The Taming of Ryder Cavanaugh (Cynster #20) - Stephanie Laurens Page 0,62

from. He made me promise not to tell anyone, but”—Rand glanced at his siblings—“obviously he didn’t mean this lot.”

Ryder had his doubts about that, but . . . “Very well. Let’s sit down like civilized people and I’ll tell you all.”

“But where are you hurt?” Stacie took his arm as if to assist him to a chair.

Ryder didn’t budge. “My side, which means I’m perfectly able to walk.”

Stacie met his eyes, then wrinkled her nose at him. “Then do—to a chair.”

Ryder chuckled and did, but he elected to sit beside Mary on the chaise. The others all subsided into the various chairs, all fixing demandingly inquisitive gazes on his face. Inwardly sighing, he gave them a severely edited version of events—which naturally led to all four expressing their heartfelt thanks to Mary.

She accepted the accolades with serene calm and the observation “It was the least I could do.”

“Yes, well.” Ryder took back the conversational reins. “That’s not my only news. Miss Cynster has done me the honor of accepting my offer for her hand, and will therefore soon be your sister-in-law.”

“Really?” Stacie sat up, eyes widening, totally distracted from his injury. “There’s to be a wedding?”

Rand leapt in to offer his congratulations, and the others followed suit. There could be little doubt of either their sincerity or their enthusiasm; Ryder sat back and watched Mary laugh, then more freely interact with the four.

And felt an unacknowledged little weight lift from his shoulders.

He’d always stood as protector for the four; for him, for his peace of mind, it was essential that his wife see them in the same light, acknowledging as he did their right to his attention. He would never put them above her, yet equally he would never refuse them whatever aid and succor they required.

It was Stacie who asked, “I take it Mama doesn’t know—about either the attack or your betrothal?”

“Not about the attack—and if you please, do keep that to yourselves. There’s no point bruiting such a piece of information abroad.” He’d given them the most likely explanation for the attack, that some cuckolded—or supposedly cuckolded—husband had thought to remove him from competition for some lady’s favors. “But as to our betrothal, of that Lavinia is already aware, and as for the wider ton, the notice will appear in the Gazette tomorrow.”

“Oh. But then I haven’t really seen Mama for the last two days—I’ve been out with friends.” Stacie turned pensive. “I wonder what invitations I have that will serve to keep me out of the house tomorrow?”

Kit laughed and teased her over not wanting to face their mother; Stacie countered that he and Rand didn’t live under the same roof, so did not have the same pressing need as she and Godfrey to take evasive action.

Rand groaned. “I’ll have to, I’m sure.” He glanced at Ryder. “She’ll want to haul me over the coals for not getting leg-shackled myself.”

“You and me, both,” Kit replied. “Godfrey, at least, is too young—you’ll escape the repercussions, pup.”

Ryder caught the faintly puzzled glance Mary threw him and almost imperceptibly nodded, indicating that he would explain later.

Predictably, Stacie had questions about everything—about when they’d first met, why they’d decided they would suit, and when he’d proposed—and, of course, how; while his brothers did not have quite the same focus, they were curious, too, but Mary proved as nimble as he in skirting those issues they did not wish to air. She then turned the questioning back on his siblings, exploiting her soon-to-be position to learn more about them.

Somewhat to Ryder’s surprise, his half sister and half brothers responded readily to her interrogation and were soon treating her with the same openness they accorded him. As the comments, quips, and questions swirled, and Mary—closer to his half siblings’ ages than he—all but became one of them, he smiled and relaxed, too.

His immediate family—this family—had never been stable, had never had the firm foundation and solidity of the Cynsters, an unshakeable base he suspected Mary and her cousins took for granted; they’d never known anything else.

Such rock-solid cohesion, based on loyalty and devotion and unquestioned trust, was something he’d yearned for from his earliest years. As he’d grown, that yearning had grown with him, melding into and coloring his view of his ideal future.

He’d known he could never have that sort of family—could never build his own Cavanaugh version of it—without the right wife. Without a wife who innately understood all that family could and should mean. Who understood how, at base, such