Secrets for Seducing a Royal Bodyguard

by Vanessa Kelly

  Vivien finally let out her breath. At least he hadn’t discovered that horrible secret.

  “That is indeed unfortunate, but how does Mamma’s or Kit’s spending habits affect my decision?” she asked, trying to sound like she didn’t already know the answer.

  He scoffed. “You’re not a green girl, Vivien. You know very well. Prince Ivan is willing to pay off all of the family’s accumulated debts, and also make you a very handsome settlement with very generous provisions for pin money.”

  Cyrus paused, then let out a ghost of a laugh. “In fact, I can’t believe how much the man is willing to spend on you. A fortune, in fact. It’s quite remarkable.”

  An icy thread of apprehension curled through her. She could practically hear the wheels turning in his head, calculating how the marriage—and the money—could benefit his political career. This was bad. Catastrophic, in fact. With a settlement like that, even Mamma and Kit might press her to accept.

  “I don’t care if it’s enough money to pay off the Prince Regent’s debts,” she said, her voice tight with impending panic. “I have no intention of accepting the offer.”

  “Christ, Vivien, what’s the matter with you? Not only will you be marrying a man as rich as Midas, you’ll be a princess! What girl doesn’t want that?”

  “I don’t,” she flared back, waving her arm. “Whatever you might think of me, I’m not that shallow. Nor do I care to be forced into the position to say good-bye to my family and friends—possibly forever—and move to Russia. Lord, Cyrus. I don’t even speak the man’s bloody language!”

  A quiet fury seemed to settle over him and his gaze turned flat and hollow. He took a menacing step forward and it took all her discipline to hold her ground. Cyrus loved to bluster and storm about, but he’d never intimidated her. This reaction to her refusal was different. She found it almost frightening.

  “Then I suggest you start learning Russian because my mind is made up,” he answered in a voice as harsh as rocks grinding under a wheel. “If you do not marry him, I will send you and our mother north to the estate in Yorkshire. You will both stay there until you come to your senses.”

  She stared at him in horror. The Yorkshire estate was nothing more than a small manor house on the edge of the moors, a legacy from a paternal uncle who’d died without issue. It was barely habitable, and miles from anything that resembled a town. Mamma would have a complete breakdown, and Vivien would go insane having to deal with her.

  Her face felt numb. “You wouldn’t dare,” she hissed.

  He curled an imperious lip. “Need I remind you that I control the purse strings in this family? And if you do refuse, not only will I exile you to the north, I will cut Kit’s allowance, as well. That will leave him with two choices—join the army, or go to debtors’ prison. And I will not be buying him a commission.”

  She flinched, as if he had slapped her. Without the funds to buy a commission into an elite regiment Kit’s only choice would be to join the infantry. And then where would he be sent? Some horrible battlefield? Or India, to die of disease?

  “Cyrus, you mustn’t do this,” she pleaded. “The prince . . . he’s . . . I don’t like him. He’s not a good man.”

  A strange expression flitted across her brother’s face. Was it guilt? She couldn’t tell because it disappeared so quickly.

  “Well, he’s not an Englishman,” Cyrus admitted grudgingly. “But if you give him a chance, I’m sure he’ll grow on you.”

  “It’s got nothing to do with his nationality,” she gritted out. “And I’m certain he will not grow on me.”

  Cyrus shook his head. “Then I have nothing more to say to you. On the morrow, you and Mamma will begin packing for your trip to Yorkshire.” He turned on his heel and headed for the door.

  Vivien clutched her forehead, trying to think. “Wait,” she cried as his hand wrapped around the doorknob.

  He slowly turned back, not bothering to hide the triumph on his broad, fleshy features. In that moment, any lingering remnants of affection Vivien harbored for her brother died a swift death.

  “What is it, my dear?” he asked in a falsely affectionate voice.

  Repressing the impulse to fly at him, Vivien gave him what she hoped was an apologetic smile. “Perhaps I was too hasty. Cyrus, surely we can talk about this.”

  “We’ve talked enough,” he said impatiently. “Our guests will be arriving momentarily. Make your decision, Vivien. One way or the other.”

  “Yes, well, I might have been a little too hasty in my judgment of the prince. Perhaps we should spend more time together, get to know each other. I’m sure you’re correct that Prince Ivan will improve on further acquaintance.”

  Cyrus barked out an ugly laugh. “You think I’m a fool, don’t you? You cannot charm your way out of this dilemma, Vivien. Not with me.”

  She stared at him, truly sick and tired of being treated by men as a mere pawn to move around the chessboard of their ambitions and desires. But she couldn’t afford to let him see the depth of her disgust.

  “For God’s sake, I’m not saying no. I’m saying I need a little time to get used to the idea, before you force me into an engagement by making an announcement without my agreement. Have you forgotten that little more than a week ago I was abducted and brutalized? Must I be put in the position of thinking my own brother is little better than the villains who kidnapped me?”

  His eyes widened and his fleshy features paled. When she continued to glare at him, he shifted his gaze off into the corner. “Forgive me,” he muttered. “You seemed fully recovered or I would not have broached the subject.”

  “Well, I’m not. And forcing me into an engagement before I’m ready is not the act of a loving brother,” she said in a severe voice.

  He stiffened, and Vivien realized she’d overplayed her hand. She opened her mouth, intending to placate him, but he waved an irritable hand.

  “Whether you find me a loving brother or not is beside the point. You have a duty to your family, as do I. I will tell Prince Ivan that you are willing to entertain his courtship, although no formal announcement will be made at this point in time. That should satisfy His Highness.”

  Vivien nodded weakly in relief. She had no intention of ever accepting the prince’s proposal, but at least she’d bought some time to put her plan into effect. With a little luck, within a few weeks she should have most of the money she needed to reduce Kit’s and Mamma’s debts to a manageable level, and enough to set the three of them up in a small town house, if necessary. A very small town house, but it would at least gain them their freedom.

  “Very well,” she said. “I will agree to your terms.”

  He nodded and his color returned its normal, ruddy hue. “It’s time to go down,” he said, opening the door. “Come, Vivien.”

  She was hard-pressed not to refuse, but there was little to be gained by provoking his temper.

  Repressing the urge to bash Cyrus over the head with a heavy object—the fireplace poker would do nicely—Vivien took his arm.

  “I’m sorry, darling, but I don’t know what else we can do,” Vivien’s mother said in a dramatic whisper. “Cyrus can be the most stubborn man in the world when he gets an idea in his head.” Her bright blue eyes, so pretty and youthful-looking, rounded with dismay. “I don’t want you to marry Prince Ivan either, not if you don’t want to. But I simply cannot bear the thought of being exiled to Yorkshire. I will die, I know it!”

  Vivien cast a glance around the crowded drawing room. Her mother’s dramatic tones had attracted some attention, including that of Countess Lieven, the wife of the Russian ambassador. Her sharp eyes, alive with curiosity, settled on Vivien and her mother.

  She gave the countess a gracious smile before turning back to her mother. “Careful, Mamma,” she said in a low voice. “We cannot speak of this without attracting attention, and we don’t want that.”

  “But what are we to do?” her mother moaned. “Cyrus swore he would—”

&nbs
p; “I know what he said,” she said firmly. “I will take care of this.”

  Mamma eyed her with doubt. “If you say so.” She glanced across the room to one of the big bow windows where Prince Ivan stood talking with Cyrus. “Perhaps it wouldn’t be so bad,” she said in a musing tone. “After all, he is a prince and frightfully rich.”

  Vivien could barely refrain from clutching her carefully styled ringlets in frustration. “Don’t even speak of it, Mamma. The man is a toad, and you know it. In fact, I’d rather marry a toad. At least then I’d have a chance of kissing him and turning him into a different prince than that horrid specimen.”

  When confronted with Prince Ivan in the flesh, Vivien had no trouble believing that the wilds of Yorkshire were a far preferable option than marriage.

  Her mother giggled. “I’d never quite thought of him in those terms, but you’re right. It must be the bulging eyes and that rather wet mouth. I must agree, my love. You can’t possibly marry that man.”

  “I’m glad someone agrees with me,” Vivien responded dryly.

  “Yes, but . . . ah, Mrs. Canning-Smith. Yes, it is a delightful gathering, isn’t it?”

  Her mother was forced to turn away to chat with one of their guests, and Vivien took the brief respite to flick her glance around the room. Thanks to her gruesome conversation with her brother, she had not had the chance to attend to the usual last-minute details before dinner. Darnell and his footmen, however, seemed to have everything in hand, wending their way through the scattered groups dispensing chilled goblets of champagne. A few of the guests were late, but once they arrived Vivien would signal to the butler to ring the dinner bell.

  She had to wonder why she even cared about her brother’s blasted dinner. Cyrus and his guests—all from the political and diplomatic set—could go hang as far as she was concerned. But old habits die hard, and Vivien had always derived a great deal of satisfaction from running her brother’s household, even if they all maintained the fiction that Mamma was still his hostess. As difficult as her family could be, Vivien loved Blake House and she enjoyed running the household as much as she enjoyed her life in London. Everything had fallen to pieces after her father had died, but she’d eventually managed to build it back up, creating a home for all of them, even Cyrus. It wasn’t perfect, but it gave her a purpose in life and it suited her.

  But that life was now sorely in danger, thanks to that same blasted, ungrateful family. If her plan failed, she would be the one to suffer most, she would be—

  “My dear Lady Vivien,” a guttural voice purred at her shoulder. “You appear to have fallen into a brown study. You must allow me to coax you out of it.”

  Speak of the devil.

  Vivien turned to meet Khovansky’s greedy gaze moving over her in a possessive sweep. She had to resist the impulse to shrink back—or slap him—when it lingered on her chest.

  “Prince Ivan,” she said, dredging up a weak smile, “How delightful to see you again.”

  “And you are looking most radiant, Lady Vivien. Like a ray of sunshine piercing November’s gloom.”

  When his eyes remained fixed on the high slope of her breasts, Vivien decided she would have her dressmaker add at least three inches of lace trim to all her bodices.

  Irritated by his impertinence, she loudly cleared her throat. His gaze snapped up to meet hers, and she had to swallow hard. His pale green eyes seemed to shine with an unholy light, cruel and avaricious, inspecting her as if she were chattel and not a human being composed of flesh and blood.

  Yorkshire was looking more attractive by the minute.

  “Oh, how kind. I do hope you’re having a pleasant time tonight, my dear sir,” she said, sounding like an idiot. But how could she carry on a conversation with a man whose very presence made her skin crawl? The idea of actually sleeping with him made her nauseous.

  “I am having a delightful time, thank you, especially after having just spoken to your brother. I was most encouraged by what he had to tell me.”

  One thick-fingered hand landed on her waist, hidden from the rest of the guests by the fact that she stood with her back to the fireplace. When his fingertips dug into the thin silk of her dress, she almost jumped out of her shoes.

  Hastily, she jerked back, almost stumbling over her feet. She was normally not clumsy but the prince truly unnerved her.

  Fortunately, her awkward movement forced him to drop his hand, but his eyes had gone flat with displeasure. She groaned inside. She couldn’t afford to anger him or he would surely go tattling to Cyrus about her lack of cooperation. For her plan to work she needed time, which meant placating the odious toad until she had enough money to thumb her nose at the whole lot of them.

  “Do forgive me, Your Highness. I’m not usually so clumsy, but I’m perhaps a bit nervous tonight. With such distinguished company, Cyrus is most eager for our guests to enjoy themselves. Especially you,” she added with a treacly smile.

  “You are likely still recovering from your . . . illness,” he said, his manner clearly indicating he knew she hadn’t been ill.

  Vivien stared at him, not sure how to respond, but he seemed more than content to carry on the conversation by himself.

  “You overextend yourself,” he added. “I feared as much the other night. If you will recall, I begged you to allow me to take care of you, but you refused. Obviously, you preferred to dance with Captain St. George rather than enjoy a quiet chat with me. That was a mistake and you now suffer the consequences of your poor judgment.”

  Her jaw sagged open in disbelief, and she no longer had to wonder why he made her skin crawl. The man was arrogant beyond belief. No wonder she’d kicked him in the shins.

  “Yes, well, I do like to dance,” she said, too stunned to make much sense.

  He gave her a tight-lipped smile. “Fortunately, after my conversation with your brother, I find myself in a magnanimous mood. I am willing to forgive your past contretemps, if we can avoid any more unfortunate incidents in the future.”

  He leaned forward, so close she could see pores on his wide, flat nose. “Are we clear, my lady?”

  She swallowed past the lump in her throat. Clearly, he had not forgotten the shin-kicking episode. Now she knew how a fly felt in the instant before the toad flicked its tongue out to swallow it.

  Behind her, someone delicately cleared her throat. She spun around, grateful for the excuse to turn away from her gruesome little scene with the prince.

  Vivien stared, trying to gather her wits. She’d been expecting Lady Thornbury, but not St. George. But there her protector stood, his mother on his arm.

  And he didn’t look happy at all.

  Chapter Sixteen

  St. George’s sternly handsome features were pulled tight with disdain, initially taking Vivien aback. Fortunately, the target of his ire was Prince Ivan, not her. In fact, both men appeared to be taking each other’s measure, as if ready to face off across a battlefield instead of exchanging bon mots over dinner.

  With a sharp look, Lady Thornbury took the matter in hand. “Good evening, Prince Ivan. How delightful to meet you in so convivial a setting. I was so happy to be invited to such a distinguished gathering, and knowing you were amongst the guests has made it a particular treat.”

  As usual, Lady Thornbury’s instincts were bang-on because the prince returned her smile, bowing over her hand with a great deal of condescension. St. George, however, looked anything but thrilled. With his narrowed gaze, he appeared ready to throttle Khovansky, which would certainly be Vivien’s preferred outcome.

  “Lady Thornbury, I’m very happy you could join us tonight,” Vivien said, giving her friend a grateful smile. “And you, too, Captain St. George. I did not expect to see you, but your presence is most welcome.” In fact, his appearance was rather a puzzle since Vivien had gone over the invitation list and St. George had not been included.

  “Thank you, my dear,” replied Lady Thornbury. “I do hope we didn’t hold you up for dinner.” She cast a m
ocking glance at her son. “I was waiting for Aden, who can never seem to be precisely on time. Such a shocking habit for a military man.”

  St. George rolled his eyes but didn’t bother refuting his mother’s teasing.

  “Indeed,” interjected the prince. “Most lamentable. One would think the captain could treat both his mother and his hostess with greater respect. I believe a man’s attention to the smaller niceties of life is a great indicator of his character. After all, the devil is in the details.” He punctuated his insult with a supercilious sneer.

  St. George’s only response was to level a cold, infinitely calculating smile at the prince, one that chilled Vivien right to the bone.

  “Better late than never, and it’s very nice to see you regardless, Captain,” she said with demented cheerfulness. “One mustn’t be too much of a stickler over these things or one risks turning into a pedant, don’t you think? Why, I’m sure I’m late for dinner on a regular basis. No one ever seems to mind in the least.”

  Thankfully, St. George switched his attention to her. His raven gaze, so lethally black just a few seconds ago, now simply looked wary. But at least he no longer seemed inclined to disembowel the prince right there on her brother’s best Wilton carpet.

  “Thank you, my lady. It’s a pleasure to be here,” he finally responded in a polite tone.

  She didn’t think so. St. George wore the same, long-suffering expression on his face that Kit did when Mamma forced him to accompany her to some boring dinner party or musicale. Lady Thornbury must have forced him to come.

  She also wouldn’t be surprised if he still resented her conduct at the Darlington ball, preferring the card tables to his company. She should be used to that response by now though. Most men either disapproved of her card playing, or thought it fast. St. George obviously fell into the first category, which she found rather depressing. That’s what came of saving a woman’s life, she supposed. A woman couldn’t help liking her rescuer, and wishing that said rescuer might come to like her in return.