Secrets for Seducing a Royal Bodyguard

by Vanessa Kelly

  The top of the desk arrested her downward fall and she crashed, half-on and half-off the edge. As the prince, using the weight of his body, tried to squash her flat, Vivien thrashed wildly, trying to pull free of his sucking, voracious kiss. Her knee connected with something soft, and he jerked. The motion gave her just enough space to break free and let out a strangled shriek.

  With a guttural snarl, he redoubled his efforts, trying to hold her still as he assaulted her mouth. Frantic, Vivien whipped her head back and forth as he bobbed at her, like some huge awful bird intent on pecking her to death.

  Suddenly, she heard the door open and the tread of a hard footfall, then Khovansky cried out and let go, flying back through the air as if jerked away by an irresistible force. Vivien crashed back onto the desk, her bottom making contact with a force that jarred her spine.

  Dazed, she pushed her hair out of her eyes and peered at Khovansky, thrashing about on the carpet in an undignified sprawl. She lifted her eyes to the apparent irresistible force—St. George, come to her rescue once again.

  He stood over the prince, his hands balled into fists as he glowered down at him. Vivien was willing to bet that St. George would be delighted to continue the business he’d started. But he must have thought better of it because his eyes flicked up to her, and his murderous expression abated a notch.

  Ignoring the outraged spluttering from the prince, St. George stepped around him and came to her.

  “Did he hurt you, my lady?” he asked in a low, quiet voice, as if he were soothing a frightened child.

  She pushed herself upright, trying to quell the trembling in her legs.

  “I’m fine,” she quavered. “It was all just a stupid misunderstanding.”

  Even so, she couldn’t help glaring at the prince as he struggled up onto his knees.

  St. George ran a gentle finger along the bare skin of her arms. Several red marks stood out on her pale flesh, lingering evidence of Prince Ivan’s punishing grip.

  “That doesn’t look like a misunderstanding to me,” he murmured.

  She shivered—a soft, breathless shifting as her body responded naturally to his touch. St. George stroked over the marks, as if he wished to erase all trace of harm.

  This close to him, Vivien had to tilt her head to look into his face. The remnants of a savage anger rode in the harshly set angles of his features, but his eyes held a grave sympathy that had her blinking back tears.

  His hand came up to her chin, tilting it as he gave her a brief but thorough inspection.

  “You’re safe now,” he murmured. “I won’t let him near you.”

  She gave him a trembling smile. “Thank you, but I—”

  “How dare you touch me, you peasant?” growled the prince from behind them. “I will kill you for that.”

  Vivien sighed and peeked around St. George’s broad shoulders. Ivan the Terrible had finally hauled himself up and now stood in the middle of the library, feet planted wide, glaring at them with black rage in his eyes.

  Leisurely, St. George turned to face him. “Oh? How do you intend to accomplish that?” He sounded only mildly interested, as if asking how long it might take to travel from Moscow to St. Petersburg.

  The prince started yanking one of his gloves off, obviously intending to slap St. George in the face with it.

  Not bloody likely, Vivien thought with a spurt of panic. Not only didn’t she trust the prince to fight like a gentleman, the last thing she needed was the gossip that came along with a duel.

  She scampered around St. George and planted herself between the men, bracing her hands on her hips as she faced the prince. Several of his medals had been knocked askew in his tumble, which struck her as bizarrely comical.

  Struggling against the impulse to laugh, Vivien stared haughtily down her nose at him. “Your Highness, you will not insult the captain, nor will you challenge him to a duel. For one thing, duels are illegal in England. For another, you have treated me in the shabbiest fashion, and you may consider yourself extremely fortunate I do not wish to make a scene. I would ask that you return to the drawing room and refrain from speaking to me for the rest of the night.”

  He hissed at her reprimand, but with St. George at her back Vivien had nothing to fear. “And if you are indeed a gentleman, then I ask that you never mention this incident again, or importune me with any more advances.”

  The prince pulled himself up to his full height, which was only slightly taller than Vivien. “You will do well to remember who I am, my lady,” he said in a voice heavy with menace. “It would not be wise to threaten me.” He glanced past her to St. George. “And I suggest the captain remember that too because I assure you both I will not forget tonight’s insult.”

  St. George moved up right behind her, letting his big hand span the width of her lower back. Her anxiety dissipated under his touch, as if he had simply plucked it from her body.

  “Really?” he drawled. “What do you intend to do?” Again, simply a mild note of curiosity in his voice.

  The prince looked remarkably like a bull about to charge. Vivien wondered if he would soon begin pawing the carpet in rage.

  She was working up the nerve to ask Khovansky to leave when the half-ajar door flew open. This time Cyrus came charging through.

  “Vivien! What the devil—”

  Her brother stumbled to a halt, his mouth dropping open as he stared at them. From the look on his face, Vivien had the feeling he’d expected to find an entirely different scene than the one playing out before him.

  She drew in a huge gasp, finally understanding. Cyrus and the prince had likely seen her escape to the library as a fortuitous opportunity to place her in a compromising position, one where her brother could have raised a huge and very public fuss. Her reputation would have been blighted by the incident, thus forcing her one step closer to marriage.

  Right then and there, Vivien decided she didn’t care if she had to spend the rest of her life in Yorkshire living in a shack on the moors. It would be far preferable to having to spend another minute under her brother’s roof, much less marry a brute like the prince.

  But there was still Kit and Mamma to consider, so she needed to tread carefully. “Goodness, your library certainly is a busy place tonight, isn’t it, Cyrus? I merely slipped away for a few minutes to rest and it would appear the entire party decided to join me.”

  St. George gave her an approving pat just above the swell of her bottom, and then dropped his hand and stepped up beside her. She gave a tiny sigh, already missing his warmth.

  Cyrus glanced uneasily at the prince. “Your Highness. I . . . I was wondering where you were. I . . . I wanted to see if you needed anything.”

  Vivien frowned. It wasn’t like her brother to babble. Was he afraid of his unpleasant accomplice?

  The prince didn’t even look at him, keeping his glare fastened on St. George. “You might suggest to your sister that she not stain her reputation by consorting with so coarse a man as St. George. After, of course, you have him removed from the premises for insulting me.”

  Cyrus recovered himself enough to look outraged. “Is this true, Vivien? Did the captain insult the prince?”

  “Don’t be such a fool,” she snapped. “If you really want to know what happened—”

  “Dear me, what a great deal of fuss and bother,” interjected Lady Thornbury from the doorway. She smiled, looking as gracious and composed as always, but she looked straight at Vivien, a clear warning in her gaze.

  “Ah, Mother. There you are,” Aden responded in a gently mocking tone. “I wondered when you would show up.”

  She glided into the room, the epitome of a grande dame. Not by the bat of one eyelash did she acknowledge the volatile atmosphere, despite the presence of a clearly furious Cyrus and an outraged Russian prince.

  “Silly boy,” she said to her son, patting him on the cheek.

  His only response was a sardonic smile.

  “Vivien, my love,” she continued. “You
r mother is wondering where you are. I told her I would come fetch you.”

  She took Vivien by the arm and led her to the door, nodding genially to Cyrus and the prince. St. George followed right behind, forming their rear guard. Vivien, having had more than enough of her brother and Khovansky, refused to even look at them.

  But she did hold her breath until they reached the safety of the hall.

  St. George closed the door quietly behind them. He glanced at his mother, contemplating her with a slight smile lifting the edges of his handsome mouth. “Well done, my lady. I was wondering how we were going to escape without bloodshed.”

  Lady Thornbury gave him an affectionate smile. “My dear boy, who do you think you inherited your prodigious talents from in the first place?”

  He let out an amused snort. “Certainly not from my father.”

  “Very true,” replied his mother with a dramatic sigh.

  Vivien stared from one to the other, mystified by their odd conversation as they led her back to the drawing room.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Aden climbed into his mother’s town coach, grateful the hellacious evening had finally come to an end. Thirty minutes after he escorted Vivien back to the drawing room, she quietly excused herself, pleading a headache. Coming so soon after Khovansky’s precipitous departure from the party—the bastard hadn’t made any effort to disguise his foul temper—Vivien’s exit had caused more than a few raised eyebrows.

  Fortunately, his mother had jumped up to escort Vivien to her bedroom, exclaiming all the while that she shouldn’t tire herself out so soon after recovering from her illness. Her act might not quell all the gossip, but when the influential Lady Thornbury behaved as if nothing were amiss, then everyone else was obliged to follow suit.

  He couldn’t hold back a quiet laugh at the image of the petite and elegant Countess of Thornbury standing up to the infuriated Russian. She pulled her gaze away from the carriage window, where she’d been perusing the night-shrouded streets of Mayfair, and gave him a puzzled smile.

  “What amuses you, Aden?”

  “I’d forgotten how much fun these evenings were,” he replied with gentle sarcasm. “What a fool I’ve been to stay away all these years.”

  She gave an exaggerated shudder. “It was horrid, wasn’t it? Although certainly a great deal more lively than the parties Lord Blake usually gives, I’ll say that much for it.”

  “I would happily be spared that kind of excitement.”

  She grimaced in sympathy. “I’m sorry you had to be dragged into this mess. But you handled it very well. Eventually.”

  He frowned. “What the hell does that mean?”

  “Language, dear boy, and you know very well what it means. You behaved like an irrational, jealous male before dinner. Not that you acted much better during dinner. Really, Madame Bezrodny was extremely forward and you did nothing to discourage her.”

  Aden scratched his cheek. Thank God the carriage was only dimly lit by one lamp because he could swear the skin felt hot under his fingers. He hadn’t blushed in years, but apparently his mother still possessed the ability to embarrass him with only a few words.

  “I have no idea what you’re talking about,” he said, more for form’s sake than anything else.

  “Ha. I’m amazed you and the prince didn’t come to blows in the drawing room. Fortunately, Vivien managed Prince Ivan very adroitly. She really is the most remarkable girl.”

  Aden crossed his arms over his chest, feeling more disgruntled by the second. “For someone who supposedly doesn’t like the man, she seemed quite chummy with Khovansky to me. She was hanging all over the man during dinner.”

  His mother studied him with pity. It was the look she generally reserved for idiots and small children about to be paddled by their nannies.

  “What?” he asked defensively. He was a trained spy, for Christ’s sake. He knew how to observe people, and his observations of Lady Vivien had told him she welcomed Khovansky’s attentions. That had made him want to throttle someone, except he couldn’t tell whether he wanted to throttle Khovansky or Vivien, or himself for being stupid enough to care.

  “Vivien was clearly trying to placate the prince,” his mother explained, “although I’m not sure why. She loathes the man, I’m certain of it.”

  “She has a strange way of showing it, and the prince was more than happy to capitalize on her generous behavior.”

  His mother stiffened. “Are you implying that Vivien was responsible for Prince Ivan’s outrageous behavior in the library?”

  “Of course not, but he’s not the sort of man a girl can lead around by the nose. Lady Vivien should have realized that before she tried to manage him. If I hadn’t intervened, God knows what would have happened.”

  His anger spiked when he thought of how she might have been harmed. When he came through the door of Blake’s library to see Vivien struggling in Khovansky’s foul embrace, a red-hot fury had seized him. He’d lost all control, pulling the prince away from her and hurling him to the floor. Only Vivien’s presence had kept him from giving the pig the thorough beating he deserved.

  “She wasn’t flirting with him for the fun of it,” his mother retorted. “That’s not the kind of person she is.”

  Aden decided to let that comment pass. Despite his mother’s insistence, Vivien did have that reputation, whether she deserved it or not. And tonight, for the first time, he’d started to understand why some thought she merited it.

  “Then what could her purpose be in encouraging the attentions of a man she supposedly dislikes?”

  “I suspect Cyrus is forcing her to entertain Prince Ivan’s suit,” his mother replied. “It’s the only explanation that makes sense.”

  Aden shifted sideways, trying to ease his cramped legs. He wasn’t used to so much inactivity, being cooped up in carriages or kicking up his heels at balls and boring dinner parties, waiting for something to happen. Tomorrow, he’d take Ranger out for a long ride on Hampstead Heath, shaking the fidgets out of both of them.

  “Lady Vivien isn’t a green girl, Mother. Nor is she under her brother’s guardianship. And she doesn’t strike me as the sort of woman who has trouble saying no to a man.”

  “True, but I believe that Cyrus is holding something over her head, probably something to do with money. Perhaps Kit has fallen into debt again, or her mother. Lady Blake let slip some weeks ago that Cyrus refused to increase her pin money. She made some alarmed references to being forced to rusticate in the country.”

  Aden cocked his head. Now, that was interesting. “And the younger brother? How does he figure in?”

  “He’s a dear boy, but quite feckless and a terrible gambler. Cyrus has been forced to pull him out of the River Tick on more than one occasion.”

  “And what does any of this have to do with Lady Vivien? As far as I can deduce, she has no outstanding debts despite the fact that she plays rather deeply at the tables.”

  “Because, Aden, she feels responsible for her mamma and little brother,” his mother said, her tone indicating the answer was obvious. “Ever since her father died, Vivien has taken it upon herself to keep them out of trouble as best she can.”

  He scowled. “That should be Lord Blake’s responsibility.” The outlines of Vivien’s life were finally starting to take shape. He couldn’t say he liked it very much.

  His mother shrugged.

  Aden rubbed a hand over his face. “So, it’s entirely possible that Lady Vivien’s kidnapper was connected in some way to her family. If one of them owes a large amount of money that could certainly be a motive for kidnapping and holding her to ransom.”

  His mother nodded. “Yes, especially since Cyrus made such a point of refusing to pay, despite the fact that no demands even came forward.”

  Aden grunted, lost in thought. He’d already spent several days rooting around in the stews, seeking information and attempting to ascertain who’d hired the smugglers in the first place. Frustratingly, that line of inv
estigation had yielded little fruit, so it obviously called for him to look closer to home. The Blake finances deserved investigation.

  “And don’t forget Prince Ivan,” his mother added. “You should add him to your list of suspects.”

  “I already have.”

  In fact, the bastard was moving to the top of the list, if for no other reason than he’d tried to force himself on the girl. Aden would never forget the panicked look on Vivien’s deathly pale face when he pulled Khovansky away, or the way she’d trembled in his arms. Despite her strength of character and remarkable resilience, she was alarmingly delicate. That brought out all his protective instincts, and something more. He’d meant it when he said he wouldn’t let Khovansky hurt her again. He’d kill the man if he had to, or anyone else who tried to lay a finger on Vivien.

  His mother drew in a breath, as if about to say something, but then she clamped her lips shut.

  “What now?” he asked in a resigned voice.

  She grimaced. “You know Vivien is hiding something, don’t you? There’s something she doesn’t want us to know about all this.”

  He sighed, hating that she’d confirmed what he’d been trying to deny all along. “Do you think she suspects who was behind the kidnapping?”

  His mother nodded reluctantly, and Aden couldn’t hold back a curse. This time she didn’t reprimand him.

  “To protect someone? A family member?” he asked.

  “I’m afraid that seems the most likely explanation.”

  Aden yanked his hat off and threw it on the opposite seat. “How the devil am I to protect the blasted girl if she won’t cooperate on even the most basic level?”

  His mother patted his knee, as if soothing him. “Vivien is very loyal, especially to her family. She’s always been that way, but that sense of loyalty has only grown since her father died. He made her swear to take care of Kit and her mother since he knew Cyrus couldn’t be trusted to do that. Vivien takes that promise very seriously, I assure you.”

  “She’d even risk her own life to honor it?” he asked, incredulous.

  “I’m sure of it.”