The Taming of Ryder Cavanaugh (Cynster #20) - Stephanie Laurens Page 0,125
he was reacting as he was was proof that what she’d hoped from the first would evolve between them was developing exactly as she wished. Yet she knew from experience with the males in her family just how entrenched such overprotective feelings in men like him could grow to be, and he was, indeed, a classic example of that type of male.
“I suggest,” she said before he could suggest something else, “that I remain within the house or the immediate grounds for the next few days, and with everyone on alert, let’s see what comes. With luck, we might catch whoever it is next time they try to creep inside.”
Ryder grunted, but he didn’t disagree, and she was content enough with that.
“Meanwhile,” she continued, “perhaps we can consult with Barnaby and Penelope, and also widen our search for someone in the ton who might wish you ill.”
“Hmm.” Ryder drained his glass, then rose. “I’ll draft a letter to Adair now.” He glanced down at her. “I trust you’ll want to add a note to Penelope?”
She nodded. “Yes—you write, and I’ll add it at the end.” After she’d read what he’d written.
While he crossed to the desk, she viewed her current strategy; keeping them both busy doing whatever they could to identify whoever was behind the spate of attacks while simultaneously doing everything she could to avoid further incidents seemed indubitably wise.
He and she had come so far; she was not of a mind to allow some villain to pull apart all they’d achieved.
“So she’s still alive?”
“Yes. Caught sight of her this morning strolling on the terrace.”
“This isn’t good enough. You told me you could manage it.”
“I can, easily enough, but you insisted it had to look like an accident. There’s only so many ways that can possibly be done, and in every case—as she and his lordship have proved—there’s always a chance death won’t be the result.”
“Damn him! He’s always had the devil’s own luck, and now she, it seems, is just as favored.”
“That may be so, but if you want my advice, if you truly want them removed, you’re going to have to allow us to try something more direct and definite. Something certain of working, once and for all.”
A long silence ensued, then, “What do you have in mind?”
Chapter Fourteen
A week passed in untrammeled peace.
“Finally.” Strolling into the gallery on the way to the drawing room prior to dinner, Mary paused to draw in a deep breath, then let it out on a happy sigh. She listened; letting her senses expand, she detected the expected scurrying of footmen in the dining room and Forsythe’s majestic tread. Everything seemed calm, nothing out of place.
Ryder would already be waiting in the drawing room; they’d fallen into the habit of starting the exchange of their day’s activities there, then continuing through dinner, before retiring to the library, where she would read and he would finish any outstanding business or correspondence before joining her, either in reading or heading up the stairs to his bed.
Expectation welling, she started down the stairs.
They’d been at the abbey for nearly three weeks and at last the regulated serenity she considered the norm for any well-run noble house had been established and now prevailed. Running such a household was all but second nature to her; she’d been bred to fill such a position, and it accorded well with her personality. She liked to run things and have them run well—and the abbey household was hers.
Its master was hers, too, although in a significantly different sense.
Initially, she’d viewed the attacks on her as an unmitigated negative, but over the last fortnight her attitude had changed. She now considered not the attacks but the demands they had forced on her and Ryder to quite possibly have been the making of them as a couple.
She couldn’t imagine any situation that could have so rapidly compelled them to deal with the most fraught aspects of love. The nuances and outcomes of his feelings for her, and hers for him.
Over the last weeks, she’d learned a lot, and not all of it about him.
He’d been learning, too, and his deeper understanding now colored every interaction between them.
Stepping off the last stair, lips curving, she headed for the drawing room. Regally inclining her head to the footman who opened the door, she sailed through—and saw Ryder waiting as he usually was, one foot propped on the brass hearth surround, one arm resting on the mantelpiece.