The Taming of Ryder Cavanaugh (Cynster #20) - Stephanie Laurens Page 0,34
to change your mind.”
She stared up at him for several moments, then, in a tone to mirror his, asked almost conversationally, “Do you know how many people have tried to change my mind about something and given up in abject defeat?”
“I had heard. Your reputation precedes you.”
Tilting her head, she studied him, then asked, “If you know so much about me, about my character, why do you want to marry me?”
And that was the truly critical question. The one he couldn’t answer, for the simple reason he wasn’t sure of the truth himself. Dropping his gaze, he adjusted one sleeve. “Because, contrary to your current belief, we will suit very well, you and I.” Raising his eyes to hers, he went on, “There’s no reason I can see for you to resist, but I feel honor-bound to point out that resistance, in this case, isn’t likely to discourage me.” He held her gaze. “I already know you too well.”
That got her tipping her nose in the air. “You understand nothing about me if you believe considerations of that nature are likely to sway me.”
He could have argued the point, but instead grasped the chance to ask, “What is important to you then?”
“Independence. Being in charge—of my own life, certainly, but also those about me. The freedom to act as I choose without forever having to gain a husband’s consent.”
The answers had come so instantly that, given the fervor in her tone and the defiant tilt of her chin, he could not doubt those aspects were critical to her.
Her gaze locked with his. “And you should bear in mind that, regardless of what you might try to tell me, I know your kind. You’re a despot—a genial, amiable, caring one maybe, but a despot all the same.”
He couldn’t argue that, yet . . . holding her gaze, he studied her, considered, then more softly said, “Has it never occurred to you that even despots might be willing to . . . shall we say, find ways to accommodate a lady, a specific, independent, strong-willed, intelligent, and willful lady, who they want as their bride?”
The thought . . . Mary suddenly felt like Randolph and his friends must have, abruptly staring down into a chasm that had unexpectedly opened at their feet. Searching Ryder’s hazel eyes, something very like vertigo sent her thoughts, all her previous certainties, spinning . . . “I . . .”
“Don’t know what to say?” He lightly shrugged. “At this point, you don’t have to say anything.”
A general movement of couples back into the ballroom had them both glancing along the terrace; it appeared the ball was winding down.
“We should go in.” She inwardly acknowledged a craven desire to bring this astonishing conversation to an end—before she did something truly silly, like ask him what accommodations—
No. That way lay temptation of a kind she wasn’t yet prepared to face.
She knew what he was, and he hadn’t sought to deny it. Not that denial would have done any good . . .
Instead, he’d offered her something she’d never imagined might exist, a novel option, a chance to seize something she hadn’t known could ever be there to be grasped.
She drew in a breath. Temptation, indeed, and he was intelligent enough, insightful enough, to have guessed how much it would appeal to her.
Which only made him even more dangerous—to her, to her future, to her peace of mind.
He’d been studying the thinning crowd through the windows; with a nod, he stepped back and offered his arm. “Sadly, yes. We can’t remain here any longer.”
Ryder had spotted a shocked face through the window—a face whose owner he would have wished hadn’t been in the ballroom at all, much less that she’d seen what she had, little though that had been.
He didn’t need Lavinia leaping to any conclusions about him and his current direction. Especially not conclusions that were correct.
Mary placed her hand lightly on his arm and fell in beside him as, with passable savoir faire, they strolled back along the terrace.
As they neared the doors into the ballroom, she glanced up at him. Waited until he met her eyes to declare, “I am not going to allow you to seduce me.”
A reckless challenge. He was curious as to how she thought she might stop him, but all he said was, “Just don’t try to avoid me—trust me, that won’t work.” He wouldn’t allow it.
She studied his eyes for a moment more, as if hearing, and reluctantly accepting as true, the