Secrets for Seducing a Royal Bodyguard

by Vanessa Kelly

  Aden stalked over to the silver coffee service and poured a cup. Fortunately, Dominic liked his coffee brewed strong as hell. Aden had a feeling he’d need several cups to get through this meeting.

  “Does your information involve Khovansky?” he asked Griffin as he took a seat.

  His cousin nodded. “One of my attempts to encourage honesty in some of my more reluctant sources has finally borne fruit. It would appear that the men responsible for Lady Vivien’s abduction were members of the Campworth gang.”

  Despite the heat from the steaming cup of coffee he cradled in his hands, a chill coursed through Aden’s veins. “Borden Campworth?”

  “None other,” Griffin responded in a hard voice. “I think you’ll agree this is not a good development.”

  One of the most notorious crime lords in England, Campworth ran an extensive network of smugglers, extortionists, and thieves. He also had several MP’s and at least two members of the current government in his pocket, rendering him difficult to bring to heel. Dominic had been trying to bring the bastard down for years, with very limited success.

  “Apparently, this source was able to confirm that Khovansky hired Campworth’s men for both the initial abduction as well as the second attempt you managed to thwart,” Dominic interjected.

  Griffin nodded. “My source was also persuaded to reveal that another abduction is planned that will involve Khovansky himself.”

  Aden eased back in his chair, feeling a slight degree of relief. “They can try again, but they’ll never find Vivien now. No one has ever uncovered St. Clement.”

  Griffin and Dominic exchanged a troubled glance, and Aden’s alarm spiked again. “What?”

  “Griffin’s source was adamant that Campworth had information on Lady Vivien’s location,” Dominic said.

  Aden shook his head impatiently. “That’s impossible. I made certain of it.”

  “You did,” his chief replied. “Unfortunately, Lady Vivien didn’t. Apparently, she wrote to her younger brother once she arrived in St. Clement.”

  Aden rubbed his eyes, feeling sick. “Bloody hell.”

  “Indeed,” Dominic said in a voice of doom.

  “How did you find out?” Aden asked.

  “Griffin sent me word last night that Campworth was involved. Unfortunately, I was out quite late and did not receive the news until I returned home after one A.M. I immediately checked with the man I had stationed at Blake House, who insisted all was quiet. That, however, failed to satisfy, so I tracked down young Kit Shaw at Brook’s. He informed me, with some reluctance I might add, that Vivien had sent him a short note soon after her arrival, telling him she was safe. He also swore up and down that he’d told no one, including his mother and his older brother.”

  “Did he burn the letter?” Aden asked, dreading the answer.

  “No.”

  “Christ!” Aden jumped to his feet and began pacing. What a complete and utter fool he’d been. It had never occurred to him that Vivien could do something so foolish, but she worried about Kit like a mother hen fretting over her chicks. He should have anticipated something like this and kept a closer eye on her, especially in those first days in St. Clement.

  “And Khovansky? Where is he?” he snapped.

  “He was staying at Osterley with the Jerseys, but I received a report not an hour ago from Kenilworth, who I’d assigned to tail the prince. Khovansky presumably took to his bed two days ago with a raging head cold, attended only by his valet. Kenilworth managed to get upstairs to Khovansky’s bedroom early this morning and found that the prince was most definitely not on his sickbed. Unfortunately, Kenilworth found Khovansky’s valet to be so terrified of his master that he was singularly useless in providing any coherent information.”

  Aden came to a halt in front of Griffin. “Any specifics on the time line?”

  “My source said it was imminent. Given the state he was in when my men finished with him, I think it’s safe to say we got everything out of him that we could.”

  Aden strangled the impulse to panic, forcing himself to think. “What happened to your source? You made sure he can’t get word back to Campworth?”

  “You may reassure yourself on that score, Cousin,” Griffin said, rising to his feet. “No word will reach Campworth of any breach in his plans.” He nodded to them and headed to the door. “I’ll leave you professionals to do what you do best.”

  Griffin paused with his hand on the knob, glancing back at Aden. “I will hope for Lady Vivien’s safety. She is a remarkable woman and deserves much better than to fall into the clutches of a man like Khovansky.”

  “No woman ever deserves to fall into Khovansky’s clutches,” Dominic commented once Griffin was gone. “But for now, we will concentrate on protecting Lady Vivien.”

  “I’m heading back north immediately,” Aden said. “Vivien is well protected, but if I can get there before Khovansky, so much the better. I can catch the bastard in the act.”

  “That would be helpful, but I think our problems with the prince are a tad more complicated than that. It will require a political intervention as well, and that will take some doing.”

  “There won’t be any need for political interventions when I’m through with him,” Aden growled. “Are we done? I need to be on my way.”

  Dominic’s only response was to wave him toward one of the chairs in front of his desk. Aden stared at him with disbelief. “Is this really necessary?” he snapped.

  His chief sighed. “I could wish you to have more faith in me. I sent Kenilworth and another man north as soon as I received the report on Khovansky. They’re more than prepared to deal with any problems until you arrive. Now, sit.”

  Muttering under his breath, Aden took a seat. When Dominic spoke in that tone of voice, there was little point in resisting. But the thought of Vivien, so far away and with Khovansky likely in pursuit, set panic to clawing at his guts. Though logic told Aden she was well protected, his heart told him he’d abandoned her precisely when she needed him most.

  Dominic steepled his hands in front of his chin and subjected Aden to a thorough inspection. “Why did you return? And do not insult my intelligence by stating, as you did in your ridiculous note, that you thought it necessary to move the investigation along.”

  Incredulous, Aden stared at him. “We’re going to do this now? When Vivien is in danger?”

  “If she’s in danger, it’s because of you. I realize the last few months have been difficult, but I didn’t anticipate that your weariness, for lack of a better word, would cause such a lapse in judgment.”

  Aden flinched—only slightly, but Dominic caught it nonetheless. He allowed some of the cold ire to leave his face. “Aden, I ordered you to protect Lady Vivien until this matter was resolved. Not run off half-cocked when you came face-to-face with your emotions.”

  Aden bristled. “My emotions have nothing to do with it. I simply felt that—”

  Dominic raised an imperious hand, cutting him off. “I’m sure you’d like me to believe that, but we both know it’s not true. You find your emotions inconvenient, but they are not something you can ignore any longer.”

  “Christ, I’d like to,” he muttered.

  Dominic’s spare features softened in sympathy. “My friend, despite what you think, denying your feelings only clouds your judgment to a greater extent.”

  “Like John’s feelings clouded his judgment in France?” Aden flashed.

  “John was outwitted by another agent, and a very good one. It happens. You, however, were not outwitted, nor did your affection for John fog your brain. You discussed the situation with him and gave him fair warning. The mistake was his, not yours.”

  Aden brooded over the memory of his friend, sprawled in his bed, naked and bloody. An equally ugly memory followed, that of a beautiful and false woman, John’s killer, dead by Aden’s hand. She was a good agent, yes, but not good enough to escape his brand of justice.

  “It’s the game,” Dominic said so
ftly. “Ugly, tragic things happen. Let it go.”

  “I’m sick of the game,” Aden responded without thinking. He paused, stunned by the simplicity and truth of the words.

  “As are we all. Now tell me why you left Lady Vivien.”

  Aden fell into obstinate silence, but Dominic simply raised an arrogant eyebrow and waited him out.

  “All right,” Aden finally grumbled, “I fell in love with her. Is that what you wanted to hear?”

  Much to his surprise, Dominic grinned. “Yes, it is. And I take it she loves you.”

  “I believe she does,” he said cautiously.

  “Why, then, did you leave her?”

  Aden gaped at him. “Christ, Dominic! You know what I am, what I’m capable of. You know my background, too. Vivien deserves better than me.”

  “What she deserves is a good man to love her. A man who is also strong enough to protect her from the wolves at her door.”

  Aden let out a harsh laugh. “Yes, but I’m hardly that man.”

  “Lady Vivien apparently does not agree. Nor, might I add, does your mother—a lady of great perception, as you know. I will add that I agree with your mother’s assessment.”

  Dominic got up and rounded his desk, perching on the edge of its polished mahogany surface. Aden stared up at him, feeling both wary and exposed.

  “Aden,” Dominic started in a kind voice. “From a young age you have tried to bury your emotions. That was understandable given the way Lord Thornbury treated both you and your mother, never allowing either of you to forget her lapse in judgment. At that stage in your life, emotions were not your friend. You brought that attitude with you into the Service, and your ability to repress your feelings carried you through many a difficult situation. But in this case, denying them has led you astray.”

  Aden stared at his chief. “How so?”

  “Put aside your fears, for the moment, and concentrate on what you feel for Lady Vivien. What does that particular emotion tell you?”

  Aden tried to do as Dominic bid him, ignoring the pounding of his heart and the frantic rush of blood through his veins. No. He tried to feel, not think. What did his love for Vivien tell him to do?

  He closed his eyes and groaned as the answer became brutally obvious. “I never should have left her.”

  “Exactly right.”

  Opening his eyes, he sprang to his feet. “I can’t waste another moment.”

  Dominic nodded. “Go.”

  Aden grabbed his coat and hat, cursing under his breath. “I am an idiot. A complete, sodding idiot.”

  Dominic’s sardonic laugh followed him out the door. “Of course you are. You’re a man in love.”

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  Vivien locked her travelling trunk, smiling at the servant Aden had assigned to protect her. “Thank you, Evans. Could you please ask Mr. MacDonnell or one of the footmen to come up and fetch this? I only have to finish packing my overnight bag and I’ll be ready.”

  Evans, a lanky, capable woman, scoffed as she grabbed the trunk. “That won’t be necessary, my lady. I’m just as strong as those fellows. I’m a better shot, too,” she muttered as she hoisted the trunk on her shoulder.

  Vivien could believe it. Evans might pretend to be a lady’s maid but her talents clearly lay elsewhere. The older woman wasn’t very adept at dressing one’s hair or pressing a gown, but she’d watched over Vivien like a mother cat with a single kitten. Her quiet but supportive strength had been a blessing these last few days since Aden decamped for London without one word of warning.

  Sighing, she folded a shawl and stuffed it into her portmanteau. Evans and MacDonnell vehemently opposed her departure, trying to thwart her every step of the way. She’d finally taken matters into her own hands, sneaking out yesterday to hire a post-chaise for this morning. MacDonnell had pitched a fit when Vivien told him while he was serving her yet another solitary meal in the dining room last night.

  “My lady, you can’t leave,” MacDonnell had exclaimed, clutching a tureen of dumplings to his waistcoat. “You are to remain here until either Captain St. George or Sir Dominic returns or sends for you. It’ll be my head if I let you leave. Besides,” he added rather desperately, “I’m sure the captain will be back any day now.”

  She had politely responded by noting that short of locking her in her bedroom, there wasn’t a thing MacDonnell could do to stop her. And if he did lock her up, she’d simply crawl out the window and down the trellis, then find her own way back to London on the common stage.

  Eyeing her morosely, MacDonnell had finally agreed, with the stipulation that he and Evans go with her. Vivien was secretly relieved, since the idea of travelling alone was rather daunting. Only the dawning realization that she might be stuck in St. Clement for weeks had enabled her to overcome her doubts about disobeying Aden’s strict written edict to obey every one of MacDonnell’s orders.

  We’ll just see about that, Captain St. George.

  Scowling, she shoved her nightgown into the overstuffed bag and sat on it to force it closed. Every time she thought about Aden’s last words to her—and she thought about them every two minutes—the blood rushed hotly through her veins. His rejection had left her stunned, then annoyed, and then hot with humiliation and anger. It had taken all her willpower not to dash out of her room after him, but the knowledge that she would likely burst into tears when confronting him had kept her from doing so.

  When she’d finally calmed down enough to think, she’d realized that Aden’s reaction had made perfect sense—in a thickheaded, masculine sort of way. For most of his life he’d seen himself as an outsider. It didn’t matter that he had the bluest blood in the land—and hadn’t that revelation about his real father been a shock—he’d been deliberately rejected by the people in his life who most mattered. He felt unwanted and unworthy, the walking definition of a scandal, and someone who didn’t deserve a normal life.

  As she’d mulled that over, shivering in her cold bed, Vivien had succumbed to tears. Not for herself, but for the lonely little boy who’d managed to grow up into the best kind of man, and yet one who still believed nobody wanted him. After she’d cried herself out, she’d decided it was better to wait until the morning when she could tell Aden in the clear light of day that she had every intention of marrying him and that he’d best get used to the idea.

  Which had obviously been a huge mistake. For several hours, she’d let the staff convince her that he would surely return, but eventually her instincts had told her the truth. If she wanted a life with Aden, she would have to fight for it and force him to confront the illogic of his rejection—both of her, and of the life they could build together.

  She fastened the straps on the portmanteau and took one last look around the cozy, quaintly decorated room. It had been a refuge these last weeks, as had the town and the new friends she’d made. She’d already sent a note round to Mrs. Pettigrew saying that she and Mr. Parker had been called back to town but hoped to return soon. A month ago, she would have shuddered to have to lead such a quiet, uncomplicated life. But now her life in London seemed restless and empty, full of noise and motion but holding very little meaning. Here, she’d found contentment and happiness. With Aden by her side, she could envision building a life that had little to do with the empty glitter of ton life and everything to do with love.

  Draping her pelisse over her arm, she hoisted her portmanteau and headed for the door. Balancing the heavy bag on her hip, she propped the door open with her foot and thumped her way into the hallway. But as she started for the stairs a loud bang sounded from below, followed by raised, angry voices and several vibrating thuds.

  Alarmed, Vivien dropped her bag and rushed to the head of the staircase. Before she reached it, the sound of a harsh, familiar accent sent fear crashing through her veins. She pressed herself against the wall, keeping out of sight as she tried to catch her suddenly fractured breath.

  Khovansky.

  From the other horrible noises filterin
g up the stairs, it was clear he’d brought a whole band of thugs with him, who were now engaged in battle with MacDonnell and the footman.

  She sucked in a tense breath, realizing she had only a few seconds to escape, either through one of the upstairs windows or by the hidden set of stairs in the closet in the back bedroom. Aden had shown it to her as a precaution when they’d first arrived, but now it looked like her best chance.

  Keeping her back to the wall to avoid creaking floorboards, she crept away from the staircase. If she could get out, she’d run straight to Mrs. Pettigrew’s house and hide there. Then, when darkness fell, she’d—

  “Vivien, I know you’re up there,” called a familiar voice that brought her up short. “I suggest you come down right now, or else I’m afraid your servants will come to harm.”

  She rested her head against the wall, shaking with anger. She’d never liked her older brother, but at this moment she truly hated him.

  “Vivien, come down right now,” Cyrus barked.

  “I heard you the first time,” she yelled back.

  She pushed herself away from the wall and took several deep breaths, trying to slow the mad tripping of her heart. She needed a clear head and strong nerves to get through this, although she had little idea what she could say to either man except no.

  A bitter smile twisted her lips as she walked slowly to the staircase. Aden had said no to her the other night and look where it had landed her—alone, in trouble, and without him to protect her.

  Her courage almost failed her when she reached the top landing and beheld the chaotic scene in the entrance hall. At least five rough-looking men in greatcoats milled about the small space, and both MacDonnell and Evans had been bound, gagged, and shoved against the wall. Over their gags, both sets of eyes glared fiercely at their captors. Davis, the footman, was stretched out on the floor, unconscious and with a bloodied mouth.

  Standing off to the side stood Cyrus and Prince Ivan. Her brother looked rumpled and furious and, classically, extremely put out. The prince, however, simply stared up at her with an expression both calculated and triumphant, like a hunter who’d just run the fox to ground.