The Taming of Ryder Cavanaugh

by Stephanie Laurens

  Although puzzled, the four accepted his edict readily enough, all so relieved by his continuing health that they were willing to humor him. Seizing on that, he said, “When your mother arrives . . . it would be best you hear what she has to say without any input from Mary or me.” He glanced at Mary, now seated on the sofa. “In fact, it would be best if you gave no indication that we were here and simply asked her your questions.” Looking down the room, he tipped his head at the oriental screen used in deepest winter to block the draft from the door; it was presently standing half folded in the corner and would be half concealed by the opened door. “When Lavinia comes in, Mary and I will stand behind the screen and”—he glanced at the others—“I would greatly appreciate it if you could all summon sufficient histrionic ability to convincingly pretend that you haven’t seen us and have no idea where we are.”

  The others exchanged glances; none knew better the fraught nature of the relationship between Ryder and their mother, and all were intelligent enough to guess that some critical point had been reached, if not passed. But as they looked back at him, Ryder saw in their faces that each was willing to do as he’d asked. That each of them trusted him, even in this.

  After a moment’s hesitation, Rand asked, “Is this really necessary?”

  Ryder knew Rand posed the question in the sense of sparing them, not Lavinia. Meeting Rand’s eyes, he nodded. “Yes. I believe it is.” If he’d had difficulty accepting that Lavinia was a would-be murderess, one who had attempted to have him and Mary killed, how much more difficult would accepting that truth be for her own children? “As I said, you need to hear the explanation for all this directly from her.”

  Lips thinning, Rand inclined his head. “Then, yes, of course we’ll do as you ask.”

  The others all nodded their agreement.

  Kit rose and went to the screen. He widened it, angling it to create a larger space behind it.

  Ryder went to help him, but as he reached Kit, they all heard the rattle of carriage wheels—this time not racing but rolling sedately along. “That will most likely be Lavinia.” Ryder glanced at Mary; she rose and crossed to his side.

  Kit finished resetting the screen. “That should do.”

  Ryder took Mary’s hand and looked across the room at Rand.

  Rand nodded. “Get out of sight, and I’ll go and let her in.” He glanced at his siblings—Kit going to sit alongside Stacie on the sofa, with Godfrey on his feet by the hearth. “Ready?”

  They all nodded; Ryder drew Mary to the screen, let her slip into the space behind it, then followed.

  He looked over the top of the screen, nodded to the other three, then crouched down; he was too tall to stand. The gap between the screen’s panels allowed him to see the area before the fireplace well enough. One hand resting on his shoulder, Mary remained upright and peered out, too.

  They heard voices in the hall, Lavinia exclaiming, and Rand greeting her, then Potherby. The front door shut, then Lavinia swept into the room. She was dressed for a ball in a cream-and-red striped gown, a fringed red silk shawl draped about her shoulders.

  Seeing her younger children gathered before the fireplace, she flung her arms wide. “My dears! I didn’t expect any of you until tomorrow, but really, it’s just as well. Such a disaster! Such a dreadful, dreadful thing!”

  Kit had risen at her entrance. “What dreadful thing, Mama?”

  “Why, whatever has happened to Ryder and his Mary, of course—they’ve disappeared! Everyone at the abbey is no doubt searching high and low, but it seems they’ve vanished.” Dropping her evening gloves and reticule on the table, Lavinia advanced on the three, patently expecting to be hugged and kissed. Kit, Stacie, and Godfrey obliged; if she noticed their uneasiness, Lavinia gave no sign.

  Rand, who had followed Claude Potherby in and shut the door, hung back at that end of the room; for his part, Potherby was staring at Lavinia, a puzzled expression on his face. Rand saw it. He looked at Lavinia. “What do you think has happened to Ryder and Mary, Mama?”

  Lavinia spread her hands. “How on earth should I know, dearest? Perhaps he took her out driving in one of those ridiculous phaetons of his and overturned, and they’ve both broken their necks.”

  “And you don’t think Filmore or the abbey grooms would know?” Godfrey, pale, shook his head. “You know that can’t be right.”

  Lavinia flung up her hands. “Well, I’m sure I don’t know, but I can’t see that it matters. Perhaps they went walking and robbers set on them, or they fell down a mine shaft, or off a cliff, or . . . or . . . whatever! The important point is that they’re gone!”

  “When did you hear of their disappearance, Lavinia?”

  The quiet question from Claude Potherby brought Lavinia up short. Swinging to face him, she frowned, opened her mouth, then closed it and blinked.

  Her children all looked at her, watching as, features blanking, she patently tried to work out her best answer.

  Looking increasingly ill, Potherby moistened his lips, then, speaking as much to the others as reminding Lavinia, said, “I’ve been staying here for the past two days. We left here this morning at about eleven o’clock to drive to Marlborough to have luncheon there, then drove on to Quilley House later, to have dinner and attend the Hunt Ball. We left a trifle early and drove straight back.” A silent moment passed, then Potherby looked at Rand. “This is the first I’ve heard of Raventhorne’s disappearance.”

  Lavinia drew herself up; her face mottling, a sure sign of erupting temper, she looked down her nose at her childhood friend. “I have no idea what you’re hinting at, Claude, but whatever it is, it’s neither here nor there. You may take yourself off—I don’t need you!” With a dismissive wave, she shifted her attention to Rand. “The critical thing—which it appears I have to spell out for you all—is that as something, whatever it is, has happened to Ryder and Mary, then regardless of whatever it is, it’s up to you, Randolph, to take charge at the abbey—it’s too great an estate to be left rudderless, without a master, even for a day!

  “Of course, it would have been better if you’d married already—better still if you’d married Mary as I’d intended—but that’s all water under the bridge—”

  “What?—wait!” Rand had paled. “What do you mean, you intended me to marry Mary?”

  Lavinia looked at him as if he were being unbelievably obtuse. “Why, that I arranged to steer her in your direction, of course. Why do you think she came swanning around?”

  Behind the screen, Ryder slanted a glance at Mary’s face, unsurprised to see that her lips were a thin line and her eyes had narrowed to shards.

  Petulantly, Lavinia went on, “But then Ryder stepped in and stole her away, and you did nothing to stop him, you foolish boy, but in retrospect she turned out to be more hoity and difficult than I’d foreseen, so perhaps that was for the best. I’m sure I’ll be able to find some nice, complaisant young lady for you once you’ve been installed as the Marquess of Raventhorne, but that’s for later. Now . . .” Swinging around and pointing dramatically toward the abbey, Lavinia declared, “You must do what your father would have wished you to do—you have to get over there and step into Ryder’s shoes and do what must be done!”

  Rand held her gaze for a long moment, then his chest swelled as he drew in a breath—and shook his head. “No, Mama—I won’t be stepping into Ryder’s shoes, not now, and most likely not ever.”

  Lavinia’s jaw dropped, then temper surged through her. Her eyes flared, all but incandescent with rage. Fists clenching, she closed her eyes, tipped back her head, and all but screamed, “Don’t be so stupid! If he’s gone, then you’re the marquess—and trust me.” Lowering her head, refocusing on Rand, she gritted through clenched teeth, “He is gone, most definitely gone this time, and—”

  “Actually, Lavinia”—smoothly rising, Ryder stepped out from behind the screen—“I haven’t gone a
nywhere.” He drew Mary out to stand alongside him. “And neither has my wife.”

  The furious choler abruptly drained from Lavinia’s face. Her eyes rounded; utter disbelief was stamped across her features. “No!” The word was all breathless denial. She hauled in a breath. “That is . . .” She clutched her chest. “What I mean is . . .”

  Ryder arched his brows. “How did we get away from your henchmen?”

  Lavinia jerked as if he’d struck her. She took a step back. Glancing at Rand, then Potherby, she waved her hands, fingers spread as if to ward off the implication. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “You don’t?” Ryder considered her, then coolly suggested, “Why don’t we go down to the basement and see what Snickert and your stable hands have to say?”

  Lavinia would have backed further, but Kit was there. He reached for her arm, but she jerked away. “No!” She looked at Kit, then at Godfrey beside him, then looked down the room at Rand. “Why are you listening to him? You always listen to him.” She stamped her foot. “I’m your mother! You will do as I say—you will not allow him to speak to me like that.”

  No one said anything.

  Lavinia glanced at Potherby.

  His expression like stone, he met her gaze for only a fleeting instant, then turned to Ryder, met his eyes, and half bowed. “With your permission, my lord, I will leave. This is, I believe, a family matter, and not one I, I do assure you, have any role in, nor wish to have any role in.”

  Ryder considered, then nodded. “As you say.” He hesitated, then held out his hand. “I know you’ve been a staunch friend to her over the years, but sometimes being a friend is not enough.”

  Lips a tight line, Potherby inclined his head. “Clearly.” He shook Ryder’s hand, then looked at Rand and nodded. “Cavanaugh.” He glanced at the others, inclined his head. At the very last, he looked at Lavinia. Head rising, Potherby drew in a tight breath, then evenly stated, “Good-bye, Lavinia.” With that, he turned and walked out of the room.

  The door shut with a soft click behind him.

  Lavinia stared at the panels. After a moment, she shifted her gaze to Ryder and drew herself up, poker-stiff. “I don’t know what you’re about, what aspersions you’re seeking to cast—”

  “No aspersions, Lavinia. Rest assured, all I’m seeking is to establish the facts.” Ryder paused, then went on, “And to my way of thinking, the facts will be most clearly revealed by hearing what your men presently in the basement have to say.”

  “By all means.” Lavinia waved at the door. “Go down to the basement if you think it will help you. I’ll remain here.”

  Before she could sit, Kit caught her arm. “No, Mama—you have to come, too.”

  At a look from Kit, Godfrey, white-faced but as determined as the others, took Lavinia’s other arm. Between them, the brothers turned her to the door.

  “No!” Lavinia tried to struggle, but they held her fast. She all but wailed, “I don’t want to go down to the basement.”

  “Hush, Mama—how undignified.” Coming up beside Kit, Stacie reached across and lightly gripped her mother’s hand. “There’s no sense in fighting this—we’re all resolved—and you won’t want the staff to see and gossip, you know you won’t.”

  That argument succeeded where most others would have failed; Lavinia ceased struggling.

  Ryder added, “You can’t seriously imagine any harm will come to you in your own basement with your children all around you.”

  His even tone had the desired effect; Lavinia once again pulled herself up, drew in a huge breath, then raised her head. “Very well. As you are all so intent on this, let’s go down and see what we’ll see.”

  Ryder and Mary led the way out. Rand and Stacie followed, with Lavinia, Kit, and Godfrey, the brothers unobtrusively holding Lavinia between them, bringing up the rear.

  In the kitchen, Ryder paused before the basement door to tell Dukes to pass the word that Potherby, his valet, and his coachman and groom were to be allowed to leave, and that the rest of the staff were free to go to their beds, then their small procession descended the steps into the basement.

  Two of the abbey gardeners were standing guard at the bottom of the steps. Ryder caught their eyes. “Go up and wait with Dukes.”

  The pair nodded, hung back until the others had descended, then went up and pulled the door shut.

  One lantern had been left by the steps; several others lit the area where Snickert and his companions sat lounging on the sacks concealing the trapdoor. Noting the continuing smugness on the three men’s faces, their relaxed postures, Mary realized that, with no light falling on her and Ryder as they walked down the aisle between the high shelves, the men hadn’t yet realized that it was the prisoners they thought trapped beneath them who were approaching.

  Sure enough, the instant she and Ryder moved into the circle of light at that end of the room, all smugness fell from the men’s expressions; their faces blanked, then, eyes widening, they tensed.

  One—she assumed he was Snickert—snarled; features abruptly contorting, he launched himself at Ryder.

  Releasing Ryder’s arm, Mary stepped smartly back.

  As Ryder stepped forward and smashed his fist—powered by his considerable temper—into Snickert’s face.

  Something crunched. Snickert staggered back, then, blood welling from his nose, sprawled on his back on the floor.

  “You beast!”

  Mary turned to see Lavinia break free from Kit and Godfrey; startled by Snickert’s attack, both brothers had loosened their grips.

  But Lavinia didn’t try to flee; she rushed forward, pushing past Stacie, then ducking around Mary to fly to Snickert’s side.

  Astonished, they all stared at her as she crouched beside Snickert, bending over him, apparently raising his head.

  Snickert moaned—then shrieked. His legs jerked, stiffened, then fell lax.

  Utter shock held them all immobile for a heartbeat, then Ryder cursed. Swooping, he clamped Lavinia’s wrists, one in each of his hands, and hauled her bodily up. “Damn you,” he ground out. “What have you done?”

  “Oh, God!” Randolph had rushed forward, too. Now he stared in horror at something clutched in Lavinia’s left hand. Something that glinted, then dripped.

  Mary discovered she’d slapped a hand over her lips. Through her fingers, she said, “It’s her shawl pin.”

  Lavinia’s shawl was now trailing, a tide of crimson silk, along the floor.

  Randolph crouched beside Snickert. A second later, in a tone of stunned disbelief, he said, “She stabbed him through the eye. He’s dead.”

  Ryder’s grip tightened about Lavinia’s wrists.

  She seemed not to notice. She was panting, looking down at Snickert, at Randolph crouching there. “I had to kill him—you see that, don’t you?”

  Slowly turning, Randolph looked up at her. “No, I don’t. Why?” Face contorting in something close to pain, he thrust a hand toward Snickert’s still form. “You just murdered him! My God, what do you think can excuse that?”

  Lavinia tried to go to Randolph; Ryder held her back. Ignoring that, as if she could convince Randolph, she hurried to say, “He was the only one who knew. Now he’s gone”—she lifted one shoulder a fraction—“there’s nothing to be done. Nothing anyone can prove, so everything’s all right.”

  “All right?” Randolph’s expression lay well beyond incredulous. “How can you imagine this will ever be all right?” Condemnation, absolute and unwavering, was etched in his features.

  Still panting, Lavinia studied his face, then her eyes narrowed. Without warning, she tipped back her head and screeched, “I did it for you!” Pulling against Ryder’s hold, she repeated the words, all but spitting them at Randolph. When all he did was stare at her, horror in every line of his face, she shrieked at him, “For you!”


  Mary saw the words hit Randolph, saw his face set, his expression lock, but her attention immediately shifted to Ryder. Ryder, who protected everyone in his care, and in this case . . .

  She saw the violence that rolled through him, the wave that turned his muscles to iron, saw the stark reality in his face as, eyes closing, he fought against the urge . . . he could so very easily kill Lavinia.

  Drawing breath, Mary walked up behind him, put her hand to his back, and gently rubbed. “Ryder.”

  Ryder shuddered. She didn’t have to say or do anything more. The contact, her voice, his name, was enough. Nevertheless, it took effort, and several seconds, to pull back from the brink. Slowly filling his lungs, he opened his eyes. He still held Lavinia by her wrists. As he looked at Rand, his half brother rose, turning away from his mother, patently unable to look upon her anymore; walking toward the basement wall, he halted, staring at it. Ryder found his voice. “Kit—please.”

  He didn’t have to ask twice. Kit, the most pragmatic and solidly practical of Ryder’s half brothers, came forward. Kit gestured to the two stable hands, who had witnessed the entire incident and remained frozen in shock atop the pile of sacks. “You two—off. Stand over there.” Kit pointed to the side of the basement, a little way from Rand.

  The two men jerked to awareness, then scrambled to obey.

  Kit turned to Lavinia; not a trace of emotion showed in his face or colored his voice as he said, “Madam.” As Ryder eased his hold on her wrists, Kit indicated the sacks. “Please sit.”

  Wrenching her wrists free, Lavinia rubbed them. Narrowing, her gaze traveled over Kit, then shifted to Godfrey and Stacie. Ryder glanced back; the younger two stood shoulder to shoulder, blocking the way out of the basement. Under their mother’s scrutiny, they remained unmoving, unresponsive.

  Finally, Lavinia turned, walked to the pile of sacks, swung about, and sat.