The Taming of Ryder Cavanaugh (13 page)

Grateful that the pillows allowed him to keep his head upright, he didn’t attempt to move it. “Thank you, Pemberly.” His gaze on Lavinia, his tone chilling significantly, he continued, “Good morning, Lavinia—I wasn’t aware I had arranged a meeting. To what do I owe this unwarranted invasion?”

Predictably Lavinia’s gaze had swept over him and fixed on Mary. His stepmother goggled; her lips opened and shut several times—which he would have found amusing had the circumstances been different—but then she finally wrenched her gaze to his face and brusquely waved at Mary. “What the devil is she doing here?”

Playing to the audience peering in from the corridor, he sighed gustily in the manner of a man supremely beset by uncomprehendingly obtuse females and lightly, warningly, gripped Mary’s shoulder. “If you must know, last night Miss Cynster did me the honor of accepting my offer for her hand.”

Ryder slanted a fleeting, heavy-lidded glance at his bride-to-be. Via his hold on her shoulder, he’d felt the jolt his words had unsurprisingly sent through her, but although he could only see her profile, he didn’t think any overt shock showed in her face; if anything she seemed to be regarding Lavinia with becoming, somewhat icy, hauteur. Returning his gaze to his stepmother, he continued in the same arrogantly cold tone, “Her presence here should therefore surprise no one, and, indeed, be of no interest to anyone. Your presence, however, has yet to be explained.”

Lavinia could not have looked more stunned. It took her three attempts before she could get her tongue to function. “You . . .” Then her gaze switched to Mary and her fists clenched. “You silly chit! You could have had my Randolph . . .” Lavinia trailed off, no doubt realizing any suggestion that Mary should have preferred Randolph to Ryder was, in ton terms, ludicrous.

Somewhat to his surprise, Lavinia paled, but then hot color surged into her cheeks. Her gaze locked on Mary and her eyes narrowed. “Why, you—”

“Lavinia!” Ruthlessly, he reseized the reins; his strength wasn’t going to last much longer. “You—and your friends—have burst into my home and have erupted into my private chambers without so much as a by-your-leave. I suggest you retreat. Now.” He held her gaze. “Pemberly, please show her ladyship out.”

“Indeed, my lord.” Pemberly didn’t utter the words, but “it will be my pleasure” hung in the air.

Lavinia glared at Pemberly as, with the weight of Ryder’s authority behind him, the butler advanced and took her arm. With a muttered oath, she wrenched it free, cast one last, furious, yet still stunned and reeling look at the bed, then swung on her heel and marched out. Pemberly followed, closing the door behind him.

Exhausted, Ryder fell back on the pillows; his eyes closed all by themselves.

He heard Collier emerge from the dressing room.

An instant later, still beside him on the bed, Mary murmured, “Would you like to lower your left arm?”

“Please.”

Between them, they eased his hand from behind his head and lowered his arm to the bed.

He hated, absolutely hated, being weak. And now, courtesy of his stepmother, he had another battle on his hands. “Collier—get out.”

“Yes, my lord.”

He waited until he heard the door snick shut before drawing in a deeper breath and forcing his lids up, at least enough to see.

Although still sitting on the bed, Mary had shifted to face him. The look on her face, the expression in her eyes as they rested on him, was . . . utterly inscrutable.

That surprised him; until now, he’d been able to read her reasonably well, relatively easily. It hadn’t occurred to him that he might not always be able to, that she might be able to hide her thoughts, her feelings, from him.

A faint line etched between her brows, she was patently considering him . . . as if he was of a species she’d encountered before but was a specimen that broke the mold.

Regardless of what her thoughts actually were, for him there was only one way forward. “I apologize. Unreservedly.” He managed to wave the fingers of his right hand. “That bore no resemblance to how I would have wished to propose to you.”

Her brows arched. She hesitated, then said, “As I see it, you’ve now proposed, and I’ve accepted.”

Understanding the question concealed in her words, he grimaced. “There was no other way.”

When she continued to study him—when he continued to have not a clue about what was passing through her mind—he said, “If I might make an observation?”

Raising her brows, she invited him to proceed.

“I rather expected you to be hissing and spitting at me by now—at least ranting and raving a trifle.” Another weak wave. “Perhaps pacing back and forth.” He caught her gaze. “You know, the expected reaction.”

Her lips faintly curved, but she sobered immediately. “I can’t see that ranting and raving will get either of us anywhere.”

He regarded her, wariness growing. “How terribly rational of you.”

That elicited another fleeting grin. “As much as I might be tempted to berate you, I can’t find it in me to be so
ir
rational as to blame you for what just occurred. You had no choice—it wasn’t as if you’d invited your stepmother and her cronies in.”

He managed the tiniest inclination of his head. “Thank you. I assure you that little performance was certainly not what I meant when I stated I intended to work to change your mind.”

She humphed but said nothing.

When she continued to consider him in silence to the point he was growing increasingly concerned about just what plan she was hatching, in an endeavor to tease it from her he sighed feelingly, then said, “I suppose, if I were other than I am, I would make some chivalrous declaration over finding some way of releasing you from the contract in which we’ve just become unintentionally snared.”

Her blue eyes narrowed on his face. “But you won’t, will you?”

Holding her gaze, he shook his head. “No. I had no idea I would be stabbed last night, had no idea you would come along and aid me, had no idea you would remain by my side all night, and I had no hand in bringing Lavinia and her bosom-bows down on our joint heads. And I haven’t reached where I am today without learning to take advantage of every blessing Fate sends my way.” He paused, then more softly said, “So no, I won’t be searching for any way to undo what Fate has seen done.” When she still didn’t react, he went on, “So if you want to find some way out of this, you’re going to have to search for it yourself.”

Eyes fixed on his, all she said was, “Hmm.”

If he could have flung his hands in the air, he would have. Letting his head fall completely back onto the pillows, he looked at the ceiling and baldly asked, “What the devil are you thinking?”

A half minute ticked past, then she replied, “To be perfectly honest, I’m not sure.”

He frowned, then returned his gaze to her face. “You’re always sure. Of everything.”

“Yes.” Her lips firming in clear disapproval of her unaccustomed state, she shook her head. “But not about this.”

Distantly, the front doorbell pealed.

“And that,” she said, “
will
be my parents.” Slipping off the bed, she shook out her skirts, then glanced sharply at him. “I’ll go down and explain, and seek their counsel. Then I’ll come back and we can discuss where we stand. Meanwhile, you should rest. Doctor Sanderson should arrive shortly.”

Ryder watched her neaten her hair and generally compose herself, then, head held high, she glided to the door and let herself out.

Once the door shut, he sank back into the pillows and swore some more. Being helpless grated beyond bearing.

B
y the time Mary reached the gallery, Pemberly had admitted her parents into the front hall. Hurrying down the stairs, she couldn’t remember ever being so glad to see them. “Mama! Papa!”

Louise and Arthur turned toward her. Louise smiled. “There you are, dear.”

Although both her parents took in her appearance—not something they could miss—they welcomed her with encouraging smiles and open arms. She returned their hugs with feeling.

“My dear.” Louise drew away, her expression sobering. “How is Ryder?”

“Recovering, thank goodness. But I fear we’ve had a complication of a different sort.”

“Oh? How so?” Arthur’s expression had turned serious.

Mary glanced at Pemberly. “Pemberly, is there somewhere . . . ?”

Pemberly immediately indicated a door and strode to open it. “The drawing room, miss.”

“Thank you.” Mary led the way in. The room was large, long, and fashionably furnished, but more with an eye to masculine comfort and style. The chairs were well padded, upholstered in green leather, and the sofas matched. After an instant’s pause to get her bearings, she led her parents to the sofa facing the massive fireplace; it was flanked by two large wing chairs, and a low table sat in the center of the arrangement.

“Should I bring in a tea tray, miss?” Pemberly inquired.

“Oh—yes, thank you.” Mary sent him a grateful look. “That would be welcome.” Knowing her parents, they’d read her letter immediately they’d reached home and had come on to Mount Street directly. And she could certainly do with a cup of tea; she’d slept through breakfast.

Pemberly bowed. “At once, miss.”

Noting the exchange, Louise briefly met Arthur’s eyes, then at Mary’s wave, they both sat on the sofa and gave her their undivided attention.

Sinking into one of the wing chairs, Mary faced them. “First, I should tell you that Ryder has been . . . well, pursuing me, if you know what I mean, since he and I crossed paths at Henrietta and James’s engagement ball.”

“Pursuing you?” Arthur bristled.

“Hush, dear.” Louise patted his thigh. “You know very well what she means.”

“Exactly.” Mary gave thanks for her mother’s insight—as she so often did. “In just that way—perfectly acceptable, with not so much as a toe over any line. He’s been at all the balls I’ve attended recently, and two nights ago, he appeared at Lady Hopetoun’s musicale and stayed by my side throughout.”

Louise sucked in a breath. “Good heavens! So he’s in earnest, and not backward in declaring his interest.”

Mary bit back words to the effect that Ryder wouldn’t know how to be “backward” about anything, and nodded. “Indeed. But until then I’d thought he was just . . . well, amusing himself because he was bored—or later, because he realized I was interested in his half brother Randolph, and Ryder didn’t approve. Well, he didn’t approve, but he wasn’t just pursuing me to distract me from Randolph, as I’d supposed.”

Arthur nodded. “Had his eye on you himself. Never thought Ryder was slow.”

“Yes, well, when, in the wake of the musicale and his subsequent behavior, I suspected that and taxed him with it, he . . .” She paused, recalling the exchange on Lady Bracewell’s terrace. “He was entirely forthright in declaring that he wanted me as his marchioness.”

Louise smiled. “My dear, that’s delightful news—yet why do I fear I’m about to hear a ‘but’?”

Arthur looked puzzled. “No buts about it—what answer did you give him?”

Mary met Arthur’s eyes, a shade lighter than her own. “I pointed out that he was an unmanageable despot, and that as I prefer to be in charge of my own life, in my opinion he and I would not suit.”

She glanced at her mother, only to see a delighted grin break across Louise’s face.

Louise tried to rein it in but failed. “Oh, darling—if you truly wished to discourage the likes of Ryder, that was definitely
not
the right answer.”

“Well,” Arthur opined, “I don’t see why she would want to discourage Ryder anyway, but that’s a fair enough observation—so what did he say, heh?”

Looking into Arthur’s eager eyes, then glancing at Louise and seeing her mother’s rather deeper understanding, Mary drew breath and said, “Aside from vowing to succeed in changing my mind, he insisted we would suit—and he suggested he was willing to find ways to accommodate my . . . requirements.”

Even Louise looked taken aback at that, but in a wholly approving way. “So . . . what did you say?”

Mary grimaced. “I didn’t know what to say, and then we had to go inside—we’d been on the terrace.”

“So you left it at that?” Arthur said.

She nodded. “That was how we parted at Lady Bracewell’s ball last night. And then, on my way home in the carriage . . .”

Crisply and concisely, she related the events of the previous night.

Pemberly appeared with a well-stocked tea tray; he set it on the low table, then withdrew. Mary paused to pour and hand around the cups; she sipped, then continued her recitation.

Both Arthur and Louise were thoroughly shocked by Ryder’s so-close brush with death, and entirely supportive of her actions.

“I should certainly hope you did everything you could—rest assured, my dear, no one will censure you for that,” Louise said. “Especially as there’s no one living here but Ryder himself. In the circumstances, even waiting for the doctor was the right thing to do.”

“Yes, well, that’s not quite all.” Mary wondered how to explain and decided she would simply have to take the bull by the horns. “Even after that, as you’ve realized, I stayed. I simply couldn’t bring myself to leave him—not when we didn’t know if he would live or die.”

“Entirely understandable,” Arthur gruffly said.

“Indeed.” Louise nodded. “Besides, quite aside from any finer feelings on your part, if you’d left and he’d died . . . well, you know the sort of questions a man of his station dying alone can raise.”

“And anyway, you knew we would be home this morning and would come and cover for you. That’s why you sent us that note.” Arthur set down his empty cup and eyed Mary shrewdly. “So what’s got you in a flap, heh?”

She’d hoped she hadn’t been that transparent, but . . . “Collier, Ryder’s gentleman’s gentleman, remained with me in Ryder’s room throughout the night. But both Collier and I eventually fell asleep, and we didn’t wake up until”—she glanced at the clock gracing the massive mantelpiece—“about an hour ago. That was when we realized Ryder had woken, and although he’s extremely weak, he’s as well as he could be given the circumstances.” She paused, drained her cup, and set it on its saucer. “That’s when the doorbell rang, and I thought it was you and came rushing down . . .” She met her mother’s gaze. “Only it wasn’t you but Ryder’s stepmother, and she’d brought Lady Jerome and Mrs. Framlingham with her.”