Secrets for Seducing a Royal Bodyguard

by Vanessa Kelly

  Tongues being thrust into one’s mouth was the worst thing of all. When Prince Ivan had done that just a few weeks ago, she’d almost retched, pushing him away with all her might. Actually sleeping with a man was beyond her imagination, since there would be a great deal more involved in that activity than just thrusting tongues. The very idea made her go weak behind the knees, and not in a good way.

  But St. George had crashed into her life and was changing all that. Given that she’d been manhandled by the most disgusting villains, it seemed a bizarre and certainly unexpected reaction. And yet, when he’d been massaging her feet, her mind had drifted into a voluptuous lull. In that state it had been quite easy to imagine kissing St. George. That notion had presented such an attractive image she hadn’t even objected when his powerful hands slid over her ankles to massage her calves.

  Ridiculous.

  Proper conduct aside, it would be foolish beyond measure to grow attached to him. He was a soldier—or something rather more than that—and quite obviously avoided ton circles. After tonight, she doubted she would rarely see him again, if at all.

  That being the case, it behooved her to focus on her problems and not on handsome rescuers. Now that her head had cleared, her thinking process had also. Vivien now had her suspicions about who had ordered her kidnapping and why, and it wouldn’t do for anyone to discover the real culprit.

  St. George rearranged the blanket around her and settled onto the opposite seat as the carriage rattled out of the courtyard and onto the road. Vivien sighed with relief. As grateful as she was for the stop—it had been a very long time since a visit to the necessary—she couldn’t wait to get back to London. The sooner she could put this entire experience behind her, the better.

  Except, of course, that she couldn’t. Not until she eliminated the threat to herself and to her family.

  St. George stirred across from her. “I wish you could have been allowed more time for a proper meal, but I couldn’t take the risk.”

  An odd little ache pulled tight in her chest. Vivien wasn’t used to anyone taking care of her, besides her brother’s servants, that is. St. George, however, went out of his way to attend to her comfort despite the trying circumstances. And when he looked at her as he did now, his handsome face somber with concern, she felt almost . . . cherished.

  “Actually, being able to stretch my legs and have a bit to eat felt like heaven,” she confessed. In her famished state, the hastily assembled plate of bread and cheese and the pot of tea had tasted like ambrosia.

  St. George nodded, his eyes fixed on her face. He studied her with a steady intensity, as if he wanted something. That look made her wary and embarrassed—wary because of the questions she sensed hovering on his tongue, and embarrassed because she looked a positive wreck. That she should worry about her appearance told her something, and it was something she’d better stop thinking about immediately.

  “My lady,” he finally said, “I must ask you a few questions while your memory of events is fresh.”

  Blast.

  His face remained impassive, his demeanor calm and watchful. She, on the other hand, was vibrating with nerves, and had to resist the impulse to fidget. Answering what were likely to be very intrusive questions—especially when her defenses were down—was dangerous, indeed.

  “You’re very tired, I know,” he said gently. “But it’s necessary. You must trust that I wouldn’t ask if that wasn’t so.”

  Mentally, she sighed. Might as well get it over with. If he strayed too close to what she suspected was the truth, she could always burst into tears and hope that put him off. Not that Vivien found it easy to turn on the waterworks, but she thought she might be able to make a credible job of it tonight, and without much prompting.

  “Of course, sir. I am entirely at your disposal,” she said in a hollow voice.

  His brows slanted up in an incredulous lift, and she heaved another mental sigh. She’d always been adept at hiding her emotions—a lesson learned at the card table—but St. George had a way of seeing past that. She didn’t like it one bit.

  “Very well. Let’s begin with the abduction itself.”

  He led her through the sequence of events. Although he encouraged her to describe everything in as much detail as she could recall, he treated her gently, never pushing her too far and always sensing the levels of her anxiety. It struck her once again that he was very good at what he did, and she found it hard to believe that the average army officer was anything like Aden St. George.

  Eventually, they reached her rescue itself. Nothing she’d recalled so far would lead St. George in any way back to her family or what she suspected were the true reasons for her abduction.

  He gave her an encouraging smile. “You’ve done very well, my lady. I have only a few more questions and then you can rest for the remainder of our journey.”

  She nodded, giving him permission to continue. Not that he needed it.

  “From what I’ve been told, you have many admirers and suitors in the ton.”

  Vivien fancied she heard a note of disapproval in his voice. Heat prickled at the back of her neck, and she couldn’t help feeling defensive. “I’m sure you exaggerate, sir. I’m no more or less admired than dozens of other women in our circles.”

  Since her coming-out, she’d grown used to hearing herself described as one of the most eligible young ladies in society. But at age twenty-four she was perilously close to sitting firmly on the shelf. Add to that her decidedly unfeminine prowess at the card tables and the rumors that dogged her family, and Vivien found it safe to say that her star had long since started to fade.

  “I commend your modesty, Lady Vivien, but it’s neither necessary nor helpful. I need truth from you, not missish protestations we both know aren’t true.”

  She flinched at the dry, almost scornful note in his voice. It didn’t make sense given his careful consideration of her up to this point. But he’d obviously heard something about her that had given him a bad impression, and that stung her more than it should.

  Crossing her arms over her chest, she stared back at him. “What do you wish to know, sir?” she said in a clipped tone.

  He held her gaze, his hard-cut jaw darkened by masculine stubble that made him look dangerous and rather wild. The look suited him, she was sorry to say.

  “Who are your most persistent suitors?” he asked. “Are there any whose conduct unsettles you, or gives you pause for any reason?”

  She was about to return an automatic denial when she paused. The suspicions that had floated through her mind while still a captive resurfaced. She’d discarded them almost immediately, simply because they didn’t make any sense.

  St. George leaned forward, coming to alert. Vivien could practically sense the change in the atmosphere, and it made her shiver.

  “What is it?” he asked.

  “It’s nothing. I thought perhaps—”

  “Someone made you nervous,” he said in a milder voice. “Who was it?”

  This time she did fidget with the ruffle on her mantle. “It’s nothing, really. In fact, it would be ridiculous to suspect him of anything.”

  “I understand, but it’s necessary that you tell me. For your own safety,” he finished on a warning note.

  He was obviously trying to scare her into revealing something useful. Blast him, it just might work.

  Unexpectedly, he smiled. She had to admit it was a very charming smile.

  “Yes, I am trying to scare you, my lady. Just a little. I don’t enjoy doing so, in case you were wondering.”

  She nervously licked her lips, once more discomposed by his ability to see past her defenses. Vivien had spent years perfecting an impervious façade, but he took it apart with uncanny ease. Nor did it help her equanimity to see his gaze go suddenly dark and smoky, drifting down to study her mouth.

  “Yes, well, I’m sure,” she said, struggling to regain her composure. Easier said than done, since her temples were starting to pound from exhaus
tion and her ears were ringing.

  “You can trust me, you know.” His warm, easy tone wrapped around her like a comfy blanket. “I will only share what you tell me with Sir Dominic.” A slight smile lifted the corners of his hard, handsome mouth. “I will not break the seal of the confessional, I promise.”

  She blushed. He’d risked his life for her. Of course she trusted him.

  Up to a point.

  “Very well. I did think of someone, but it’s too ridiculous. He’s very rich and very important, and I can’t imagine him behaving in so outrageous a fashion.”

  “You’d be surprised at the acts carried out by rich, important men.”

  His cynical tone sounded a warning bell in her weary brain.

  “You’re right of course, Mr. St. George,” she replied cautiously.

  He again flashed that unexpected grin. “There’s no need to keep calling me Mister St. George will do nicely. Now, why don’t you tell me who ruffled your nerves?”

  She grimaced. “I thought at first that Prince Ivan Khovansky might have been behind my abduction. But of course that’s ridiculous.” She sat back, waiting for him to scoff at her suspicions.

  He didn’t. Instead, he sat back, stroking his beard-shadowed jaw.

  “Really,” she insisted, “it’s ridiculous. He’s a Russian prince, for heaven’s sake. Besides, the Russian ambassador and his wife are his friends, and are seen with him everywhere.”

  In fact, it had been Countess Lieven who introduced them in the first place. The prince had begun courting Vivien immediately, much to her dismay, and it wasn’t because he looked like a squat toad. She liked a handsome man as much as any girl, but it was his oily, arrogant demeanor and his aggressive pursuit that made her bristle. She’d turned him down three times already in the past six weeks, but the man wouldn’t take no for an answer.

  “What has he done to offend you?”

  “Have you met Prince Ivan?”

  “I know of him, but I’ve never met him.”

  “If you had, you’d know exactly what I’m talking about,” she replied dryly.

  He gave her a faint smile. “Tell me anyway.”

  “He’s arrogant and extremely forward, and quite certain that any woman who is the object of his attentions should be bowing down before him with gratitude.” It would be a frosty day in hell before she bowed to any man, much less Khovansky.

  “Go on.”

  “He refuses to take no for an answer. In fact, he—” She stopped, too embarrassed and angry to recount the last episode when he’d backed her up behind a column at the DeLancey ball and forced his tongue halfway down her throat.

  “I understand,” he replied gently. “He’s asked for your hand?”

  “Three times, and each time I refused him in no uncertain terms.”

  “And what does your brother, Lord Blake, have to say about all this? Surely he cannot wish to see his sister the recipient of unwelcome advances.”

  She scowled. “He thinks I’m a fool for saying no.”

  That earned another lift of his eyebrows, and Vivien silently cursed. Too late, she realized their discussion touched too close to home.

  She waved a dismissive hand. “Truthfully, I don’t think Cyrus cares one way or the other about my suitors. I suppose he’d like to get me off his hands, but he doesn’t favor the prince over any other man.”

  “And do you have many suitors?”

  Vivien hunched her shoulders. Not only was this discussion veering into dangerous territory, it was downright mortifying. She had no desire to talk about her suitors with anyone, especially not St. George.

  “No more than the usual,” she said stiffly. “And lately, none of any note. Besides Prince Ivan, that is.”

  “And how does your—”

  She cut him off. “It’s ridiculous to think Prince Ivan might have a role in my abduction. I don’t like the man, but he’s a prince and a guest of the Crown. Princes don’t go around acting the part of the villain, now do they?”

  His lips parted in a smile that looked more like a snarl. “Have you met any of the king’s sons, my lady?”

  He had a point. King George’s sons were an appalling group, which anyone with half a brain understood.

  Vivien pondered that fact, then finally let out a sigh. It wasn’t Khovansky—she’d stake her life on it. She had a fairly good idea who was behind her kidnapping, but she had no intention of sharing that bit of news with St. George or anyone else.

  “Truly, my dear sir, I don’t like Prince Ivan but nor do I think he had anything to do with my abduction. I wouldn’t be at all surprised if he’s already given up on me. In fact, I hadn’t seen him for several days before I was attacked in Mayfair.” She’d ended their last encounter by kicking him in the shins. The prince hadn’t appreciated that move one bit.

  St. George inclined his head. “I’ll take your word for it. I do have a few more questions, though, about your brother, Lord Blake.”

  Vivien’s heart skipped a few beats. “Please, no more. My head is spinning and I can barely stitch together a coherent sentence. You must forgive me, but I cannot answer any more questions tonight.”

  Her voice quavered, which she made no attempt to hide. In fact, she hoped she looked as frazzled as she felt.

  His gaze was dark with suspicion, but finally he relented. “Very well.” He brushed aside the window drape with one finger and studied the sky. “We should be reaching the outskirts of London by dawn’s break, in about an hour. We can talk later.”

  Swallowing a sigh of relief, Vivien gave him a grateful smile as she settled back in her seat, closing her eyes and willing herself into a doze.

  She’d managed to put him off for now but she’d have to be on her guard. The situation was much more appalling than St. George even suspected, and only she could fix it. Because it wasn’t a Russian prince who’d been the catalyst for her abduction. No. The culprit was much, much closer to home.

  Chapter Seven

  The carriage turned into Upper Wimpole Street just as faint tendrils of light cut through the smoky darkness of the city. Aden stretched his cramped limbs, more than ready to see this night to a close. He’d been awake for over thirty hours and even he had his limits. But Lady Vivien’s situation threatened to deny him much-needed rest. His brain restlessly searched for patterns and explanations that made sense, but there were none. The fact that the lady was withholding information only added to the mystery.

  He didn’t like mysteries. In his line of work, he’d grown used to them. But the best thing about any mystery was solving it, and the one he currently found himself embroiled in seemed far from reaching its conclusion.

  As light filtered into the carriage, he studied the heart of the conundrum, curled up on the opposite seat. Once she’d fallen asleep, she’d fallen hard, barely stirring when he’d eased her down onto the bench and covered her with the blanket. Even when he’d smoothed her pale golden hair away from her face she hadn’t moved. Her vulnerability touched him, as did the trust she obviously felt in his presence. Knowing now the strength of her character, he recognized that Lady Vivien would never have allowed herself to fall asleep if she didn’t think he could see to her safety.

  Too bad she didn’t trust him enough to tell him the truth about what she knew. She clearly had suspicions as to the culprit behind her abduction, and equally clearly had no intention of sharing them. That probably meant what Aden had suspected all along. Namely, that her brother Lord Blake was involved. The reason was yet obscured, but Dominic would get to the bottom of it.

  Cases involving families or friends always ended badly. Whenever emotions clouded judgment, as they were bound to do, mistakes were made. Aden hated those cases, and he had every intention of handing the whole damn thing over to Dominic. That included Lady Vivien, too.

  The carriage jerked to a halt in front of Dominic’s town house. Even then, Lady Vivien did not stir, although she drew in a shuddering breath and curled her hand up under her
chin. She looked so young and innocent, her smooth cheeks flushed from sleep, her mouth soft and vulnerable. Something twisted in Aden’s chest and he had to resist the impulse to go down on his knees beside her and kiss her awake.

  His hand clenched into a fist with the effort to resist the demented impulse. Yes, it was definitely time to hand Lady Vivien over into Dominic’s safekeeping.

  Reaching for her shoulder, he gently shook her. “My lady, it’s time to wake up.”

  Another one of those shuddering breaths and her eyelids fluttered open. She gazed at him with drowsy, sapphire-colored eyes and gave him a sleepy smile. For a second, a very long second, that smile robbed him of breath.

  He shook it off. “We’ve arrived at Sir Dominic’s town house, Lady Vivien.” Deliberately, he looked out the window, thankful to break the unnerving connection between them.

  She yawned and pushed herself upright. The blanket slid down to her waist, revealing the white skin of her shoulders and gently curving breasts. As she stretched like a kitten, those pretty breasts plumped up over her bodice. With her tousled hair and heavy eyelids she looked like she’d just recovered from a good romp between the sheets.

  His body approved of that look, reacting with inconvenient dispatch.

  He repressed a frustrated sigh and reached across to rearrange her mantle around her shoulders. Their gazes met and held. Her eyes widened and her pupils seemed to dilate as her cheeks flushed a brighter pink. Then she seemed to retreat, giving him a cool smile as she brushed his hands aside to tie the velvet tasselled cords of her mantle firmly shut.