Fever Dreams

by Nicole Jordan

  Eve’s jaw tightened as she picked up her pen to resume her correspondence. Her future would be different, she vowed. And freedom was in sight at last.

  First, however, she had to focus on getting the twins—especially her sister—happily settled.

  Claire would never, ever be sold into marriage as she had been. Eve was fiercely determined to give her sister more choices for her future than she herself had been given. If it took the last breath in her body, Claire would have the chance to choose her life’s mate. Someone who could make her happy.

  The girl’s reticence was a drawback on the marriage mart, undeniably. Most gentlemen did not mind her soft-spoken, gentle manner, but her occasional nervous stammer tended to put off potential suitors. She would need a great deal of support and encouragement to make a successful match. But Eve intended to find Claire a husband who would love and cherish her as she deserved.

  Eve also hoped to keep her brother out of trouble long enough to get through the Season without scandal and see him safely returned to school in the fall. Perhaps afterward she might be able to use her late husband’s connections to find Cecil an occupation that would satisfy his lust for adventure.

  Until then, she was willing to subjugate her own personal desires a little while longer.

  Once she had Claire safely wed and Cecil settled, however, she intended to live exactly as she pleased. For her entire life she’d done precisely what everyone else wished her to do, bowing first to her parents’ dictates and then to her husband’s. And for the past year, she’d been confined by the strict conventions of mourning. But soon she would be entirely independent. She would have sole control over her own decisions, could make choices wholly for her own sake, unlike during her dreadful marriage.

  But not just yet, Eve reminded herself. Widows were allowed much more liberty than wives, but for the time being, she would have to remain circumspect in all her actions.

  Even if she sometimes dreamed of being a little wild and scandalous, she had no intention of indulging her longings. Her obligations as a sister were far more important just now.

  She would do nothing to jeopardize Claire’s chances of making a perfect match, and that meant not harboring highly dangerous, utterly inappropriate feelings of attraction for Sir Alex Ryder.

  Chapter

  Three

  When Ryder returned home, he went straight to his study, intending to enlist the aid of another of his friends and fellow Guardians—Christopher, Viscount Thorne.

  Sitting down at his desk, Ryder drew out a sheet of vellum to write a message to Thorne and his beautiful wife, Diana. He might have managed to persuade Eve that he wasn’t an immediate threat to her, but he would need more help if he had any hope of winning her for his bride.

  For a moment Ryder paused, his pen going still. His mind was full of vibrant images of Eve. Her warm laughter, her tempting smile, her purely feminine response to him. Remembering how she had shivered when he took her hand, Ryder couldn’t prevent his body from tightening with hunger.

  He shook himself and began to write. He wasn’t looking forward to trying to sleep tonight, however.

  Now that he had seen Eve in the flesh, had touched her and felt her touch in return, he knew his dreams of her would be all the more vivid—which, damnably, would only make slumber an exercise in torment.

  That night, to Eve’s dismay, she dreamed of Ryder and woke in a restless tangle of sheets. She lay there in the early morning light, attempting to ignore the throbbing warmth that suffused her body and the improper, vivid images of Ryder that still lingered in her mind. Growing vexed with herself, she rose and dressed without calling her abigail.

  She breakfasted alone, since no one else was up yet, and did her best to avoid glancing out the windows at Ryder’s house across the square.

  As soon as possible, Eve escaped to the morning room. She’d always taken pleasure in working here, attending to her correspondence and accounts. The room offered a brightness that cheered her even on London’s frequently gray days—days that reminded her how much she missed the brilliant sunshine of Cyrene. The fact that Richard had rarely joined her here was an added benefit that Eve acknowledged only to herself.

  Since the twins shared her love of sunlight, the family tended to congregate here during much of the day and even entertained casual visitors.

  Settling comfortably on the settee, Eve picked up the morning paper and immediately let out a mild oath. Her eye had skimmed over the society column and a name had leaped out at her: Sir Alex Ryder.

  “It seems you cannot escape him,” she muttered before proceeding to read about the gala event that Sir Alex had attended the previous evening in the company of his intimate friends, Lord and Lady Thorne. Ryder apparently was a delicious topic of gossip for the Beau Monde.

  Last night Eve had experienced a similar reaction when she’d taken the twins to a small rout party. She’d been questioned relentlessly by her own friends, who had discovered she was a longtime acquaintance of Ryder’s and who wanted a firsthand account of him.

  She used the opportunity to speak highly of him, and soon had at least a dozen ladies and gentlemen asking to meet him. Surprisingly enough, it seemed Ryder was already considered a prime target for matrimony, in part because of his exotic past.

  Even more oddly, Eve had felt a twinge of what absurdly could only be called jealousy, seeing the flashes of interest and even excitement in the eyes of her female acquaintances.

  Jealousy would never do if she was to assist Ryder with his bride search; she would have to avoid emotional entanglements of any kind.

  Eve finished perusing the rest of the newspaper just as her butler brought her three gilded cards of invitation that had been hand-delivered by a footman rather than by the morning post. All three were from Viscount and Lady Thorne.

  The nobleman and his lovely wife, Diana, were holding a soiree to honor the knighthood of Sir Alex Ryder the following Friday. Also included was a personal note from Diana, saying that she would be delighted if Eve and the twins would attend.

  The other two cards were addressed to Lady Wykfield and Lady Beatrice Townley. Apparently the aunts had each received a personal invitation, a fact that brought a smile to Eve’s lips. It was a clever strategy, since the elderly ladies would be less likely to refuse if they were accorded the respect they believed was their due.

  She had underestimated the strength of their convictions, however. Eve was folding her invitation when her family joined her after having finished breakfast.

  Cecil practically pounced on the cards and waved them in the air with glee before recollecting his manners and formally presenting the aunts with theirs. “Sir Alex told me we would be invited to Lady Thorne’s party to celebrate his knighting.”

  Claire smiled. “We will be attending, won’t we, Eve?”

  “I wouldn’t miss it,” she replied, watching the aunts peruse their invitations. “Will you accompany us, Drucilla?”

  “Certainly not.” With two fingers, the elderly lady dropped her card on the side table as if it bore an unpleasant odor. “I have no intention of honoring that upstart with my presence.”

  Beatrice, wearing her habitual air of distraction, nodded in agreement, as usual following Drucilla’s lead. “It would set entirely the wrong example.”

  “Indeed,” Drucilla added. “You are making a grave mistake, Eve, with this foolish scheme to find him a bride. Your reputation will only suffer for it.”

  Eve bit back a sigh of exasperation. “I should hope my standing is secure enough to risk it,” she said sweetly.

  She had broken the news to the aunts yesterday afternoon, declaring her intention of conducting a bride search for Ryder. Drucilla had vociferously tried to talk her out of it and refused outright Eve’s request to present Sir Alex to society under their auspices.

  The twins, on the other hand, had expressed delight and even offered to help.

  “Perhaps Lady Thorne could act on his behalf,” Beatr
ice said to Eve now, “instead of you, my dear.”

  Eve shook her head. “Lady Thorne is fairly new to London herself and is much less familiar with the debutantes who would make suitable candidates than I am. She also has a flourishing career as an artist, which occupies most of her time.”

  At the word artist, Drucilla sniffed in disdain, yet she could hardly protest Lady Thorne’s vocation, since the viscountess’s remarkable talents as a portraiturist were in great demand by the ton.

  “I thought we would do well to begin immediately,” Eve said. “I sent Sir Alex a message, asking him to arrive a bit early this morning before he takes Cecil and Claire on their excursion.”

  Drucilla’s eyebrow arched in disdain. “What time does he intend to call?”

  “Ten o’clock.”

  “Very well. But if you insist on this mad scheme, Eve, then Beatrice and I will remain here with you. You will not entertain that man alone.”

  “You are welcome to join us,” Eve said pleasantly, refraining from arguing, since Drucilla’s remaining would allow her the opportunity to meet Ryder and judge him for herself.

  It was precisely ten when Eve heard the faint rap of the door knocker. All her muscles tensed while her siblings looked around eagerly.

  The twins had already changed clothes for their outing and had gathered with her in the morning room. As usual, Claire was quietly reading while Cecil paced the floor. Both aunts were occupied with their tambour frames, and both studiously ignored Ryder when he was shown into the room.

  Eve, however, felt her pulse leap inexplicably at the sight of him, while her body became instantly aware.

  She was glad when her brother advanced to greet Ryder and pump his hand with enthusiasm. She and Claire rose, smiling in welcome, but both aunts remained rooted to the settee. When Eve made Ryder known to the elderly ladies, Drucilla lifted a lorgnette to her sharp blue eyes and surveyed him coldly.

  Ryder certainly looked the part of a gentleman. The tailoring of his charcoal-gray coat was clearly Weston and fitted elegantly across his strong shoulders, his silver-gray pantaloons were spotless, and his starched cravat was artfully arranged. Yet he still appeared a little dangerous, his tanned skin and dark eyes a stark contrast to the pristine white linen at his throat.

  Giving the aunts a formal bow, he offered one of his rare, sensual smiles. “I am honored to meet you at last, Lady Wykfield. Cecil and Lady Claire have told me much about you. And my patron, Sir Gawain Olwen, sends you his regards. Sir Gawain knew your esteemed late husband and spoke highly of him.”

  With the coldest of nods, the noble dame gave a derisive sniff and returned to her embroidery, making it clear that Ryder was not considered worthy of notice.

  Eve stiffened, chagrined and embarrassed by Drucilla’s rudeness. Ryder did not seem to take umbrage, however, but merely pressed on. “How kind of you to permit Lady Hayden to assist me in my bride quest.”

  Drucilla raised her chin regally to look along her nose at him. “I most certainly have not given my permission for this mad scheme.”

  “Even so, your condescension is much appreciated, my lady. You could make it very difficult for me if you chose to.”

  There was no sign of mockery in his bland tone, but Drucilla eyed him with suspicion. “Flattery will get you nowhere with me, sirrah.”

  “I did not imagine it would. You are set against me from the start—a natural reaction, to be sure,” Ryder said in a lazy drawl. “I can fully comprehend your reservations and even commend you for your defense of Lady Hayden and the twins. But you could not be more protective of them than I am, Lady Wykfield. I can promise you, I would rather cut off a limb than bring them harm.”

  “Then you should reconsider dragging Lady Hayden into your affairs,” Drucilla retorted, keeping her spine rigid. “It will do her reputation immense harm.”

  Ryder’s smile held a disarming charm. “I am loath to contradict a lady, particularly one of your venerable years. So I will merely beg to disagree. I understand that I must win you over, Lady Wykfield—which is why I have brought you and Lady Beatrice these.”

  He held out the two parcels he was carrying, both wrapped in gold tissue. “I would be pleased if you would accept this token of my esteem. Lady Claire advised me on what you might like.”

  “I do not accept gifts from perfect strangers,” Drucilla announced scornfully.

  Eve sucked in a breath at her virulence. Snobbery was one thing, but this acid scorn from Drucilla was totally uncalled for.

  Yet Ryder merely smiled into her eyes with cool aplomb. “Ah, but we are hardly strangers, my lady. Considering my close relationship with the twins, you and I are practically like family.” Moving forward, he placed the gifts on the table in front of the aunts. “Moreover, Lady Hayden holds you in great affection. I understand that your company has made her year of mourning bearable. So I intend to do everything in my power to make myself agreeable to you.”

  The elderly lady remained unbending, even when Beatrice sent her a nervous glance.

  Eve was about to intervene when Claire said softly, “Aunt Drucilla, Sir Alex went to a great deal of trouble to search for gifts that you would enjoy. I do think you will like them.”

  “Yes, Aunt Dru,” Cecil chimed in, “you should at least open your presents.”

  The scathing look she sent the boy was withering. “Pray do not address me in that vulgar way, young man.”

  “Beg pardon,” Cecil replied unrepentantly as he waited for the aunts to act. “Well, I will open them if you won’t.”

  Lunging for the gifts before anyone could stop him, Cecil tore open both packages and laid them on the table in front of the aunts. Ryder, Eve saw, had brought an assortment of silk threads for Beatrice and a small pair of gold scissors on a chain for Drucilla—practical gifts as well as lovely and thoughtful.

  Beatrice gave a secret smile of pleasure at hers, but Drucilla merely scowled.

  “If Eve wishes to recklessly risk her reputation by participating in this absurd plan, I cannot stop her. Nor will I attempt to argue with her further. I have said all I intend to on the subject.”

  “I highly doubt that,” Ryder returned with a murmur of laughter.

  “I’ll thank you to show proper respect for your betters!” the lady ground out. “I request that you leave this house at once.”

  Eve had had enough. “Drucilla, we mean to discuss a few matters regarding Sir Alex’s requirements for a bride, but you must have more pressing matters to attend to. Pray don’t let us keep you.”

  “Yes, Lady Wykfield,” Ryder seconded. “I understand if you choose to go. But I would be pleased if you would remain and offer your assistance.”

  “You cannot possibly expect me to support you!” she exclaimed in astonishment.

  “Expect, no. Wish for? Yes. And before you wash your hands of me, you might consider the benefit to Lady Hayden if you are seen to be behind her efforts.”

  “It is hardly proper for her to be involved with you so intimately, widowed or not.”

  “All the more reason for you to throw your weight behind her. Surely your consequence will shield her from the tarnish of my reputation.”

  “It is not merely your reputation that alarms me, but your character. You cannot scrub such blackness and turn it to lily white simply by purchasing a title!”

  “Of course not. But you might examine all the evidence before condemning my character out of hand. If you mean to judge me, then surely you can attempt to be just and fair and allow me a chance to earn your good opinion.”

  The noble lady stared, clearly seething. Eve had to bite back a smile. Drucilla had obviously met her match in Ryder. Of course the elderly dame had no intention of surrendering, but she was still determined to remain in order to chaperone. She sat in tight-lipped silence as Eve graced Ryder with a smile and invited him to be seated across the room.

  When the twins had settled near him, Eve fetched the lists she had been working on, then joined th
em.

  “If we are to find you a suitable match,” Eve said, pencil poised to write, “I think we should begin by listing your requirements in a wife. I need to understand what type of lady you are specifically looking for.”

  Ryder pursed his lips thoughtfully. “I expect I will be satisfied with anyone who meets your standards.”

  “But surely you have some requirements—age, appearance, fortune, rank?”

  “I’m not too particular. I leave it to you, my lady.” Ryder paused before offering Eve an apologetic smile. “Actually, I do have one stipulation. Ideally I would like a wife who isn’t obsessed with social status or overly concerned with appearances. My mother comes to mind. She was a gentlewoman, but she gave up her position in society to wed the man she loved—a common British soldier. I would be fortunate if I could find a woman like her.”

  At that Drucilla gave a disdainful sniff, although she kept her penetrating gaze focused on her embroidery.

  Ryder’s smile grew cool. “I fully understand the difficulty any bride of mine will face. My own mother suffered because she married beneath her—which is why my bride must have the courage to defy the ton for my sake.”

  Eve felt herself go still, wondering if Ryder was alluding to her. She had not been willing to defy society for him all those years ago. But then she’d had little choice, with her family facing disaster.

  “You would be satisfied with someone like Eve, I expect,” Cecil interjected into the silence.

  Ryder eyed Eve thoughtfully. “Your sister does resemble the type of bride I am looking for.” When Eve suddenly froze, he flashed a grin. “That was not a proposal of marriage, Countess. I was simply stating my preferences, as you asked. I doubt I will find any lady who could compare to you.”

  “That is likely true,” Claire said quickly. “Eve is considered a diamond of society.”

  “But that isn’t her best quality,” Cecil added. “She makes a fellow feel comfortable, that’s what.”

  “True,” his twin agreed. “No one has her flair for setting people at ease or her polish among company.”