Irrationally irritated that she was putting distance between them, he brusquely flipped up her hood and pulled it close around her face.
Startled, she frowned. “Are you quite finished with arranging my clothing to your satisfaction, sir?” she asked in a frosty voice.
Aden stared at her with disbelief, biting back his instinctive response. He could think of many ways to rearrange her clothing, but all of them involved removing them from her body.
A second later, she blushed scarlet as she realized the implication behind her words. A better man would ignore her flustered reaction. Clearly, he was not a better man.
“Satisfaction? Hardly,” he drawled. “And as much as I enjoy a good debate on semantics, we need to get you inside.”
She rolled her eyes and muttered something unflattering about men under her breath. Perversely, that lightened his mood. She had an uncanny knack for amusing him in the most bizarre circumstances, and Aden had to admit he’d miss that.
Signalling her to be quiet—which earned him another eye roll—he opened the door and let down the steps. He carefully scanned the street. No activity, no one watching. The first carts would soon be rumbling along the streets, but for now Upper Wimpole Street still slept.
Aden lifted Lady Vivien to the pavement. She clutched at him, stumbling a bit in her damned oversized clogs, and he wrapped an arm around her waist to hold her steady. He steered her down the steps to the basement entrance while John Stevens set the horses to a brisk trot. A few moments later, the carriage disappeared around a corner and silence fell like a shroud.
Shielding her with his body, Aden tapped out the signal on the basement door. Only then did the latches pull back. He urged her across the threshold as he cast one last glance over his shoulder.
Nothing suspicious, he was certain of it. He shoved the door closed and slid the bolts. He leaned against the door and closed his eyes, letting some of the tension flow from his body.
He’d done it. He’d transported her safely home.
“Mr. St. George, are you unwell?”
He opened his eyes to meet her concerned gaze as she hovered just a few feet away. She was almost dead on her feet from fatigue and still she apparently worried about him. That touched him more than he cared to admit.
Dredging up a smile, he shook his head. “I’m fine, but let’s get you upstairs where it’s warm.”
He glanced at Wilkinson, one of Dominic’s servants, who stood quietly awaiting instructions.
“Is Sir Dominic awake?” Aden asked as he took Lady Vivien’s arm and nudged her along the basement passage that ran the length of the house.
“He is, sir, as is Lady Thornbury. Sir Dominic sent Lady Blake home last night, but Lady Thornbury refused to leave until the young miss was returned safely home.”
Aden cursed under his breath. Why the hell had his mother decided to hang about? Besides the fact that she would likely complicate matters, she would want something from him. She always did these days, although he couldn’t figure out why. She’d spent a great many years doing her best to ignore him, but ever since his stepfather died she’d been relentlessly doing her best to interfere in his life.
“Thank God,” exclaimed Lady Vivien. “I was terrified she and Mamma might have been injured in the abduction.” She glanced up at Aden. “My mother could do nothing but scream, but Lady Thornbury fought back. I have the distinct impression she even broke somebody’s nose.”
Aden could well believe it since his mother had an iron will. The only person she’d never stood up to had been his bastard of a stepfather.
“No need to worry about her ladyship,” Wilkinson said cheerfully, looking over his shoulder. “Lady Thornbury is as tough a nut as a body could ever be.”
Aden smiled as Vivien stared up at Dominic’s genial giant. Wilkinson was always a sight at the best of times—well over six feet tall and broad as a barn, with an old scar down the left side of his face, and a heavy, bristle-covered jaw. The man looked like something out of a nightmare, but had an incurable soft spot for children, puppies, or any innocent thing that stumbled into harm’s way.
He was also the deadliest of assassins, one who could kill a man with his bare hands in ten different ways and not blink an eyelash.
“Ah, I’m glad to hear that, um . . .” Lady Vivien stuttered.
“Wilkinson, my lady,” he said.
Wilkinson led them past the kitchen, occupied at this early hour only by Peter, the scullery boy. Even Peter could handle a pistol, and like all the servants he possessed one key attribute—fanatical loyalty to Dominic.
When they reached the steps leading up to the main house, Wilkinson stepped aside to let them pass. After starting Lady Vivien up, Aden turned around. “I don’t think anyone saw us. But make another check and have Peter stay on alert,” he said quietly.
The big man nodded and slipped back down the passage.
Aden took the stairs two a time, catching up with Lady Vivien as she hesitated at the top.
“This way,” he said, taking her hand.
They crossed the short entrance hall to a closed door. Aden tapped once and ushered her into Dominic’s study. He placed his back against the door, standing guard, as she rushed across the room and threw herself into his mother’s arms.
Not that Aden really had to stand guard. Not here in Dominic’s inner sanctum. But it gave him a task and allowed him to maintain a safe distance from his mother.
“I’m so happy to see you safe,” Vivien choked out as the older woman held her in a fierce embrace.
They clung together. His mother stroked Vivien’s pale hair, holding her close with obvious affection. As much as he tried, Aden couldn’t squash a flash of resentment. He couldn’t remember the last time his mother had hugged him like that, or shown much concern. And yet, with Vivien, she did it easily.
Then again, Vivien wasn’t the bastard child whose very existence had blighted the famous Lady Thornbury’s life, particularly since that child was the result of an affair with the Prince of Wales, now England’s Regent. Aden’s mother had subsequently spent years trying to erase the damage caused by her reckless indiscretion, which seemed to include keeping her ill-gotten son at a polite distance in an attempt to regain her cuckolded husband’s trust. The logical man in Aden couldn’t blame her, but the boy inside the man obviously still did.
As for his relationship with his natural father, Aden had made a point of keeping the Prince Regent at a coolly polite distance for years, so he supposed he took after his mother, in that respect. But it was the only way the Thornbury household—his stepfather and half siblings included—had been able to maintain a united front against the scandal that had once rocked the family at its very foundations.
While the two women hugged, talking to each other in low, emotion-laden voices, Dominic unfolded his lanky frame from behind his desk and strolled over to greet Aden. One of Dominic’s rare smiles lit up his usually impassive façade as he extended his hand.
“Well done, Aden,” he said. “Lady Vivien seems to be in remarkably good shape, all things considered.”
“Yes, we were fortunate in that respect.”
His chief cocked an eyebrow. “Ah. Then she wasn’t—”
“No, she was spared that degradation, thank God. They drugged her, but they obviously had instructions not to do her grievous harm. But she wasn’t well treated, which tells me something.”
Dominic frowned, the harsh angles of his face looking grimmer than usual. And since he almost always looked grim, that said something to Aden too.
“Was she able to tell you anything useful?” Dominic asked.
Aden started to answer but then glanced at Lady Vivien, still nestled in his mother’s embrace. She had not cried once during her entire ordeal this night, but now she was sniffing like a heartbroken child, tears trickling down her face. What the devil had his mother said to upset her?
Dominic glanced over at the women, then back at Aden. “She’s fine
,” he said. “It’s just relief, now that she’s safe.” A mocking smile lifted the corners of his mouth. “Of course, you could always go over and give her a hug.”
“With all due respect, sod off,” Aden growled.
Dominic simply snorted in reply.
His chief could frequently be annoying as hell, but Aden was also irritated that he actually did want to hug Lady Vivien. Fortunately, his mother prevented the need for him to act in so idiotic a fashion by murmuring something that brought a watery smile to the girl’s face. She settled Lady Vivien onto the settee in front of the fireplace, before finally deigning to acknowledge his existence.
Aden braced himself against the rush of emotions that swept through him whenever he met his mother.
As always, reluctant admiration warred with bitterness. His mother stood barely five feet tall and was as slender as a reed, but she packed a formidable will in her petite frame. Few could stand against that will when she chose to exert it, and Aden remained convinced she could have exercised it to protect him from his stepfather’s resentment—hatred, even, toward the child who was living proof that his wife had betrayed him, and with a prince, no less. Only once had his mother intervened, when Lord Thornbury had raised a hand to him when he was thirteen, striking Aden across the face. Then, she had stepped between them, telling her husband in a quietly lethal voice to never again lay a hand on her son.
Thornbury had turned on her with a snarl, but his mother had simply placed a restraining hand on her husband’s chest and stared back at him. To Aden’s everlasting amazement, the old bastard had retreated. Aden’s mother subsequently never mentioned the incident, and although his stepfather didn’t stint on the tongue-lashings, Thornbury never struck him again.
“Good morning, Aden,” his mother said. “Why are you skulking by the door? Can you not give your mamma a proper greeting?” She finished with her most charming smile, clearly wishing to take the sting from her words.
Too bad it didn’t work.
Not bothering to repress a sigh, he trod wearily across the library to pay his respects to the one person who still had the ability to make him feel like an awkward schoolboy. He also couldn’t help glancing at Lady Vivien, whose sleepy eyes had just popped open with astonishment. She stared at him for several long seconds, her lips thinned into an irritated line. “You are Lady Thornbury’s son?” she asked.
His mother threw her a startled glance. “Aden didn’t tell you?”
“No. Apparently he did not find that detail to be of any importance.” Lady Vivien glowered at him.
Wonderful. Just what he needed after a long and trying night.
His mother looked at him and he shrugged, expecting her to make one of her typical sarcastic responses. She didn’t. In fact, she looked wounded, as if he’d insulted her somehow.
“I didn’t do it on purpose, Mother,” he said. That wasn’t quite true, but he had no intention of admitting that. “We were rather busy, what with the escape from dangerous armed criminals.”
The pain faded from her gaze as one eyebrow slowly lifted in a sardonic arch. No one could do that better than she and he couldn’t help giving her a sheepish grin.
Her mouth twitched. “Very well, but I still suppose you could give your mamma a kiss. It’s been ages since I’ve seen you.”
As he bent to kiss her, the familiar scent of rosewater teased his nostrils. An indefinable emotion ticked through his chest, as it always did when she showed him affection. If he was forced to identify it, he might call it . . . regret.
When he straightened, she ran an assessing gaze over him. “I take it you suffered no harm?”
“I’m fine. Just tired.”
Dominic crossed to the bell pull. “I’ll ring for tea.”
Aden cast him a startled glance. “Shouldn’t we get Lady Vivien back home as soon as possible? It won’t be long before there’s activity on the streets.” Already the gray light of dawn was filtering through the shutters across the long casement windows.
“Be that as it may, I would very much like a cup of tea,” snapped the object in question. “Surely fifteen minutes one way or the other won’t make a difference. And I’m parched.”
Grumpy, more like it, Aden thought as he studied her pinched brow. He smiled at her, but that simply made her pretty mouth turn down in an irritated curve.
He gave up and looked at Dominic. “What’s the plan, then? Bring her home in broad daylight and pretend nothing happened? I can’t imagine that’ll work.”
“Don’t fuss, Aden,” his mother said. “Of course Vivien may have a cup of tea, and a nice wash and change of clothes, too.”
“Well, that’s putting me in my place,” he replied.
His mother narrowed her eyes at him as if she might put him over her knee and paddle him. Aden rubbed the spot between his brows, wondering if the day could grow any more bizarre.
Fortunately, there was a tap on the door and Smithwell, Dominic’s butler, came into the room. He acknowledged Aden with a respectful bow and then crossed to the women.
“Lady Thornbury, your maid has arrived with Lady Vivien’s things. She’s waiting to help her ladyship upstairs, in the guest bedroom.”
“Why not my maid?” Lady Vivien asked, looking puzzled. “And why isn’t my mother here?”
“We sent her home last night,” Dominic answered as he moved to his desk. “There was no reason for her to remain all night, keeping vigil.”
Lady Vivien pressed her lips together, as if struggling to maintain her composure. “And yet Lady Thornbury elected to stay,” she finally said.
Aden’s gut twisted with sympathy at the quiet pain in her voice. Obviously, he wasn’t the only one with family problems.
His mother smoothly intervened. “Your dear mamma was hysterical, Vivien. Both Sir Dominic and I thought it best she go home and rest. She hasn’t left her bedroom, and we’ve put it about that she has a cold. Since she couldn’t control her distress, it was for the best.”
“Yes, I can imagine,” Lady Vivien replied in a colorless voice.
The way the life had drained from her made Aden want to smash something.
“Come, my dear,” said his mother, helping her to her feet. “My girl will help you get changed and Smithwell will bring you a nice cup of tea. By the time you’re finished, we’ll be ready to take you home.”
Lady Vivien nodded, letting Aden’s mother guide her toward the door. As she passed Aden, she looked up at him, her gaze shadowed with a weary sadness.
“Will you still be here when I come back?” she asked with the tiniest quaver.
Unable to resist the impulse, he touched her kitten-soft cheek, momentarily forgetting everyone else in the room. There was only Vivien and what she needed from him. “Yes, I’ll be here. There’s nothing to worry you. I promise all will be well.”
She gave him a trembling smile, then let Smithwell usher her out of the room.
Once the door closed behind her, a heavy silence fell. Reluctantly, Aden turned to face Dominic and his mother. As he could have predicted, they were both staring at him with avid curiosity.
He spread his hands. “What?”
Dominic appeared to be smirking, and as for his mother . . . her hands went to her hips and she started tapping her daintily shod foot.
“Well, my son,” she began. “Given the fact that we haven’t a clue who abducted Vivien, perhaps you’ll tell us exactly how you intend to keep that promise?”
Chapter Eight
Aden grappled with his mother’s question. Why had he made that damn promise? His responsibility for Vivien’s safety had ended as soon as they crossed the threshold of Dominic’s town house, and any further involvement was a very bad idea. He’d learned the hard way how women and emotion complicated things, and so had his friend, John Williamson. John had also been Aden’s responsibility, but he had failed him, missing the signs that had led to a fatal disaster.
“Aden?” His mother’s voice held a questioning no
te.
“It was a figure of speech, Mother. I’m certain Dominic will have the situation well in hand. Surely you don’t need me.”
Her nose twitched, a sure sign of her displeasure.
He switched his attention to his superior, knowing Dominic would support him. Unfortunately, Dominic remained silent, stroking his chin and regarding him with a thoughtful air.
Bloody hell.
That look boded ill.
“You do not need me to look after the girl now that we’re back in London, do you?” Aden snapped.
Dominic’s only answer was a slight, maddening smile.
Thrusting his hands through his already disordered hair, Aden stalked to the fireplace. He rested one hand on the marble mantel and the other on his hip, staring down into the flames as he struggled to keep his frustration under control. After a minute of silence, he turned around.
Dominic and his mother waited patiently, but their brand of patience resembled nothing so much as a wolf pack waiting to spring on its prey.
“Dominic, I’ve just come off that bloody hellacious mission in France,” he said. “I think I deserve a rest.”
His mother looked startled, although not about his reference to a mission, he knew. She’d spent much of her life close to the highest powers in the land, and there was little she didn’t know about the Crown’s dealings. She’d known for years he was a spy, as had his stepfather. But Aden had never gotten the sense that his mother disapproved of his work.
No, she was surprised because Aden had actually referred to his work. It was something he never did.
“Were you injured on this mission, son?” she asked in a tight voice.
“I wasn’t,” he replied tersely, not in the mood to explain.
His mother accepted that without comment, looking relieved.
With a few words, Dominic invited them to take seats. His mother perched on one of the leather club chairs in front of the desk, while Aden decided he preferred to remain standing—more to be contrary than anything else.
Secrets for Seducing a Royal Bodyguard Page 7