Secrets for Seducing a Royal Bodyguard

by Vanessa Kelly

  “You’ve earned a rest,” Dominic said. “But I’m not sure it’s the wisest course of action. If you don’t stay busy you’ll keep brooding over what happened in France.”

  Aden scoffed. “That’s ridiculous. I never brood.”

  His mother tut-tutted him. “That’s not true, dear. You were quite melancholic as a child. I’d hate to see you fall into those habits again.”

  Dominic nodded wisely and Aden could do nothing but give them an incredulous stare. He must be the only spy in history forced to put up with a damned lecture from his mother while reporting to his superior.

  “I can assure you,” he growled, “I will not sit at home and brood.”

  Except they were correct. He had planned to lock himself in his rooms and drink himself into a stupor for at least a week. Until just a moment ago, brooding had been a major part of his plan.

  Dominic waved a negligent hand. “What matters most is Lady Vivien’s safety. I’ve thought a great deal about how to handle this situation, and I’ve decided we need you. Because of your standing, you’ll be able to move freely within the ton and keep an eye on her. No one will think to question your presence, which should make it easy for you to gather information regarding those closest to her ladyship.”

  He almost groaned. The ton. His worst nightmare.

  His mother perked up. “I can assist you, Aden. I know all Vivien’s friends and acquaintances, and her family, of course.”

  This time he couldn’t keep his mouth shut. “You must bloody well be joking, Mother.”

  Her eyebrows arched up in admonishment. “Aden, your language.”

  He glared at Dominic, determined to refuse. He would not be coerced into babysitting a spoiled society miss—no matter how enticing that miss might be—and he would certainly not work on a case with his mother. It was the most demented idea he’d ever heard in his life.

  But the words died on his tongue when he took in his chief’s face. The craggy, lean features looked carved from granite, the severity more than matched by the cold expression in his flinty green eyes. Dominic allowed his agents a great deal of latitude when it came to speaking their minds, but there always came a point when the discussion ended. Usually when he looked like that.

  Sighing, Aden dropped into the other club chair in front of the massive desk. A great weariness tugged at his limbs and he wanted nothing more than to fall into bed and sleep for a month. He didn’t want to take responsibility for Vivien. For anyone. Not after the botch he’d made of things in France.

  “It’s been ages since I’ve been in London,” he said, not yet ready to give in. “I’m completely out of touch with that nonsense.”

  “Lady Thornbury will assist you,” Dominic said with an evil grin.

  “Yes, since my mourning period is now over,” his mother added. “It makes perfect sense that I would be out and about again, and no one would think twice if you escorted me.” She levelled her most winning smile at him. “It will be delightful for us to spend time with each other.”

  Aden wanted to shoot himself. His mother had been avoiding him for years, and now she wanted to spend time with him?

  “Is there no one else?” he asked in a resigned voice.

  Dominic shook his head. “All my other men are out in the field. Naturally, I will continue to investigate the abduction, and I have contacts who will be useful in that regard.” His eyes turned coldly furious. “I will be doing everything I can to run down the villain behind this outrage. Lady Vivien will not be put in harm’s way again.”

  Aden barely kept surprise from registering on his face. Rarely did his superior display such emotion or become so directly involved in cases—especially one of this nature. Clearly, something about Vivien’s situation had struck Dominic in a very personal way.

  Then Dominic seemed to shrug it off. “But I need someone on the inside. A man who can move everywhere throughout the ton and also remain close to Lady Vivien.” He paused and exchanged a veiled glance with Aden’s mother.

  Aden sighed. “Now what?”

  His mother gave him a placating smile. “It’s just that Vivien seems to trust you, and that’s unusual for her. Since her dear papa died several years ago, she’s been quite reserved when it comes to men. I know she has a reputation as something of a flirt, but it’s entirely undeserved.”

  Christ. That was the last thing Aden wanted to hear. He did not want to get emotionally involved with Vivien, and he did not want her developing some misplaced sense of hero worship.

  “She would feel that way toward any man who’d effected her rescue,” he replied in a cool voice.

  “Perhaps,” said Dominic. “But do you really want to entrust her safety to just anyone? Whoever did this will try again, and we all know it.”

  Aden clenched his fist, scowling at his chief. Between the two of them, they’d very neatly backed him into a corner, and now they sat like a bloody pair of sphinxes, waiting for his answer.

  He’d already made his decision. All he had to do was think of Vivien when he’d found her—drugged, terrified, and achingly vulnerable. The idea of that happening again was unacceptable.

  Of course, he’d have to figure out some way to maintain a reasonable distance from the girl, since she’d already displayed an uncanny ability to unsettle him. That being the case, he’d do everything he could to protect her, but from an emotionally safe distance.

  But let her stumble into harm’s way, when he might be able to prevent it? Hell and damnation, no.

  He glanced at the clock on the mantelpiece.

  “We don’t have much time before Lady Vivien returns,” he said, addressing Dominic. “I doubt you’ve been idle these last twenty-four hours, so tell me what I need to know and who I might have to kill to protect her.”

  Chapter Nine

  Vivien clutched the polished oak banister, carefully coming down the stairs. She finally felt human again, her numerous aches and pains soothed by the absolute luxury of a hot, rosewater-scented bath. In truth, the long soak meant more to her than simply washing away the dirt of her grim adventure. It also helped cleanse the gruesome memory of filthy hands groping her body and of the terror of anticipating the worst.

  She stifled a yawn as she reached the bottom of the staircase. Almost drunk with exhaustion, she was more than tempted to sink into the comfy-looking chair tucked by the door to the study and close her eyes to drift off to sleep. What she did not want to do was talk about what had happened to her, or what might confront her in the days to come—especially with Sir Dominic. He possessed a knack for penetrating one’s deepest thoughts.

  Not that St. George was much better. Vivien feared he knew she was holding something back, so the sooner she got away from their well-meaning but unsettling questions, the better.

  Smithwell smiled at her and opened the study door. She composed her face, knowing she must now calmly confront the problems looming before her without tipping her hand. Lying to those who had so faithfully secured her safety had her mentally wincing, but she had no choice.

  But she checked on the threshold a moment later, surprised to find Sir Dominic, Lady Thornbury, and St. George sharing a cup of coffee, lounging about as if they had nothing more pressing to attend to than a cozy little chat.

  Actually, only St. George could be accused of lounging. He relaxed in an elegant sprawl in one of the big club chairs, his long, muscular legs thrust out before him, a coffee cup held negligently in one hand. But as she stood in the doorway, his dark gaze fixed on her. Her stomach jumped and she had the oddest feeling he’d instantly come to alert even though he hadn’t moved a muscle.

  Vivien gave him a tentative smile, deciding to ignore—for now—her irritation with him for withholding the specifics of his relationship with Lady Thornbury.

  Her rescuer came to his feet with smooth, economical grace. He reached out and placed his cup on the edge of Sir Dominic’s desk, never taking his eyes from her face. It amazed her that so big a man could move wit
h such precision and quiet elegance. That grace, combined with his handsome features and his hard-edged masculinity, left her blushing like an inexperienced chit. Without the press of immediate danger to distract her, she felt tongue-tied before him.

  Don’t be a fool, Vivien.

  She’d been courted by men so handsome they were prettier than she was, but they’d never caused her to feel the slightest bit discomforted. It was only her fatigue and stress that had her reacting in such a silly fashion now. And despite the foolish way she’d clutched at him earlier, Vivien had no intention of developing a schoolgirl crush on St. George. Despite his impeccable background, he was no idle bachelor. She had developed some sharp instincts at the card tables and those instincts were shrieking that he was dangerous. For one, she found it very difficult to lie to him. For another, she sensed he would break her heart if she were foolish enough to develop feelings for him.

  “Lady Vivien.” With a warm smile, Sir Dominic rose from behind his desk and crossed to meet her. “You’re looking rather more the thing, my dear,” he said as he drew her to the chair St. George had just vacated. “Come have a cup of coffee.”

  St. George stepped back as she passed him, but her shoulder brushed his chest. Their brief contact shivered through her body with surprising force. She forced herself not to look at him to gauge his reaction to that simple touch.

  “I would adore a cup of coffee, sir,” she replied, affecting a brightness she didn’t feel. “But is it not time to return to Blake House?” She cast a nervous glance toward the window. It approached full daylight, and the costermongers and everyone else who rose at first light would now be out on the streets.

  “There’s no rush,” Sir Dominic replied. “We’ll be having breakfast in just a few minutes. You need proper nourishment, or you’ll fall ill. We mustn’t allow that to happen, now that we’ve finally got you back safely.”

  “But I’ve been gone two days!” She cast a worried glance at St. George. “I have to get home before anyone sees me, don’t I? That’s what you said last night.”

  St. George moved closer and gently pressed her shoulder, apparently seeking to reassure her. “You needn’t worry, Vivien. Sir Dominic has everything in hand.”

  She blinked at the use of her Christian name, but everyone else seemed to ignore his slip. In that case, she supposed she’d better do the same.

  “I don’t understand,” she said to Sir Dominic. “Are we not risking exposure by acting in so cavalier a fashion?” Vivien never paid much attention to what gossips prattled about her, but she had no desire to be ruined, either.

  “St. George was correct,” Sir Dominic replied with a smile. “We have a plan already in place to explain your disappearance.”

  Vivien shook her head, unable to rid herself of the knot in her stomach—the one that told her she wouldn’t be safe until she returned home. On top of that, she needed to speak with Kit, and very soon. Her suspicions about her little brother’s role in this affair had mushroomed into horrible certainty, and she could barely restrain herself from shrieking with impatience.

  Sir Dominic cocked his head, studying her. “You trust me, don’t you?”

  A flash of guilt stabbed through her. Of course she trusted him. He’d been one of her father’s oldest friends, and after Papa had died Sir Dominic had often stepped in to support Mamma and Cyrus in any way he could.

  Not that they’d ever expressed any real gratitude to him, but their negligence had never prevented Sir Dominic from treating Vivien and Kit with a great deal of kindness. It hadn’t surprised her to learn he had organized her rescue, especially with his political connections and the resources available to him through the Home Office.

  And she supposed it made sense that Mamma had gone to him for help instead of Cyrus, who was always useless in a crisis, but . . .

  She frowned at Sir Dominic, silently taking a coffee cup as questions swarmed in her mind. Why had she been brought here and not to Blake House? And why was Cyrus seemingly not involved in this? As her older brother and head of the family, he should have led the effort to find her. So far, no one had even mentioned his name.

  “My dear, what’s the matter?” Lady Thornbury’s voice pulled her out of her ruminations.

  Vivien glanced at her friend, vaguely registering that Lady Thornbury and her son shared the same dark, mysterious gaze, one that seemed to hold a myriad of secrets. She had known the older woman for most of her life and yet she’d never met her youngest son, and had rarely heard Lady Thornbury even mention his name. No wonder Vivien hadn’t made the connection.

  “Why isn’t Cyrus here?” she asked bluntly. “Did he not play a role in my rescue?”

  St. George went straight as a poker, and a wary glance passed between Sir Dominic and Lady Thornbury.

  And then it hit her. Groaning, she slumped back in her chair. Hot coffee sloshed over the rim of her cup into the saucer, threatening to drip onto the carpet. Deftly, St. George plucked it from her hand and placed it on the desk.

  “Cyrus refused to pay the ransom, didn’t he?” she said, forcing the words past her tight vocal chords. “That’s why you had to rescue me.”

  Something flashed in St. George’s gaze—pity, she thought. But a moment later that look vanished, replaced by his usual impassive expression.

  Cyrus had refused to come to my aid.

  The, the . . . bastard. She might have known. He would never lift a finger to help anyone. Not if it involved money.

  “No ransom demands were made, nor did we hear anything from your kidnappers at any time,” Sir Dominic replied.

  Vivien narrowed her eyes, not quite believing him. “Then why isn’t Cyrus here? He does realize I was kidnapped, doesn’t he?”

  “Of course. He knows what we know,” Sir Dominic replied. “Lady Thornbury and I simply thought it best that he remain home with your mother.”

  “Good heavens, yes,” exclaimed Lady Thornbury. “Your poor mamma was such a wreck that we felt it better that Lord Blake be at hand to, ah, comfort her.”

  Vivien couldn’t hold back a disparaging snort. “I can just imagine.” Cyrus had no patience for their mother’s frequent bouts of hysterics, and she doubted that even his sister’s kidnapping would make a difference.

  A tap on the door interrupted them, and Smithwell poked his head in to inform them that breakfast was served. Vivien scowled. She had no desire to eat. What she wanted to do was go home and talk to Kit. And to Cyrus. She would find out her brothers’ involvement in her abduction, or lack thereof, if she had to kill them both to extract the information.

  St. George gently grasped her hand and drew her to her feet. Her head swam as she rose, forcing her to clutch his arm. He steadied her, and it took all her willpower not to sink into his warmth and strength, instinctively asking once more for his protection. She shivered, cold and exhausted, and overwhelmed by the futility of trying to make sense of it all.

  “Come, Vivien. You must have something to eat,” St. George said in a coaxing voice. Those deep tones stroked her nerves, soothing her. She had the feeling she would do anything he asked, if he asked it in that voice.

  “You must stop worrying and trust us.” He nudged her toward the door.

  She stared up at him, taking in his determined, bristled jaw. “I do trust you, but I don’t understand what’s happening. I don’t understand any of this,” she said.

  Well, she thought she understood a little, but it didn’t make things any better. Especially since she couldn’t tell anyone. And right now, she longed to spill it all out to St. George. Her suspicions, her fears, even her rage.

  And that told her once again how dangerous he was to her.

  “I know it’s frustrating,” he said, leading her across the hall to the dining room. “Have something to eat, then we can discuss arrangements to get you back home. All will be well, I promise.”

  She stifled a sigh. All was far from well, and they all knew it.

  In the end, her return to Bl
ake House was easily accomplished. In fact, ridiculously easy might be the best way to describe it. Lady Thornbury had set it about already that Vivien had come to stay with her a few days ago in preparation for a visit to the country. But prior to setting out for Thornbury Hall in Essex, Vivien had fallen ill with a terrible cold and been confined to bed, cared for by Lady Thornbury and her maid. Since Lady Thornbury’s servants were well paid and devoted to the family, there was only a slight chance the lie might be discovered.

  “Your brothers, thank God, both had the sense to keep quiet,” Lady Thornbury had added. “So, with a little luck, we should brush through very nicely. Your mother, of course, also retreated to her bedroom, again under the pretense of illness.”

  The trick, as Sir Dominic had explained, was to carry it off in broad daylight. “No one will think twice if Lady Thornbury brings you home as soon as you’ve recovered enough to leave her house. Of course, since you’re still unwell, you’ll have to take to your bed for a few days to maintain the fiction.”

  And to bolster that fiction, Lady Thornbury would immediately depart to Essex for a few days, accompanied by her youngest son, Aden. Under those circumstances, it made perfect sense to return the ailing Vivien to her brother’s mansion.

  It was nearly nine o’clock by the time the Thornburys’ travelling coach pulled up to Blake House in Grosvenor Square. Lady Thornbury took Vivien in her arms and hugged her. “Now, you’re not to worry,” the older woman scolded in affectionate terms. “Sir Dominic will get to the root of everything, and Aden will be keeping an eye on you.”

  Vivien’s stomach flopped over on itself, but she forced a weak smile as she drew back. The last thing she needed was either man continuing to dig into her affairs.

  “I promise I won’t worry,” she replied. “Frankly, the only thing I want to do right now is sleep. For a week, I hope.”

  “Yes, keep to your bedroom for as long as you want. Don’t forget that you do have a miserable cold.” Lady Thornbury’s eyes twinkled at her.