The Taming of Ryder Cavanaugh (Cynster #20) - Stephanie Laurens Page 0,63

a family worked.

Mary possessed that inherent understanding.

Even though she’d picked up the oddity and strain of his relationship with Lavinia, and had realized, he was sure, that it impacted on his half siblings, too, she’d already reached out to the four, was already—before his very eyes—making the sort of interconnections he’d hoped she would.

As the minutes rolled by and those burgeoning connections only deepened and grew stronger, as the laughter—more laughter than this house had heard in many a long year—rolled through the room, he wished it didn’t have to end so soon. Turning to Rand, under cover of one of Kit’s tall tales, he asked, “I’m not going out, so will be dining early. Can you stay?”

“Yes—of course.” Rand glanced at Mary, then looked at Ryder.

He nodded, and when Kit concluded his tale, Ryder put the notion of a shared early dinner—“a family dinner”—to a vote. His other half siblings instantly agreed.

Ryder turned to Mary. “We would count ourselves honored if you would stay and dine with us.” Capturing her hand, he raised it to his lips, his eyes on hers brushed a kiss to her fingertips. “Please do.”

Muted catcalls came from Kit and Godfrey.

Mary ignored them and smiled into his eyes. “Thank you. I would be delighted to join you”—she glanced at the others—“and the rest of your family.”

Ryder grinned. “Excellent.” Retaining his hold on her hand, he glanced at Rand. “Ring for Pemberly, Rand—” He broke off as the front doorbell rang again. He arched his brows. “Now who?”

Along with the others, Mary looked toward the door.

Pemberly entered to announce, “Mr. and Mrs. Simon Cynster, Miss Henrietta Cynster, and Mr. James Glossup, my lord.”

Mary rose with the others; she stood beside Ryder as her brother, sister, sister-in-law, and soon-to-be brother-in-law walked in. Stepping forward, she greeted them and made the introductions.

Congratulations and the inevitable quips flowed once again. For several minutes as the two groups merged, greetings and comments, exclamations and explanations wrapped the company in a pleasant hubbub.

Eventually leaving Simon and James chatting with Ryder and his half siblings, Mary turned to Portia and Henrietta.

Henrietta said, “Mama wasn’t sure what you were planning for the evening. As we’d just returned and heard your news, we offered to come and either bring you home with us, or else take home word of your plans.”

“I see.” Mary hesitated, then looked up as Ryder joined them. “Henrietta was just asking about my plans for the evening. How large is your dining table?”

Ryder smiled, all lazy lion, down at her. “The big one seats forty-eight, but as we’re only ten, we can use the family dining room.”

Mary looked back at Henrietta, then at Portia. “Have you any plans yourself for tonight? Or can you stay and join all of us here for an early dinner?”

Portia glanced at Henrietta, then looked back at Mary. “As we weren’t sure when we’d be back . . .” Glancing at Ryder, she explained, “We’d gone to Wiltshire to deal with some matter at James’s estate—I’ve already cried off all events for tonight, so for myself I would be delighted to stay. And I’m sure Simon will be, too.”

“You can count on me and James.” Henrietta looked across at the others and grinned. “It will be like having our own impromptu engagement dinner.”

Ryder’s smile deepened. “Excellent.” He looked down at Mary. “If you would ring for Pemberly, my dear?”

Meeting his eyes, seeing very clearly how happy he was with the direction in which she’d steered events, she inclined her head. “Of course.”

Chapter Eight

The following morning, Mary sat in the window seat in the back parlor of her parents’ house and studied the formal notice of her betrothal that had appeared in that day’s Gazette.

While one part of her mind remained faintly stunned that this was where her quest for her hero had landed her, the greater part was . . . already relishing the challenge.

Absentmindedly toying with the rose quartz pendant, she read the notice again. Her eyes dwelled on Ryder’s full name: Ryder Montgomery Sinclair Cavanaugh. His middle names, she had not a doubt, would be past marchionesses’ family names; when combined with Cavanaugh, his name was redolent of the power and majesty of England’s nobility.

Challenge. It was there, staring her in the face, impossible for any to deny—not that anyone would; Ryder’s character was known the length and breadth of the ton.

But this particular challenge, the one he had with his customary arrogance laid at her feet, was hers alone to meet. No