The Taming of Ryder Cavanaugh (Cynster #20) - Stephanie Laurens Page 0,58
the sofa, turned a stunned face to him—digested that.
“I had wondered,” Vane eventually said, “why any thief in his right mind would accost you.”
“No matter how dark the alley,” Gabriel said, “they had to have been able to see your size.”
Ryder nodded. “And I was openly carrying a swordstick. Any of the miscreants who frequent this area know well enough to be wary, even if they can’t be sure it is, indeed, anything more than a cane.”
“But the two who attacked you—it was two?” Devil asked. When Ryder nodded, Devil continued, “They weren’t so aware.”
“No. They weren’t. But they did know my customary route home from the south—I almost always walk if I attend an event in Mayfair.”
“As do we all.” Vane leaned forward. “But are you saying they were lying in wait?”
“Not just lying in wait but in the perfect position to best ambush me—along a short stretch, no more than ten yards, where the alley to the south narrows so much I can only just pass freely through.”
Gabriel grimaced. “The one place where you would be most vulnerable.”
“What you’re saying”—Devil’s green eyes had narrowed—“is that you were specifically targeted. By whom?”
Ryder inclined his head. “And that is a question to which I have no answer.”
“Your two attackers?”
“Sadly, dead. I . . . ah, slew them before I realized I might need to question them as to who’d hired them. However, I had a private investigator examine the bodies before having them carted off to the police, and he’s searched, but other than confirming that the pair were killers-for-hire more normally employed around the docks, and that they and their services had been solicited by an unknown man of indeterminate years and character, the investigator got no further. His inquiries have met a dead end.”
“So,” Gabriel said, “the question is: Who would want you dead?”
Ryder lightly shrugged. “As to that, I have no idea.”
A short silence was broken by Vane’s wife, Patience. “I hesitate to mention it, but I suspect there are several gentlemen of the ton who would happily see you if not dead, then severely wounded.”
Ryder managed to convert his grin to a grimace. “Actually, no. Not that many, if any. I fear that, at least in that regard, my reputation has been somewhat exaggerated.”
Honoria humphed. When Ryder met her eyes, she stated, “That I find very hard to believe. However, I can think of one instance that might prove relevant. Lady Fitzhugh.”
He stared at Honoria, then slowly shook his head. “I don’t think I’ve even met Lady Fitzhugh.”
Honoria nodded. “I didn’t think so—she’s not at all your type. A more highly strung female I’ve yet to meet. However, I know for a fact that she has used a supposed liaison with you to goad her husband into fits of jealousy—and Fitzhugh, one must remember, is a red-haired Scotsman with a temper to match.”
“I’ve heard him railing about you myself,” Alathea, Gabriel’s wife, said. “He was all but apoplectic.”
“True,” Gabriel said, “but in all fairness to Fitzhugh, if he was disposed to come after you, he would be more likely to do it in person.”
“I wouldn’t be so sure of that,” Devil said. “I heard a tale last night that last week he’d been frothing in fury over some new jibe by his wife, and the next day he packed her up and hied north to that castle of his in the Highlands.” Devil met Ryder’s eyes. “While I hesitate to voice the possibility, I could imagine Fitzhugh being so consumed by rage that, in lieu of being able to deal with you himself, he had two thugs hired to exact his vengeance.”
Ryder looked his disgust. “But I don’t even know the woman.”
“Sadly, Fitzhugh doesn’t know that.” Vane met Ryder’s eyes. “But one way or another, we can take care of that. And if it was Fitzhugh behind the attack, it’s unlikely there’ll be another.”
Ryder inclined his head. “True.” He glanced at Mary. “Tea?”
Mary blinked, then nodded and rose. “I’ll ring.”
Pemberly and the kitchen had the tea tray waiting; he carried it in and at Mary’s direction set it on the low table before the sofa.
Mary glanced questioningly at Honoria.
Honoria smiled. “The position will soon be yours. You pour.”
Mary did. Gabriel helped hand around the cups, and the conversation shifted into a more social vein.
Mary knew that her cousins’ wives were eager to ask questions, questions they couldn’t ask while Ryder and their husbands were hovering.
Eventually, however, Gabriel drifted up the long room, drawn to examine the