He froze, his hand gripping the top of her thigh. His chest heaved as he struggled for breath. Desperate to feel more, she gave an experimental wiggle.
His hand clamped down, holding her in place. “Vivien, stay still,” he ground out. “You don’t know what you’re doing.”
She tilted her head back to look at him. His heavy-lidded gaze smoldered with a ravenous intent and his stark cheekbones were flushed with bronze. His strong mouth, still damp from their kiss, was pulled tight, as if he restrained himself. And at every point where they touched, she could sense the struggle his discipline imposed on him. His big body seemed to shake with the effort, almost as much as she shook with a passion she refused to deny any longer.
Aden might not want her tomorrow, but he wanted her tonight. For now, that would do.
Tightening her fingers around the back of his neck, she tugged him down. He came slowly, as if reluctant.
“We’ve talked enough for tonight,” she breathed against his mouth. Then she nipped his lower lip, sucking it into her mouth.
He jerked, then his entire body came to life, surrounding her with his brawny strength. Bending her over his arm, he ravished her mouth with a kiss that slid endlessly into another, forming links in a sensual, primal chain. Vivien moved against him, too, caught up in her urgent, spiralling need.
Without breaking the kiss, he flicked the enveloping cloak aside. One hand moved to her throat, briefly stroking it, then his fingers reached for the clasp of her gown. With a decisive tug, he pulled it aside, exposing the high slopes of her breasts.
She gasped and stilled, her heart pounding so hard it seemed to fetch up against her breastbone. Aden went still beneath her as well, except for the fingers that played across her shoulder and drifted down to the top of her low-cut stays. His hand tickled her through the lace trim as he launched a gentle but relentless exploration.
“I need to see you, Vivien,” he rasped. “Let me touch you, if only for a few minutes. Then I’ll let you go.”
The dark need in his eyes and the hard cut of his mouth sent her heart racing, while a thread of trepidation whispered through her. But then his gaze grew tender, and he nuzzled her mouth with an affection that brought tears to her eyes.
Blinking them back, she broke away. Sitting up straight in his lap—she couldn’t fail to miss the sensual hiss that escaped his lips when she moved against his erection—she slowly drew the soft fabric of her gown down over her breasts, letting it pool around her waist. That pulled a husky groan from his throat. With trembling fingers, she began to unlace the front ties on her stays.
When she fumbled with the strings, he brushed her fingers aside and closed a big hand over her breast. His thumb pushed down the top of her stays and her nipple popped out, already pulled tight and aching for his touch. With a satisfied rumble, Aden stroked his thumb back and forth over the tip.
Vivien gasped as sensation streaked inward from the rigid point, seeming to burrow deep within her body. She clapped a hand over her mouth to keep in the cry that threatened to escape.
Unbelievably, Aden let out a husky laugh. “Do you like how that feels?”
She glared at him—or would have, if both her brain and body weren’t melting from the inside out. He gave her a smug grin. It should have been annoying, but instead made her giggle.
“That is a very silly question, Captain St. George. Of
course,
I liked it.”
“Then you’re going to
love
this.”
His head bent and his mouth fastened over her nipple. Vivien froze, transfixed by the sight of his dark head at her breast and by the storm of sensations electrifying her body. She arched up and he slid a hand behind her back, both supporting her and bringing her body up higher to meet his questing mouth. Vivien couldn’t hold back a moan as he tugged on her aching flesh, torturing her with supple strokes of the tongue. She’d never felt anything like it, and it made her truly dizzy with pleasure.
Groaning, she let her hand float up to the edge of her stays, weakly pulling at the stiff fabric to give him better access. He growled his approval as his other hand began to move up her thigh, once more trailing across her naked skin. Lost in the wet heat of his mouth and the sensual glide of his big hand, Vivien let herself sink into it, giving herself completely to his touch and to his strength, yearning for everything he wanted to give her.
It was
wonderful
.
But suddenly, the carriage lurched to a jarring halt that broke them apart. Vivien started to slide from Aden’s grip, and grabbed at his shoulders as he pulled her hips against him.
“What the devil?” he snapped as he held her upright.
All trace of the lover instantly disappeared, replaced by a brusque man who swiftly plunked her down on the squabs and yanked her cloak across her chest. Then he planted himself in front of her as he reached for the door, bracing himself against the wall of the coach as it jerked back and forth.
Vivien struggled to break free of her seductive daze. She could hardly think, and her breath came in short gasps as she fought to sit up straight and yank her bodice over her breasts. But her cloak had tangled about her and the trembling in her hands made her clumsy.
Just as Aden’s hand grasped the handle on the door, a pistol fired. It was so close to the carriage that Vivien’s ears rang with the report. She clutched at the back of Aden’s cloak as fear blasted through her, wiping away her daze.
Aden whipped halfway around and shoved her to the floor.
“Be quiet,” he hissed. “And stay down.”
She blinked up at him, and her heart shuddered with a painful jolt. She didn’t recognize the man staring down at her. His face was pulled tight in a stone-hard mask and his eyes had gone flat and deadly, like a snake about to strike its prey. In one motion, he turned away from her and flowed into a fighter’s stance.
A second later, the door flew open. The carriage dipped down with a man’s weight, but all Vivien could see from her inelegant sprawl was a hand pointing a large pistol. A scream began to bubble up into her throat, but between one eye blink and the next Aden lashed out and kicked the pistol from the intruder’s hand. Then he launched himself through the door, barrelling into the intruder.
Grabbing onto the edge of the padded bench, Vivien pulled herself to her knees. Her stomach cramped with fear and she could hardly breathe, but she couldn’t just lie on the floor waiting to be either saved or abducted again.
And she couldn’t let anything happen to Aden.
Shaking like a dry leaf in a storm, Vivien scrabbled to snatch up the pistol. She couldn’t believe it hadn’t fired when it hit the floor, and she carefully pointed the barrel away from herself as she awkwardly struggled to a standing position. The blood rushed to her feet and her head swam, but she took a deep breath and forced it to clear. Papa had insisted years ago that she learn to fire a pistol, and she had no qualms in doing so if it would save Aden and his men.
Staggering to the open door, she cautiously leaned out of the carriage, leading with the pistol. They were on a small street, probably in Mayfair. A few houses had lamps shining in the windows, but it was almost impossible to distinguish where they were.
But the flickering carriage lights illuminated a horrible scene, and her heart lurched into her throat.
Aden’s young groom lay in the street, blood pooling around him. The coachman struggled with a gigantic man dressed in a black greatcoat, while Aden was fighting two men who were doing everything they could to bring him to the ground. When Vivien saw the flash of a blade in the hand of one of Aden’s attackers, she acted instinctively. Pointing the pistol into the air, she discharged it with a thundering crack.
Everyone seemed to freeze for a moment into a frightening tableau, but Aden moved first. Shaking off one of his attackers, he lashed his foot out with deadly force, striking the other man in the gut. The man staggered back into his comrade, but both men soon returned to the fray. By now Aden’s entire body had become a deadly weapon, striking out repeatedly, his arms and legs moving in a blur of movement.
Half deafened by the noise of the pistol and coughing from the smoke of its discharge, Vivien fell to her knees still clutching the weapon. But she steadied herself against the door frame, her heart banging against her ribs. She quickly discarded the idea of running for help since she’d have to wade through a tangle of fighting bodies in front of the carriage step.
But in less than a minute Aden had sent the last of his attackers reeling to the ground, and the brute attacking the coachman broke away. Coming up behind Aden, he gave him a hard shove, smashing him into the side of the carriage. Aden staggered, and Vivien clutched at him to hold him upright.
By the time Aden recovered his balance, the blackguard had hauled his companions to their feet and they stumbled away into the night, picking up speed as they ran.
Peering after them, Vivien finally noticed a coach at the end of the street. Its lamps were dark and its outline was little more than a bulky mass, but the gang headed toward it at a dead run. A moment later they were on board, the driver yelling at the horses, the wheels clattering on the pavement as they made their escape.
“Christ, Stevens,” Aden barked at the coachman. “Where the hell is your pistol?”
“Coming, Captain,” the coachman called from the front of the carriage.
A few seconds later, the weapon was in Aden’s hand. He stalked to the middle of the street and carefully aimed after the retreating coach. He stood with legs braced apart, a tall warrior about to wreak havoc on a side street in Mayfair.
But he didn’t shoot. It was clearly too dark and the carriage already careened around a bend in the street. Slowly, Aden lowered his arm, as if doing so pained him. Then he turned back to the carriage and he looked straight at Vivien.
On his stark features, harshly illuminated by the flaring lamps on the carriage, she saw only fury and death.
Chapter Twenty-Five
Aden stared into Vivien’s haunted eyes as the echo of carriage wheels faded and the quiet of Mayfair settled around them once more. His feet seemed riveted to the cobblestones, making it impossible to approach her. She hadn’t fallen apart during the attack, but now she trembled so hard that her cloak fluttered in ripples of cascading velvet.
He held his ground, despite all his protective instincts screaming at him to snatch her into his arms. The cold, killing mood was still upon him and he didn’t dare touch her, not until he knew he wouldn’t crush her in a punishing, primal grip.
“Are you hurt?” he managed to rasp out.
She shook her head, still clutching the pistol. Thank God she’d had the presence of mind to fire the damn thing else they might all be dead.
He’d sensed something off-kilter while they’d been waiting for his carriage in front of Lady Bentley’s mansion. It had sent a familiar, prickling chill along the back of his neck. A careful perusal of the street had yielded nothing, and neither Stevens nor Jem had seen anything amiss. But, unsettled by Vivien’s reckless behavior and his own unnerving encounter with his damn father, Aden had let his emotions override his instincts.
And then he’d compounded the error by giving in to his ravenous desire for Vivien. Like a bloody idiot, he’d let down his guard and Jem’s death was the result.
He took a deep breath, willing his heartbeat to settle as he wiped his grimy, blood-spattered hands down the panels of his coat. Vivien had almost been lost, thanks to his stupidity. From the look of horror on her face, she was just realizing that, too.
He tamped down his self-disgust, stalking over to where Stevens crouched next to the crumpled body. Jem had been a good, trustworthy lad, eager to serve with Aden. But to dwell on the loss now would serve no purpose. First, he had to get Vivien safely stashed and then deal with the results of the evening’s debacle. Later, when he was alone, he’d think about Jem and how he had betrayed the boy’s loyalty.
Stevens looked up, his features solemn with sadness and regret. “Sorry, Captain, but the lad’s dead,” he said, stating the obvious. “The bastard caught him smack dab in the middle of the chest.”
Vivien let out a choking sob, but Aden refused to look at her. He couldn’t bear to see the blame on her face.
With a sigh, the coachman came to his feet. “This is my fault, sir. I didn’t even see the bastards, but I should have known better than to come this way. Too quiet and too dark.”
“No, the fault is mine,” Aden said. “I felt something was wrong, but I allowed myself to be distracted. The onus for Jem’s death is on me.”
From behind him, Vivien made an inarticulate protest. Reluctantly, Aden finally pivoted on his heel to face her.
She stood with one hand braced against the carriage, the other clutched around the pistol. When he forced himself to meet her gaze, he saw no blame on her face, only the remnants of fear and a tragic, pale sorrow.
He made to go to her, but she flinched. His heart stuttered, but he schooled his features to remain impassive. Keeping his movements slow and steady, he gently pried the gun from her fingers.
“I’m so sorry, Aden,” she whispered. “This is my entire fault. If I hadn’t—”
Something snapped in his head. “Christ, Vivien. This is not your fault any more than Stevens’s. I’m the only one to blame for this bloody mess, and we all know it. So please don’t take this on yourself. I don’t need the burden of that on my conscience, too.”
She gaped at him for a moment, her eyes wide and shocked. Then her eyelids fluttered as if she were blinking back tears.
He smothered a curse. What the hell was the matter with him to snap at her like that? If not for her, he’d likely be dead.
“My lady, forgive me,” he said, gentling his voice. “I had no right to address you in such a manner. In fact, I should be thanking you for saving our lives.”
She seemed to wrap her dignity around her like a cloak. “It hardly matters, Captain St. George, not with that poor boy lying dead at our feet. Apology is not required, nor do I expect one. I only wish for this horrible night to come to an end.”
Her voice held a wintry, closed-off chill. No one would believe that just ten minutes ago she’d been going up like fire in his arms.
For some demented reason he wanted to argue with her, or snatch her against his body and hold her until she melted. She was in shock and needed comforting and a good cry, not harsh words. But he couldn’t give those to her now, or maybe ever. This incident was a clear warning of the danger Lady Vivien Shaw posed to him.
And in doing so, she posed to herself as well.
But he’d deal with that later, too. Right now he had to get her safely off the streets, and then handle the consequences of Jem’s death and the attack.
“Of course, my lady.” He turned to Stevens. “My mother’s house is only two blocks away. I’ll take Lady Vivien there by foot.” He handed the coachman the pistol he’d taken from her. “Once we load Jem into the carriage, go straight to Bow Street. I’ll send word to Sir Dominic and we’ll meet you there as soon as possible.”
“Aye, Captain.”
They loaded the body into the coach, Stevens once more his calm, professional self. The coachman had been in the Service for years, working first with Dominic and then with Aden. Because death was their constant companion, no agent could afford to let it deeply affect him or sway him from his purpose. Aden had always told himself that, but with each passing day he found it harder to remain unaffected.
And being near Vivien made it worse.
They exchanged a few more words and then the coachman swung himself up into the box and took up the reins. As the carriage clattered away, Aden turned to Vivien. She waited quietly, staring thoughtfully at the cobbled streets.
“What is it?” he asked in a quiet voice.
She looked up and glanced at the darkened houses on the street. “Why didn’t anyone come out to help us? Surely they heard the commotion.”
He let out a snort as he took her arm, guiding her over to the pavement. “It’s late. And this close to the park, robberies have been known to happen. No one would want to take a chance on getting shot.”
“Well, that’s not right,” she said with a spark of her usual fire. “Someone could at least have run for the watch.”
“Yes,” he responded dryly. “That would have been
very
helpful.”
She shot him an irritated glance, but fell silent. He was grateful for that, even though he knew he should be making a better effort to reassure her. But he had too much to sort through in his head, including what this attack said about the most likely suspect and the blackguard’s motives. The men who’d attacked them hadn’t been the gutter scum who’d taken Vivien before. They were well armed and well trained, and they’d almost succeeded at their task.
The kind of men who would be in the employ of a wealthy and powerful prince immediately sprang to mind. Unfortunately, Aden still had no solid proof that Khovansky was the mastermind behind Vivien’s abduction.
“How far are we from your mother’s house?” Vivien asked in a hushed tone.
“Just around the corner.”
She stumbled and bit off a sharp cry. He stopped, catching her in his arms. She felt so slight and fragile against him, and the muscles in his chest contracted with guilt.
“What’s wrong, Vivien?”
She looked up and gave him a self-deprecating smile. “I seem to be missing a shoe.”
He blanked for a moment. “You lost your shoe? Where?”
“Back in the coach, I think. I didn’t really notice until I got down into the street.”
He looked at her feet, peeping out from under her cloak. One dainty gold and white shoe covered one foot, while the other was pathetically bare save for her torn stocking.
Sighing, he swung her up in his arms. She uttered a protest, but he ignored it. “This is getting to be a habit with you. Why didn’t you say anything, you goose?”
She clutched at the lapels of the coat and gave an apologetic shrug. “It didn’t seem very important at the time. And I only truly noticed after you loaded that poor boy into the carriage. After that, I couldn’t bear the thought . . .” Her voice trailed off, and he could hear her swallow against the gorge rising in her throat.
He gave her a reassuring squeeze. “Don’t think about it now. It won’t help.”
She tilted her head back, trying to see his face. “Is that what you do?”
He nodded. “It’s the only way I can keep moving ahead.” At least that had always been the case until recently.
A few quick strides took them around the corner and onto his mother’s street. By luck or by happenstance, her carriage had just pulled up in front of her house. The groom let down the steps, helping his mother to alight. When she turned to thank him, she caught sight of Aden coming swiftly toward them.
“My son! What in God’s name?” she gasped, rushing to meet them. “Is Vivien harmed?”
“No, but we’ve got to get inside. It’s not safe out here.” As the words left his mouth, Vivien shuddered against him. She seemed to huddle even more deeply into his arms.
His mother nodded and issued a few terse commands to her groom, then she ushered them up the steps to her house. The door opened on Patterson’s concerned face, and the next moment they were finally safe inside in the light and warmth.
But for how long?
Aden paced the floor of Dominic’s study, counting his steps. Twelve to the bay window, and back again to the fireplace, back and forth, again and again while he waited for his chief to return from Lady Bentley’s ball.
It seemed impossible that only an hour had passed since he’d whisked Vivien away from the ball like some enchanted princess. They’d even shared a kiss—much more than a kiss—that had awakened the beautiful princess from her sensual slumber. She’d come alive under his mouth and hands, and the memory of their brief interlude was seared into his memory.
But the tale had not come to a happy ending and he doubted it ever could. Aden might be the son of a prince, but his bastard lineage and his dangerous profession meant he could never be the hero of Vivien’s story.
He stopped in the middle of the room, forcing himself to remain still.
Christ.
He was turning into a complete fool, pacing back and forth like a character from a novel. The idea that Vivien had barely escaped injury or worse had blasted through his control and his ability to think clearly, making him a danger to himself and to her.
It was a situation he could no longer tolerate. If caring for a woman meant one’s reason crumbled to dust, then Aden could afford no part of it.
The door opened and Dominic entered, casting him a swift, assessing glance. “It must be bad if you’re wearing a path in my carpet,” his chief commented as he crossed to the drinks trolley behind his desk. “I’ve never known you to pace before. Lady Vivien must be trying your patience yet again.”
Aden stopped before the big desk, crossing his arms behind his back and staring down at the floor. He couldn’t bring himself to look at Dominic while he delivered his news.
“We were set upon not far from my mother’s house,” he said baldly. “Jem’s dead.”
He kept his eyes firmly fastened on the pale pink and green roses knotted into the Axeminster carpet. A fraught silence seeped into the room, and Aden fancied the temperature dropped by several degrees. Unlike some spymasters who saw the death of any of their agents or functionaries as regrettable but unavoidable, Dominic didn’t react well to any loss, no matter who it was. He braced himself, knowing he deserved the full force of his chief’s anger.
Aden heard the clink of crystal and the splash of liquid into glass. A moment later, Dominic handed him a tumbler with a neat dose of brandy. “I’m sorry to hear that,” he said quietly. “He was a good lad and I know you were attached to him.”
An automatic denial came to Aden’s lips, but the words didn’t come out. Dominic was right. He had grown fond of Jem, seeing in him the makings of a good spy and an even better man. His loss would be keenly felt.
He stared into his mentor’s face, not really seeing him. First John in that debacle in France and now Jem. When had Aden become so attached to people? And now Vivien. He didn’t know what the hell he was going to do with her.
Walk away, before it’s too late.
His gut twisted into knots at the very idea, which only told him how necessary that course of action had become.
“Sit down and tell me what happened. You’ll have plenty of time to blame yourself later,” Dominic said.
Aden repressed the impulse to hunch his shoulders like a disobedient boy. Dominic
always
knew what Aden was thinking, one of his more irritating traits. Then again, his chief’s uncanny powers of perception were the reason he’d risen from humble beginnings to become one of the best spymasters the Service had ever seen.
They both settled into comfortable wing chairs on either side of the fireplace. Tersely, Aden conveyed the essentials, glossing over the sensual interlude in the carriage. By the time he finished, Dominic’s impassive expression had transformed into one of skepticism.
“Let me try to understand this,” he said. “Due to Lady Vivien’s contretemps with Lord Tumbler, you thought it best to spirit her away from the ball with as little fuss as possible.”
“Her contretemps, as you call it, left her somewhat disheveled. That would have surely caused comment if she returned to the ball. She was also reluctant to face Prince Ivan again.”
“I assure you her absence was noted, especially by Prince Ivan. He was quite vocal about it, unfortunately.”
When Aden cursed, Dominic cracked a brief smile. “Your mother, of course, handled the situation very capably. She put out word that Vivien had suffered a relapse of her previous illness and that it had been necessary to take her home immediately. She also saw to it that Lady Blake left shortly thereafter, which supported her story.”