The Taming of Ryder Cavanaugh (Cynster #20) - Stephanie Laurens Page 0,44

to dab again, “that I sew him up, and then we wait. If he wakes, we can proceed from there with more confidence, but whether he wakes . . . I regret to inform you that that is still in question.”

The relief in the room abruptly faded.

Sanderson finished his inspection, cleansed the wound’s surrounds, then plied his needle. Mary watched, quite literally unable not to.

At last all was done, the wound rebandaged and the covers tucked around Ryder again. While washing his hands, Sanderson gave orders for the fire to be lit and the room to be allowed to warm. “But not to the point of being a hothouse. Just normal, reasonable warmth.” He glanced at the assembled staff. “Do not allow him to overheat. That won’t help.”

“Yes, Doctor,” the three chorused.

Finally, Sanderson returned to the bed. He checked Ryder’s pulse, then looked across the bed at Mary, once again seated in the straight-backed chair on the bed’s other side. “His heartbeat’s still steady, but barely the right side of thready, much too weak. His pulse is unusually slow. I wish I could give us all better hope, but the truth is it’s still touch and go.” He drew a tight breath, then said, “I expect we’ll know by morning, when he wakes.”

Her gaze on Ryder’s face, Mary nodded, understanding that Sanderson meant if he wakes. Without looking up, she said, “I’ll stay. Until he wakes.”

If Ryder was going to die, she couldn’t let him die alone.

Sanderson studied her silently for several moments; she could feel his gaze but didn’t meet it, then from the corner of her eye she saw him incline his head. “I have an accouchement to attend—the boy has already come to call me. I’ll return as soon as I can, but that will most likely be late morning. Regardless, if there’s any change for the worse, send word—I’ll leave my direction with Pemberly.”

She nodded in farewell. Thanking Sanderson wasn’t her place, and more, thanking him would be an insult to the devotion he so clearly felt toward Ryder.

With murmurs to the others, Sanderson left.

His mention of the wider world had reminded Mary that it was still there; John and Peter would be waiting downstairs, and Hudson and the staff in Upper Brook Street would soon start worrying about where they all were. Looking up, she said, “Pemberly—if you would fetch paper, pen, and ink, I should like to write a note for my coachman to take to my home.”

“Of course, miss. Right away.”

Before Pemberly could depart, Collier volunteered, “His lordship’s traveling writing case is in the dressing room next door, miss—if that would do?”

“Thank you—that would be perfect.”

By the time Collier fetched the writing case and laid it on the bed before her, she’d realized she had two notes to write. One to Hudson, to relieve any anxiety as to her safety, and a second to her parents, to be handed to them the instant they crossed the threshold that morning, in case she had not by then returned home.

Both notes were straightforward and to the point, the first simply telling Hudson that all was well and not to worry, the second explaining her absence in more detail and asking her parents to come to Ryder’s house as soon as they could.

Their arrival would lend her all the countenance she required and, if Ryder had not yet woken, the support she suspected she would need.

Mrs. Perkins fussed about the room, tidying things away, then, with a last look at the bed, she left. Still keeping station by the door, in hushed tones Pemberly discussed keeping watch with Collier.

Mary folded the note to her parents, wrote their names and the instructions for delivery on the outside, then enclosed that note inside her missive to Hudson, and inscribed the resulting package with his name.

Waving the packet to dry the ink, she turned to Pemberly. “Please give this to John, my coachman, and tell him he and Peter are to return to Upper Brook Street and deliver it to Hudson, my parents’ butler.”

Accepting the packet, Pemberly bowed. “At once, miss.” Straightening, he waited while Collier cleared the traveling writing case away, then said, “If there’s anything we can do for you, miss—anything at all—please let us know.”

Collier softly added his agreement.

Finding a faint smile, Mary trained it on the pair; their gratitude for her help, for her rescue of Ryder and even more for her staying and holding them together, shone plainly in their faces. “Thank you. Should