be whispering in the ear of the Duke of York or enjoying a pint of heavy wet with some of the more disreputable denizens of Whitechapel. He was equally at home in both settings, which made him invaluable to the Crown.

  Lady Vivien chewed on her plump lower lip, sending a powerful flash of heat to his groin. He wished like hell she’d stop doing that.

  “Why did Sir Dominic send you to my rescue, instead of alerting Bow Street and hiring Runners?”

  “My lady, we’re trying to stifle gossip, not generate it.”

  She grimaced. “Of course. How foolish of me. I don’t know why that didn’t occur to me before.”

  “You’re doing very well, all things considered.”

  The carriage bumped through a rut, jolting her slight figure and sending the blanket sliding off her shoulders. Her mantle gaped open over her throat and chest, showing off the pale perfection of her skin. His hand itched to stroke her. Having already experienced the feel of that skin with his naked hand, he knew how soft she would be.

  Staring at him with a thoughtful air, Vivien readjusted the blanket around her shoulders, shrouding herself with the heavy fabric. Aden told himself that was a good thing.

  “How did Sir Dominic know where to find me?”

  He forced back a stab of impatience. Normally, he was on the giving and not the receiving end of an interrogation. But he couldn’t blame her curiosity.

  “Let’s just say that Sir Dominic has friends in low places. When your mother came to him with the news of your abduction, he made discreet enquiries. It didn’t take long for information to filter back. Kidnapping gently born ladies off the street is not a regular occurrence.”

  “I should hope kidnapping any kind of woman off the streets is not a regular occurrence,” she huffed.

  He had to repress a smile at her tone. “I share your hope, my lady.”

  She eyed him narrowly, as if she sensed he found her amusing. He didn’t, but he did find her . . . damn, the word that kept springing to mind was adorable.

  “Of course you do.” Her voice was dry as toast, which also made him want to laugh. He could well imagine her ability to hold her own with the sharp-toothed vipers of the ton. It would appear Lady Vivien did not back down from anyone.

  “Why you?” she asked, abruptly changing course.

  He raised his eyebrows, feigning ignorance. She was beginning to sail a bit too close to the wind.

  She flapped a hand under the blanket. “I understand why Sir Dominic would not use Runners, but why did he not come himself, with more men? Surely he would wish to apprehend the villains responsible for this outrage.”

  “Which was exactly why he didn’t show up in force. It would have tipped his hand to the man who arranged for your abduction. We still don’t know his identity, but he will also not know who rescued you, either.”

  She stilled, staring at him with dawning apprehension. He must make it clear to her that she was not yet safe.

  “I know it’s an unpleasant thought,” he said gently. “But we must discover who was behind this plot and apprehend him. You will not be safe until we do.”

  Her eyes grew wide and he could swear her pupils dilated with a stunning realization. What had she just remembered?

  “Lady Vivien?” he prompted.

  Her sapphire gaze refocused and she gave a slight shake of the head. The movement was tiny, but he sensed a barrier go up between them. She was hiding something from him, obviously something he needed to know.

  “Why did Sir Dominic send you, a soldier, to find me?” She ran a swift, assessing gaze over his face and body. It swept over him, almost as real as the heated touch of her hand.

  “Officers are not an unknown commodity in the ton,” she added. “You’re not like any soldier I’ve ever met.”

  Lady Vivien possessed a sharp sense of discernment. There were capable men amongst the aristocratic corps of officers, but she was correct. Very few were like him. She’d surprised him once again, and Aden had to admit he was beginning to enjoy playing this game with her.

  He affected an incredulous smile. “Why, Lady Vivien, whatever do you mean?”

  Her pretty mouth thinned. Apparently, she wasn’t enjoying this as much as he was. “As I’ve already mentioned, most officers I know would make a point of not skulking around in dirty tunnels and acting with so much stealth. They would consider it . . .”

  “Common?” he intoned in a haughty tone.

  His amusement vanished with her words. She was right. Most aristocrats would curl their lips at his profession. God knows his stepfather had. That Aden had left his career in the military to be a spy had been the final degradation as far as Lord Thornbury was concerned. After all these years, he shouldn’t let it bother him, but it did. The pampered members of the ton would never know the risks and the filthy jobs he and his colleagues took on to keep them safe in their useless, spendthrift lives.

  She seemed to consider the word. “Perhaps, but it’s more than that. Many of them are simply so . . . pampered. They couldn’t do what you did, especially with that man outside the tunnels. I think of my own brothers, and I cannot imagine them having the fortitude to take on such a desperate villain. In fact, Cyrus would faint dead-away if faced with so dire a necessity.”

  Lady Vivien was beginning to look pale again, and rather queasy herself at the reminder of her ordeal. Aden’s flare of temper faded in the need to draw her mind away from that ugly scene.

  He reached across the small space and found her hand under the blanket, giving it a reassuring squeeze. Startled, her eyes flew up to meet his, but then she gave him a tremor of a smile. A muscle constricted somewhere in the vicinity of his heart.

  “I saw a good deal of fighting in the Peninsula,” he said. “That experience allowed me to do what was necessary. I don’t enjoy killing, but Sir Dominic and I promised your mother we would return you safely home. I simply did what was necessary.”

  She stared at him, her eyes big and round and vulnerable. The fear was gone, and in its place was something that looked disturbingly like hero worship.

  Damn. He hated that look. It always led to trouble. A good agent did his job because he had to do it. Glory and admiration didn’t enter into it. If it did, that man was a fool and was in the wrong profession.

  “I’m very glad you did,” she whispered. “And I will never forget it.”

  He nodded, giving her hand what he hoped was a fatherly pat before drawing it away. A few seconds later, he felt the horses beginning to slow.

  “Mr. St. George, how was it that you—”

  “Forgive me, my lady. We’re at the coaching inn. I must ask you to keep any further questions or comments to yourself. We’ll only be stopping for a few minutes, but I’d prefer we not draw any more attention to ourselves than necessary.”

  She pressed her lips firmly shut, looking slightly put out. He knew she had more questions, but he was done answering. In fact, as soon as they got back on the road, he had every intention of subjecting her to a little interrogation of his own. He was loath to upset her, but every one of his instincts was telling him that Lady Vivien knew something about her kidnapping that she had chosen not to share with him.

  He’d let her get away with that a few minutes ago, allowing her to distract him, but there would be no more distractions. Very soon, the lady would be telling him everything he wanted to know.

  Chapter Six

  Vivien stumbled over the brick paving of the inn’s courtyard, heavy-footed with exhaustion. If not for St. George’s firm grip on her arm, she would have pitched face-first onto the muddy stones. The clogs the innkeeper had found for her, excavated from some dusty cubbyhole, weren’t helping much either. The
y were at least two sizes too big and crudely made.

  Still, she was grateful to have properly if clumsily shod feet. Not having shoes had been one of the worst parts of her ordeal. Her bare feet had made her feel intensely vulnerable, unable to fend for herself or attempt any kind of escape.

  “Do you want me to carry you, my lady?” St. George asked as she righted herself.

  She shook her head, barely able to make out his stern features in the flickering light of the torches in the inn’s courtyard. He returned his attention to their surroundings, his gaze sweeping the courtyard, looking for danger in every shadowed corner. In her addled state, he reminded her of the gigantic mastiff that used to roam the lands of her father’s estate, guarding her and Kit with a fierce, steadfast loyalty. St. George seemed invested with similar qualities—quiet but with hackles raised, ready to attack at the first sign of trouble.

  Of course, he was the furthest thing from a drooling hound she could imagine, but that didn’t prevent a semi-hysterical giggle from bubbling past her lips.

  St. George glanced down at her with a questioning, wary countenance.

  “It’s nothing,” she managed, waving her hand. “I just thought of something very silly.”

  “Oh, indeed,” he replied politely, looking even more mystified.

  That struck her as funny, too, although this time she managed to hold back her inappropriate mirth. The poor man had enough problems to worry about without having to care for a woman who acted like a half-wit.

  Vivien grasped the door frame of the coach, gathering the energy to pull herself in. Even that simple movement seemed beyond her as her weary limbs sought to drag her down. Without a word, St. George tucked one arm under her knees, the other behind her back, and lifted, carefully depositing her on the cushioned bench. His strength and stamina continued to astonish her. St. George had lugged her about for the better part of the night, killed one man, disabled another, effected her rescue with competence and skill, and still showed no signs of flagging.

  She’d never met anyone like him.

  And he unsettled her to a degree she’d never thought possible. He was so intensely masculine. Everything about him heightened her feminine awareness, and that wasn’t something that happened very often. Well, almost never, if she were truthful. Vivien liked men. She liked looking at the handsome ones and talking to the intelligent ones. But they did little to spark her romantic sensibilities, and she’d always found that rather depressing. As her friends had married, Vivien had wondered if something was wrong with her. She’d encountered many men over the years whom she’d quite liked, but she’d never known one whose bed she wanted to share. On the few occasions when a man had kissed her, she’d either found it only mildly enjoyable or downright unpleasant.