Secrets for Seducing a Royal Bodyguard

by Vanessa Kelly

  Spitting out a curse, Vivien flew down the stairs and rushed to Davis, mindlessly pushing her way past the two thugs standing over the unconscious man.

  “Vivien!” Cyrus exclaimed in an offended voice. “I’ll thank you to watch your language before the prince.”

  For a second, she gaped at him. Even the prince levelled an incredulous expression in her brother’s direction, clearly thinking him an idiot.

  “Sod off, Cyrus,” she said through clenched teeth.

  Ignoring her brother’s idiocies, she carefully felt Davis’s skull, trying to assess his injury. Fortunately, he moaned and his eyelids started to flutter.

  “Lady Vivien, I must ask you to get up from the floor,” Prince Ivan said in a cold voice. “Such behavior is not fitting in a woman of your station.”

  “And does it befit your station to employ thugs to pummel servants and engage in kidnapping?” she snapped. “I wonder what the Russian ambassador will say when I tell him exactly what transpired here today?”

  Khovansky’s gaze blasted her with cold rage. She resisted the impulse to shrink away from him and huddle on the floor. No matter what, she would not bend before him.

  “For God’s sake, Vivien, get up,” Cyrus grumbled, casting the prince a wary look.

  He reached down and pulled her to her feet, bringing his mouth close to her ear. “Do not make him angry,” he hissed. “The man’s quite demented.”

  She pulled away. “You’re only discovering this now?” She didn’t bother to lower her voice.

  The prince regained his control. “My lady, I suggest we repair to your drawing room where we can discuss this situation like rational people.”

  “There is nothing remotely rational about this situation,” Vivien retorted. She was proud at the steadiness of her voice, even though her insides quaked like a jelly mold. “You need to take these brutes and leave this house. Immediately.”

  The prince gave her a courteous little bow. “That is my intention, once we have come to an arrangement.”

  Crossing her arms over her chest, Vivien stared back, refusing to move or say a word.

  Khovansky shook his head regretfully. “You force my hand, Lady Vivien. Please remember that everything that happens today will be a direct result of your actions.”

  He gave a nod to one of his men, a large brute with a twisted nose and misshapen ears. With a feral smile, the man hauled Evans up, holding her by the collar so her feet barely touched the floor. With a lightning fast motion, he struck her across the face with an open palm.

  Evans’s head snapped back as the sound of the vicious slap echoed through the hall. Vivien choked out a cry and instinctively leapt forward, only to be hauled back by her brother.

  Prince Ivan tilted his head and studied Evans, still held in a punishing grip by his man. Above the gag, her red face had already started to swell but her eyes glowed with fierce defiance.

  “Shall we go into the drawing room and chat, Lady Vivien?” Prince Ivan asked. “Or shall my men take your maid into the kitchen and continue with the lesson? I assure you, the results will not be to your taste.”

  Vivien’s insides cramped with horror as she stared at the prince. “Where are the rest of the servants? The cook and the other footman?”

  “They are in the kitchen. You may be sure that all your servants are safely confined. All of them,” Khovansky added for emphasis.

  Vivien’s last, faint hope that one of Sir Dominic’s men might have escaped withered.

  “My dear lady, there is no need for any more harm to come to your servants,” the prince said in a soothing manner. “If you will cooperate, all will be well.”

  “Vivien, don’t be an idiot,” Cyrus said, a pleading note creeping into his voice. He glanced at Evans then swallowed hard, looking rather ill. “Let’s just go into the other room and talk. Please.”

  Vivien darted a glance about the hall, taking in the leering, ugly expressions on the faces of Khovansky’s men. She had no doubt they would do exactly as their employer commanded and enjoy it.

  Almost choking on her frustration, she nodded. “I’ll do what you say, but only if you solemnly promise not to harm any of the servants.”

  Khovansky gave her another of his ridiculously formal bows.

  “I want to hear the words, Your Highness,” she insisted. “Promise they will come to no harm.”

  Behind their gags, both Evans and MacDonnell protested incoherently. The thug holding Evans shook her in his grasp, like a cat shaking a mouse, until she fell silent.

  Khovansky placed his hand over his heart. “You have my word as a prince,” he said.

  A shiver slithered up Vivien’s spine. She would pay dearly for what the prince saw as an insult to his honor. That would come later, however. For now, she had to focus her thoughts on keeping the servants free from harm.

  She nodded and turned on her heel, bypassing the large drawing room and leading the way to the morning room. It was small, which meant that most of Khovansky’s thugs would be forced to wait in the hall. She wasn’t entirely sure, but she thought she recognized a few of them from the night she was abducted. Simply looking at them made her mind want to freeze with panic, and she needed all of her wits at her call.

  Cyrus and the prince followed her into the sunny, south-facing room. Khovansky closed the door behind him and, with a gracious sweep of his arm, indicated that Vivien take a seat. By his demeanor, one might almost think he’d come to make a polite morning call. That, more than anything else, did convince her that the man was truly insane.

  Warily, she perched on the edge of one of the low armchairs. She loved this room, with its cheerful tones of cream and yellow and comfortable furnishings covered with gaily floral chintz fabric. A searing pain of regret flared in her chest as she remembered the breakfasts she’d enjoyed with Aden here, chatting to him over coffee and newspapers, falling more in love every day.

  Those memories now served no other purpose but to taunt her.

  Her brother lowered himself onto the chair next to her, peering up uneasily at Prince Ivan. Cyrus opened his mouth to speak, but Vivien cut him off.

  “How did you find me, Cyrus?”

  He flinched, but then brought himself under control. “From the letter you wrote to Kit.”

  “Kit did not betray me!”

  Cyrus let out a bitter laugh. “Of course he didn’t. He swore up and down he didn’t know where you were, but I knew that to be a lie. The idiot thought he was protecting you when he was bringing us all to ruin.” He cut her a defiant look. “He left me no choice, so I searched his room and found the letter.”

  Vivien pressed a hand over her stomach. Aden had warned her not to contact anyone, but she’d known Kit would be sick with worry if he didn’t know she was safe. She’d only written him once, and strictly instructed him not to tell anyone where she was.

  “You had no right to do that,” she said in a tight voice.

  “And you had no right to run away without a word to your family,” Cyrus snapped. “Mamma was beside herself, as you can imagine. I’ve had to listen to her hysterics for two weeks now, not to mention dealing with all her creditors.”

  Vivien dug her nails into the cushioned arms of the chair. “If you were a truly affectionate brother, you’d protect me instead of using me as a means to pay off your debts and further your career. Papa would have been horrified to see how you’ve treated us.”

  “Our father was as big a fool as every other person in this family,” Cyrus sneered. “And what did you expect me to do? Stand by and watch while the whole lot of you pulled the family name through the mud? Your own behavior, I might add, has been little better than that of a trollop.”

  “That is enough, Lord Blake.” Prince Ivan’s cold voice cut like a lash through the room. “You will not insult my future wife, even if she is your sister.”

  Vivien’s heart stuttered. She knew what Khovansky wanted, but to hear him announce it so boldly robbed her of breath.
r />   “Apologize to Lady Vivien,” Khovansky said, never taking his eyes off Cyrus.

  Her brother glanced at her, then at the prince. What he saw there obviously frightened him as much as it did Vivien. He gave her a stiff little nod. “Forgive me, Vivien,” he said in a resentful voice.

  Her mind finally broke free of the insanity of the moment.

  “Prince Ivan, I have not agreed to marry you. I will return to London, if I must, but you cannot force my hand. Threatening or harming my servants will not achieve your desired result, since no minister will perform the ceremony once he learns that my acquiescence to your demands was achieved by duress.”

  Prince Ivan tilted his head, letting his gaze drift over her before extracting a gold-plated snuffbox from an inner pocket. Leisurely, he availed himself of a pinch then dusted off his hands before deigning to answer her. “Ah, but you will gladly acquiesce, my lady. You see, I hold your family’s fortunes and future in the palm of my hand.”

  Shocked, Vivien stared at her brother. “Cyrus, what is he talking about?”

  When he could barely meet her eyes, she grabbed his sleeve and shook. “Is it true?” she demanded.

  Anguish flashed across her brother’s face and Vivien’s heart plummeted. A moment later, Cyrus shook off her restraining hand and shot her a haughty glare. “His Highness has generously taken on the burden of both Mamma’s and Kit’s debts. As you know, they are quite extraordinary. Combined with the mortgage on Blake House—”

  “Which you took out to finance your blasted career,” she said hotly.

  “—and the cost of the repairs to the estate in Somerset,” Cyrus continued, “we have been brought to a standstill. Without the aid of Prince Ivan, we should all wind up in debtors’ prison.”

  “How much do we owe him?” Vivien asked in a horrified whisper.

  The amount Cyrus named was staggering. Vivien’s head swam, and she had to take several deep breaths to wrestle her panic under control.

  “So you see, my dear Lady Vivien,” Prince Ivan said, looking down at her with a hideously possessive glint in his eye, “your family owes its continued position in society—indeed its very existence—to me. Of course, when you are my wife, then your family will become part of my family. I shall do everything in my power to see them prosper. In fact, it will be my fondest wish to do so, because I know it will give pleasure to you.”

  She stared into his protruding, toadlike eyes and read the triumph there. The walls of the room seemed to close around her and she found it hard to breathe.

  “Why are you doing this?” she whispered. “Surely there must be other women who would welcome your attentions.”

  One eyebrow shot up. “I should think it obvious. I love you.”

  “And this is how you show your love, by threatening my family and blackmailing me? That is the behavior of a cad, sir, not a prince,” she exclaimed.

  She expected him to bristle at the insult, but a chilling smile stretched his broad features. The malicious intent in his gaze made her stomach churn.

  “Ah, Lady Vivien, I cannot tell you how much I look forward to our wedding. You are spirited, but you must learn obedience to your husband. I believe I will greatly enjoy schooling you into a properly behaved wife.”

  Bile rose in her throat and Vivien had to swallow hard to keep from choking. She cast a desperate glance at her brother. “Mamma will never agree to this.”

  Grimly, Cyrus reached into the pocket of his greatcoat, pulled out an envelope, and handed it to her.

  Vivien tore it open. Moments later, she crushed her mother’s plea for her to marry Prince Ivan with shaking fingers. “Cyrus, what did you do to make her agree to this? Mamma knows how I feel about him!”

  “I simply told her the truth,” her brother replied.

  “You mean you threatened her,” she responded bitterly. “And what about Kit? He wouldn’t stand by and just let this happen.”

  Cyrus barked out an ugly laugh. “He has no choice. Kit is halfway to debtors’ prison, or worse.”

  Vivien stared at the crumpled piece of parchment in her fist. Her mind pushed her brother’s words away, reeling with stunned disbelief. Desperately, she clutched at the one thing that could save her. “No. Captain St. George will never—”

  Prince Ivan flung a hand out, almost hitting her in the face. “My patience runs out, Lady Vivien. Your brother has explained the circumstances to you and you will accept them. If you do not, ruin awaits your entire family.”

  He leaned down to her, his florid complexion flushing almost the shade of clotted blood. Vivien tried not to shrink away but she couldn’t help herself. The insane arrogance of the man rolled off him, like the scent of a bitter, noxious herb.

  “And if you value your precious captain’s life,” he said, his accent growing ever more guttural, “you will never mention his name to me again. I leave his life in your hands.”

  Cyrus pressed a hand to her arm, looking almost as desperate as she felt. “Come now, old girl. It won’t be so bad. You’ll be a princess. You’ll never have to worry about money again, nor will Mamma or Kit.” He gave her a sick smile. “And I’m sure the prime minister and Prinny will think it a splendid thing. Why, think of all the influence you’ll have.”

  She pulled her arm away from him. “They can go to the devil.”

  The prince gave a careless shrug. “In any case, the arrangements are in place. I have already spoken to Ambassador and Countess Lieven. Naturally, they are thrilled. By this time, I would imagine the ambassador has already hinted to the Prince Regent of our impending engagement. The formal announcement will go out as soon as we return to London.”

  Dumbstruck with despair, Vivien could only shake her head in pointless refusal. The trap was steadily closing about her. Even if Aden had been here, she doubted he could have done anything to protect her.

  As if he read her thoughts, the prince leaned in even closer, pinning her with a gaze that seemed purely reptilian. “If you are thinking that your dashing captain can help you, then I suggest you think again. You are mine, Lady Vivien, and I will allow no man to stand in the way of claiming you as my bride.”

  His acrid breath washed over her and she shrank back in her chair.

  “Am I making myself perfectly clear?” he asked, his voice softly threatening.

  She forced herself to nod as she heard the bars of her cage slide into place. They’d planned it too carefully—Cyrus and the prince—and she didn’t stand a chance. And if she turned to Aden for help . . .

  Aden.

  He might not want to marry her, but she had no doubt he would again risk his life to help her. She also had no doubt Ivan the Terrible would carry out his vile threat. Given his immense wealth and power, he might well get away with it. But that didn’t even matter. Only Aden mattered, and if he were hurt or killed trying to help her, Vivien could never live with that horrible outcome. Bleakly, she accepted the losing hand fate had dealt her and met Khovansky’s maliciously triumphant gaze.

  “I understand perfectly, Your Highness. That being the case, I wish to leave Captain St. George a letter—” She held up a restraining hand when he started to object. “You may read it. I simply intend to tell him that I have agreed to marry you and that I will be displeased if he tries to interfere in any way.”

  The prince gave her another flourishing bow, one that seemed to mock her. “Of course, my dear, whatever you wish.”

  Vivien crossed to the small writing desk in the corner of the room. She rummaged for paper and ink and then wearily sat down to write her note. As the words stuttered reluctantly from her pen, she heard the closing snick of the lock on the cage that had just become her life.

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  Aden walked slowly from the mews where he stabled his horses, reading the on-dits column as the bustle of stable hands and grooms swirled about him. As soon as his coach reached the outskirts of London, he’d had Stevens jump down to retrieve the papers. Though tempted to shove the r
eins into the coachman’s hands and start scanning the columns of type immediately, the sick feeling in his stomach had held him back.

  Now he couldn’t avoid the truth any longer. It was there in black-and-white for the entire world to see.

  As has been rumored for weeks, a certain foreign prince will soon be making a formal announcement of his engagement to Lady V—. The family of the future bride is apparently in alt at the prospect of such a distinguished and wealthy connection.

  He stopped in the middle of the lane and closed his eyes, letting the wave of despair swamp him. He’d failed Vivien and now he couldn’t see a way to help her escape the trap she’d walked into. Even worse, she didn’t even want his help, as her curtly worded missive had made clear.

  A blast from a carriage horn jerked him out of his reverie. “Here now, guv, stand clear,” yelled a coachman as he wheeled by in a barouche just inches from Aden’s booted feet.

  Aden grimaced and waved an apology. He folded the papers and shoved them under his arm, heading for the back entrance to his set of rooms. Despite the fact that he’d managed to get a few hours’ sleep on his journey back from St. Clement, weariness unlike anything he’d ever felt dragged on his bones. It had nothing to do with the fact that he’d only slept a few hours in the last several days and everything to do with the fact that he’d failed Vivien. And despite what Dominic said, that failure had resulted from letting emotion get in his way. If he’d kept a proper distance from her none of this would have happened. He would have kept his mind on the job and brought Khovansky to heel days ago instead of indulging in the stupidity of falling in love.

  A love Vivien wanted nothing to do with, as her letter made clear. Even now, tucked into the inside pocket of his greatcoat, it weighed him down. And he certainly wouldn’t have to pull it out again to read since the words had scorched themselves into his brain.

  She’d tersely explained that she’d decided to marry the prince after Khovansky assured her that he’d had nothing to do with her abduction or the subsequent attempt. Aden refused to believe she could be so easily duped, but what she’d written next had shaken him to the core.