Secrets for Seducing a Royal Bodyguard

Book 1: Renegade Royals

by Vanessa Kelly

Genres: General Fiction; Romance; Historical Romance

Synopsis

Accomplished spy Aden St. George prefers to stay away from the frivolous ton, especially after the way his mother was used by the Prince Regent. But his latest mission compels him to guard unconventional, vibrant Lady Vivien Shaw. Rescuing her from kidnappers was easy. Resisting her beauty is not. Duty demands he keep an eye on her, and naturally, his lips soon follow. For someone who views entanglements as a weakness, this is pure, delicious folly.



Though grateful for Aden's help, Vivien has secrets she must keep hidden. Yet with her abductors still at large, she needs Aden's protection almost as much as she craves his touch.

Release date: January 7, 2014

Publisher: Zebra Books

Print pages: 433

Sample

Aden St. George managed to avoid having to kill the guard stationed outside his quarry’s cryptlike cell, although the thug outside the caves hadn’t been so lucky. Still, that bastard had tried to knife him in the gut so Aden could hardly be faulted for returning the favor. And knowing what he did about the men who’d kidnapped Lady Vivien Shaw, he wouldn’t waste his fitful conscience on that brutal but necessary act. Killing was not a favorite pastime, but only rarely did it disturb his sleep.

Tonight’s rescue mission carried no inconvenient opportunities for remorse since a woman’s life and innocence hung in the balance. True, the gossips whispered that Lady Vivien’s innocence was an open question, but what would happen to her if Aden failed wasn’t. Without his intervention she would disappear into a nightmarish life, forever beyond the protection of her family and friends.

Even if she’d simply been the victim of a kidnapping for ransom, as her wealthy brother suspected, her reputation at the very least was at stake—especially if rumors of her disappearance started to circulate throughout the ton. More importantly, Aden hoped he wasn’t already too late to ensure she continued her easy, privileged life, and that her brutish guards hadn’t already used her as their plaything.

As he eased the guard’s beefy, foul-smelling form to the floor, Aden cast a swift glance down the dimly lit corridor. All was silent, as it should be if he’d done his job correctly. He normally felt little pride in his abilities, but he could at least acknowledge a grim satisfaction that his last disastrous mission in France hadn’t affected his instincts or his lethally honed skills.

Shrugging away any residual tension, he extracted his pick-locks from the inner pocket of his coat and went to work on the sturdy oak door separating him from his objective. Although no sound emanated from behind the rough-hewn panels, he was certain Lady Vivien was there. Three other tunnels ran up from the coast into the smuggler’s lair, but only this corridor boasted a table, lamp, and chair for the guard by the door. An assessing glance down the other tunnels had convinced him the majority of the gang was elsewhere, probably in a room with a fireplace and more creature comforts than those in this dank corner. But clearly the bastards thought one of the rooms obviously used for storing contraband was quite good enough for a gently bred lady.

Aden forced down the flare of rage that a woman like Lady Vivien—or any woman—would be stowed like a cask of brandy in a moldering hole carved from dirt and rock. But he could hardly spare to indulge in that kind of emotion. Emotion was an insidious enemy that clouded the judgment, as it had only a few weeks ago in Paris. He couldn’t afford it, not when the lady’s life was at stake.

The lock snicked and the tumblers slid open. Aden slipped quietly past the door, ignoring the choking miasma of mold and dust that assailed his nostrils. It took a few seconds for his eyes to adjust to the murky depths of the room, illuminated by a single candle standing on a crate, burned down to a nub. Ghosting forward, he made out a pallet shoved against the sloping, roughly carved wall of the room.

A slight form lay motionless under a dark cloak.

Silent, he gazed down at Lady Vivien, sister to the Earl of Blake and one of the most acclaimed young women of the ton though she was a dab little thing to be the recipient of so much admiration and gossip. But even in the dim light cast by the candle, though disheveled and dirty her beauty shone clear to Aden in the cast of her elegant features. Hair the color of golden honey wound down from her ruined coiffure and tumbled around her shoulders. Her velvet evening cloak, woefully inadequate to ward off the chill from the room’s moisture-slicked walls, had slipped from her shoulders to puddle about her waist, revealing creamy skin and gently sloping breasts that rose and fell in the rapid, shallow breathing of her disturbed sleep. A ridiculously delicate dress, all white lace and yellow silk, had silly little sleeves that exposed most of her arms and shoulders, and her pale breasts gently swelled from the wispy bodice of her gown.

Aden crouched beside her pallet, noting the dirt smudges on her pale arms and shoulders, and grimy marks of filthy hands streaking mud across the bodice of her gown. She’d clearly been manhandled, and anger again lanced through his gut like a poison-tipped blade. He feared he was too late to save her from a lifetime of remembered horror and degradation, just as he’d been too late to save John Williamson from a pointless death in a French inn not two weeks ago.

He throttled back his frustration, because he could at least save her from death or more abuse. For now, that was all he had. Any personal vengeance he chose to exact against her captors would come later, when he had extracted Lady Vivien from danger. The unconscious guard outside her room wouldn’t stay down forever, and other members of the gang could wander along at any time, either to relieve the guard or check on the other man, now crumpled dead in the bushes outside the entrance to the tunnels.

Leaning over, Aden inhaled, taking in her sickly sweet, heavily scented breath along with the pallor of her winsome features. She’d been drugged, likely a blessing given what had happened to her in this disgusting hole.

He flicked the cloak up over her chest and gently slid his arms under her slender body. As he started to lift, she suddenly came to life in his arms, thrashing madly. Startled, he instinctively tightened his grip. But preoccupied with keeping a hold on her twisting body, he failed to notice her arm snake out from under the cloak until her fist smashed into his cheekbone.

Shock more than pain lanced through him as she wrenched herself free. She landed on the pallet with a startled oof and then exploded up again, her slender body a furious tangle of kicking, thrusting limbs. Her eyes blazed with rage, wide and full of desperation. She fought with the instinct and fear-generated strength of a cornered animal, one who preferred death to submission.

Recovering from his momentary paralysis, Aden pressed her back down onto the pallet, capturing her flailing arms and legs beneath him. She sucked in a sobbing, terrified breath but surprised him again when she lunged up, trying to smash the top of her head into his face. He jerked back just in time, then whipped a hand up, grasped the back of her skull, and held it firmly against the scratchy burlap cloth beneath her.

For a few infernally long seconds they glared at each other, their rasping breaths shattering the clammy closeness of the room. She shook beneath him, her body slim and lithe beneath the fragile silk of her ball gown. A heated tendril of scent reached his nostrils, an elusive whisper of roses and summer warmth. Her chest rose and fell in a pattern of fractured breaths, plumping the fullness of her breasts over the top of her low-cut bodice.

The candle on the crate beside them sputtered and flared, throwing light on her face. A hectic flush rose in her cheeks, driving a wash of pink across her pale skin. Her lips, plush and bow-shaped, trembled open in a travesty of invitation, and for one demented instant Aden fought the urgent need to taste them, to plumb the sweet temptation they offered.

And then she drew in a breath, preparing to scream. He whipped up a hand and covered her mouth, disgusted with his lapse in discipline and what it must have revealed to her. She might be the kind of spoiled beauty he disdained, but he’d consign himself to the darkest hell before he frightened her or harmed a hair on her head.

“Hush, Lady Vivien.” He lifted slightly, giving her more room although he kept his hand clamped over her mouth. “Sir Dominic Hunter sent me. I’m going to get you out of here, but you can’t scream or keep fighting or your captors will hear.”

Her gaze darted to the door and the corridor beyond, then flashed back to his face.

“The guards won’t trouble us,” he murmured in response to her unspoken question. The terror that glazed her eyes dimmed a notch. She blinked rapidly as if to chase away her drug-induced confusion.

He held her gaze, willing her to trust him. “If I take my hand away, you must not cry out. You will endanger us both if you do. Understand?”

She stared up at him, eyes rounded with fear. He could practically hear the turning of the cogs and wheels in her brain and feel her body go still as she weighed her decision.

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 dropped 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.

Vivien had no intention of lapsing into hysterics, not after everything she’d endured over these last hours. But when the dangerous-looking man who was rescuing her—at least she thought he was rescuing her—led her past the guard who now had a knife protruding from under his ribs, she realized her good intentions might be for naught. Bubbles of hysteria rose in her throat and her legs turned the consistency of porridge.

“Don’t look,” said her rescuer. He reached behind him and drew her to his side, gently turning her face until it rested against his chest. His big hand, encased in a black leather glove, cradled her skull and forced her to avert her gaze. She couldn’t have looked if she wanted to, and she certainly didn’t want to. All she could do was huddle into her would-be savior’s muscled body and absorb the warmth and security of his enveloping embrace.

Against her expectations—and his, she suspected—it had proven amazingly easy to escape from the tunnels. Her rescuer had taken care of both guards—one lethally—and they had met no resistance so far. Now he was guiding her swiftly away from the gap in the rocks, heading into the sheltering cover of the forest. It was the blackest of nights, with clouds obscuring the moon and stars. Vivien could only make out murky shapes—the trees directly in front of her, and the man by her side. And he towered over her, a dominating presence even darker than the night. A disconcerting awareness of him prickled along her nerves, instinctively drawing her to him even as her mind sent out frantic warnings to mistrust everyone.

When jolted out of her drug-induced sleep, she’d thought she’d finally been released from her nightmare. Then the cold and the stench of her dreary prison had assailed her, and the nightmare twisted back into reality. She’d almost bolted upright from her moldy-smelling pallet when she sensed someone in the room with her—not one of the guards stationed outside her door, although she couldn’t explain her certainty. No, this man was different. Silent, but with a powerful presence Vivien had somehow comprehended even in her dazed state. She had reacted by freezing, but when those big, leather-encased hands had slipped under her, panic had exploded in her chest. The rest of her body had followed suit and she’d fought as hard as she could. He’d subdued her with a ridiculous ease.

Though not before she’d left a mark on his handsome face, high up on his cheekbone.

Vivien winced, feeling guilty, and wondering why it should make a difference that he was handsome. He was certainly that, with a high, strong brow, a slashing jaw, and riveting eyes that almost defied description. Those raven-colored eyes had transfixed her, both when he’d held her captive on the pallet and then again when he’d been preparing her for the dangers that might await them at the cave’s entrance.

Back in her cell, he’d terrified her. But in the tunnels, just the opposite had occurred. His penetrating gaze had sliced through her panic, triggering a strangely intimate moment, as if he’d seen deep inside her soul and captured everything there was to know about her. It should have sent her emotions skittering, but instead she’d sensed something akin to sanctuary, a safe harbor after years at sea. What she saw in his eyes had settled her frantic heartbeat and invested her with a fugitive confidence that kept her moving forward.

She stumbled a bit over a tangle of roots, causing his grip to tighten on her elbow. Exhaling a frustrated breath and peering ahead into the smothering darkness, she mentally scolded herself for indulging in fanciful notions. She’d always had a heightened imagination, but now was hardly the time to indulge it. They were far from any kind of safe haven and she needed to concentrate on her feet as they moved stealthily over the thin cover of dead leaves on the forest floor. Thank God she had so little feeling—

“Ouch!” She bit back a curse, hopping on one foot. Unfortunately, her feet were not as frozen as she’d thought.

The man stopped and dipped his head to look down at her feet. “What’s wrong?” he asked in that deep rumble of his.

Vivien clenched her teeth, leaning into his muscular frame as she balanced and rubbed her unhappy toes. “What do you think happened? I walked into a blasted great rock, which has no business being in the middle of a path. If there is such a thing as a path through this benighted forest, that is.”

Her eyes must have adjusted to the dark because she could clearly see him shaking his head. Not that she could blame him since she did tend to fall into a snit when in stressful or trying circumstances. And getting kidnapped, drugged, and locked away in a dank, smelly cave struck her as very stressful circumstances, indeed.

He reached for her, swinging her back into his arms. She thought about protesting—she should protest the fact that a stranger was handling her so intimately—but then decided against it. For a few moments back in her cell, the look on his face had frightened her half to death. She’d been desperate to get out of his arms. Much to her surprise, he seemed to understand her reaction. Since then, he’d treated her very gently, gaining her trust when her courage had failed and removing her swiftly and efficiently from captivity. She no doubt owed him her life, and she had every intention of properly thanking him once she was no longer in danger of succumbing to an epic bout of the vapors.

Of course, things could have been so much worse. She hadn’t been raped or beaten or even manhandled too severely, at least not after the kidnappers had hauled her, kicking and screaming, out of her carriage in the middle of Mayfair. That particular moment had been wretched, and she would never forget her mother’s terrified shrieks. The next awful moment had come when they’d forced the laudanum down her throat. But it hadn’t entirely knocked her out. Certainly not enough that she hadn’t felt one of the brutes pawing at her breasts. That memory brought the bile rushing up into her throat. Fortunately, one of her other abductors had lashed out at the man, telling him to keep his bloody hands to himself. Hours later, she’d tried to fight when they lifted her from the carriage and carried her into the caves, but they’d only laughed, hauling her along like a sack of coal before finally dropping her onto a disgusting pallet.

Thankfully, after they’d dumped her in that cold cell they’d left her alone. After fruitlessly searching every inch of the room for a means of escape, she’d finally dozed off, too weary to fight the effects of the drug any longer. She’d only awakened when her rescuer—really, she must press him for his name—had entered the room and miraculously swept her away. Even now as they tromped through the forest—well, he was doing all the tromping—she could still hardly believe they’d managed the escape.

The eerie hoot of an owl echoed through the night, and Vivien shivered. Strong arms closed tightly around her, cradling her into a rock-hard chest. She had to resist the urge to snuggle up, close her eyes, and go to sleep. It was a natural impulse because she felt entirely safe in this man’s arms, his strength and heat seeping through her velvet cloak to warm her. In his arms she felt almost cherished, which showed how thoroughly off-kilter her thinking had become under the strains of her ordeal.

“Not much farther,” he said, clearly sensing her fatigue. Strange that after so short a time he was already attuned to her state of mind.

She huffed out an impatient breath at such a demented notion. Her exhaustion and frayed nerves would be obvious to the average village idiot. Everything was finally catching up to her—not only the fear and the frustration, but the why of it, too.

Who could possibly have wanted to kidnap her? An idea—more an image—had floated through her mind when she’d first drifted off to sleep in her cell, but one she rejected now. The man her drug-addled brain had seized on as a villain was a prince, but princes most decidedly did not go around kidnapping gently born ladies. Well, perhaps in fairy tales they might, but certainly not in true life. Besides, Prince Ivan was more likely to be mistaken for a frog than a dream come true, and Vivien was very certain she would not be kissing him any time in the near or distant future.

“We’re here,” her companion said quietly a short time later.

Vivien jerked in his arms, realizing she’d drifted off. She clutched at the heavy wool lapels of the odd coat he wore, one that seemed suited to a fisherman or laborer. Still, the fabric under her fingers felt dense and rich, woven from the finest of materials. Everything about the man was a mystery, and it was one that pricked her curiosity with a persistent needle.

“Where?” she asked stupidly as he set her back on her feet. No matter how hard she tried, her brain didn’t seem to want to fully wake up.

“In the clearing, where my horse is,” he explained patiently.

“Oh, yes. I’d forgotten about the horse.”

“You didn’t think we’d be walking back to London, did you?”

The mild amusement in his tone had her shuffling her feet in the leaves. “Of course not. I simply forgot, that’s all.”

“It’s perfectly understandable.” He set her against a tree and stepped away, heading across the small open expanse. She could see rather more clearly now, and watched him move away from her. And even though she could follow him with her gaze, a spurt of anxiety welled within her now that he no longer held her. She clamped down hard, concentrating instead on the interesting fact that such a big man could move with such stealth.

Vivien heard the jingle of a horse’s bridle before she saw her rescuer lead the creature toward her. Despite its intimidating size, the massive, dark-coated animal followed behind him like a docile lap dog, gently puffing out its breath and stepping softly in his wake. When they reached the edge of the clearing, her rescuer let the reins drop to the ground, not bothering to tie the horse to tree or branch. He mounted with a swift, practiced smoothness. The beast danced a few steps, prompting Vivien to scuttle back, but the man easily mastered him.

“Come, my lady. Up you go,” he said, reaching down a hand.

Vivien stood rooted to the spot, wariness rushing back. “Didn’t you bring another horse? How can we ride together all the way back to London?”

“We’re not riding. It’s too far and it would expose us to prying eyes. I have a carriage waiting for us in a nearby village. The sooner you mount, the sooner we’ll get there.”

The astringent note in his voice automatically raised her hackles. “I can’t possibly ride on the same horse with you. It wouldn’t be proper.” She winced at how silly that sounded, given the circumstances. But the idea of being mounted in front of him on that great beast, with only her velvet cloak and two thin layers of delicate fabric between their bodies, made her feel much too exposed and vulnerable in a way she’d been fighting against since her kidnapping.

“Since there’s no one here to see you, perhaps you could set decorum aside for now,” he responded dryly. “And if you think riding on a horse with me constitutes a scandal, imagine what the polite world would say if they discovered that you’d been held captive by a band of thugs.”

Her cheeks flamed with heat. “Well, put that way, I do see your point.” She took a deep breath, mystified at her reluctance to ride with him. She’d let him hold her, lugging her for several hundred yards through the woods, so why did this particular activity make her squirm with discomfort? Somehow it seemed so very intimate, and she didn’t even know his name.

Perhaps that was it.

“You still haven’t told me your name. I should think I deserve to know that, at least.”

His gloved hand tightened on the reins, and again the horse danced. He swiftly brought the beast under control. Silence fell again over the clearing, broken only by the nocturnal rustlings of some small creature.

“Aden St. George,” he said a moment later, his reluctance to share apparent.

Vivien brightened. “St. George? Would that be from the Earl of Thornbury’s family? My mother knows Lady Thornbury quite well.”

She had the distinct impression her reply had him grinding his teeth.

“I’m aware of that. And now t