The Taming of Ryder Cavanaugh (Cynster #20) - Stephanie Laurens Page 0,104
Somersham Place—with a similar bench.” She glanced up at Ryder and grinned. “Perhaps it’s one of those things the principal residences of all the major families are supposed to have.”
He softly snorted, then met her eyes. “More like something all the relevant ladies decided needed to be—their civilizing influence made manifest.”
She chuckled and turned to the door leading to the next room; as she’d supposed, it proved to be her dressing room.
A fabulous dressing room, large and airy, with a wide dressing table set between a smaller pair of windows, and numerous chests of drawers and two armoires. Her gowns were already hanging in one, her petticoats and shawls in the other. “This,” she said, slowly twirling to take in the entirety, “is more like a boudoir.”
Ryder shrugged as he joined her. “Lavinia used it as such—she used to meet with her children here, rather than in the sitting room.”
Detecting something more behind the comment, Mary arched a brow.
His lips twisted wryly. “So she ran no risk of my father coming in or overhearing anything she said. By tacit agreement this room was hers, and he wouldn’t have intruded without an invitation.”
She held his gaze. “Does it bother you that these rooms were once Lavinia’s? That she replaced your mother here”—she gestured—“in the marchioness’s suite?”
He didn’t try to duck the question. After a moment of consideration—while staring into her eyes so she saw him look inward and actually consult his feelings—his lips slowly curved. Refocusing on her, he shook his head. “No. In fact . . . I suspect that’s one reason I so enjoyed doing this—finally and completely supplanting Lavinia with you—and why I so enjoy seeing you . . . happy here.”
Holding his gaze, she smiled back, equally sincere. “And I am very happy.” Even more that he’d answered without reserve. Stretching up, placing a hand on his cheek to steady herself, she lightly kissed his lips.
When he didn’t respond, she drew back and, openly puzzled, cocked her head in question.
His lips quirked. “Before we get distracted, there’s something I want to give you.”
She opened her eyes wide. “More?”
In reply he crossed to the dressing table. Her brushes and combs, her box of hair ornaments, and her jewelry box were neatly arrayed on the surface, reflected in the triple-paned mirror. Opening the narrow drawer below the center of the table, he reached in and drew out a velvet-covered box. Turning to her, he offered it. “These are for you.”
Eyes locked on the box, eagerness, delight, and expectation flaring, she reached for it. Took it, opened it—and gasped. “Oh!” That was all she could manage; mere words couldn’t do justice to what lay within. “It’s . . . they are . . .” Fabulous, unbelievable, amazing. “Exquisite.”
She continued to stare at the matching necklace, bracelet, and earrings in utterly speechless delight.
Ryder drank in the sight and felt his own delight well. Reaching into the box, he eased the necklace from its bed on the white velvet. “I’ll remember, next time I want to see you stunned, to offer you jewelry.”
“Oh,” she breathed, “but this isn’t just jewelry. This is a fantasy rendered in jewels.” Swinging around, presenting him with her back, she all but jigged. “Put it on. I have to see.”
Her joy was infectious. His smile couldn’t have got broader as he looped the delicate confection about her throat, then bent to fasten the catch. “There.” He straightened.
Standing before the mirror, eagerly and excitedly viewing her reflection, with spread fingers she gently patted the necklace into place, then with her fingertips touched, lightly traced.
The complex creation of diamonds and violet-blue sapphires quivered. Each marquise-cut diamond represented a leaf or the petal of a flower, each individual diamond suspended on fine wire around the richly colored sapphires. The latter, large and vivid, formed the center of each flower, and were set in the actual links of necklace, while the diamonds trembled in a delicate, glittering, surrounding frame.
She looked up, in the mirror met his eyes. Then she whirled and flung herself into his arms.
He laughed and caught her; setting the jeweler’s box aside, framing his face with her hands, she pressed her lips to his and kissed him.
He tried to kiss her, but she drew back and pressed kisses to his jaw, his cheeks, punctuating each with a “Thank you.”
But eventually he recaptured her lips and took her mouth, slow and achingly complete, and she sighed, relaxed against him, and allowed it.
For long moments they communed, through the simple