The Taming of Ryder Cavanaugh (Cynster #20) - Stephanie Laurens Page 0,146
the steps to the front door. A small lamp high on the wall was still burning, shedding a pool of light immediately before the door but leaving the space to either side in deep shadow.
Halting in the light, Ryder nodded at Dukes. Leading the six men who were melting back into the dimness on either side of the door, Dukes pulled a dangling chain, and in the distance they heard a bell jangle.
Dukes joined his men, indiscernible in the gloom.
A minute passed, then they heard the measured tread of a butler’s footsteps approaching, then the latch was lifted and the door swung open.
The middle-aged butler who stood in the doorway, a lanky footman hovering behind him, blinked in surprise. “My lord?”
“Good evening, Caldicott.” Sweeping Mary forward, Ryder ushered her in.
Caldicott fell back, uncertain. “My lord?” Then Caldicott saw the seven large men crowding the doorway behind them. “What . . . ? My lord!” Caldicott’s eyes went wide and he looked back at Ryder. “Her ladyship—”
“Is, I understand, not presently here.” Ryder caught and held Caldicott’s gaze. “You know who owns this house, and who in reality pays the wages of all those who work here.”
Caldicott hesitated, then carefully nodded. “Indeed, my lord.”
“That being so, speaking as the ultimate employer of all the staff here, this is what I want you to do.”
Five minutes later, the household was secure. The Dower House staff were confined in the kitchen, with two of the abbey footmen standing guard inside the door leading to the kitchens and another blocking the back door. Snickert and his two helpers, reportedly belligerently mutinous, were sitting atop the stacked sacks of grain in the basement, watched over by Dukes and three of the abbey men, all armed. The abbey coach had been driven into the stable yard, out of sight of the front of the house; Ridges and Filmore were in charge in the stable yard, waiting for Lavinia’s carriage to roll in.
Satisfied, Ryder led Mary into the unlighted drawing room and shut the door. Through the gloom, he met her eyes. “Now we wait.”
She nodded, looked around, then crossed to a chaise and sat. “Why didn’t you want Snickert and the other two to see or hear us? Or to in any way learn that we’ve escaped their trap?”
Ryder had had Dukes take charge of securing Snickert, giving orders for the abbey staff to behave as if they had no idea where he and Mary were. He paused by a table to light the lamp atop it. “Because while Snickert and his cronies think they hold the winning card—that you and I are still trapped below them—they’ll be much easier to manage. Snickert, at least, will believe to the last that Lavinia will be grateful enough to get them out of any potential difficulty . . . and, in truth, if you and I were still missing, no amount of suspicion of foul deeds befalling us would get the abbey staff or even the authorities anywhere.”
He’d also sworn Caldicott and the footman who had come to the door to secrecy regarding his and Mary’s presence, then had allowed them to rejoin the others in the kitchen. That neither Caldicott nor the rest of the staff had any idea what had been going on had been transparent enough; Dukes had reported that they were puzzled and confused, but willing enough to wait in the kitchen and allow whatever game their betters were engaged in to play out elsewhere.
The wick of the lamp caught and Ryder turned the flame low. Replacing the lamp glass, he glanced at the window. Mary had realized and was already on her feet. Crossing to the wide bay window, she hauled one long heavy curtain halfway across, then went to the other side and started to draw its mate, but then paused. Screened by the curtain, she stared out through the narrow gap remaining. “There’s a carriage—a curricle, I think—coming up the drive. Whoever’s driving it, they’re in a furious rush.”
Frowning, Ryder circled to peer over her head. Using the curtain as a screen as she was, he looked out.
Glancing up, Mary saw his frown deepen. “Who is it?”
His expression grew grimmer. “Rand.” His hand clenched on the edge of the curtain, then he met her eyes. “I still don’t believe he had anything to do with this.”
She let her lips curve. “Nor do I.”
Ryder studied her eyes, read her confidence in his judgment, then, glancing up as, gravel crunching, Rand angled his