I will not say that I do not have reservations about accepting Prince Ivan’s proposal, but I have no doubt that he loves me. He will provide for both my security and my family’s, and allow us to maintain our proper station in life. You, more than anyone, will appreciate that.
Aden’s gut had burned with shame when he read those words, knowing he’d used the same excuse to push her away. Now, because of his cowardly rejection, Vivien would spend her life tied to a man she hated. If she’d given him even a hint that she wanted to fight he would have dared anything to help her, even invading Carleton House to demand his father’s help. But her missive stated in clear, cold terms that she would reject any such interference, all but ordering him to stay away from her.
From what his people had told Aden when he arrived in St. Clement a day after Vivien’s departure, she’d gone willingly. Despite the initial ugliness when Khovansky and his men had barged in, Vivien had seemed more than ready to leave with the prince and her brother. That was the part Aden couldn’t fathom. Vivien was no coward. Short of putting a gun to her head, Khovansky hadn’t a hope in hell of forcing her to do anything she didn’t want to do.
Aden brushed by the porter with a curt nod and headed for the stairs to his rooms.
“Captain, wait,” the man called out.
Expelling an impatient sigh, Aden paused at the foot of the staircase.
Carter, the day porter, hurried up with an apologetic smile. “Begging your pardon, sir, but there’s a young man waiting for you in your rooms. He said it was an urgent matter and refused to leave until you returned. Right worried the lad was, too, so I thought it best to let him in since he says you know him.”
“Who is it?”
“Says his name is Mr. Christopher Shaw.”
A jolt of anxiety blasted away Aden’s fatigue. He gave Carter a brusque nod and took the stairs two at a time. He strode into his front room, tossing the newspaper and his hat in the general direction of the padded bench by the door.
“Thank God you’re finally here,” Kit said, jumping up from one of the wing chairs in front of the bay window. He tugged anxiously on the hem of his waistcoat. “I know I shouldn’t be here but I couldn’t think where else to turn. You’ve got to help Vivien before it’s too late.”
Aden studied the lad, taking in his hollow-eyed look and the way he hunched into his coat. Shaking his head, he crossed to the cold fireplace and crouched down to get a blaze lit.
“How long have you been waiting?”
“Since early this morning,” Kit said, dancing with impatience. “I snuck out before anyone was up.”
“You should have lit a fire. It’s freezing in here.”
“I wanted to, but I didn’t how you’d feel about me breaking into your rooms,” Kit said with a sheepish smile.
“You didn’t break in.”
“Well, not really. But—”
“A moment,” Aden said, holding up a hand as he finished lighting the fire.
He went to the brass trolley and poured out two brandies. After handing one to Kit, he waved the young man back to the armchair and then propped his shoulder against the marble mantelpiece.
“Tell me why you’re here, Kit.”
“I tried to tell Vivi that she should go to Sir Dominic, but she refused. She said everything was fine and I was absolutely not to interfere. But I knew it wasn’t right, and that’s when I decided to come to you. You’ve got to help her.” Kit’s blue eyes, so like Vivien’s that it hurt, implored him.
“She’s made it clear she doesn’t want my help,” Aden said, trying not to sound bitter.
Kit looked puzzled. “When did you talk to her?”
“It doesn’t matter. All I can tell you is that she seems set on her course and she asked me not to interfere.” But even as the words left his mouth, Aden mentally disavowed them. He might try to believe that—Vivien clearly wanted him to—but it just didn’t make sense.
Kit’s chin tilted up with mulish determination. Aden had seen Vivien’s delicate jaw adopt that angle any number of times and it never failed to enchant him, even when it signalled an impending verbal brawl.
The young man shook his head. “They’re forcing her—the prince and my brother. She doesn’t have a choice.”
Aden’s hand jerked, splashing some brandy over the rim of the glass. Carefully, he set it down on the mantelpiece. “Did she tell you that?”
“Of course not. Vivien never complains. All she said was that she wanted to marry Ivan the Terrible and that I was to mind my own business.”
“She actually called him Ivan the Terrible?”
“Yes. She also got very upset when I threatened to speak to you. Got quite frantic about it, in fact, and she actually yelled at me to leave you alone. Can’t remember the last time Vivi raised her voice to me like that.”
Aden sank into the other wing chair, trying to get his weary brain to think. “Clearly I still don’t understand her motivation. I know Lord Blake had tried to use your financial situation as leverage against her, but I thought you’d obtained some relief from that.” He narrowed his eyes. “You haven’t started gambling again, have you?”
“No!” Kit looked outraged. “I told Vivi I’d stop gambling, and I have.”
“Then why is she doing this, if not to save you?”
Kit turned his palms up in a helpless gesture. “It’s not just me. It’s Mamma’s extravagance, too. Her debts run into the thousands. And Cyrus has mortgaged the family pile to the hilt. All told, we’re only one step away from falling into the River Tick.”
“Yes, but why does that mean Vivien has to marry Khovansky?” Aden snapped. Christ, what had the poor girl ever done to deserve such a useless family?
“Because Ivan the Terrible bought up all our debt,” Kit replied in a morose voice. “When Vivien disappeared, he went on a tear. He tracked down every penny and before we knew it His Bloody Highness owned us down to the last bottle of port in the cellar. Now he’s threatening to have us all thrown into debtors’ prison if Vivien doesn’t agree to marry him.” He grimaced. “The man’s a lunatic, St. George. I’m afraid for Vivien.”
Aden rubbed his forehead, furious with himself. If not for his blasted pride he would have figured it out straight off. “Of course she doesn’t want to marry him. She can’t stand the bastard.” As awful as the situation was, an echo of hope reverberated in his heart.
He gave Kit a wry smile. “You can be sure I’ll be calling on your brother today. I will not allow Lady Vivien to be forced into a marriage she doesn’t want.”
His mind leapt ahead, solving the problem. Dominic’s help would be needed and Aden might very well have to ask for his father’s assistance as well. The idea made him cringe, but that meant nothing when Vivien’s life was at stake.
“That’s all very well and good,” Kit said in a cautious voice. “But what are you going to say to Cyrus?”
“That your sister is already engaged to me. That should do the trick.”
Kit goggled at him. “You’re marrying Vivien?”
“I am.” Aden stood, energy pulsing through his veins. The way forward had suddenly become simple and clear, and he’d let nothing stand in his way. Vivien was his, and he’d known it in his heart for days. Only his childish fears, masquerading as caution, had kept him from acknowledging it.
Kit leapt to his feet. “I say, that’s splendid.” He grabbed Aden’s hand and pumped it.
Aden bit back a laugh. He had the feeling he’d be spending a fair amount of time riding herd on Vivien’s family over the next few years. “It’s time to pay a visit to Blake House to give your brother the good news. Would you like to come with me?”
Kit grimaced. “That may be sticky since Ivan the Terrible has the place surrounded with his guards. Doesn’t want Vivien slipping out.”
“Then he’s not as stupid as I thought,” Aden said dryly. “But I imagine the guards are more to keep me out than Vivien in.”
“But what are we
to do? Cyrus is hosting a dinner party tonight for the Russian legation. After that, everyone’s off to Lady Jersey’s ball. Khovansky intends to formally announce the engagement in front of the entire blasted ton.”
“Then your brother should expect a few extra guests for dinner.”
Kit frowned. “What about all the guards?”
Aden smiled and grabbed Kit’s arm, pushing him toward the door. “Not to worry. I know just the man to take care of that problem.”
Chapter Thirty-Five
Vivien stared at her reflection in the glass over her dressing table. Outwardly, she looked no different than she had a few weeks ago except for the ghastly dark smudges under her eyes. Her features, her hair, the color of her eyes all were the same, although it hardly seemed possible. An earthquake had tumbled her world upside down when she found love in Aden’s arms, and then when her life took its nightmarish plunge into Khovansky’s rapacious grasp.
It didn’t seem possible to remain unchanged after such a revolution, but only her eyes showed the markings of her passage. They stared back at her, dull and empty as they matched the strange sense of hollowness creeping into the very center of her being. She felt numb, and the only prayer Vivien had left in her soul was imploring that the numbness take permanent hold. Perhaps then she could survive marriage to a vile man determined to mold her to his will.
Ivan had told her that in so many words, promising a swift removal from England as soon as possible and a return to Russia where he would have her all to himself. He’d practically licked his lips when he’d said it, his eyes gleaming with a chilling combination of hatred and lust. He’d stored up every rejection and every humiliation he thought she’d inflicted on him, and was hell-bent on exacting his revenge. That revenge would carry on the rest of her life, and there wasn’t a damn thing anyone could do about it.
Not even Aden.
She squeezed her eyes shut. Every time she thought of Aden her chest grew so tight she could hardly breathe. Only the knowledge that she kept him and Kit safe made it possible for her to go through with tonight’s charade and to face the ghastly days ahead.
Her mother fluttered into the room. “My love, the guests are beginning to arrive. You don’t want to be late for your own engagement party.”
Vivien dragged herself to her feet. “Under the circumstances, it seems a reasonable response.”
Her mother’s smile faltered. “Vivien, I know the prince wasn’t your first choice, but can’t you reconcile yourself to this? After all, you will be a princess. Think of how delightful that will be!”
“Even if that prince is a complete lunatic?”
Her mother cast a frightened glance over her shoulder, as if someone was listening. For all Vivien knew, there might be a thug with his ear plastered to the door. Since they returned to Blake House yesterday afternoon, the prince had stationed his men everywhere.
“Vivien, be careful. You cannot afford to be overheard.”
“Yes, Mamma.” There was no point in discussing things with her mother anyway, since there was nothing either of them could do.
“Oh, my darling,” Mamma said, taking her hands in a fond clasp. “Everything will be fine, I just know it. I’m going to ask the prince tonight if I can accompany you back to Russia. A daughter should have her mother by her side when she gets married, especially when she’s moving so far from home. Besides, I think it would be rather splendid to see the Court in St. Petersburg, don’t you?”
Vivien couldn’t begin to imagine her pampered, indolent mother making that kind of journey, nor did she wish to expose her to Prince Ivan’s uncertain mercies. Still, it soothed Vivien’s heart a wee bit to know her mother had made the offer.
“Thank you, Mamma. We will discuss it later, but we shouldn’t keep the prince waiting.” Ivan the Terrible had outlined in no uncertain terms that she was always to make herself available to him. The man wasn’t to be her husband, but her jailer.
As they made their way downstairs her mother twittered and fussed like a sparrow, profusely complimenting Vivien on the diamonds and rubies the prince had sent earlier in the day. The terse note accompanying the necklace, bracelets, and earrings had explained that they belonged to his mother and that he expected her to wear them tonight. Baroque and ugly as sin, Vivien already hated them.
When they entered the drawing room half the guests had already arrived, including Ambassador and Countess Lieven.
“My dear, we began to wonder if you would be joining us this evening,” Khovansky said as he bowed over her hand. When he straightened, Vivien had no trouble reading the ire in his protruding eyes.
“Nonsense, Your Highness,” the countess said in her charming accent, slapping him lightly on the sleeve with her fan. “It’s entirely appropriate for Lady Vivien to make a grand entrance. After all, she is the star this evening. She can do whatever she wants and we must all bow down before her.”
Vivien gave her a grateful smile, wishing she could stick her tongue out at Khovansky. She was entirely sick of the way the man glared at her. If this kept up she would likely murder him within a week of their wedding. All things considered, hanging seemed the preferable option.
Doing her best to ignore him, she drifted about the room greeting their guests and forcing inane social chatter past her lips. Since she and Khovansky had not yet formally announced their engagement, no one referred to it directly. But she received many sly compliments and veiled congratulations. By the time they moved into dinner she felt ready to scream.
As she took her seat to the right of Cyrus, she glanced down the table, frowning. “Where’s Kit?”
Now that she thought about it, she hadn’t seen him all day. He was likely still smarting from the scold she’d given him last night, but he’d been hell-bent on asking Aden to help. Vivien had been numb with exhaustion and despair by that point, but Kit’s dogged insistence that she go to Aden had broken through, pitching her into panic. She could bear many hardships, but Aden’s death wasn’t one of them.
“I was about to ask you,” Cyrus replied in a low voice. “One would think he could be present for his sister’s engagement party.” A sneer curled his lips. “Perhaps he’s drowning his sorrows in one of those damned hells he’s so fond of.”
“Perhaps. I only wish I could join him.”
Cyrus hissed at her to be quiet, but Vivien was spared the need to reply when the footmen began serving the soup. She managed to ignore her brother through that and the next course as well, focusing her attention on her seatmate, a kind and elderly baron who’d been a friend of her father’s.
When the dishes from the second course were removed, Cyrus rose to his feet. Vivien’s stomach clenched when he picked up his goblet of champagne and pompously cleared his throat. Her brother was going to announce her engagement, and there would be no going back.
She braced herself, smoothing out her features. A smile was impossible, but her last shreds of pride urged her to avoid looking like she was about to lose her dinner.
“As some of you know,” Cyrus began, “you have been invited here tonight for a joyous occasion, one that will mark—”
A loud crash echoed through the hallway, followed by several alarming thumps that cut Cyrus off. Everyone glanced at the door and then back at Cyrus. He stood with his mouth hanging open, staring anxiously at Khovansky.
“Please continue, Lord Blake,” the prince said loudly from his place down by Mamma.
Cyrus raised his goblet again, but almost dropped it when another crash sounded. This time the door to the dining room shook as if something heavy had been flung against it. A few seconds later there was a dragging noise and then the double doors flew open and a tall man, dressed all in black, strode into the room. He stopped, narrowing his cold gaze right on Ivan the Terrible.
Aden.
Vivien’s vision tilted sideways, her mind struggling to make sense of what she saw. She’d refused herself the luxury of wishing for a last-minute, daring intervention—Aden d
efying the prince, defying himself in order to rescue her. Rising to her feet, she stared at him, open-mouthed.
His gaze flickered down the table to find her, and a loving smile parted his lips. It stole the breath from her lungs, and Vivien had to clutch the edge of the table to keep from toppling over.
Verbal pandemonium broke out as everyone started shouting at once. Vivien winced when Cyrus bellowed loud enough to shatter glass. “How dare you break into my house,” he stormed at Aden. “You will leave now, or my footmen will throw you out on the street.”
“That’s not going to happen, Cyrus,” said Kit as he strode into the room and stood shoulder-to-shoulder with Aden. “I’ve instructed all the servants to remain in the kitchen.”
Cyrus began gobbling, incoherent with rage. Vivien’s mother let out a shriek, flopping back in her chair as if about to swoon. Several of the men demanded answers from no one in general, adding to the chaos.
Khovansky, who’d been staring at Aden with an utterly stunned look on his face, finally sprang to his feet, roaring for quiet. The din cut off as sharply as a razor’s cut, and a fraught silence fell over the room.
“Captain St. George,” the prince snarled, “you have developed a most unwelcome habit of interfering in my affairs. You will regret that.”
Aden shrugged. “I doubt it,” he said with obvious contempt.
Khovansky’s features turned a livid shade of purple as he cast a pointed stare out to the hallway.
“If you’re looking for your merry band of thugs, you’ll be disappointed,” Aden said, glancing over his shoulder. As if on cue, Griffin Steele strode into the room, garbed in a swirling greatcoat and looking like a pirate.
“Everything under control?” Aden asked him with a faint smile.
When Steele lifted an arrogant brow, Vivien blinked. She had seen that expression on Aden’s face more than once. Standing next to each other, she almost took them for brothers.
Secrets for Seducing a Royal Bodyguard Page 37