“Yes, thank you.”
“Good. Now, why don’t you tell me what happened with Prince Ivan. I believe you said you kicked him in the shins?”
She should have known he wouldn’t let it go. “It was nothing. Really.”
He leaned a broad shoulder against the curved wall of the alcove, as if ready to settle in for the evening. “He must have done something to elicit so forceful a reaction from a well-bred young lady.”
She eyed him suspiciously but decided he wasn’t mocking her. Still, she loathed having to explain it to him. She still felt like a complete fool for allowing the prince to trap her like that in the first place.
He sighed. “Vivien, you might as well tell me everything. I’ll just keep pestering you until you do.”
She blinked, startled that he used her given name so easily. She supposed it made sense given what they’d been through together, but it made her feel shy. They barely knew each other, and yet their shared experience had created a level of intimacy she found both reassuring and disconcerting.
It also seemed to tangle her tongue in knots.
“Vivien?” he gently prompted.
“Oh, very well. It happened a few weeks ago at Lady Templeton’s musicale. Prince Ivan managed to trap me in a secluded alcove, and he grew quite . . . quite amorous.”
His gaze sharpened. “What exactly does that mean?”
“What do you think it means? He tried to kiss me.” As hard as she tried, she couldn’t help blushing. The rude curse St. George muttered didn’t help either.
“And that’s when you kicked him in the shins.”
She rolled her eyes. “Obviously.”
“Then what did he do?”
Vivien eyed him uneasily. The polished aristocrat seemed to have disappeared, and in his place was the cold-eyed killer she’d glimpsed back in the smugglers’ cave. A chill skated up her spine, and she couldn’t help edging back an inch.
Something like guilt flashed across his features, and then was gone. But so was the other man—the killer who unsettled her so deeply.
He rubbed a hand across his forehead. “Vivien, you do realize I would never hurt you?”
She nodded.
“Good. I apologize if I frightened you, but I can’t stand the idea of that toad putting his hands on you.”
She bit back a startled laugh at his description. That’s exactly how she’d always thought of Khovansky too. “I don’t like it very much, either, which is why I kicked him.”
He gave her a faint smile. “Good girl. Then what happened?”
She shrugged. “I got away from him and left the ball almost immediately. I didn’t see him after that. Not until the other day when you brought me home.”
“Interesting. Khovansky made no attempt to call on you to make an apology? He didn’t send you a note?”
“Nothing.” She frowned. “That is rather odd, now that I think about it. At the time, I simply thought he’d finally gotten the message.”
“You’d rebuffed him before?”
“More than once. He’s very persistent, even though I clearly told him I had no intention of accepting his suit.”
“So, he actually did ask you to marry him.”
“Yes.”
“And then gave up, just like that?”
“Y-yes,” she answered slowly, wondering what he was getting at. She studied him, but he’d adopted his impassive face. From the little she’d seen of him in action, it meant he was thinking.
“What’s Khovansky’s relationship to your brother?” he finally asked.
Blast and double blast.
“Which one?” she hedged.
“Lord Blake.”
Relief weakened her legs. “They’re friendly,” she said with a vague wave of her hand. “Cyrus moves in political and diplomatic circles, like the prince.”
He fell silent again, rubbing his jaw. Vivien tried not to fidget but her nerves got the better of her. She started tapping her toe, a habit she usually managed to keep under control. St. George had a remarkable ability to fluster her.
“What are you thinking?” she finally blurted out. For a moment, she thought he didn’t intend to answer.
“I’m wondering just how far the prince will go in order to win your hand,” he mused, half to himself. Or all to himself, since he wasn’t even looking at her. He stared down at his feet, as if some message were scrolled in the patterns of the marbled floor.
She shook her head, more for her own benefit than his. “If you’re thinking he was behind the abduction, I think that highly unlikely.” No matter how much she loathed him, she simply couldn’t believe he’d go about kidnapping innocent women. The scandal around that sort of escapade coming to light would be earth-shaking.
St. George cut his gaze up to her face. “And what does your younger brother think about the prince? Does he travel in his circles as well?”
Vivien’s heart skipped a beat. The discussion was coming much too close to home, but she couldn’t let him see that. “He barely knows him,” she said with a dismissive shrug of her shoulders.
“Really? I got the impression the other day that your younger brother knew him quite well.”
She tried to force down her escalating panic, knowing she had to get away from him before she blurted out something that might further draw his focus to Kit.
A handsome longcase clock behind them bonged out the approaching supper hour. She seized on the excuse to escape. “Goodness, look at the time,” she exclaimed. “I promised Mamma I would meet her for supper.”
His gaze flicked down the hall and then returned to her. “Very well. I’ll be happy to escort you up to the supper room. I’d like very much to meet your mother.”
The grim tone of his voice told her he wouldn’t like it at all, but wanted to add her mother to his list of suspects. And if there was one thing Vivien could count on, it was that Mamma would fold like a house of cards as soon as St. George began to question her. Her mother had
no
sense of discretion, nor could she ever resist the attentions of a handsome man.
Well, any man, for that matter. But she’d surely dissolve into a compliant puddle once St. George turned his seductively dangerous eyes upon her.
“That won’t be necessary,” she exclaimed in a dementedly cheery voice. “But thank you for helping me with the prince. I’m most grateful.”
Ignoring his objections, she slipped past him and down the hall. Only when she fell in with a stream of guests heading toward the front of the house did she relax.
She glanced over her shoulder. St. George stood where she had left him, fists propped on his lean hips and attention still fixed on her. His gaze bored into her, alert and perceptive, and far too suspicious. When he started toward her, a hunter intent on his prey, her courage failed.
Vivien turned and fled as if a pack of baying hell hounds snapped at her heels.
Chapter Fourteen
“Vivien, please stop twisting about like a top,” Mamma ordered. “I vow I’m getting dizzy simply watching you.”
Flashing a guilty smile, Vivien faced her mother across the table in the elegant supper room. In all fairness, she’d been restless since she and Mamma settled in to enjoy a plate of sweets and a glass of champagne. But that wasn’t her fault, was it? She’d been forced to keep an eye out for St. George, praying that he and Lady Thornbury would find themselves too busy to visit with them.
Apparently, they were. St. George was part of a noisy group ensconced by the fireplace, with his mother seated on one side of him and the over-endowed Judith Compton on the other. Judith—the
worst
flirt—appeared to be making a concerted effort to claim his undivided attention. She batted her eyelashes, trilled with laughter at his every word, and leaned forward in the most obvious way to give him an ample view of her impressive bosom. He didn’t seem to mind in the slightest, not even when Judith let her hand
accidentally
brush his thigh. He’d simply bowed his head even closer, all the better to hear her social inanities.
Yes, St. George seemed quite taken with her, which struck Vivien as odd since Judith was not only blowsy and obvious but nasty-tempered as well. It represented the mystery of the male mind, although Vivien had the lowering feeling that the generous décolletage factored into the equation.
She gave a disdainful sniff as she pushed a piece of iced pound cake around her plate. Not that she cared one way or the other where St. George bestowed his attentions. The more time he spent in Judith’s company, the less he could study her with those penetrating eyes or pry information out of Mamma. That had clearly been his intention when he offered to escort her up to supper, not the pleasure of her company.
“Vivien, you mustn’t frown,” Mamma said with a gentle scold. “It wrinkles your brow, and nothing is more fatal to a woman’s beauty.” She peered across the small, linen-covered table. “In fact, you’re already getting a wrinkle between your eyebrows. You simply must start using that Denmark Lotion I gave you last month. You are no longer in the first blush of youth, my love. You cannot afford to neglect your complexion so dreadfully.”
Vivien wanted to grind her teeth, but that would probably give her wrinkles, too. According to Mamma, just about everything did.
“I shall be sure to use it before I go to bed,” she replied, trying to sound dutiful.
Her mother rewarded her with a beatific smile, her blue eyes—so like Vivien’s—shining with maternal pride. “Thank you, darling. You are still quite the most beautiful and charming girl in London, and a great matrimonial prize. Everyone knows it, too.”
Vivien didn’t bother denying the fallacy of that particular observation, since she knew it sprang from genuine affection on her mother’s part. There were any number of girls in the
ton
both younger and prettier, and Vivien’s dowry was merely respectable. She often wondered if she’d ever find a man she truly wanted to marry. As comfortable as she was in her brother’s house, she still longed for a home and a husband of her own. A husband who would actually care about
her
needs, and who would help relieve her burdens instead of adding to them.
“Will you be visiting the card room tonight, my love?” Mamma asked in a carefully matter-of-fact voice. Though she flashed a lighthearted smile, Vivien wasn’t fooled. Her mother’s eyes looked haunted, and she held her delicate lace fan in a convulsive grip as she tapped it on the base of her champagne goblet.
But even looking so anxious, Vivien’s mother remained one of the most beautiful women in the room. In her fifties, she was slender and graceful of form with golden hair only just threaded with a few errant strands of silver. And when she cast aside her troubles, she sparkled with a youthful vibrancy that could charm any man under the age of eighty.
Unfortunately, that youthful nature also extended to her temperament. In fact, the older Vivien got, the more her mother depended on her for everything, from running the household, to playing hostess, to paying off her and Kit’s foolish debts. There were days when Vivien felt crushed by the burden of familial responsibility, and more than once she’d been tempted to accept one of the proposals of marriage that had been made to her. But she’d never been able to do it. Her mother and Kit often drove her insane but she couldn’t abandon them, especially for a man she didn’t love. Her family truly needed her, and that had to count for something.
Vivien nodded. “I was just about to go up. Given how deep the play always is at Lady Darlington’s affairs, I think I should do quite well.”
Her mother exhaled with relief. “Splendid. Perhaps I’ll join you.”
Vivien almost dropped her champagne glass. “You will do no such thing.”
Lady Pilkington, seated next to her, glanced over from her conversation with the Dowager Duchess of Rothering, her bushy brown eyebrows raised in disapproval. Vivien gave her a weak smile, murmuring an apology. Lady Pilkington looked her over with a supercilious sneer, gave a disgusted little sniff, and turned back to the duchess.
Mamma whispered loudly across the table. “Dreadful woman. No wonder Lord Pilkington spends all his time in brothels. I would, too, if I had to face her in my bed every night.”
Vivien swallowed a laugh. “Thank you for that image, Mamma. But as I was saying, I think it best if you not visit the tables tonight.”
She gave her mother
the look,
the one that said she would brook no argument. On their way to the ball, Vivien had finally pried out of her the total of her latest round of excesses, at the gaming tables and the shops. The amount had staggered her. Three thousand pounds, added on to what Kit already owed. Vivien had her work cut out for her and she did not need her mother racking up yet more debt at the loo or whist tables.
Mamma thrust out her lower lip, like a pouting child denied a treat.
“No,” Vivien reiterated in a firm voice. “If you play tonight, you’ll distract me. I must be able to concentrate if I am to win.”
She rarely had trouble concentrating. From hardened gamesters to seductive rakes seeking to flirt with her over the cards, none had the ability to break her singular focus. Only when Kit or her mother was playing, and invariably losing, did Vivien mentally blink. Whenever that happened, she had the devil of a time getting her concentration back.
Her mother sighed. “Oh, very well, but I do think—”
She broke off as she looked past Vivien’s shoulder, a delighted smile warming her face. “Rebecca! I’ve been longing to speak with you but I couldn’t find you in this mad crush. How lovely to see you here tonight, and with your son, too. I declare, I cannot remember when last I saw you, you naughty boy. You’ve been neglecting your family and friends in the worst possible manner.”
Vivien didn’t require her mother’s flirtatious behavior to tell her who was standing behind her. Slowly, she twisted in her seat and looked up—way up—to meet the gaze of the man who was quickly becoming both the bane of her existence and her savior. From the sardonic expression on his face as he studied her, bane was more like it at this particular moment.
Ignoring the ripple of nerves in her belly, Vivien warmly greeted Lady Thornbury. Her friend leaned down and pressed a soft, perfumed kiss on her cheek.
“How are you, my dear? Have you recovered from your cold?” Lady Thornbury’s eyes, as all-seeing as her son’s, gave her a thorough inspection.
“I am well, my lady, thank you,” Vivien replied, rising to her feet. “And I’m very glad to see you. I was intending to go up to the card room, and I was hoping you could sit with Mamma.”
“Of course,” Lady Thornbury said instantly, taking her seat. “I’d like nothing better than to have a comfortable coze with your mother.” She glanced up at her son. “Aden, you were thinking of playing some cards as well, weren’t you? You children should run along and enjoy yourselves.”
Mamma, who had been looking disgruntled, perked up. “Yes, darling. Go along with Aden. I’m sure he’ll take splendid care of you.”
Vivien could have cursed. The two mothers had virtually thrown them together, albeit for different reasons. Lady Thornbury obviously wanted St. George to keep a watch on her, while Mamma was no different from any of the matchmaking mothers in the
ton
. Unfortunately, her target had designs on Vivien of a different sort, ones that could be dangerous for the Blake family.
“No, really, Captain St. George, that’s not necessary,” she protested, starting to back away from the table. “I’m sure you’d much rather be dancing. Miss Compton, for instance. I’m certain she’s eagerly waiting for you to claim her for the next waltz.”
Oh, dear.
That
had
sounded rather snippy. Whatever was the matter with her?
With a hint of a smug grin, St. George reached out and snagged her by the wrist. “As it so happens, I was intending to visit the card room.”
Experimentally, she tugged her arm. Of course the stubborn man wouldn’t let go, and she couldn’t possibly get away from him without causing a scene. This was all she needed—him shadowing her every move like a watchdog. Given how the evening was going, Vivien might as well decamp right now and go home.
For a moment, she contemplated doing just that. But she desperately needed to dip into the deep pockets of Lady Darlington’s guests. She simply couldn’t afford to waste the night’s opportunity, St. George or no. “Very well. If you insist,” she replied in a grumpy tone. “It doesn’t really look like I have much of choice in the matter.”
“Vivien!” Her mother’s eyes rounded with shock although Lady Thornbury appeared on the verge of laughter.
“I should be honored to escort you, my lady,” St. George said, as if she hadn’t insulted him.
He slipped her hand in the crook of his elbow and Vivien had no choice but follow his lead. As annoyed as she was, she couldn’t repress a little spurt of triumph when they passed the party by the fireplace. Judith Compton was still holding court, tittering at the sly remarks of an aging, rouged dandy, but she found the time to break off and direct a glare Vivien’s way.
When Vivien gave her a polite nod, Judith sneered and tossed her curls as she turned back to her companion.
“A friend of yours?” St. George asked dryly.
“Why, Captain,” she said, feigning an innocent look, “I thought she was a friend of yours!”
He grinned. “Touché. If you want to know the truth, the woman terrified me. It was cruel of you to abandon me, throwing me to the wolves like that.”
“Yes. I noticed you seemed paralyzed with fear, especially when Miss Compton put her hand on your thigh.”
His grin went charmingly lopsided as they passed into the hall. “So, you noticed that, did you?”
“The entire room probably noticed.”
St. George laughed outright as he ushered her toward the front central staircase. She pulled on his elbow, bringing him to a halt.
“The card room is in the rear of the house,” she said.
He stood his ground. “I was hoping I could solicit your hand for another dance. Perhaps a waltz?”
She frowned. “I thought you wanted to go to the card room.”
He shrugged, and for a moment she was fascinated by the way his muscles, well defined under the close-fitting fabric of his dark coat, rippled and moved. “I would prefer to dance. With you.” His voice dropped to a deep note, husky with an intent she couldn’t miss. And the sensual gleam in his eyes sparked a ripple of sensation along her nerves.
It was matched by irritation as he tried to divert her from her purpose.
“I thank you, but no,” she answered.
His eyebrows arched as if he were offended. That bothered her more than she cared to admit. He was the last person on earth she wished to offend, since not only had he saved her life, she actually liked him.
Too much, unfortunately.
“Well,” she amended, “perhaps later. But right now I truly would like to visit the card tables.” She tugged his arm and he finally relented, although he didn’t look happy about it.
They joined the stream of guests making their way to the gaming tables. When Vivien was jostled by two lads no older than Kit and eager to get to the tables, St. George gently moved her to his other side, protectively sheltering her. She had to resist the temptation to snuggle into him, much as she had done the night of her rescue when he had swept her into his arms.
That memory—and his nearness—triggered another image. A sensation, really, of what his rampant masculinity had felt like pressed against her backside. It had made her nervous but it had intrigued her, too.
Everything
about him intrigued her, and she couldn’t help wondering what it would be like if he were her suitor and not some kind of bodyguard commissioned to protect her. What it would feel like if he kissed her, taking her in his arms and pressing her up against—
“Lady Vivien, are you well?” he interrupted her thoughts.
Her face burned with heat. Lord, what an idiot she was. Having fantasies about the man when he was standing right next to her!
“Ah, I’m fine. Why?”
“You’re very flushed.” He eyed her, then glanced at the small mob trying to crowd through to the drawing room set aside for the card players. “It’s much too warm in here for you. We should return to the supper room for a cool drink.”
She sighed, wishing he would stop treating her like a baby. Or an invalid. “I said I was fine. And I intend to play cards. If you do not wish to play, there is no need to accompany me.”
His mobile, well-shaped mouth thinned into a hard line. “You like playing cards, don’t you?”
“Yes. Is there anything wrong with that?” She tried not to sound defensive.
He didn’t immediately answer. They reached the entrance to the spacious drawing room and he steered her just inside the door and to the side, out of the flow of traffic. His gaze was hooded as he seemed to weigh his reply.