Secrets for Seducing a Royal Bodyguard

by Vanessa Kelly

  Her mother exhaled with relief. “Splendid. Perhaps I’ll join you.”

  Vivien almost dropped her champagne glass. “You will do no such thing.”

  Lady Pilkington, seated next to her, glanced over from her conversation with the Dowager Duchess of Rothering, her bushy brown eyebrows raised in disapproval. Vivien gave her a weak smile, murmuring an apology. Lady Pilkington looked her over with a supercilious sneer, gave a disgusted little sniff, and turned back to the duchess.

  Mamma whispered loudly across the table. “Dreadful woman. No wonder Lord Pilkington spends all his time in brothels. I would, too, if I had to face her in my bed every night.”

  Vivien swallowed a laugh. “Thank you for that image, Mamma. But as I was saying, I think it best if you not visit the tables tonight.”

  She gave her mother the look, the one that said she would brook no argument. On their way to the ball, Vivien had finally pried out of her the total of her latest round of excesses, at the gaming tables and the shops. The amount had staggered her. Three thousand pounds, added on to what Kit already owed. Vivien had her work cut out for her and she did not need her mother racking up yet more debt at the loo or whist tables.

  Mamma thrust out her lower lip, like a pouting child denied a treat.

  “No,” Vivien reiterated in a firm voice. “If you play tonight, you’ll distract me. I must be able to concentrate if I am to win.”

  She rarely had trouble concentrating. From hardened gamesters to seductive rakes seeking to flirt with her over the cards, none had the ability to break her singular focus. Only when Kit or her mother was playing, and invariably losing, did Vivien mentally blink. Whenever that happened, she had the devil of a time getting her concentration back.

  Her mother sighed. “Oh, very well, but I do think—”

  She broke off as she looked past Vivien’s shoulder, a delighted smile warming her face. “Rebecca! I’ve been longing to speak with you but I couldn’t find you in this mad crush. How lovely to see you here tonight, and with your son, too. I declare, I cannot remember when last I saw you, you naughty boy. You’ve been neglecting your family and friends in the worst possible manner.”

  Vivien didn’t require her mother’s flirtatious behavior to tell her who was standing behind her. Slowly, she twisted in her seat and looked up—way up—to meet the gaze of the man who was quickly becoming both the bane of her existence and her savior. From the sardonic expression on his face as he studied her, bane was more like it at this particular moment.

  Ignoring the ripple of nerves in her belly, Vivien warmly greeted Lady Thornbury. Her friend leaned down and pressed a soft, perfumed kiss on her cheek.

  “How are you, my dear? Have you recovered from your cold?” Lady Thornbury’s eyes, as all-seeing as her son’s, gave her a thorough inspection.

  “I am well, my lady, thank you,” Vivien replied, rising to her feet. “And I’m very glad to see you. I was intending to go up to the card room, and I was hoping you could sit with Mamma.”

  “Of course,” Lady Thornbury said instantly, taking her seat. “I’d like nothing better than to have a comfortable coze with your mother.” She glanced up at her son. “Aden, you were thinking of playing some cards as well, weren’t you? You children should run along and enjoy yourselves.”

  Mamma, who had been looking disgruntled, perked up. “Yes, darling. Go along with Aden. I’m sure he’ll take splendid care of you.”

  Vivien could have cursed. The two mothers had virtually thrown them together, albeit for different reasons. Lady Thornbury obviously wanted St. George to keep a watch on her, while Mamma was no different from any of the matchmaking mothers in the ton. Unfortunately, her target had designs on Vivien of a different sort, ones that could be dangerous for the Blake family.

  “No, really, Captain St. George, that’s not necessary,” she protested, starting to back away from the table. “I’m sure you’d much rather be dancing. Miss Compton, for instance. I’m certain she’s eagerly waiting for you to claim her for the next waltz.”

  Oh, dear. That had sounded rather snippy. Whatever was the matter with her?

  With a hint of a smug grin, St. George reached out and snagged her by the wrist. “As it so happens, I was intending to visit the card room.”

  Experimentally, she tugged her arm. Of course the stubborn man wouldn’t let go, and she couldn’t possibly get away from him without causing a scene. This was all she needed—him shadowing her every move like a watchdog. Given how the evening was going, Vivien might as well decamp right now and go home.

  For a moment, she contemplated doing just that. But she desperately needed to dip into the deep pockets of Lady Darlington’s guests. She simply couldn’t afford to waste the night’s opportunity, St. George or no. “Very well. If you insist,” she replied in a grumpy tone. “It doesn’t really look like I have much of choice in the matter.”

  “Vivien!” Her mother’s eyes rounded with shock although Lady Thornbury appeared on the verge of laughter.

  “I should be honored to escort you, my lady,” St. George said, as if she hadn’t insulted him.

  He slipped her hand in the crook of his elbow and Vivien had no choice but follow his lead. As annoyed as she was, she couldn’t repress a little spurt of triumph when they passed the party by the fireplace. Judith Compton was still holding court, tittering at the sly remarks of an aging, rouged dandy, but she found the time to break off and direct a glare Vivien’s way.

  When Vivien gave her a polite nod, Judith sneered and tossed her curls as she turned back to her companion.

  “A friend of yours?” St. George asked dryly.

  “Why, Captain,” she said, feigning an innocent look, “I thought she was a friend of yours!”

  He grinned. “Touché. If you want to know the truth, the woman terrified me. It was cruel of you to abandon me, throwing me to the wolves like that.”

  “Yes. I noticed you seemed paralyzed with fear, especially when Miss Compton put her hand on your thigh.”

  His grin went charmingly lopsided as they passed into the hall. “So, you noticed that, did you?”

  “The entire room probably noticed.”

  St. George laughed outright as he ushered her toward the front central staircase. She pulled on his elbow, bringing him to a halt.

  “The card room is in the rear of the house,” she said.

  He stood his ground. “I was hoping I could solicit your hand for another dance. Perhaps a waltz?”

  She frowned. “I thought you wanted to go to the card room.”

  He shrugged, and for a moment she was fascinated by the way his muscles, well defined under the close-fitting fabric of his dark coat, rippled and moved. “I would prefer to dance. With you.” His voice dropped to a deep note, husky with an intent she couldn’t miss. And the sensual gleam in his eyes sparked a ripple of sensation along her nerves.

  It was matched by irritation as he tried to divert her from her purpose.

  “I thank you, but no,” she answered.

  His eyebrows arched as if he were offended. That bothered her more than she cared to admit. He was the last person on earth she wished to offend, since not only had he saved her life, she actually liked him.

  Too much, unfortunately.

  “Well,” she amended, “perhaps later. But right now I truly would like to visit the card tables.” She tugged his arm and he finally relented, although he didn’t look happy about it.

  They joined the stream of guests making their way to the gaming tables. When Vivien was jostled by two lads no older than Kit and eager to get to the tables, St. George gently moved her to his other side, protectively sheltering her. She had to resist the temptation to snuggle into him, much as she had done the night of her rescue when he had swept her into his arms.

  That memory—and his nearness—triggered another image. A sensation, really, of what his rampant masculinity had felt like pressed against her backside. It had made her nervous but it had intrigued her, to
o. Everything about him intrigued her, and she couldn’t help wondering what it would be like if he were her suitor and not some kind of bodyguard commissioned to protect her. What it would feel like if he kissed her, taking her in his arms and pressing her up against—

  “Lady Vivien, are you well?” he interrupted her thoughts.

  Her face burned with heat. Lord, what an idiot she was. Having fantasies about the man when he was standing right next to her!

  “Ah, I’m fine. Why?”

  “You’re very flushed.” He eyed her, then glanced at the small mob trying to crowd through to the drawing room set aside for the card players. “It’s much too warm in here for you. We should return to the supper room for a cool drink.”

  She sighed, wishing he would stop treating her like a baby. Or an invalid. “I said I was fine. And I intend to play cards. If you do not wish to play, there is no need to accompany me.”

  His mobile, well-shaped mouth thinned into a hard line. “You like playing cards, don’t you?”

  “Yes. Is there anything wrong with that?” She tried not to sound defensive.

  He didn’t immediately answer. They reached the entrance to the spacious drawing room and he steered her just inside the door and to the side, out of the flow of traffic. His gaze was hooded as he seemed to weigh his reply.

  “You are known for playing deep and often, and for winning,” he finally said. “Very consistently, I might add. Gambling to such a degree is a rather unusual avocation for a gently bred, unmarried young woman.”

  Normally, it didn’t bother her that some members of the ton disapproved of her behavior. Almost everyone gambled and played cards, even young ladies like her. Of course, most young ladies didn’t bet the kind of sums she did, or play at tables with experienced gamblers, most of them men. But Vivien wouldn’t apologize for that. She’d learned long ago to take pride in her skills and to leave shame behind. Yes, some might find her conduct bordering on the disgraceful, but she’d far rather face a little gossip and the occasional snub than have her mother reduced to impecunious dependence on Cyrus. Or see Kit land in debtors’ prison or the army.

  But for the first time in a long time, her cheeks heated with shame, both for herself and for her family. She didn’t like that one bit.

  “Do you disapprove?” she challenged, lacing her fingers together in front of her as she waited for him to answer. She would not apologize for what she did, nor stoop to defend it. If he didn’t understand, so be it.

  He studied her, part of his face cast in shadow by the flickering light of the wall sconce behind him. His gaze was veiled, unknowable, and Vivien suddenly realized how little she understood him. Their enforced intimacy of a few nights ago had been nothing more than a trick of the emotions, generated by the bizarre and dangerous situation. She might have fooled herself into thinking she knew him but, in truth, he remained a stranger.

  But a stranger whose approval, for some reason, she craved.

  Just when she began to think he wouldn’t answer, his lips parted. “It is not my position to approve or disapprove, my lady. Only you can be the true judge of your own behavior.”

  Which clearly meant he did disapprove, putting him in the camp of those who judged, and found her behavior wanting. She stared at him for a few seconds before she found a way past the irrational disappointment to answer him.

  “Well, I shall leave you to your own devices then, Captain. I wouldn’t want my scandalous behavior to shock you more than it already has. Good night.”

  Impatience flashed across his face, breaking his iron control. “That’s not what I meant,” he said, reaching for her.

  Somehow, she evaded his grasp, slipping away into the crowd. As she moved between the tables, she resisted the temptation to look back. But her chest squeezed with a horrible combination of resentment toward him and dissatisfaction with herself. Even worse, she missed him by her side, an emotion that surely qualified her for the madhouse. How could she long for the company of a man who disapproved of her, and probably saw her as no more than a troublesome obligation foisted on him by Sir Dominic?

  No. The sooner she forgot about Captain Aden St. George, the better. She had business to attend to this night, and she needed to have all her concentration focused on that business.

  But as Vivien slipped into an open place at the loo table, she couldn’t help one glance back at the door. St. George was gone, thank goodness, but her concentration had probably departed with him. Fighting a headache from the noise and heat, and from her own tangled feelings, she put her markers down on the table.

  When she lost three tricks in a row, she knew her luck had vanished with St. George.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Susan beamed as she finished curling Vivien’s hair. “You look a picture, my lady, God’s truth. Those Russian lords and princes will be falling all over themselves to sit next to you.”

  Vivien managed to give her maid a sickly smile. That was her exact fear, and from one Russian prince in particular. Lord knows she’d made every excuse to avoid her brother’s dinner party to honor the Russian ambassador once she’d confirmed that Khovansky would be attending. But Cyrus wouldn’t hear of it, thundering that she must attend or face any number of vaguely uttered threats. Even when their mother had offered to play hostess in her stead, Cyrus had still carried on, reducing Mamma to a quivering bundle of nerves. Finally, Vivien had relented in the certain knowledge that Cyrus would make everyone in the house miserable if she didn’t.

  Susan moved about the bedroom, tidying up and putting away discarded clothing. Vivien rummaged around in the drawers of her dressing table until she found the gold fan that matched her dress. It wouldn’t be just an accessory, not tonight. Between the roaring fires in the overheated rooms Cyrus insisted upon and her anxiety over Khovansky, she’d be in a nervous lather all night. Truthfully, she already was.

  She’d done what she could to minimize contact with Ivan the Terrible, like sneaking down earlier and switching the place cards at the dinner table. Khovansky would now spend dinner between the Dowager Countess of Markwith, the deafest woman in the ton, and Lady Peaksworth, the most talkative. The fact that Vivien had been reduced to such a childish subterfuge was a sad indication of how desperate she’d become.

  Gathering up her fan and gloves, she did a last check of her shimmering gold silk dress and headed for the door. She couldn’t wait for the evening to be over since she had better things to do—like winning enough money to pay off Kit’s debt. Thanks to St. George and his uncanny ability to fluster her, Vivien’s winnings at the Darlington ball had been meager. The man was a menace to her peace of mind and she needed to stay well away from him, especially given the next step in her plan.

  Before she could reach the door a brief knock sounded. Cyrus let himself in, looking pompous and harried.

  “What is it, Cyrus?” Vivien asked as she pulled on her gloves. “The guests will be here any minute and I don’t want to be late.”

  Her brother scowled at her from under his thick, dark brows. Of the three Blake children, only he took after their father. Tall and rather heavyset, he carried himself with the same innate dignity. Cyrus, unfortunately, had not inherited their father’s kind nature. Her brother combined the worst of their parents’ dispositions—Papa’s ponderous dignity combined with Mamma’s selfish nature did not make for a happy combination of traits.

  “This will take but a minute,” he said, giving Susan a brusque nod of dismissal.

  When Vivien let out an audible sigh, he cast a dark glance her way then stalked over to the fireplace. He turned around and lifted his coattails to warm his backside.

  “As you know, Vivien, Prince Ivan will be attending our party this evening.”

  She barely managed to keep from rolling her eyes. Trust Cyrus to state the obvious. Repeatedly.

  “What you might not know,” he continued, “is that the prince has asked my permission to court you. Naturally, I assured him that his suit would be most
welcome, both to you and to the family.”

  A haze of anger clouded her vision. Fists clenching, Vivien charged forward a few steps and then came to an abrupt halt at the startled look on her brother’s face. She sucked in a deep breath, struggling to contain her fury. Blustering at him would only make matters worse.

  “You had no right to make any such claim, brother. I have already made it clear to His Highness that I am not interested in his suit.”

  Cyrus looked offended. “I never took you for a fool, Vivien. Unlike Mother and Kit, you actually have some brains. But in this matter, I do believe your wits have gone begging.”

  “You are entitled to your opinion, but I cannot agree,” she snapped. “In any event, I reached my majority long ago, and I need neither your approval nor disapproval in this matter. And since I have no intention of marrying Prince Ivan, this discussion is officially over.”

  She turned her back on him and headed for the door.

  “It is not, Vivien. You are dependent on me for your financial support, and I will certainly withdraw it if you defy me. And Mamma’s and Kit’s as well.”

  She stumbled to a halt, almost tripping over her pretty, gold-embroidered slippers. She did drop her fan, and she used the few seconds needed to pick it up to recover her countenance. When she turned to face him, her stomach fell at the shocking and unrelenting contempt in his gaze. Had her brother always disliked her so much, or had it gotten worse over the last few years? She could no longer tell.

  “You would do that?” she asked, incredulous. “Do you loathe us all that much?”

  He snorted. “Don’t be such a dramatic little fool. I’m doing this for you. For all of us. The Blake family teeters on the verge of ruin, Vivien.”

  Her breathing stalled in her throat. Had he found out about Kit’s debt? “What in heaven’s name are you talking about?”

  “You know very well what I’m talking about. Mamma’s extravagance is ruinous, and Kit’s not much better. Not a day goes by that I don’t receive some outrageous bill from one tradesman or another.” He scowled, thrusting his hands behind him and puffing up his chest. “If I didn’t keep such a close eye on things, the pair of them would have bankrupted us long ago. And there’s no knowing how much they’ve lost at the gambling tables and are hiding from us.”