The Taming of Ryder Cavanaugh (Cynster #20) - Stephanie Laurens Page 0,114
adder in my bed?”
“Why? It was our wedding night. They would have assumed you’d sleep in—or at least first come to—my bed, wouldn’t they?”
“That’s”—he grimaced—“possible, I suppose . . .” Then he frowned and shook his head again. “No—that won’t wash. If we’d followed tradition, then you would have already been in the bed when I arrived to claim my conjugal rights.”
“Perhaps he put the snake right at the end of the bed and assumed my feet wouldn’t reach—which, in fact, they wouldn’t. Yours, on the other hand, would.”
“I still think the notion’s fanciful.”
Mary didn’t, but she wasn’t going to argue, not until she’d had time to properly think. And plan.
Ryder glanced toward the door. “Forsythe will be here to summon us to dinner at any moment.” Looking back at her, he met her eyes. “So now you know the situation in as much detail as I do, how do you suggest we react?” He tipped his head toward the door. “Toward the staff. They’ll be watching and waiting to see.”
She held his gaze, then said, “I’ve been trained to believe that loyal staff are our strongest allies. From what you’ve said, from all I’ve observed myself, I see no reason to suspect any of them, even of any degree of complicity.”
He nodded, plainly relieved. “I concur.”
“Well, then.” She looked toward the double doors as footsteps sounded immediately beyond them. “I suggest that, at least for now, we pass this off as some sort of freak accident.”
He hesitated, then inclined his head.
Rising, he drew her to her feet and together they turned to face Forsythe as he set the doors wide and, with regal assurance, informed them that dinner was served.
After allowing Ryder to seat her at the foot of the table, then retreat to his own grand carver at the opposite end, Mary made several comments, to which Ryder appropriately replied, establishing their considered view of the matter of the adder, with the unvoiced understanding that Forsythe and the two footmen would convey their words to the rest of the staff.
Once that was done, neither she nor Ryder referred to the matter again, although she was perfectly certain it remained in the forefront of their thoughts. Nevertheless, they strove to entertain each other with talk of myriad other subjects and succeeded well enough.
After dinner, they repaired to the library; Ryder didn’t ask her preference, but she decided she approved of him guiding her into his den apparently without conscious thought. Settling into the armchair she’d selected as hers, she picked up her book and tried to escape into the history of gardening.
Ryder tidied his desk, then went to join her. Sinking into the armchair opposite hers, he emulated her, at least as far as opening a book and attempting to read. He suspected she succeeded better than he; he was still coming to grips with his day. With the events, and the emotions they’d provoked.
This morning . . . had certainly been eye-opening. He’d had no idea he could feel such panic, to the extent that he’d been unable to think and so had acted in ways his more rational side—once it had been able to break through—had immediately recognized as unwise.
Most especially if he wished to conceal just how deeply he felt about his wife.
He hadn’t known he could care to the point of panicking to that degree. Now he knew, and that was almost more frightening.
As for her suggestion that the adder might have been intended for him . . . he couldn’t make up his mind if he should be relieved that she might not have been the intended victim, or horrified that, as Barnaby had foreseen, she had nearly become an incidental casualty of some madman’s attempt to kill him.
At the thought, his emotions threatened to geyser again; determinedly he pushed it away. No sense torturing himself with what-ifs and maybes. More pertinently, he had her reaction on learning the news to assimilate. To wonder at. He knew he hadn’t gauged her temper wrongly; she should have come at him like a brigantine with all guns brought to bear. Instead, she’d behaved . . . much more reasonably than he had.
Either she was far more placid and mild-tempered than he’d thought, or . . . she’d understood why he’d behaved as he had.
Given he wasn’t sure he fully understood that, the thought left him feeling more exposed, and more uncertain, than he’d ever felt in his life.