Secrets for Seducing a Royal Bodyguard

by Vanessa Kelly

  His lips curved in a smile as he pulled her into his embrace. She let out a shivery moan when her stiff nipples rasped against the crisp hair on his chest.

  “Liar,” he whispered into her ear.

  She ignored him, too caught up in rubbing her body against his. Fire seemed to ignite from every point of contact, and she couldn’t help but luxuriate in the flames. She wrapped her arms around his neck and lifted one leg over his hip, bringing her mound into contact with his muscled thigh. She cried out as a voluptuous spasm rippled out from her core. For a few minutes, he let her rock against him, allowing her to build up the pleasure while his hands roamed over her body. He explored everywhere he could reach—fingers trailing down her spine to cup and shape her bottom, then drifting up to caress the sides of her breasts. All the while he murmured hot whispers in her ear, crude endearments and earthy praise that sent desire pulsing through her body.

  Aden shifted and his erection slid between her thighs, dragging across her inner lips. Another bolt of sensation lanced through her. “Aden,” she cried out, pulling herself tight against him.

  Suddenly, Aden rolled onto his back, bringing her with him in a wild sprawl.

  “You’re ready, Vivien. I want you. Now.”

  She barely recognized his voice, so deep and guttural with lust.

  He lifted her until she balanced astride him, her legs spread wide by his powerful body. They were plastered against each other, pelvis to pelvis, and she couldn’t help rocking again, he felt so hard and wonderful beneath her.

  Aden’s hands clamped around her hips, holding her still. “That’s delicious, love. But I want you to come while I’m inside you.”

  Planting her hands on Aden’s shoulders to steady herself, Vivien stared down at him, too breathless to utter a word. He was so big and powerful beneath her, looking utterly the dangerous man he was. But his mouth—his beautiful mouth—was shaped in a tender smile, and his hands roamed over her body with a light, affectionate touch.

  The enormity of the moment, the glory of it, swept through her, and she had to blink back tears.

  “Ready?” he asked.

  Unleashing a trembling smile, she nodded.

  He guided her to her knees, positioned himself, then pressed her down so the tip of his erection nudged upward into her slick passage. Carefully, he pushed up even as she started the slow slide down. The delicate inner tissues burned, protesting the relentless stretch of his broad shaft. It was far from pleasant, but Aden soothed her with gentle murmurs and a soft, seductive play of hands over her breasts and belly, and along her thighs.

  Finally, he was deep inside her. Vivien sat, awkwardly poised, trying not to wince as she adjusted to his invasion of her body. But as much as it stung, she couldn’t help but be rocked by the indescribable intimacy of their connection, and by the mingling of lust and adoration on Aden’s face. He couldn’t seem to stop touching her, either, worshipping her body with his hands. That look on his face—so naked with emotion—in itself made the act worth it.

  Then his dark eyes came into sharp focus and a line creased his brow. “Vivien,” he finally said, “undo your braid.”

  It seemed an odd request at this point, but she was happy to oblige. Pulling the braid forward over her chest, she untied the ribbon at the end and began to unweave the strands.

  “Take your time,” he whispered. “I want to watch you.”

  Taking a deep breath—which caused the heat to flare brighter in his gaze—she nodded. Slowly, she unwound the thick strands, smoothing out any tangles. He watched intently, stroking her arms but holding his body still beneath her. The moment felt unbearably peaceful and sweet, the silence disturbed only by the sound of the low fire simmering in the hearth, or the distant closing of a door below in the inn.

  By the time Vivien finished unravelling her braid, the burn between her thighs had eased, replaced by a rising need to move against him. She shifted, bringing her sex in contact with his pelvis. The swift cut of pleasure pulled a groan from her throat.

  “That’s it,” he murmured, spreading her hair over her breasts. “Move against me, sweet. However it feels best to you.”

  Tentatively, she began to rock up and down, searching for the closest fit. All the while, he played with her breasts, teasing the rigid tips and coming up on his elbows to lick her. When he sucked hard, pulling a nipple into his mouth, she sobbed with ecstasy and rocked forward.

  Aden responded, surging into her. Heat swept through her body. Vivien opened her thighs wide and pressed down, concentrating fiercely on the tantalizing play of his hard flesh against her. But she needed more, and she sobbed out her need in incoherent bursts of words, clinging to his shoulders as she rocked. His head came up from her breasts and he buried his face in her neck, one hand moving down between their bodies.

  And then he touched her, right there, right on the tight little bundle of flesh that ached with need. He slicked his fingers and rubbed her until she began to tremble in his arms. Contractions rippled from her womb, finally coalescing in luxurious spasms that pulled from her mouth a startled cry. When she arched back, letting the waves wash over her, Aden pressed a hot kiss to her breastbone, right above her heart.

  Then, so quickly it seemed a blur, he pulled her up and off, falling onto his back and bringing her with him. He clamped his hands on her bottom and ground against her, his erection pulsing against her belly, spilling his seed between them.

  And in the aftermath of that shattering moment, when everything that was to come was still unknown, Aden cradled her against his chest.

  Holding her as if she belonged there forever.

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  Vivien imagined she must look like the most pedestrian of wives as she strolled with Aden toward the spa in the center of the village of St. Clement—several years married, and with a husband who resembled nothing so much as a prosperous shopkeeper who’d brought his ailing spouse to partake of the waters. As far as anyone could tell, they were among the most boring couples on the planet.

  Walking down the street with Aden, she realized how well he’d chosen his profession. He possessed a remarkable ability to fade into the background, obscuring his masculine strength and power with a slightly stoop-shouldered pose, quiet speech, and genteel but nondescript clothing. It was a remarkably simple and straightforward method of disguise.

  As for her appearance . . . well, the less said, the better. She looked awful, decked out in muddy-looking colors, bonnets that managed to be both prim and enormously ugly, and those blasted silver-rimmed spectacles. Her family and friends would be aghast if they saw her so shabbily attired, and she winced whenever she caught sight of herself in a mirror. But Aden had insisted repeatedly that she needed to preserve her disguise, attracting as little notice as possible.

  Engaging notice hadn’t been a problem, since he’d practically locked her up in the house since they’d arrived in St. Clement. Confined indoors with only the servants and Aden to talk to—and he wasn’t doing much talking these days—Vivien had finally put her foot down after four days, demanding she be allowed to leave the house.

  She glanced up at the man escorting her down High Street. Aden’s face still wore a grim, resigned cast, signalling he didn’t much like her venturing out in public. Initially, he’d flat-out refused to escort her into the village. Vivien had lost her temper then, insisting that she’d lose her mind if she didn’t have someone to talk to.

  “You can talk to me,” Aden had snapped over his paper at the breakfast table. “Or the servants. I’m sure they’d be happy to talk to you.”

  Vivien had reminded him that all the servants were in Dominic’s employ as bodyguards, which made them doggedly watchful and reluctant to engage in conversation. Even the woman assigned to Vivien as her maid clearly saw her role more as guardian than servant, keeping watch like some modern-day Argus until Vivien felt ready to jump out of her skin.

  “As for you,” she’d stormed at Aden, “you’ve barely sai
d two words to me since we arrived. I can’t for the life of me imagine why,” she ended on a sarcastic note.

  He’d had the grace to flush a dull red. Since that fateful, glorious night at the inn, Aden had retreated into an even more irritating version of his impassive self, leaving Vivien to wonder what she’d done wrong. She’d tried to get an answer out of him, but he’d evaded any discussion of their fiery encounter, telling her they’d talk about it when she was safely returned to London. She didn’t believe that for a minute, but she was too embarrassed—and hurt—to raise the issue again. That night had changed everything for her, and she’d thought Aden might possibly feel the same.

  But with every passing day more doubt crept in, and Vivien began to fear she’d made a dreadful, soul-shattering mistake. Her long days and nights in the spacious manor house in St. Clement might be safe and comfortable, but for Vivien it was rapidly becoming a lonely and boring interlude in a life that had somehow ended up in the ditch.

  At least Aden had let her out of her gilded cage this morning, and she was determined to make the most of it. If that meant ignoring the ill-tempered and overbearing man who might very well break her heart, so be it. If there was anything Vivien had learned over the years, it was how to hold her head high when her entire world was crumbling about her. Aden might have stolen her heart, but he would most certainly not steal her pride.

  She stopped in front of a milliner’s shop where two elderly women were inspecting the hats displayed in the window. The hats were quite ugly, but not nearly as ugly as the one Vivien wore, so as far as she was concerned they merited a look. But as she joined the other two women at the window, she heard Aden breathe out an exasperated sigh.

  Forcing a pleasant smile on her face, she cast a glance at him over her shoulder. “Is something the matter, Mr. Parker?” she asked, emphasizing the false name they’d adopted. “Are you unwell?”

  “Not at all, my dear. Why do you ask?” he responded in a terse voice.

  She eyed his jaw. If it was any tighter, it would likely shatter into a million pieces. “I thought I heard you sigh, but perhaps I was mistaken.” She adopted a worried frown. “Or perhaps it was your dyspepsia. You did have rather a large meal last night, with a second helping of roast beef. I’m convinced your doctor would not have been pleased.”

  “Oh, my,” cried one of the elderly ladies, who had been shamelessly eavesdropping. She was tall and remarkably thin, with pale eyes and a kind face. “Too much red meat is fatal for dyspepsia. My dear sir, you must listen to your wife. Why, my poor husband was also in the habit of overindulging in his food.” She let out a dramatic sigh. “The consequences were dire, and I’m afraid Mr. Simmons was taken from this life prematurely, God rest his soul.”

  Her companion, a stout, commanding-looking woman, rolled her eyes. “For heaven’s sake, Sally, your husband drank himself to death.” She held up a hand to forestall the other woman’s protest. “Richard was my brother and I loved him dearly, but we all know he spent a good part of each day dipping too deep. Didn’t make him any less of a lovely man, but there’s no point in denying the truth of it.”

  Mrs. Simmons flashed Vivien and Aden an apologetic smile. “Yes, well, there’s no need to air our dirty laundry in public, Dorothy. Besides, this nice young man doesn’t look to be suffering from dyspepsia at all.”

  When the elderly woman ran a practiced and very appreciative eye over Aden’s muscular frame, Vivien had to bite the inside of her cheeks to keep from laughing. Especially after she snuck a glance at him and took in the rigid cast of his features.

  The other woman, the one named Dorothy, tilted her head and also ran an assessing gaze over him, obviously sizing him up as a prime piece of horseflesh.

  “You’re right about that, Sally. Dyspepsia doesn’t seem to be the right diagnosis.” She cast a swift glance at Vivien’s hat and nodded wisely. “I’d be willing to bet your lord and master looks so sour because you’re fixing to put a dent in his purse with the purchase of a new hat. And why shouldn’t you, too? Miss Theresa makes the best hats in town, and you’re clearly in need of a new one.”

  Vivien found herself unable to respond, mostly because she was trying desperately not to laugh. Aden, however, had gone from annoyed to grim, which made the whole situation even funnier. One of England’s most dangerous spies, set back on his heels by two little old ladies.

  “Dorothy, you’re embarrassing the poor man,” Mrs. Simmons gently scolded. “Whatever will they think of us? That is surely no way to greet newcomers to our fair village.”

  “Oh, Lord, I suppose you’re right,” the other woman said, comically scrunching up her nose. “You mustn’t mind me at all, sir. As anybody in town will tell you, I will run off at the mouth at the drop of a hat.”

  “Please don’t apologize,” Vivien said. “We’ve only arrived in your charming village a few days ago, and we’ve yet to make anyone’s acquaintance. I’m very pleased to meet you.”

  And as soon as the words were out of her mouth, she realized it was true. Two weeks ago, she could never have imagined craving the company of what appeared to be two genteelly impoverished country widows. But they had cheerful faces and spoke kindly and without affectation. If the last few weeks had taught Vivien anything, it was that many of the people in her life—including some of her family—were lacking in those wholesome virtues.

  “Goodness, where are our manners, Dorothy,” cried Mrs. Simmons. “We have yet to introduce ourselves. As you have no doubt already guessed, I am Mrs. Simmons. This is my sister-in-law, Mrs. Pettigrew.”

  Mrs. Simmons, for all her age, gave them a graceful bow, while Mrs. Pettigrew bobbed up and down like a friendly, plump robin.

  “I’m very pleased to meet you,” Vivien repeated with a warm smile. “I’m Mrs. Parker, and this is my husband, Mr. Parker.”

  Mrs. Pettigrew levelled a dazzling grin at Aden. “Yes, and a fine, strapping man you are. I’ve always had a soft spot for big men, like my dear, departed husband. It’s a pleasure to meet you as well, Mr. Parker.”

  Aden finally shook of his irritated demeanor. “Thank you, madame,” he said, bowing gravely over her hand. “The pleasure is mine, I assure you.”

  He extended another bow in Mrs. Simmons’s direction. That lady pressed a hand to her thin chest and looked smitten. “Oh, Dorothy,” she cried, “doesn’t he have the most beautiful manners? He puts me in mind of my own dear Richard, who was the most charming man one could ever hope to know.”

  “When he wasn’t jug-bitten, of course,” Mrs. Pettigrew said in a cheerful voice. “But, as Sally says, there’s no need to air all the dirty laundry in public now, is there?”

  “Indeed no,” Aden said with a solemn demeanor.

  This time, Vivien heard the laughter in his voice. The knot in her stomach, the one that had been living there since they’d slept together, loosened up. She gave him a tentative smile and his lips quirked up in response. That smile actually reached his eyes, setting spark to the glow that had been a raging fire between them just a few nights ago.

  But a moment later, the sober Mr. Parker again took up residence.

  “My dear ladies,” he said, addressing the two widows. “You must excuse us, but my wife must not stand out any longer in the chill. We should be on our way.”

  “Oh, you must be going to the spa,” said Mrs. Pettigrew. “We’re going that way ourselves. We’d be happy to escort you.” She gave Aden a conspiratorial wink. “No one knows St. Clement better than we do. We can point out all the prosy old bores so you can avoid them.”

  “Oh, yes,” Mrs. Simmons chimed in earnestly. “We know all the latest on-dits too. If you want to know anything about anyone in our fair town, you need only enquire with us. Why, Dorothy is so good at winkling out information, you’d think she was a spy for the Crown.”

  “That is indeed a very useful talent,” Vivien said in a strangled voice. She didn’t dare look at Aden, knowing she would no longer be able to contain herself i
f she did. Instead, she simply took his arm and smiled as the two ladies fell into step beside her.

  Unfortunately, her erstwhile husband’s arm felt like a block of hardwood under her gloved hand. The muscles were bunched with tension, clearly signalling his irritation over the attention of her newfound friends. He may have been amused a few moments ago, but the brief display of warmth had vanished.

  Fortunately, he had impeccable manners, for which Vivien was profoundly thankful. She was desperate for company and could hardly believe that two old ladies constituted a threat to her security. But to Aden, it seemed that everything under the sun was cause for suspicion. It seemed a tiresome way to live.

  “You’ve clearly come to our little town to avail yourselves of the waters. I fancied you looked a little peaked,” said Mrs. Pettigrew, giving Vivien the once-over. “Why, you’re as skinny as a post and rather pale, my dear, if you don’t mind my saying so.”

  “No, I don’t mind.” She didn’t either. Vivien was used to the subtle cut and thrust of the ton, but a sudden vision of Mrs. Pettigrew let loose in that milieu, mowing down aristocrats like so many stalks of hay, sprang into her mind. She quite liked the idea, and suddenly life in the town of St. Clement didn’t seem so dreary.

  “My wife has been feeling poorly, which is why she will not be engaging in many activities or visits during our stay,” Aden interjected in a voice guaranteed to dampen enthusiasm. “Her doctor insists she get plenty of rest and quiet.”

  Vivien stifled the urge to bash him over the head, but that didn’t mean she couldn’t express her displeasure by other means. “Oh, but my love,” she said in a soulful voice. “You remember that Dr. Hunter insisted I needed some wholesome activities and cheerful company to prevent me from falling into melancholy. Surely you have not forgotten how anxious I became the last time you tried to lock me up in the house.”

  Mrs. Pettigrew and Mrs. Simmons cast horrified looks first at Aden, then at Vivien. Vivien dared a sideways glance at her protector. Without moving a muscle on his face, he still managed to convey righteous outrage.