Blast. If she continued to fight him, a sharp tap to the jaw to knock her senseless might be the only safe way to handle her. But then he saw the clearing in her eyes and sensed the beginning of a wary acceptance of him.
“Yes?” he whispered.
The flush leached from her face. She gave one sharp, economical nod and then settled under him, as if waiting for him to respond. Cautiously, he removed his hand from her mouth, straining an ear for any noises. He deliberately pulled his awareness away from her, focusing his instincts, trying to sense traps that might await them in the corridor beyond.
“Who are you?” Her voice was a throaty croak. “You know Sir Dominic?”
“Yes. I’m a friend.” Right now she didn’t need to know more than the basics.
He rolled off the pallet, bringing her slight body with him as he rose. She gave a little gasp and staggered, sinking against him. Steadying her, he wrapped the velvet cloak tightly around her and lifted, settling her easily against his chest, a fragile package in his arms. The fact that she’d tried to fight him and struggled so desperately to defend herself spoke of a reckless courage that filled him with dismay. If she had struggled thus with her abductors, God only knows what they’d done to her. They would have relished the sport of breaking her in unimaginably brutal ways.
Once more, a thirst for vengeance settled low in his gut. His mind began to reshape itself into the cold, ruthless pattern that automatically formed whenever he planned a kill. Emotions began to fall away. He felt the man inside him—the creature of blood, bone, muscle, and morality—giving way to something akin to iron wheels and gears, defined by a single, deadly purpose that swept everything before it.
The girl stiffened in his arms. She peered at him, caution pulling her features tight as if she’d sensed the change in him. How the hell was that possible?
When she wriggled, clearly wanting down, he knew she had sensed it. Swiftly, he refocused. Vengeance would change nothing. In this moment, the only thing that counted was saving Lady Vivien Shaw.
He tried a reassuring smile. Her eyes widened and she shrank into herself, her expression screaming distrust. Very well. She’d have to trust him, or he just might be forced to tap her under the chin after all. So far she’d surprised him with her lack of hysterics, but would that last much longer?
Her tongue swiped out to wet her full lips—a distraction he didn’t need—then she spoke in that croaking whisper. “How will we—”
He shook his head in warning as they reached the door. A fine tremor flowed through her limbs before she fell silent and still against him.
Shifting her in his arms, he moved, keeping the door between them and the open corridor. He glanced down at the burly form of the guard crumpled against the wall. Aden gave him a hard nudge with his boot.
“Is he dead?” Lady Vivien whispered.
He shook his head. After what the guard had likely done to her, he’d assumed she’d want to see him dead. Yet she seemed relieved more than anything.
As he moved down the corridor, she stretched up again to murmur in his ear, “I can walk.” Her warm breath slid over his skin like a caress, her soft lips brushing his ear. Aden had to repress an instinctive shiver of pleasure.
Scowling at his undisciplined reaction, he bit out a low reply. “We’re almost out.” He thought she rolled her eyes at him, but his mind rejected the absurd notion.
“I would nonetheless prefer to walk,” she hissed.
Apparently she had rolled her eyes at him.
When they came to a branching intersection he stopped, hugging the wall as he listened while grasping her even more securely against his chest. She grumbled something under her breath which he ignored. They were almost out. The fools who had snatched her had failed to avail themselves of the opportunity offered by the extensive network of tunnels. They could have stashed their captive in the deepest recesses of the smugglers’ lair, making it hard to find her and harder to get her out. Instead, they’d dumped her in an easily accessible room in one of the first tunnels off the main corridor, topping off their stupidity by leaving her inadequately guarded. Those mistakes told Aden a great deal about her captors. He prayed their ineptitude would hold true for the rest of the night.
Not that he couldn’t handle whatever problems arose. Dominic had wanted to send more men, but Aden had vetoed the idea. Time had not been on their side, and he preferred to work alone in any event. This type of mission suited his skills and temperament perfectly—in and out quickly using whatever amount of lethal force was required.
He glanced down at the bundle of femininity in his arms. If he had to kill someone else, he surely did not want a hysterical woman complicating matters. Not that Lady Vivien seemed predisposed to hysterics, but she was likely in shock and a good agent never took chances.
Or shouldn’t, as he’d been so recently and harshly reminded.
Resting against the wall, vaguely aware of Lady Vivien’s soft, rose-petal scent, Aden thought about his options. After a moment, he ducked his head to find her ear, blowing aside the fine strands of golden hair that had snagged in the collar of his coat. She jerked in his arms then looked at him, blue eyes wide and startled.
“Are you certain you can walk?” he murmured.
She blew out a relieved breath and nodded. For some reason, it annoyed him that she was so intent on freeing herself from his grasp. He felt better with the girl secure in his arms. Obviously she didn’t feel the same way, and it did make sense to have his hands free, knives at the ready, when they reached the entrance to the tunnels. So far all had gone according to plan, which was usually the best evidence that matters were about to blow up in his face.
He eased her down until her feet touched the floor, the top of her head barely level with his chin. When she inhaled sharply, he glanced down at her feet and quietly cursed. They’d taken away her shoes and now she stood on the cold, dirt-packed floor in stocking-clad feet.
When he slid an arm around her waist to lift her again, she slapped a hand on his chest to stop him.
“It’s fine,” she whispered. “I can still walk.” A wry little smile shaped the corners of her pretty mouth. “Besides, my feet are so cold I can hardly feel a thing.”
Slightly bemused by her stoic attitude, he raised his brows. She simply shrugged. Aden cast an assessing glance at the tunnel floor. Though dirty and assuredly cold, it seemed relatively free of debris. The exit was close, and they should make it with little trouble if no one had yet discovered the dead guard in the bushes.
That, however, was a big if.
Aden bent to whisper, “Stay behind me. If there’s any trouble, run for the woods. There’s a horse tied up in a small clearing about four hundred yards straight ahead. If that’s not possible, double back and hide down that corridor.” He jerked his head to indicate a shadowed, low-ceilinged tunnel branching off to the right. “Wait there until I come for you.”
She stared at him, and that glazed look of terror seeped back into her eyes as he sensed panic freezing her limbs. Ignoring his growing sense of urgency, Aden took her face between his gloved hands, stooping until their gazes were level. Her breath sawed in and out in shallow pants, as he stared into her eyes until the pupils contracted and focused on him.
“You are safe with me,” he said quietly. “I will not let anyone harm you again. Do you understand?”
Her slender hands came up in a fluttering motion, touching his wrists. An elusive sense of connection shimmered in the air between them, slowing time to a crawl. Tension flowed from his limbs and evaporated in a gust of cool air blowing from the mouth of the tunnel. The outside world faded away and there was only her—her wounded, sapphire gaze, her slowly quieting breath, her beautiful, anxious face between his hands. Her needs became paramount, along with his need that she trust him. In that suspended moment, their mutual needs encompassed the entire world.
Finally, she blinked several times, breaking the ephemeral thread of the connection. She drop
ped her hands from his wrists and nodded her understanding.
“Good.” His heart throbbed with a strange, pulsing ache as he brushed a stray lock of hair from her brow. Clamping down hard on the unfamiliar sensation, Aden gathered himself and turned to face whatever awaited them outside the tunnels.
Release date: January 7, 2014
To read an excerpt from Lost in a Royal Kiss, the introductory novella to The Renegade Royals, please visit Vanessa's website.
And now an exclusive excerpt of
The Game and the Governess
by Kate Noble
Coming 2014!
“I think this will be fun,” Ned declared. “Being you.”
“What will be so fun about it?” Turner replied, his tone neutral.
“Simply that I won’t have to worry about anything. Not about my clothes, or about paying proper attention to my hostess, all those little annoyances that make up an Earldom.”
Turner made a noncommittal noise.
“Thus,” Ned continued, “I will get to spend all my time wooing any young woman I please.”
Turner pulled up on his reins, slowing his – actually Ned’s – beautiful black stallion. The horse whinnied in displeasure. Apparently Turner had not learned the nuances of riding a thoroughbred like Abandon. He responded to the lightest touch.
Unlike the horse Turner usually rode, which seemed to ride as stubbornly as a mule.
“Perhaps we need to establish some rules,” Turner murmured. “About the wager.”
“Oh?” Ned said. “What kind of rules?”
“…Basic things. Such as, if either of us reveals our true selves, that man loses.”
“That makes complete sense,” Ned nodded. “However, since this is a wager where I bear the brunt of the work,” he continued reasonably, “I think it should be established that you are expressly forbidden from interfering.”
“How could I possibly interfere?” Turner replied, trying his best to keep Abandon from dancing as he came to a stop.
“You could spread lies to any lady who shows interest in me, you could – oh here, let me.” Ned said, reaching over and taking Abandon’s reins, loosening Turner’s grip. “You cannot choke up so high on the reins. He will think there is something to fear.”
Turner moved his hands further down the reins, letting them go a bit more slack. Abandon calmed down immediately.
“Oh,” Turner grumbled. “Thank you.” Then, after a moment of resettling himself on Abandon’s back, he spoke. “I agree to your rule. This is a gentleman’s wager, and I will act as a gentleman throughout.”
“In fact, I don’t think you should be permitted to say anything bad about me,” Ned decided. “Not even a minor slight. You are only allowed to sing my praises.”
“Since you will be wearing my name, if I slight you, I will be slighting myself,” Turner reasoned, but at a look from Ned, he held up his hand. “All right. I shall only sing your praises. But – I have a condition as well.”
“Pray continue.”
“The object of your affection has to be a lady of good breeding. Someone gently-raised. No chambermaids, no cooks.”
Ned’s brow came down. How did he guess…? But Turner just smirked.
“The premise of this wager is that you, as me, could make a lady fall in love with you. Thus, it would have to be someone I would court. And while I may be your secretary, I am still a man of property –”
“For a few more weeks at least.”
Turner shot him a glare. “And previously an officer in the Army.”
“And these qualifications make you as snobbish as the highest lord,” Ned replied drily. Having to limit himself to only ladies would be slightly more difficult, but… “Fine, I agree to your stipulation. Besides, I have found that the fairer sex does not differ overly by level of society when it comes to matters of the heart. If you confess your love, chances are they will confess it back.”
“Oh, and that’s another stipulation.” Turner added, nudging Abandon forward, making their way up the road again. “You cannot declare your feelings. Her declaration must be spontaneous.”
“What?” Ned cried, kicking his stubborn steed into moving, catching up to Turner. “Turner, that is ridiculous!”
And it thoroughly destroyed Ned’s plan. He had it all laid out. He would meet a girl (although, now chambermaids and cooks were out of the question it seems) he would woo her for a se’ennight, then he would declare his love. And he would have a whole week for her to declare it back, to wear her down. And if on the off chance he received a firm ‘no’, he would have a whole extra week to secure his interest with someone else.
“Why is that ridiculous?” Turner countered. “You mean to prove that your good humor wins the day – not your ardent declarations. Your object, whomever she may be, cannot be influenced by such a thing.”
“I don’t think you understand how this works. No young lady – not of good breeding anyway, which is your stipulation – will make a declaration of love without first hearing one from her object.” Ned shook his head. “It simply isn’t done.”
Turner seemed to consider it for a moment. “Well then, perhaps we revise what constitutes a declaration of love.”
Ned smiled. Finally, a rule that would work in his favor.
“All right. What does constitute a declaration?”
“Well, obviously, if you can get the girl to express her feelings, either written or publicly, then that will carry the day.”
“But if she doesn’t? If she is too well bred for that?”
“Then…” he thought for a moment. “If you can collect three things from a lady, it will serve as proof enough.”
“And what are these three things?” Ned asked suspiciously.
He ticked them off on his fingers. “A dance, in public.”
“Easy enough.” Ned conceded.
“Second, a token of affection. A glove, a pressed flower, or some such nonsense. Oh, and it has to be freely given, not taken without her knowledge.”
“Turner, if these are your qualifications, I will not only have one lady in love with me within a fortnight, I will have them all,” Ned scoffed.
“And third: an…intimate knowledge of the lady.”
Ned pulled up short. “An intimate knowledge?”
“Yes – the location of a mole on a concealed part of her body, something to that effect. All women have these little things.” Turner grinned like a cat of prey again – his tiger smile. “How you find out the information is up to you.”
“Now hold on,” he said sternly. “You are requiring that I seduce someone. And that could have longer reaching consequences than a fortnight.”
Turner shrugged. “Only if you cannot get her to declare her love openly. There is still that option. Besides, seduction is not a requirement – only a possible method of obtaining what you require.”
A possible method? Hell, it was the only method Ned could think of. Suddenly, he felt as if he had no grounding anymore. He swayed in his seat, grasping hard to keep upright.
“You have grown callous,” Ned shook his head.
“Have you grown uneasy?”
“Not at all,” Ned shot back immediately. “I simply prefer to avoid doing things that cannot be undone. But if that’s what it takes…”
However, his bravado belied a strange sensation in his striking at his gut. Could it be a… a qualm? A hint of guilt?
“If you feel unequal to the task… you could always forfeit,” Turner said, his voice gruff.
“Before the game’s even begun?” Ned’s head shot up. “No, of course not.”
So this was Turner’s tactic, was it? Make more and more ridiculous qualifications in the hopes it would break him, and thus ensure his victory. Well, he didn’t take into account Ned’s luck.
His eyes fell to the signet ring he wore on his right hand. The Earl of Ashby’s crest. It had been his great-uncle who had first pointed out his luck. When he’d taken Ned at twelve i
nto his care, Ned at first had railed against it, hating being away from the only home and family he had ever known. But then after time, the old Earl had cuffed him upside the head and said… “You’re lucky to be here, don’t you realize? If you were out there, people would want something from you. And without my protection, you might be foolish enough to give it to them.”
His eyes narrowed. Yes, Turner, his old friend, wanted something from him. He wanted to be right, and he wanted Ned to be wrong.
Well, as long as he was the Earl of Ashby, he would not be taken advantage of. He would not be cowed so easily, by something as mundane as a smidge of guilt. He would prove Turner the fool, show him the truth of his good nature, his luck…
And he was right. This was going to be fun.
For more about The Game and the Governess,
as well as Kate Noble’s other books,
please visit www.katenoble.com
A Grosvernor Square Christmas Page 16