Lady Vivien, whatever do you mean?”
Her pretty mouth thinned. Apparently, she wasn’t enjoying this as much as he was. “As I’ve already mentioned, most officers I know would make a point of not skulking around in dirty tunnels and acting with so much stealth. They would consider it . . .”
“Common?” he intoned in a haughty tone.
His amusement vanished with her words. She was right. Most aristocrats would curl their lips at his profession. God knows his stepfather had. That Aden had left his career in the military to be a spy had been the final degradation as far as Lord Thornbury was concerned. After all these years, he shouldn’t let it bother him, but it did. The pampered members of the ton would never know the risks and the filthy jobs he and his colleagues took on to keep them safe in their useless, spendthrift lives.
She seemed to consider the word. “Perhaps, but it’s more than that. Many of them are simply so . . . pampered. They couldn’t do what you did, especially with that man outside the tunnels. I think of my own brothers, and I cannot imagine them having the fortitude to take on such a desperate villain. In fact, Cyrus would faint dead-away if faced with so dire a necessity.”
Lady Vivien was beginning to look pale again, and rather queasy herself at the reminder of her ordeal. Aden’s flare of temper faded in the need to draw her mind away from that ugly scene.
He reached across the small space and found her hand under the blanket, giving it a reassuring squeeze. Startled, her eyes flew up to meet his, but then she gave him a tremor of a smile. A muscle constricted somewhere in the vicinity of his heart.
“I saw a good deal of fighting in the Peninsula,” he said. “That experience allowed me to do what was necessary. I don’t enjoy killing, but Sir Dominic and I promised your mother we would return you safely home. I simply did what was necessary.”
She stared at him, her eyes big and round and vulnerable. The fear was gone, and in its place was something that looked disturbingly like hero worship.
Damn . He hated that look. It always led to trouble. A good agent did his job because he had to do it. Glory and admiration didn’t enter into it. If it did, that man was a fool and was in the wrong profession.
“I’m very glad you did,” she whispered. “And I will never forget it.”
He nodded, giving her hand what he hoped was a fatherly pat before drawing it away. A few seconds later, he felt the horses beginning to slow.
“Mr. St. George, how was it that you—”
“Forgive me, my lady. We’re at the coaching inn. I must ask you to keep any further questions or comments to yourself. We’ll only be stopping for a few minutes, but I’d prefer we not draw any more attention to ourselves than necessary.”
She pressed her lips firmly shut, looking slightly put out. He knew she had more questions, but he was done answering. In fact, as soon as they got back on the road, he had every intention of subjecting her to a little interrogation of his own. He was loath to upset her, but every one of his instincts was telling him that Lady Vivien knew something about her kidnapping that she had chosen not to share with him.
He’d let her get away with that a few minutes ago, allowing her to distract him, but there would be no more distractions. Very soon, the lady would be telling him everything he wanted to know.
Chapter Six
Vivien stumbled over the brick paving of the inn’s courtyard, heavy-footed with exhaustion. If not for St. George’s firm grip on her arm, she would have pitched face-first onto the muddy stones. The clogs the innkeeper had found for her, excavated from some dusty cubbyhole, weren’t helping much either. They were at least two sizes too big and crudely made.
Still, she was grateful to have properly if clumsily shod feet. Not having shoes had been one of the worst parts of her ordeal. Her bare feet had made her feel intensely vulnerable, unable to
Her pretty mouth thinned. Apparently, she wasn’t enjoying this as much as he was. “As I’ve already mentioned, most officers I know would make a point of not skulking around in dirty tunnels and acting with so much stealth. They would consider it . . .”
“Common?” he intoned in a haughty tone.
His amusement vanished with her words. She was right. Most aristocrats would curl their lips at his profession. God knows his stepfather had. That Aden had left his career in the military to be a spy had been the final degradation as far as Lord Thornbury was concerned. After all these years, he shouldn’t let it bother him, but it did. The pampered members of the ton would never know the risks and the filthy jobs he and his colleagues took on to keep them safe in their useless, spendthrift lives.
She seemed to consider the word. “Perhaps, but it’s more than that. Many of them are simply so . . . pampered. They couldn’t do what you did, especially with that man outside the tunnels. I think of my own brothers, and I cannot imagine them having the fortitude to take on such a desperate villain. In fact, Cyrus would faint dead-away if faced with so dire a necessity.”
Lady Vivien was beginning to look pale again, and rather queasy herself at the reminder of her ordeal. Aden’s flare of temper faded in the need to draw her mind away from that ugly scene.
He reached across the small space and found her hand under the blanket, giving it a reassuring squeeze. Startled, her eyes flew up to meet his, but then she gave him a tremor of a smile. A muscle constricted somewhere in the vicinity of his heart.
“I saw a good deal of fighting in the Peninsula,” he said. “That experience allowed me to do what was necessary. I don’t enjoy killing, but Sir Dominic and I promised your mother we would return you safely home. I simply did what was necessary.”
She stared at him, her eyes big and round and vulnerable. The fear was gone, and in its place was something that looked disturbingly like hero worship.
Damn . He hated that look. It always led to trouble. A good agent did his job because he had to do it. Glory and admiration didn’t enter into it. If it did, that man was a fool and was in the wrong profession.
“I’m very glad you did,” she whispered. “And I will never forget it.”
He nodded, giving her hand what he hoped was a fatherly pat before drawing it away. A few seconds later, he felt the horses beginning to slow.
“Mr. St. George, how was it that you—”
“Forgive me, my lady. We’re at the coaching inn. I must ask you to keep any further questions or comments to yourself. We’ll only be stopping for a few minutes, but I’d prefer we not draw any more attention to ourselves than necessary.”
She pressed her lips firmly shut, looking slightly put out. He knew she had more questions, but he was done answering. In fact, as soon as they got back on the road, he had every intention of subjecting her to a little interrogation of his own. He was loath to upset her, but every one of his instincts was telling him that Lady Vivien knew something about her kidnapping that she had chosen not to share with him.
He’d let her get away with that a few minutes ago, allowing her to distract him, but there would be no more distractions. Very soon, the lady would be telling him everything he wanted to know.
Chapter Six
Vivien stumbled over the brick paving of the inn’s courtyard, heavy-footed with exhaustion. If not for St. George’s firm grip on her arm, she would have pitched face-first onto the muddy stones. The clogs the innkeeper had found for her, excavated from some dusty cubbyhole, weren’t helping much either. They were at least two sizes too big and crudely made.
Still, she was grateful to have properly if clumsily shod feet. Not having shoes had been one of the worst parts of her ordeal. Her bare feet had made her feel intensely vulnerable, unable to
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