The Taming of Ryder Cavanaugh (Cynster #20) - Stephanie Laurens Page 0,69
faintly and went on, “Actually, it was Sanderson, when he returned from his medical training in Edinburgh, who finally convinced me that the only way I wouldn’t die of old age was if some self-inflicted injury did for me first.”
“Remind me to thank the good doctor when next I see him.”
“Indeed. However, as had happened through my earlier years, whenever I grew out of one area of danger, another always seemed to loom, at least in Lavinia’s eyes.” Ryder met Mary’s gaze. “She’s told me, more than once, that she fully expects to hear of my death at the hands of some cuckolded husband.”
Coolly sober, Mary arched her brows. “As very nearly occurred.”
“True. If she only knew . . . but, even then, you turned up to save me.”
Mary met his eyes, held his gaze for an instant, then in a tone of discovery stated, “That’s why you’ve kept the attack so secret.”
Trapped in her eyes, he hesitated for too long for an effective denial. He shrugged. “There’s no reason to encourage her to believe she has cause to resent you.”
“Because I helped you cheat death?”
“Because you helped me avoid the one thing that would have delivered to her her ultimate desire—seeing Rand in my shoes. That’s what her focus is—it’s purely incidental that I have to die for it to happen.”
After a moment, Mary said, “Your poor brother must feel . . . quite set upon.”
“Sometimes, yes. He bears with it—she is his mother, after all. He knows I know and understand his feelings, and the others do, too, but it is, indeed, hardest on him. I, at least, can avoid her—he can’t.”
“Is that—her antipathy to you—why she doesn’t live here?”
Ryder hesitated, then admitted, “I bought her the other house . . . not just because of that.” After a moment, he went on, “At Raventhorne, she lives in the Dower House, with her own staff. Here in town, she lives in a house in Chapel Street, again with her own staff—for the same reason. After my father’s death, she . . . I suppose you might say tried to usurp me. Tried to take over the Abbey, and also this house—both are kept fully staffed. When the staff at the Abbey, and later here, too, refused to accept her orders on matters that properly needed my consent, she attempted to dismiss them.” He met Mary’s gaze. “These are all people from families that have served the Cavanaughs for generations. In the end, Lavinia became so heedlessly disruptive, I had to banish her from the house. All my houses, actually.”
Mary reviewed all he’d told her—and why he had; protectiveness was, indeed, one of his major motivating forces. She glanced at the clock—and was shocked to see the time. “Heavens!” She grabbed her reticule. “I really must go—I’m due at a luncheon at my aunt Celia’s.”
Ryder rose to his feet as she stood.
Turning to the door, she started tugging on her gloves. “Is there anything else I should know about your stepmother and your relationship with her, or with your half siblings?”
Falling in beside her, he went to shake his head, then stopped. “Perhaps one other thing.”
Glancing up at his face, she arched her brows invitingly.
Shifting his gaze to the floor, he walked several paces alongside her before saying, “On his deathbed, when I was sitting alone with my father, he asked me to promise I would marry well and continue the line. By that point, he had grown to distrust Lavinia, and he . . .”
When he didn’t continue, she filled in, “He didn’t want her blood in the main line?”
His lips twisted. “Yes. Exactly.”
Connecting the facts . . . she opened her eyes wide. “And that, I suppose, explains why you were in the ballrooms at all, enough to bump into me and realize I was pursuing Randolph.” Reaching the door, she paused and faced him, waiting for him to open it.
Halting, he looked down at her, searched her eyes, her face, then, voice low, said, “It’s exceedingly tempting to leave you believing that, but in the interests of complete honesty, I was hunting you—specifically you—for days before I realized it was Randolph you had misguidedly set your sights upon.”
She tried to keep her eyes from narrowing on his. “Why?” He seemed disposed to answering her questions, and that one ranked at the top of her list.
Without moving, he said, “For the same reasons I gave you on Lady Bracewell’s terrace.”