Secrets for Seducing a Royal Bodyguard

by Vanessa Kelly

  Still, it seemed foolish to resist him on so minor a point and, charm aside, it made a certain amount of sense. St. George knew more about her in some respects than most of her friends. It was rather silly to continue to treat each other so formally.

  “As you wish.” She forced her feet moving again after she realized she was staring at him like an addlepated twit. “But only in private,” she added. “It wouldn’t be appropriate to employ our Christian names in company. People might get the wrong idea.”

  He affected a wounded look as he placed one gray-gloved hand over his chest. “My intentions are only of the purest nature.”

  She scoffed. “You may cease acting like a buffoon any time now, Aden. And I do believe you had a question for me, although I can barely remember what we were discussing.”

  “Very well,” he said, turning serious once more. “I need the truth regarding your relationship with Prince Ivan. Do you have, or did you have an understanding with him?”

  She pulled up short. He kept on a few paces before he realized she no longer walked at his side. When he turned back to look at her, he let out a resigned sigh. “I knew you would be offended.”

  She stalked up to him, resisting the impulse to whack him with her muff. “How could you possibly think I would have an understanding with that beastly toad? The very idea is ridiculous.”

  “Not so ridiculous, according to the rumor mill.”

  Lovely. He’d donned his inscrutable face again. No sign of the charming flirt now, either. He might as well be a marble statue of a Greek warrior for all his expression conveyed. But as she told him already, she was good at reading people, and her reading of him indicated he didn’t wholly believe her indignant protestations.

  “There’s even a wager in the book at White’s on your impending engagement. The betting runs quite heavily in the prince’s favor,” he added in a voice that amounted to a sardonic shrug.

  Fuming, Vivien glared at him, all but oblivious to the gaggle of children and their nursemaids forced to go around them on the path. St. George, however, was not oblivious. After intercepting several curious stares from the nursemaids, he took her by the arm and steered her to a bench under the trees but well in sight of the main path.

  By the time they reached the bench, her temper had already started to cool. She hated the idea that her name would ever be coupled with Ivan the Terrible’s, but it made sense. The man wouldn’t leave her alone, and she had little doubt Cyrus encouraged the rumors as well.

  She perched on the edge of the bench, staring warily up at her silent companion who remained standing.

  “I suppose I’m not surprised I’ve been the subject of that kind of on-dit,” she said grudgingly. “The blasted man won’t take no for an answer. You’ve seen what he’s been like, even before last night,” she said, waving her muff with frustration. “But why would you assume I formed an attachment with him? The prince makes my skin crawl, which should be evident to anyone who sees us two together.”

  “As loath as I am to disagree with you, before dinner last night you seemed quite, ah, chummy with him. And he certainly viewed you with a proprietorial eye the entire evening.”

  “Circumstances can be deceiving. For instance, by all outward appearances you were quite proprietorial with Madame Bezrodny too.”

  As soon as the words escaped her mouth, she wanted to smack herself for revealing her childish jealousy.

  He’d turned half away from her to idly watch a few strollers making their way to the ornamental dairy in the center of the park. But her snippy comment pulled his attention back around. He studied her for a few moments, no doubt taking in the fiery blush climbing up her neck.

  “Ah, yes,” he said with a smile that hinted at pleasant memories. “Madame Bezrodny. Quite a lovely woman, and very friendly too.”

  “Well, she certainly seemed very friendly with you,” she said, giving Aden her own version of an ironic shrug.

  Uttering a soft laugh, he sat beside her. “I take your point, my lady. Forgive me for making what was obviously an erroneous assumption.”

  He said that in such a contrite voice she couldn’t help feeling a twinge of guilt. It wasn’t entirely his fault he’d misunderstood. To even the most casual observer, it must have seemed that she was encouraging Khovansky’s attentions.

  She finally relented. “Thank you. And if I’m to call you Aden, then you must call me Vivien,” she said, making a peace offering. “I do believe you’d done that before, so it’s silly not to continue, at least in private.”

  “I’m honored,” he said in a grave voice.

  She wasn’t fooled, since his eyes were dancing with laughter. For a man who gave the impression that he rarely smiled, he seemed to be doing rather a lot of it. At least with her.

  “But to return to Prince Ivan,” he started.

  “Must we? It’s such a dreary subject.”

  “I agree, but I wouldn’t pester you about it if I didn’t think it was necessary. Given that you do not have an understanding with him, what could have encouraged him to molest you last night? The man is obviously a poltroon and completely lacking in manners—even for a prince—but I still find it hard to believe he would feel comfortable enough to impose such liberties on the sister of his host unless he felt he had the freedom to do so.”

  Inside her muff, Vivien anxiously twisted her fingers together. How much could she afford to tell him before he guessed the truth?

  They sat for a few moments watching little boys play at soldier, waving sturdy twigs at each other in mock swordplay. St. George—Aden—casually stretched his arm along the back of the bench as he waited patiently for her reply. He didn’t touch her, but Vivien swore she could feel the heat from his body radiating against her shoulders and neck. She had a crazy urge to snuggle up under his arm and lean her head on his chest, seeking his steadfast strength.

  “You can trust me, you know,” he said. “Whatever you tell me will remain between us.”

  He still didn’t look at her, and she had the notion he was allowing her to make the decision to confide in him with as little pressure as possible.

  Trust.

  Such a rare commodity, and yet Aden offered it as easily as he would a pinch of snuff or a glass of wine. Despite that, she believed his word was gospel. But she’d also spent years defending herself and her family from the malicious gossip and mischief-making of life in the beau monde. After so much time, she found it difficult to allow anyone to breach her carefully constructed battlements.

  When she hesitated, his gaze flicked over her, head to toe, like a soft stroke from a peacock’s feather. “I have proved you can trust me, haven’t I? I will not allow anything or anyone to harm you. You know my word is good.” His deep voice held a note of challenge—and of obligation.

  She shook free of her muff and crossed her arms over her chest. “Well, that’s certainly not playing fair, is it? How the devil am I to respond to that?”

  He slid his arm from the back of the bench and turned sideways to face her. One booted leg stretched in front of her, the lean, tensile strength of his muscles clearly defined by the cling of his breeches.

  “It’s anything but fair, and I’m not above using whatever means I have to encourage you to confide in me. If that means making you feel guilty because I saved you, so be it.”

  His baldly stated honesty startled a laugh out of her. As much as she disliked his attempt to manipulate her—the men in her life were always trying to manipulate her—she knew he did it with the best of intentions.

  “Well, that’s putting me in my place,” she said dryly. “Very well, I will give you my trust, at least in this matter.”

  He smiled, clearly having the sense not to push for more. In that respect, he was decidedly not like the other men in her life.

  “Prince Ivan has been persistent in his attentions despite my repeated rejections of his suit,” she said. “But I was convinced until last night that I had persuaded him to leave me alon
e.”

  “A good kick to the shins can often do that,” he replied with a slight smile. “So, what happened to change that?”

  “My brother, Cyrus. He’s determined I accept the prince’s offer of marriage. Unfortunately, Cyrus is almost as bad as the prince, refusing to take no for an answer. And believe me,” she said, laying a hand over her heart, “I’ve tried.”

  “But last night you seemed rather more, ah, amenable to the prince’s attentions, at least earlier in the evening.” He held his hands up, palms out. “I’m not trying to pick a fight. I’m simply telling you what I observed. Was I wrong?”

  Vivien resisted the impulse to hunch her shoulders around her ears. This had to count as one of the more embarrassing conversations of her life, and she had yet to truly shake the family skeletons out of the closet.

  “No, you’re not wrong. Cyrus came to my room and insisted I entertain the prince’s suit,” she confessed.

  He frowned. “And you acquiesced to his demands? Just like that?”

  “Let’s just say he applied pressure that was difficult for me to resist.”

  Aden bowed his head, and for several seconds he seemed to be pondering the flawless shine of his boots. Vivien prayed her vague answers would satisfy him.

  “I presume Lord Blake used some kind of threat of financial retribution to gain your cooperation,” he finally said.

  When she grumbled under her breath, his dark eyes lit up once more with amusement. “It’s the obvious answer according to my mother,” he said, trying to sound contrite.

  Failing at it, too. Vivien suspected contrite wasn’t a word in his vocabulary.

  “Your mother is correct,” she said, unable to keep a note of chagrin from creeping into her voice. “And my mother obviously cannot keep what should be a private family matter, private.”

  “Mothers can be an exceeding trial, especially in their inability to keep their noses out of their children’s lives. That being the case, you might as well tell me the rest of it, since your mother will no doubt tell my mother everything, anyway.”

  He gave her an encouraging smile, but Vivien suspected that when she finally told him the truth, he wouldn’t be smiling at all.

  Chapter Twenty

  As Vivien pondered where to begin, a gust of wind shivered through the branches of the large oak that sheltered their bench, shaking free dead leaves. One drifted down into her lap, a lifeless reminder of the passing season. She couldn’t help shivering, both with a sense of impending trouble and with the chill seeping through the wool of her pelisse.

  “Come,” Aden said, pulling her to her feet. “You’ve been sitting too long. My mother would have my head on a platter if you caught a chill.”

  “I told you,” she said, automatically, “I’m much—”

  “Sturdier than you appear. Yes, I remember. But I suggest we stroll up the Queen’s Walk to Piccadilly. We can stop in at Hatchard’s to warm up, if you like.”

  She slanted him a sideways glance. For a man who only pretended to want to spend time in her company, he seemed content to maintain the fiction.

  Then again, he was in the middle of grilling her. Once he extracted the information he wanted, he’d no doubt whisk her home and that would be the end of it.

  Taking her exposed hand in a gentle grip, he nudged it back into her muff. “Now, you were just about to tell me everything.”

  She ignored the heated tingle where his gloved fingers had brushed her palm. “As you surmised, it does have to do with money. Or lack of it.”

  “Lord Blake’s lack of money?” he asked.

  “No. Cyrus is actually a good steward of the family finances, if rather tightfisted.”

  “Are your finances a problem?”

  “No. I abhor debt, which I know must surprise you given my habit of spending time in the gaming rooms.”

  “You do more than spend time. From what I understand, you frequently best the most accomplished gamesters in the ton. Quite a feat for a sheltered young miss.”

  She wrinkled her nose at him. “Not so young to realize the perils of falling into debt. I know the limits of my skill, and I never allow desperation or emotion to rule my play. I also invest a portion of my winnings and I’ve had some modest success with that as well, thanks to my banker.”

  His brows lifted and he looked genuinely impressed. Vivien couldn’t help preening a little, at least on the inside.

  “I congratulate you,” he said. “But since neither you nor Lord Blake is a reckless spendthrift or gambling wastrel, I assume the problem lies with your mother or your younger brother.”

  “With both,” she replied with a touch of bitterness. She cleared her throat. Her mother and Kit would probably never change, so it fell to Vivien to manage them as best she could, regardless of her resentment.

  “Mamma has no notion of economy and she is too fond of deep play. Not as much as Kit, though. He’s dreadfully reckless, and not just at the card tables. He’ll put a wager on anything, and he has a fatal attraction to betting on the turf.”

  Aden shrugged. “He sounds much like any other young buck.”

  “Except for the fact that he has almost no income of his own to subsidize his folly,” she sighed. “Which is where Cyrus comes in.”

  “Lord Blake is refusing to honor your younger brother’s debts, I assume?”

  She nodded.

  “How much does Kit owe?”

  Vivien had to swallow twice before she could get it out. “Almost thirty thousand pounds.”

  She felt the pause in his step, then he smoothly guided her into the path that cut diagonally up to Hyde Park Corner.

  “A considerable sum,” he responded. “That being the case, I would hazard a guess your younger brother has paid at least one visit to the cent per cents.”

  “Yes,” she replied tersely, dreading the conclusions he might draw. She hadn’t yet decided if she could confide everything in Aden. Though he’d promised to hold what she told him in confidence, Kit’s stupidity was on an order of magnitude that might defy all attempts to keep it hidden.

  “And then there’s Mamma,” she hurried on, hoping to divert his attention away from Kit’s failings. “Her debts are substantial as well, although nothing like Kit’s. Between the two of them it’s a crushing amount. And Cyrus doesn’t even know the half of it, especially about Kit,” she added bleakly. “If he did, he’d throw Kit out on the street or force him to join the army, and then exile Mamma and me to a ghastly little manor house in Yorkshire.”

  He cocked his head. “I can certainly understand your desire to avoid exile in Yorkshire, but how would it harm your brother to take up a commission in the army? That can be the making of a man.”

  Vivien started to bristle before recalling that he was an army officer. And given the kind of man he was, she could hardly argue with the conclusion that Kit might do worse than a stint in the military.

  “Yes, but Cyrus is not willing to buy him a commission in one of the better regiments. In fact, he said he wouldn’t buy him a commission at all, instead forcing him to join the infantry. If he did, who knows what would happen? Kit might have to go to the Americas, or even India. And he is such a boy at heart. He’d never be able to . . .”

  She broke off, biting her lip against the panic that rose at the idea of Kit facing such dreadful circumstances.

  Aden gave her arm a gentle squeeze. “Vivien, Lord Blake is making an idle threat. He can’t force your brother to join the army. Besides, that would hardly shelter him from his obligations to pay Kit’s debts. It seems to me the more likely threat is debtors’ prison.”

  She cast him an exasperated glance. “Oh, that’s so much better.”

  He barked out a short laugh. “Yes, that was clumsy of me. My apologies. I take it, then, that Lord Blake is insisting you marry Prince Ivan, who will then settle a large sum on you and allow Lord Blake to clear the family debt. Do I have that right?”

  “Exactly right,” she said gloomily. “Pr
ince Ivan is prepared to settle an obscene amount of money on me, and even offered to pay Kit’s and Mamma’s debts.”

  “So, under pressure from your brother, you agreed to entertain Prince Ivan’s suit. That, in turn, led to his caddish behavior in the library last night—”

  “And I threw his suit back in his face,” she finished. “Now I’m no better off than when I started, except for the fact that I don’t have to marry the wretched toad. That’s an inestimable blessing, but we still face ruin.”

  “Were you ever intending to marry him?”

  “Good Lord, no. I was just trying to buy myself some time.”

  He shot her a penetrating look. “And what did you hope to accomplish by delay?”

  Drat. She’d certainly let him walk right into that pertinent question. That’s what resulted from trusting someone. Inconvenient, dangerous questions.

  “Come up with some sort of plan,” she said, vaguely waving her muff in the air.

  The soft fur ruffled up with a cold gust of wind. She shoved her other hand back into its warmth and pressed her lips tightly shut. Under no circumstances could she tell Aden—or anyone—of her carefully developed plans to drag Kit and Mamma out of debt. The results of such a slip could be explosive.

  Aden grasped her elbow, bringing her to a halt. His gaze probed her, sharp and insistent. “What aren’t you telling me, Vivien?”

  “Nothing,” she protested. Her heart stuttered, but she managed to adopt an expression of wounded innocence.

  She hoped.

  “You’re not responsible for your family’s behavior,” he said in a kind but firm voice. “Your mother is in Lord Blake’s safekeeping and Kit has reached his majority. I understand your worry, but his gambling debts are his and his alone. Regardless of what Lord Blake might say, no one should ask you to sacrifice yourself on their behalf. If you were wise, you would do well to steer clear of your family’s troubles. You have enough of your own to contend with.”