The Taming of Ryder Cavanaugh (Cynster #20) - Stephanie Laurens Page 0,78

it was. Hearing Pemberly’s even steps, then the sound of the bolts being drawn, he halted in the corridor; continuing to unravel his cravat, he strained his ears.

Pemberly said something, then the door shut, almost drowning out the reply someone made . . . someone female.

The possibility that, having heard of his engagement, one of his previous lovers had come to call flashed through his mind. Muttering a curse, he stopped untying his cravat and strode down the corridor.

Frowning, he swung into the gallery—

Mary ran into him.

“Oof!”

Instinctively he wrapped his arms around her, preventing her from staggering back. Frowning still, he looked down at her. “What are you doing here?” He blinked. “Has something happened?”

She looked up at him. “No.” She studied his face, then pulled back; reluctantly, he made himself let go.

Before he could say anything, she waved him back.

Increasingly puzzled, rather than comply he glanced over the balustrade and saw Pemberly, door relocked, bolts in place, retreating toward his quarters, bearing away the lamp that he’d brought to light his way.

As darkness reclaimed his front hall, Ryder looked again at Mary; she’d wound a shawl about her shoulders but otherwise was dressed as she had been at the ball. “I repeat, what are you doing here?”

One part of him knew, but his mind was madly scrambling, trying to decide if this was a good idea or a bad idea—for her, and for him.

She tipped up her chin. “Coming to see you, of course.”

“You saw me, were talking to me, only half an hour ago.”

She wiggled her head impatiently. “That was there. This is here.”

An unarguable fact.

But they were standing in his darkened gallery, lit only by the moonlight streaming through the big skylight, and in addition to being only half dressed, he was more than half aroused; even though a foot of clear space lay between them, he could still feel the warmth of her in his arms, feel the imprint of her body against his. After the last days, after the elemental desires unexpectedly spurred by that so-much-more-than-anticipated waltz . . . he wasn’t at all sure her being there was a good thing.

Certainly not if she’d come to talk.

He managed to manufacture a sigh, one laden to dripping with patronizing boredom; forcing his body to project the same emotion, he waved. “Very well. We’re here. You have my attention.” Through the gloom, he met her eyes. “So what is it?”

She narrowed her eyes at him; he felt the increased belligerence in her glare. “If you think I’m going to be the first female in my family to go to the altar a virgin, you’re mistaken.”

Shutting his eyes to hide his instant reaction, he muttered, “Did I just hear aright?”

Her small finger stabbed his chest hard. “Yes! You did.”

Sensing movement he opened his eyes, but was too late; having whisked around him, she was already marching, silk skirts shushing, down the corridor to his room.

He set off in pursuit, but, slowed by not knowing which tack he actually wanted to take, he didn’t catch her up before she reached his open door.

She swept through.

Halting on the threshold, deeming it unwise to follow her further, he forced himself to lounge in the doorway, one hand gripping the door frame.

Reaching the area before the foot of his bed, she whirled to face him. Spine straight, head high, she leveled a look of blatant challenge at him. “So now we’re officially betrothed and our alliance has been approved by all those who count, I’ve come here so you can show me what your vaunted reputation is all about.”

Several thudding heartbeats of silence followed.

Arm braced, fingers clenching on the doorjamb, he studied her. And fought to think, but his mind kept tripping over her words. What was he supposed to say? To do?

He was accustomed to being the hunter; when his prey turned and flung themselves at him, it understandably gave him pause. Enough to register that in this, with her, matters were clearly not destined to follow any conventional path.

When, despite the stretching silence, she didn’t waver, didn’t soften or back down by even a fraction, he opted to do what he usually did in circumstances beyond his ken.

He listened to his instincts.

Drawing in a breath, easing his grip on the door frame and lowering his arm, he stepped inside, turned and closed the door, then, straightening, faced her. “Far be it from me to argue.”

She nodded crisply. “Excellent.” Her expression intent, she glanced around, then crossed to set her