The Taming of Ryder Cavanaugh (Cynster #20) - Stephanie Laurens Page 0,153
us will wait in the drawing room.” Without looking at Lavinia, he reached for Mary. “We’ll need to discuss what to do.”
Twining her arm with his, Mary walked beside him out of the basement, collecting Stacie and Godfrey as they went, leaving Rand and Kit to deal with their mother.
Now very definitely a murderess.
Tea was the universal remedy.
At Mary’s suggestion, Caldicott, who had remained on duty, brought in a tray. In addition to two teapots, he’d set out some pound cake on a plate.
Watching Godfrey crumble a slice rather than eat it, Mary said, “You must be starving.”
Godfrey looked down at the mound of crumbs, sighed. “I am—but I don’t think I’ll be able to eat anything in this house again.”
Stacie shivered. “Let alone in Chapel Street.”
Mary glanced at Ryder, then reached out to close her hand around one of Stacie’s. “Don’t worry about that. You’ll be staying with us, of course.” She looked across at Godfrey. “Both of you.”
The looks of relief combined with real gratitude that passed over their faces were heart-wrenching.
The door opened and Randolph, followed by Kit, walked in.
Mary held up the teapot, a question in her eyes. Randolph caught his breath, then saw the glass of brandy in Ryder’s hand. “Ah—no, thank you.” He turned to see Kit already at the sideboard pouring two glasses. “That speaks more to my need.”
Once Randolph and Kit, glasses of brandy in hand, had settled in two armchairs, Ryder glanced around the circle, then said, “So what do we do?”
“It has to be incarceration,” Randolph declared. “The only question is where.”
Kit nodded and leaned forward, cradling his glass between his hands. “It can’t be here, for obvious reasons, nor yet on any of the family estates—too hard to keep it secret. Yet where else is possible, and—more to the point—I’m not sure I would trust anyone except us not to be drawn in by her . . . well, her ways.”
Grimly, Godfrey nodded. “She doesn’t look like a woman who would pull out her scarf pin and stab a man through the eye.”
Stacie didn’t say anything, just hugged herself tighter.
Ryder sat back. “I’ll support whatever decision you make, as long as it will keep me and mine safe from her and her plotting.”
“That goes without saying.” Randolph looked into his glass, swirling the liquid. “I understand now why you insisted we had to hear it from her.” Abruptly, he drained the glass; lowering it, he admitted, “If you’d told me that—even if I’d heard it from those men without her sitting there, listening and not reacting, and then not denying it—I honestly don’t think I would truly have believed—”
A scream cut off his words. They all looked up in time to see a shape fall past the windows.
“Oh, no!” Hands to her face, Stacie shot to her feet.
Everyone else did, too. Mary held Stacie back, let the men rush ahead, Randolph and Kit in the lead, Godfrey close behind. Pausing in the doorway, Ryder glanced back and saw Mary following more slowly with Stacie; he met her eyes, briefly nodded, then went ahead.
By the time Mary and Stacie reached the front steps, Randolph and Kit had covered their mother’s body with their coats.
Mary was grateful; she’d had more than enough shocks for one day, and she knew Stacie was at the end of her reserves. She and her brothers had had to face more in a few hours than anyone ever should have to endure.
Ryder came to Stacie’s other side and helped her down the steps.
The three of them drew nearer but halted when Stacie’s faltering feet did not seem to want to go further.
Her brothers saw her standing there, trembling in Mary’s arms, Ryder’s arm around her shoulders, and one by one they left their mother’s body and joined them—the living.
Mary and Ryder surrendered Stacie into Kit’s arms.
Randolph came to stand beside Ryder, his face a mask of shock. “Did she jump, do you think, or did she fall while trying to escape?”
Ryder hesitated, then said, “I can’t imagine her even contemplating suicide, can you?”
One after another, they shook their heads.
“In that case,” Ryder said, “as we’re all agreed, I can declare her death an accident.”
“She would have wanted that—it will gain her some sympathy. It was always about her.” Randolph glanced back at the shrouded body lying on the gravel. “It was always all about her.”
Mary let a moment of silence pass, then briskly stated, “Very well. Now that’s been decided, let’s go back inside. We have