Secrets for Seducing a Royal Bodyguard

by Vanessa Kelly

  Bitterness rolled over her in a great, choking tide. She had known for years that she could not depend on her family, but she had never expected to be so thoroughly betrayed. At the most critical juncture of her life, she felt entirely alone.

  Aden came and sat next to her again. He looked down at her hands, clenched in a tight ball in her lap. Gently, he prised them free of each other, lifting one to press a soft kiss on the back. “You are not alone, my dear girl, although I know you must think you are.”

  She stared at him, stunned by his change in demeanor. His dark gaze, warm and steady, sent heat filtering back through her cold limbs.

  “My mother cares a great deal for you,” he said, “as does Sir Dominic. We will let nothing harm you, I promise.”

  She swallowed past the lump in her throat. “And what about you?” she whispered. “How do you feel about me?”

  His lips parted as he drew in a hesitating breath. Then the door opened and his mother came in, followed by the butler rolling a cart.

  “Breakfast has finally arrived, my dears,” Lady Thornbury trilled in a cheerful voice.

  Aden rose from the chaise and crossed to his mother, leaving Vivien once more crushingly alone.

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  Vivien levelled another glare at Aden, although he certainly couldn’t see it. He’d spent most of their journey with his long legs stretched out as much as possible in the cramped space of the travelling coach, and with his hat tilted over his eyes. How the man could sleep under these circumstances was beyond her, and her resentment swelled with every mile marker that passed. Yes, she could now admit she was madly in love with him, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t an immensely irritating man—both in his ability to adapt to any circumstance without apparent discomfort and in his all too obvious intention to have as little contact with her as possible. For the first hour of their journey, she struggled with a wounded sense of rejection as he’d done his best to shut her out. Now, hours later, all she wanted to do was box his ears and get out of the blasted carriage.

  With a weary sigh, she pulled off the spectacles he’d made her wear and rubbed the dents on her nose. She still couldn’t believe it necessary to wear so ridiculous a disguise, but Aden had insisted. He’d also insisted she wear the ugliest mustard-colored pelisse known to man, along with a bonnet with a poke so large she almost jabbed his eyes out every time she got in and out of the coach. That was entirely his fault, as she’d told him in no uncertain terms when he’d had the nerve to let out a long-suffering sigh at their last stop.

  She peered out the window as dusk settled over the dreary November landscape. It would be full dark soon and she could only hope they would stop for the night. Surely even Aden wouldn’t insist that the horses pick their way across rutted country lanes, risking everyone’s life and limb.

  Retrieving her reticule from where it had fallen to the floor, Vivien slipped the spectacles inside. She was sick of wearing them, sick of the mud and the dirt and, most of all, sick of Prince Ivan bloody Khovansky for placing them all in this terrible fix.

  “Put your spectacles back on, Vivien.”

  Startled by the unexpected command, she jumped in her seat as the carriage hit a massive rut, bouncing her up in the air. She landed with a jolt and a stab of pain shot from her rump all the way up to her shoulders.

  Aden, with his brawny physique, hadn’t moved a jot. In fact, he was in the exact same position as he’d been for the last hour—arms folded across his chest and hat tipped over his face. How in God’s name had he seen what she was doing?

  “I thought you were asleep,” she muttered, leaning forward to massage the base of her spine.

  “I was, until you started making so much noise.”

  “I certainly wasn’t. I was simply putting away these ridiculous spectacles. It’s pitch-dark out, and I highly doubt anyone is peering into passing carriages in the hope of catching a glimpse of me.”

  He pushed up the brim of his slouched hat and stared at her. Despite her assertion, some light still glimmered low on the horizon, enough for her to see his cool gaze.

  “Nonetheless, you will wear the spectacles at all times.” He glanced at the gruesome bonnet, which she’d tossed on the seat some time ago. “As well as your hat.”

  “Perhaps you’d like me to wear them when I’m asleep, too. Just in case Prince Ivan jumps out of the closet or out from under the bed,” she retorted.

  “Vivien.”

  She couldn’t mistake the quiet warning in his voice. With exaggerated care, she removed the spectacles from her reticule and placed them back on her nose. Then she mashed the bonnet down on her much-abused coiffure as she glared at him. “Honestly, I know we need to be careful, but you act as if there are villains hiding behind every rock and tree. And this disguise is ridiculous. I’m surprised your mother had clothing this ugly in her house.”

  Aden straightened up, twisting his torso in a stretch and then flexing his arms. Vivien’s irritation stuttered and died as she watched the ripple of his well-defined muscles under his coat. Unlike her, the cold didn’t seem to bother him. In fact, he’d slipped out of his greatcoat hours ago, piling it on top of her lap blanket to help keep her warm.

  A stab of guilt had her mentally wincing. Despite his cool demeanor, Aden had done everything in his power to make her comfortable. Still, she wished he would explain what would happen when they reached the village of St. Clement. He’d mentioned something about hiding in plain sight, but hadn’t explained the cryptic comment. In fact, she had no idea what would happen when they arrived at the inn—if they actually stopped for the night. Other than Aden’s well-armed coachman and groom, they were travelling without any servants. Not having a maid to lend her some air of respectability in public seemed problematic, even if she was tricked out in a ridiculous disguise.

  Aden narrowed his eyes at her. “The disguise is necessary, and you will wear it for as long as I tell you to.”

  She repressed the urge to stick her tongue out at him. “You are the most cautious person I’ve ever met. One might think you were a spy, with all this wearing of costumes and skulking about.”

  If she hadn’t been looking right at him, and if the last dying rays of the sun hadn’t chosen that exact moment to blaze across his face, she would have missed his unspoken response. But she caught the surprise that flashed across his features. Just as swiftly, it was replaced by a carefully blank expression.

  Vivien peered at him, dumbfounded. But then all the small, disparate pieces of information she’d collected and stored in her memory rearranged themselves like puzzle pieces, snapping together with smooth precision. His reticence, his obscure military background, the gaps in his personal and family history, his uncanny abilities and remarkable physical skills. Even his relationship with Sir Dominic, whose dealings with the government always seemed so murky, suddenly sprang into focus.

  “Oh, good Lord,” she breathed. “You are a spy.”

  A muscle twitched in his jaw. “Don’t be ridiculous. I’m a soldier,” he said with what he must have thought was an astonished look.

  Though his denial was immediate, even slightly incredulous, it nevertheless confirmed her suspicions.

  “Oh, my God,” she said, pushing her fingers under the spectacles and rubbing her eyes. The one man in the world she’d fallen in love with, and he was a spy. No wonder he worked so hard to keep her at a distance. From every lurid tale she’d ever heard, it seemed spies weren’t keen on a life of domestic tranquility.

  She opened her eyes and inspected him over the top of her spectacles. His expression was closed, and he’d folded his arms across his chest again as if trying to shut her out. If she had a particle of sense she would take the hint and mind her own business.

  “Does your mother know?” she asked, ignoring her better instincts.

  “This is a ridiculous discussion, and we are not having it,” he growled.

  Another revelation struck her with blinding force. “Oh
, heavens! Of course she does. She can run rings around anyone in the ton, including Sir Dominic. It’s no wonder she has so much influence in the political sphere. I’ve heard more than one man say Lady Thornbury would make a better prime minister than Liverpool.” She thought about that. “I must say, I’m inclined to agree, since your mother is the most intelligent person I know.”

  Aden stared at her with a bemused expression. His mouth opened and then closed, rather like a fish thrown up onto a riverbank.

  “But I can’t imagine your father was very happy about your career choice,” she mused. “Lord Thornbury was a terrible high-stickler, wasn’t he? From what I’ve heard, spying is not considered a profession for gentlemen.”

  “That’s enough,” he finally snapped, his voice so cold it was a miracle she didn’t freeze.

  Vivien winced, annoyed at her own insensitivity. But the idea of Aden as a spy had truly knocked her back on her heels. “I’m sorry. I suppose you’re not allowed to discuss these sorts of things. I promise I won’t tell anyone. I’m actually very good at keeping secrets. Really, I am.”

  A moment later, the chaise clattered into the yard of a small coaching inn. But even over the noise of the wheels on cobblestone, Vivien swore she heard Aden mutter a truly stupendous oath.

  Vivien rolled over on the lumpy mattress and squished up the even lumpier pillow, trying to get comfortable. She’d been lying awake for hours, every nerve in her body jangling with a frustrating combination of fatigue and agitation. To make matters worse, she was intensely aware of Aden bedded down on the floor on the other side of the room. Unlike her, he appeared completely undisturbed by their bizarre situation or by the hard floor that served as his bed. She supposed one learned to sleep anywhere when one was a spy, or perhaps he’d learned to do it in spy school—if there even was such a thing.

  Not that she would ever know. Aden had refused to say another word about it, and had told her severely before leaving the carriage that she was to drop the subject and leave all the talking to him. Then he’d pulled out a plain gold ring and slipped it onto her finger. She’d stared at it, dazed by the implications. But she’d snapped out of it when he told the innkeeper they would be taking only one room, under the name of Mr. and Mrs. Edwards. Of course, she’d gaped at Aden like an idiot, unable to utter even a single word.

  Which had probably been his plan all along.

  “I’m sorry, but it’s the only way,” he’d said, not sounding the least bit apologetic. “We could not bring your maid, nor can I leave you alone to sleep. It’s not safe.”

  Aghast, Vivien had darted a look at the sole bed, tucked under the eaves of the ancient-looking timbered roof.

  “Where will you sleep?” she’d managed in a squeaky voice. Rationally, she agreed with his logic, but the idea of sleeping with Aden, even if only for show, made her skin prickle with rattled nerves.

  Taking pity on her, he’d explained that he’d sleep on the floor, right in front of the door. She’d calmed down a bit after that but the rest of the evening passed in a strained atmosphere. They’d eaten dinner in almost total silence as Vivien was too distracted by what lay before her—both tonight and on the morrow—to pursue her curiosity over Aden’s unusual profession.

  Fortunately, he’d given her some privacy after dinner, going down to the taproom so as to allow her to wash and ready herself for bed. Returning a short time later, he’d retrieved one of the pillows from the bed, extinguished the candles, and stretched his long frame out on the floor, fully dressed and wrapped in his coat. Only then had Vivien flung off her dressing gown and scurried under the coarse but thankfully clean bed linens, grateful for the darkness that covered her silly blushes. After saying her prayers, she’d closed her eyes, so exhausted she was convinced she’d immediately fall asleep.

  But she hadn’t counted on her heightened awareness of Aden. And whenever she wasn’t thinking about him, all her other worries circled in her brain like a crazed flock of swallows, diving and swooping endlessly until she couldn’t think anymore. Every time she closed her exhausted eyes, an image of Jem’s lifeless body imprinted itself on her eyelids. Between that and the horrible sense that her life had completely unravelled at the seams, Vivien began to wonder if she would ever fall asleep again.

  Whispering the curse she’d heard Aden mutter when getting out of the carriage—and feeling a bit better for it—she rolled over, thumped the pillow again, and ordered herself to sleep. Finally, she settled, and the soft darkness closed around her. Vivien’s eyelids fluttered shut, and she let out a quiet, slow breath.

  And out of the depths of her mind, the image of Jem, bloodied and lifeless in the street, swam up at her with blinding force. Fear and horror enveloped her, squeezing the breath from her body.

  She bolted upright, choking and gasping for air. In a blind panic, she propelled herself out of the high bed, thudding down onto the cold floor. Her feet slipped out from under her and she landed on her backside, letting out a startled yelp of pain.

  “Christ, Vivien!”

  She felt rather than saw Aden scramble up from his makeshift bed and cross to her with lightning speed. His arms went around her, pulling her up from her graceless sprawl. She peered up at him, but he was nothing but a large blur in the smothering darkness.

  “Did you hurt yourself?” he asked in a worried voice.

  She clutched at him, trembling from the shock of hitting the floor as well as lingering remnants of her awful vision. She couldn’t seem to catch her breath to speak.

  “Hang on,” he said, gently lifting her onto the bed.

  When his hands left her, she had to bite her tongue not to cry out. He moved as stealthily as a cat, barely making a sound as he crossed the room. Then she heard the scratch of a tinderbox and a candle flared into life. He carried the taper back, holding it in one hand as his gaze swept over her. As a blush spread to every part of her body his gaze fell upon, it occurred to her that the plain but finely spun cambric of her night rail afforded her modesty little protection.

  She shifted, slanting a cautious glance at his handsome features, rendered even more starkly masculine in the glow cast by the small flame. Her heart contracted and she had to clamp down on the words trembling on the tip of her tongue, words that begged him to take her into his arms and hold her safe.

  And even more dangerous words, too, ones that would reveal her true feelings. Ones that would ask him to do things no unmarried lady should ask a man to do.

  He tipped her chin up, giving her a somber inspection. “Did you have a nightmare?”

  How could a tone so gentle hit her with such blistering force? Swallowing a rush of tears, she gave a miserable nod. On top of everything else, now the poor man had to deal with a woman on the verge of hysteria.

  “Did you hurt yourself when you fell out of bed?”

  She had, but not in any place she felt comfortable discussing.

  “A . . . a bit, yes,” she stuttered. “But I’ll be fine.”

  He frowned. “Did you get a splinter in your leg? These floors are rough. If you caught a splinter, we should get it out.” He leaned down, bringing the candle with him. “Let me see.” He began to carefully lift up her hem.

  Shocked, Vivien clutched the fabric tightly around her knees. “It wasn’t my knee or my leg that got hurt,” she blurted out.

  He frowned. “You made a hell of a thump when you fell. Where exactly do you hurt?”

  She stifled a groan. “Never mind,” she said through clenched teeth. “I’ll be fine.”

  He stared blankly for a second, then amused understanding lit up his eyes. “I see. Do you want me to rub it for you?”

  Her mouth dropped open at the scandalous suggestion. Even more scandalous, the notion darted into her head that she might very well like Aden to, ah, soothe her bottom.

  “I hardly think that would be proper,” she said in a breathless voice.

  “Well, if you’re sure,” he said.

  Blast him. She could
hear the laugh in his voice. “Quite, thank you.” There. Not even her old governess could have sounded as prim.

  “Well, then, back to bed with you.”

  He slid his big hands under her calves and eased her legs under the covers. Then he tucked the bedding around her before smoothing back the hair that had escaped from her braid. The infinite tenderness of the gesture brought tears rushing back to her eyes.

  “Hush. Don’t cry,” he murmured. “All will be well. I promise.”

  She blinked hard, annoyed with her weakness. Crying rarely solved anything, as she had learned after her father died.

  “What do you need?” he asked. “Tell me, and I’ll get it for you.”

  She stared up at him, the candlelight flickering in a soft, dancing blur and outlining his broad shoulders in its gentle glow. Her awareness contracted, focusing solely on him. A fierce longing rushed through her and swept away all her worries about the days ahead.

  There was only tonight, and only Aden.

  Vivien grasped the soft linen of his shirt where it gapped open across his chest and pulled herself up to a sitting position. He flinched a bit, eyes widening with surprise, but he didn’t pull away.

  “I need you,” she whispered. “I need your body against mine, with nothing between us.”

  Shock flashed across his features. Not that she blamed him given what she’d just said, but the circumstances demanded swift and decisive action. Already, she could feel him mentally pulling away.

  “Vivien, you don’t know what you’re saying,” he rasped in a hoarse voice.

  In answer, she stretched up and pressed her trembling mouth to his lips. She tasted him, using the tip of her tongue to gently probe the seam of his mouth. When she slipped in a fraction, he groaned low in his throat. His heartbeat accelerated under her palms and hers leapt in response.

  For a few seconds, he allowed her clumsy caress, opening briefly and sucking her tongue into the hot cavern of his mouth. She whimpered and clutched at him, relishing the feel of his hard muscles under her fingertips.