The Taming of Ryder Cavanaugh (Cynster #20) - Stephanie Laurens Page 0,158

day, and the next, and to all that their lives would bring.

Mary paused in the gallery at the head of the main stairs to bid her family—both sides of it—a good night, and to ensure they all remembered where their rooms were. After seeing everyone off down the right corridors, she smiled, turned, and found Ryder waiting.

As she’d known he would be.

Slipping her hand into his, she strolled by his side down the corridor to their apartments. Her heart felt buoyant; she felt like swinging their linked hands and skipping along, but now she was a marchioness that, sadly, would not accord with her dignity.

But she could smile. Ryder held the door to the sitting room open; she flashed a beaming smile at him as she stepped inside—and, catching his hand as she passed, she towed him to the left—to her bedroom. The room he’d had decorated so superbly for her, but which they’d yet to use.

Collecting the lighted candelabra from the sideboard as they passed, he followed readily enough, as, indeed, he had all day, but when she halted and swung to face him, he looked into her eyes, arched a brow. “Are you sure you want to sleep here?”

“Yes.” She held his gaze. “This morning we buried the past, this afternoon we drew a line under it, and this evening we’ve started on our future. It’s fitting that we use this room tonight—the first night on our new journey.”

Briefly, he searched her eyes, enough to see her decision, her commitment, then nodded. His lips lightly curved. “As ever, your wish is my command.”

She laughed and turned away to pull the pins from her hair.

Setting the candelabra down, Ryder watched for a moment, then shrugged off his coat. Trying to decide where in this room he would leave it, he followed the thought further . . . “I just hope we don’t cause consternation tomorrow morning when Collier and Aggie look for us and find us apparently gone.”

“They’ll realize, I’m sure. No one would dream that you and I would run away.” She presented him with her back. “Help me with these laces.”

Tossing his coat on the end of the bed, he obliged, then, leaving her to strip away her gown, he retrieved his coat and walked down the room to lay it over a chair. After stripping off his waistcoat, he set his fingers to his cravat. He’d just finished unraveling the long band when a rustle had him glancing around—in time to see a nicely naked Mary slip under the sheets.

His smile was all appreciation, not just for the brief sight but in anticipation of what he would shortly find waiting for him in the bed. The lovely bed he’d had created just for her.

They’d been married for only three weeks, yet already they were behaving like a long-married couple. He’d wondered about her unvoiced but clear preference for, most often, undressing separately, each stripping their own clothes off, until he’d realized she liked watching him disrobe. Until he’d realized that she hurried to get her own clothes off so she could lie back in the bed and watch him strip—exactly as she was doing now.

Even if she tried to undress him, if he got his hands on her first, she didn’t get to see this—him revealing himself to her. And in oh-so-many ways.

He didn’t hurry but took his time drawing the cravat away and letting it fall on his waistcoat and coat, then unbuttoning his cuffs before starting on the long placket of buttons closing his shirt.

Beneath the covers, she shifted.

Glancing down to hide his grin, he remembered something he’d been dying to ask. Perhaps tonight was the right time, now the right moment. Stripping off his shirt, he raised his head and looked at her—saw her gaze wasn’t on his face. “I wondered . . .” He waited until, reluctantly, her gaze, followed by her attention, rose to his face before continuing, “If there was anything you wanted to tell me? To share with me?”

She held his gaze for a moment, then, openly coy, arched a brow. “What sort of thing?”

He didn’t immediately reply but slipped off his shoes, sat and stripped off his stockings, then stood; refocusing on her, he prowled slowly to the bed, unfastening the buttons at his waist as he did.

Reaching the bed, he knelt on it, continued his prowling, crawling advance until he was poised on hands and knees over her, all but nose to nose. “I can count, you