The Taming of Ryder Cavanaugh (Cynster #20) - Stephanie Laurens Page 0,110

over her, curled his body around hers. Now able to relax, he did, and over the space of two heartbeats fell asleep.

Drifting in clouds of slumber, Mary registered Ryder’s warmth, felt the weight of his arm around her. She wasn’t so asleep she couldn’t smile at the thought that wafted through her mind.

Possessive protective, thy name is Ryder Cavanaugh.

“What do you mean, you’d rather I didn’t go outside?” Mary stared down the length of the breakfast table—and decided that tomorrow she would have Forsythe set her place on Ryder’s left; from this distance she couldn’t see well enough to read the expression in his eyes.

The expression on his face—a twist of his lips, the faint arch of one brow—told her little as, after one fleeting glance at her face, at her incredulous expression, he returned his attention to his plate. “Exactly that. This being your first day here, I’m sure you’ll have plenty to do getting acquainted with the house and how it runs—I know Mrs. Pritchard is holding herself ready to give you an extended tour—so remaining indoors isn’t likely to lead to boredom, and . . .” He paused, considered the slice of roast beef on his fork, then stated, still without looking at her, “I would prefer that you remain inside today.”

And I am your husband and you will obey. He hadn’t said the words, but Mary heard them loud and clear. Although her lips had set in a line, she mentally gaped. What had happened to the man—nobleman, admittedly—who had shared the reins so wonderfully last night? And this morning, too, if it came to that. Mere hours ago, he’d been well on the way to being the husband she intended him to be, and yet there he sat, giving an excellent imitation of the most dictatorial of tyrants.

Imitation? Or reality?

Eyes narrowed, she studied him and wasn’t entirely convinced either way. Regardless, she obviously had to take him in hand, had to react and refashion this, but, given he was what he was, and more, that he knew what she was, what was the best way to achieve her desired end? It took her a moment to find the right question. “Why?” When he glanced up at her, she again cursed the distance, but she thought she saw fleeting . . . was it panic? . . . in his eyes. Emboldened, she reached for her teacup. “I’m sure you have a reason for such a peculiar prohibition.” Taking a sip from her cup, she met his gaze over its rim. “So what has occasioned your . . . request?”

He blinked; his expression appeared studiously blank. Then he said, “Rats.”

“Rats?” She lowered her cup and stared. “In this house?”

He grimaced and looked down. “One was found inside this morning.” He glanced toward the windows. “We brought the cats in and the house has been completely searched and there are no more inside, and we have men checking the terraces and gardens.”

That explained the odd activity she’d sensed in the house and had glimpsed through the windows as she’d made her way downstairs. She’d wondered why so many men were beating the bushes, but really . . . she shrugged and sipped again, then admitted, “I’m not all that frightened of rats.”

“You aren’t?” He looked faintly nonplussed.

She shook her head. “They’re small and they always run away. Not that I would like to think they were inside the house, however, so I am glad the staff reacted so quickly and decisively. But if your edict against me going outdoors was occasioned by imagining I might faint on encountering some poor little rat—”

“They’re not little.” He shook his head. “Big. Big as the cats. And they’re rabid—they won’t run away. They’ll fly at you and might bite you.” He drew in a short breath and looked away. Waved. “Well, you can see why I can’t have you exposing yourself to that.”

Dumbfounded, Mary stared. After a long moment, she confirmed, “Rabid rats—big as cats?”

Raising his coffee mug, avoiding her eyes, Ryder nodded and prayed she’d swallow the tale. “Exactly. We should be clear of them by tomorrow, or perhaps the day after.”

After what they’d discovered that morning, there was no chance he would permit her out of his sight, or out of the close care of his most trusted staff. The panic that was riding him simply wouldn’t allow it; it was all he could do not to lock her in his arms and snarl and snap at any