Secrets for Seducing a Royal Bodyguard

by Vanessa Kelly

  “We all make mistakes, Aden. You make fewer than most.”

  “One was enough,” he said with a bitter twist of the lips.

  Dominic’s face took on a familiar, imperious cast. His chief was once more England’s great spymaster, not the surprisingly kind man Aden had come to know over the past ten years. “This is not a discussion for a ballroom,” he said. “Simply ensure that Lady Vivien returns home safely, and then stop by Upper Wimpole Street later. We can talk then.”

  With a nod, the older man faded into the crowd.

  Irritated with his gloomy turn of mind, Aden refocused his attention on Vivien. In the last few minutes she’d taken to the dance floor and was currently waltzing with a brash young cub who’d been trying to engage her favor for most of the night. He held her much too close, and Aden’s hands twitched with the need to teach the idiot a lesson in propriety.

  At this point, Aden much preferred that she spend her time at the gaming tables. At least there she was surrounded only by hardened gamesters instead of hardened rakes. But Vivien had spent but an hour in Lady Bentley’s game room, playing hazard with a nerve and skill that had prompted his reluctant admiration. She’d tripled her stake in short order and then wisely excused herself from the table. Clearly, her gambling had little to do with any need for excitement, and everything to do with providing for her family. It was a novel approach and although he couldn’t entirely approve he couldn’t entirely fault her, either.

  Besides, she was bloody good at it, and Aden could appreciate that, too.

  After the conclusion of the dance, Vivien curtsied to her partner, who offered his arm. She was just refusing it when her gaze locked with alarm on something on the other side of the dance floor. Aden glanced over and let out a low curse.

  Prince Ivan Khovansky, garbed like a Russian Cossack, making a late appearance and heading straight for Vivien.

  Pushing away from the pillar, Aden started toward her when a commotion broke out to his right. A group of partygoers blocked his way to Vivien, and he lost several precious seconds. And a moment after that, a feminine hand clasped his forearm, stalling his progress.

  “Aden,” his mother hissed in a tense voice. “I’ve been looking for you everywhere. I need a moment of your time.”

  He peered at her, taking in her Grecian robe, the gilt spear in her hand, and the odd-looking helmet perched far back on her head. “Who in God’s name are you supposed to be?”

  Her lips twitched. “Athena, the Goddess of Wisdom.”

  Aden frowned. “It looks like you’re wearing a bucket on your head.”

  She rolled her eyes. “Never mind that now. You must come with me. There’s someone who wants to speak with you.”

  He took in her tight smile and saw the strain around her eyes. Something was making her anxious, but right now he didn’t have time to deal with it.

  “Not now, Mother.” He cast a quick glance over to Vivien who had retreated with her swain to the other side of the room, getting as far from Khovansky as she could. The prince hadn’t given up, though. He tracked her like a wolf after a hare.

  He removed his mother’s hand from his arm. “I need to keep an eye on Lady Vivien. This will have to wait.”

  “It can’t wait,” she said in a low tone.

  “I’m sorry, but—”

  “Well, well, who have we here?” boomed a loud voice behind him. “It’s the charming Lady Thornbury, and her son, too. This is delightful, and very well met.”

  With a sinking heart, Aden pivoted on his heel. A few feet away stood the Prince Regent in all his corpulent glory, his entourage clustered behind. His father beamed at him, his round face shiny with perspiration and good cheer.

  Aden stared back, his mind a blank. When his mother jabbed him between the shoulder blades, he broke free of his paralysis and managed to execute an awkward bow.

  “Well, my boy,” said the Regent, “it’s been years since I last saw you in London. You’ve been neglecting your mamma and your friends. We can’t have that!”

  Aden heard the quiet titters from some of the bystanders as shame prickled up the back of his neck. And no wonder. What could be more amusing than the Prince Regent running into one of his by-blows, the child of his affair with the famous Lady Thornbury?

  He stared into his father’s expectant gaze, wishing the earth would crack open and swallow them whole.

  Vivien flicked her gaze in horror between Khovansky, who was plowing toward her, and Aden trapped in conversation with the Prince Regent. And by the tense set of Aden’s shoulders, he wasn’t happy about it, although the Regent seemed to be distinguishing him with unusual attention.

  Not that it mattered. What mattered was that Aden wouldn’t be able to come to her rescue this time, and she simply refused to spend even one minute talking to Ivan the Terrible. Drastic measures were clearly called for.

  Spinning on her heel, she encountered the ardent gaze of Viscount Tumbler. The man had been pursuing her for months in his own ponderous fashion, refusing to take no for an answer. For a few seconds, Vivien indulged her irritation that all the men she wished to have nothing to do with insisted on pursuing her while the one man she longed to spend time with wouldn’t. Despite that smoldering kiss in the carriage last night, Aden had gone out of his way to keep his distance.

  She glanced back at Khovansky, now halfway down the room and closing fast.

  “My dear Lord Tumbler,” she said in a bright voice, “how lovely to see you.”

  Tumbler frowned. “But you saw me just a few minutes ago, before you went out on the dance floor with Mr. Perkins. Don’t you recall?”

  She gritted her teeth. Of course she did. Did the man have to be so blasted literal?

  “Oh, la,” she said with a witless giggle. “The heat in here must be addling my brain. I so long to escape this crush and get a little fresh air.”

  Lord Tumbler was a tall, plump, and rather fussy man who carried himself with an air of perpetual befuddlement. He stared at Vivien as if she were a puzzle to unravel.

  “It’s November, Lady Vivien.” He eyed her floating garments. “In that rig you’ll catch your death of cold.”

  She grabbed his arm and steered him to the arching doorway and out to a passage leading to the back of the house. “If I’m not mistaken, Lady Bentley has an enclosed orangery. I’m sure the air will be much fresher and it won’t be nearly as crowded.”

  Tumbler looked confused but allowed her to tow him along. But by the time they reached the corridor, he’d figured it out—at least he thought he did.

  “Oh, ho!” he crowed, understanding dawning on his heavy brow. “You wish to be alone with me. What a capital idea, Lady Vivien. I approve entirely.”

  She gave him a weak smile. She hated using him so ruthlessly, but explaining the situation was impossible. Besides, although Lord Tumbler had fallen into the inconvenient habit of pestering her, he’d never displayed anything less than perfect manners. She could certainly stand to sit on a bench for a few minutes smiling at the poor man while he prattled at her, and then they could go back to the ball.

  By then, she could only hope Aden had shaken himself free of the Prince Regent. He’d certainly looked disgruntled enough to wish to escape as quickly as he could. Vivien didn’t blame him. She’d only talked to the Regent on two occasions. One time he’d winked at her, and the other time he’d pinched her bottom.

  “Here we are, my lady,” Lord Tumbler enthused as he swept her through a set of glass doors into the orangery.

  Vivien snuck a peek over her shoulder and breathed a sigh of relief. No one had followed them. She was so relieved she rewarded his lordship with a grateful smile. He blinked rapidly several times and then puffed out his chest. In his vaguely Elizabethan-looking costume, he looked like a rooster. “This looks like a delightfully refreshing place to sit,” he said.

  He led her to a pretty scrolled bench next to a small fountain. Grateful to be off her feet, Vivien sank down. She wriggled her
toes as she looked around the spacious room, enjoying the sound of splashing water in the marble bowl of the fountain. The orangery was a delightful space, floored with large paving stones and with one wall composed almost entirely of glass. Dozens of potted shrubs covered the floor in an artful display, and the air carried the soft scent of orange blossoms.

  Lord Tumbler lowered his bulky physique, pressing against her. Vivien tried to shift away as far as possible but he was determined to squeeze her between his body and the metal arm of the bench.

  He half turned, draping his arm across the back of the bench. “There, now,” he said with an arch smile. “This is much better than being cooped up in that stuffy old ballroom. Now we can be quiet and comfortable, and no one will interrupt us.”

  A whisper of alarm rippled along her nerves. She peered up into his pink face and took in the ardent gleam in his pale blue eyes. Perhaps this hadn’t been such a good idea, after all.

  Vivien cast a nervous glance at the door, trying to decide what to do. Fortunately, Lord Tumbler launched into what he labeled a cozy gossip, mixing the latest on-dits with the usual fulsome compliments he liked to pay her. Gradually she relaxed, smiling vaguely and nodding in all the right places even as she kept a wary eye on the door—more to watch out for Khovansky than to escape her companion. Lord Tumbler might be encouraged by this little interlude but he was too much of a gentleman to cross the line.

  As the minutes passed and Khovansky did not appear, she realized that disappearing with Lord Tumbler for any length of time carried its own set of problems. She was skating on the edge of scandal as it was, and she had no desire to be trapped in a compromising situation. It was time to take her chances and hope Ivan the Terrible had found other diversions for the evening.

  “Lord Tumbler,” she said, breaking into his chatter. “I think it time we return to the ball. I’m feeling much better and I know Mamma will be looking for me.”

  Tumbler halted in midstream, gazing at her with some confusion. But then his eyes glittered with an oddly cunning look and he grabbed her hand and clasped it over his breast.

  “Dear Lady Vivien, you cannot be so cruel as to take me to the high reaches of heaven and then cast me so precipitously into the darkness,” he exclaimed in a dramatic voice. “Allow me to take this golden opportunity to proclaim my feelings for you, once and for all.”

  She struggled to pull her hand from his grip. “I’d rather you didn’t.”

  He adopted what he must have thought was a soulful expression, but which really made him look like an unhappy basset hound. “Lady Vivien, when you asked me to spirit you away from the ball, I was convinced you were finally going to make me the happiest of men. Why else would you suggest it?”

  Vivien finally managed to yank her hand away. “Because I was trying to—oh, never mind. It would take too long to explain.”

  She struggled to stand, no easy feat since Tumbler was squishing her against the unforgiving metal arm of the bench. Before she could escape, he wrapped his pudgy fingers around her shoulders and leaned in, clearly intent on a kiss.

  Startled, Vivien planted her palms on his chest and shoved with all her might. She managed to break his grip and stagger to her feet. When she tripped over the hem of her gown, she grabbed the back of the bench to keep herself upright. Unfortunately, in doing so she lost her small window of escape. Tumbler’s face was now determined and set, and he heaved himself to his feet, grabbing her once more.

  “My lady, you must know how ardently I love you,” he cried. “How can you deny me when you have so clearly indicated you feel the same?”

  “Oh, bother,” she muttered. “I meant no such thing, Lord Tumbler. I merely wished to escape from the heat and the noise. Please accept my profound—”

  She bit off her apology with a startled squeak as he pursed his lips and came in for the kill. Clearly, nothing she said would have the slightest impact on him.

  Silently cursing herself as a fool, she dodged his kiss. She twisted in his grip, planted her shoulder against his chest, and rammed him with all her might. He let out a cry and fell backward, his legs fetching up on the rim of the small fountain. His fingers clutched at her, tangling in the small drape of the train over her shoulder. She heard a rip, and a piece of the silk tore free as he tumbled—bottom end first—into the gurgling fountain behind them.

  For such a small amount of water it made a huge splash. Vivien scrambled back a few steps, barely managing to avoid a dousing as she stared at him in horror.

  “Oh, dear, I’m so sorry!” She stepped around the puddles to the edge of the fountain. “Here, let me help you up.” She extended a hand, giving him a weak smile.

  He floundered about in the fountain, making noises remarkably like a snorting bull. “Don’t touch me,” he spluttered. “You’ve done quite enough for one evening.”

  Vivien was torn between guilt and a terrible impulse to burst into laughter. With an effort, she repressed the uncharitable reaction. “I understand, and I do apologize most sincerely, my lord. Truly, I do.”

  He managed to haul himself to his knees, and from there to his feet. Standing in the middle of the small pool, his clothes clinging in unforgiving drapes to his portly body, he glared at her. “I do not accept your apology, Lady Vivien. This is all your fault, you minx!”

  Miffed, she glared back at him. “Well, I do feel rather bad about the way things turned out, but I believe I made it quite clear I wanted to return to the ballroom. And I certainly never asked you to kiss me!”

  He waved an impatient hand, sending a small spray of water arcing in her direction. She jumped back, barely avoiding a wetting.

  “Don’t just stand there,” he snapped. “Go fetch a footman.”

  She didn’t much like his tone but she couldn’t really blame him. Besides, there was nothing to be gained by arguing over whose fault it was. The faster she could extract herself from this ridiculous situation, the better.

  “Yes, of course,” she said, backing away as he hauled himself out of the fountain. “I’ll send a footman to help you immediately.”

  He shot her another furious look as he began wringing out the tails of his coat. Practically strangling on horrified laughter, she turned and fled for the door to the corridor. She paused there, craning her neck to peer through the glass down the hallway. All seemed quiet, so she opened the door, turned around, and shut it carefully behind her.

  When she turned back, she almost jumped out of her shoes. Aden loomed before her, his black domino swirling around him. Like some kind of wizard, he seemed to have appeared from thin air.

  Vivien clapped a hand over her thudding heart. How so big a man could move in such a stealthy manner defied understanding. “You startled me.”

  His dark gaze flitted over her shoulder to the glass doors. “What’s going on? Where’s Lord Tumbler?” he asked, his voice laden with suspicion.

  She frowned. “How did you know? I was very careful to slip out with as little fuss as possible.”

  “You shouldn’t have slipped out at all, and never out of my sight. We talked about this, Vivien.”

  Inspecting her with that disapproving glower, he should have intimidated her. But he didn’t. She loved that he worried about her, and couldn’t hold back the silly desire to be alone with him. That, of course, was very bad, since she would probably use such an opportunity to tempt him to kiss her again.

  “Well, why did you disobey my orders?” he asked.

  She shrugged. “I was trying to avoid Prince Ivan.”

  He started to answer, but then stopped and peered at her shoulder. “What happened to your dress?”

  “What? Nothing—oh,” she said, her cheeks burning with a guilty flush. “It’s nothing. Just a little tear. I, er, think I caught it on one of my earrings.”

  “You’ll have to do better than that. Where’s Tumbler?” He reached past her to fling open the door to the orangery.

  She slapped a hand to his chest—a chest decidedly harder
than Lord Tumbler’s, she couldn’t help noting.

  “Nothing happened,” she said in a firm voice.

  He gave her a disgusted shake of the head.

  “Very well,” she amended. “Something did happen but I took care of it. And, believe me. Lord Tumbler came out much worse for wear.”

  His eyes narrowed and he stared at the door, as if debating whether to go in or not.

  “Can we please just go back to the ballroom?” she pleaded.

  His glance flicked over her with sharp assessment. “You can’t go back now. That little rip is rather obvious, and your hair is coming down from its chignon.”

  Grimacing, she touched a hand to the elaborate creation woven out of hair and gold-spangled ribbon. Several tresses had slipped down around her shoulders.

  “Drat. I’ll never get it back up by myself. Oh, very well.”

  He took her by the elbow and began to lead her toward the front of the mansion.

  “Oh, wait,” she exclaimed, stopping abruptly. “We have to find a footman and send him to the orangery. Lord Tumbler needs help.”

  Aden stared straight ahead, slowly shaking his head. “Do I even want to know?”

  “Probably not.”

  He pulled her into a window alcove that was partially hidden by a thick velvet drape. “Don’t move. I’ll be right back.”

  While he was gone, Vivien amused herself by doing math problems in her head. He returned in just a few minutes, her velvet cloak thrown over his arm.

  He flung it around her shoulders, deftly tying the ribbons about her throat. She shivered when his calloused fingers brushed the sensitive skin under her jaw, but he didn’t seem to notice.

  “Did you find a footman?” she asked in a husky whisper.

  He glanced up, their eyes meeting. He studied her for a moment, then nodded. “A footman has been dispatched, along with strict instructions to keep his counsel.”

  “How much did you have to pay him?” Vivien asked in an anxious voice.