The Taming of Ryder Cavanaugh (Cynster #20) - Stephanie Laurens Page 0,147

lathered horses into the forecourt, he drew the curtain fully closed. “Wait here. I’ll go and let him in.”

By the time Ryder reached the front door and swung it open, Rand was striding up the steps.

He checked his pace at the sight of Ryder in the doorway.

Even in the poor light, Ryder could tell Rand’s face was unnaturally pale, his features drawn—and clearly saw those features transform, saw them light up with relief and unrestrained joy as Rand took in the sight of him.

“You’re all right!” Quickening his pace, Rand crossed the porch.

Ryder gestured. “As you see—but come in.”

As Rand stepped past him, Ryder saw the shadowy figures of his men drift in to take the curricle around the house. Shutting the door, he turned to find Rand looking him up and down.

A puzzled frown forming on his face, Rand met Ryder’s eyes. “You’re not even injured.”

“No. Not in the least.” Ryder waved him into the drawing room and Rand instinctively obeyed, but as Ryder followed him in and shut the door, he could see the questions forming in Rand’s mind.

Seeing Mary, Rand halted, then moved forward, holding out his hands. “Mary.”

“Randolph.” She gave him her hands and Rand bussed her proffered cheek.

But as he drew back, he looked even more confused. He glanced at Ryder. “Clearly, you’re both well.”

Ryder arched a brow. “Why did you think we weren’t? And why are you here?”

“For one and the same reason.” His frown deepening, Rand reached into his pocket and drew out a note. He handed it to Ryder, then glanced from him to Mary. “And if it comes to that, what are you two doing here? Where’s Mama?”

Smoothing out the note, Ryder scanned its few lines, then offered the single sheet to Mary. “As it transpires, it appears we’re all here as part of the same game.”

Taking the note, Mary read it aloud. “ ‘Randolph, dearest. Come urgently, darling—something’s gone terribly wrong at the abbey. Come to the Dower House first, and I’ll explain.’ ” Raising her head, Mary looked at Ryder. “When did she write this?”

At Ryder’s inquiring look, Rand shrugged. “It was delivered by courier. I got it at nine o’clock and left as soon as I could.”

“So assuming she didn’t dispatch it from here,” Ryder said, “but from somewhere closer to London, then the latest she could have written this was about six o’clock.”

Lips tightening, Mary nodded her agreement.

Rand looked from one to the other. “What’s going on?” A thread of weary wariness wound through his voice. He sighed. “What’s Mama done now, and where is she?”

“At a guess, she’s been out since early afternoon, possibly even earlier. As for what she’s done . . . I believe it would be best if you hear that from her.”

Rand studied Ryder’s face, then nodded. “All right.”

The three of them turned to the sofa and chairs but halted. All raised their heads, listening. Mary met Ryder’s eyes. “Another carriage.”

“Also racketing along.” Ryder went to look through the curtains, Rand at his shoulder.

“That’s Kit’s curricle,” Rand said.

“And he’s got Stacie and Godfrey with him.” Ryder glanced at Rand. “She must have sent notes to all of you.”

Rand nodded. “I’ll let them in.”

He went out, and Ryder returned to stand beside Mary. Rand had left the drawing room door open. They heard Kit yell, “What’s happened?”

“Nothing, apparently,” Rand replied. “Ryder and Mary are here—come inside.”

Stacie reached Rand first. “My God! Are they really all right? That’s all I could think that Mama’s note meant.”

The next instant Stacie rushed into the drawing room, saw Ryder and Mary, and all but flew across the room to hug first Ryder, then Mary. “Thank God you’re all right!”

Then Godfrey and Kit came in, followed by Rand, who closed the door. Hugs and transparently genuine exclamations of relief came first, then the questions.

Having had time to think, Ryder held to his tack of refusing to answer the latter, other than to assure his half siblings that he and Mary were indeed as hale and whole as they appeared. Standing with his back to the fireplace, he kept his hands clasped behind his back; he’d torn several nails while wrestling with the stone blocks, and that was the sort of thing Stacie might notice.

Although puzzled, the four accepted his edict readily enough, all so relieved by his continuing health that they were willing to humor him. Seizing on that, he said, “When your mother arrives . . . it would be best you hear what she has to