The Dangerous Mr. Ryder

Mr…er…Ryder, indeed! ‘Yes, thank you. I wish to consult an English Peerage if there is one in the house.’

‘Certainly, ma’am. If you would care to step into the library, ma’am, I would beg to suggest you will be comfortable in here while I fetch the volume down.’

Eva sat at a velvet-draped table and waited until the red leather volume was laid before her. ‘Thank you. That will be all.’

Ryder. Rycroft…Riddle…Ribblesthorpe. She made herself stop thumbing rapidly and began to work through carefully. There. Lord Charles Ryder, Earl of Felbrigge, deceased. Married…Children…Lady Amelia Ryder married his Grace, Francis Edgerton Ravenhurst, the third Duke of Allington. ‘Hmm. Dukes might be considered to be top-lofty,’ she mused out loud, recalling Henry’s vivid description of Jack’s father. But surely…

She searched again, this time for Allington. The current duke was Charles, definitely too old to be Jack, and his mother was not Lady Amelia and had died years ago. Ah, there it was, married the second time to Lady Amelia, the previous duke had fathered two more children. Sebastian John Ryder Ravenhurst and Belinda Ravenhurst, now Lady Cambourn.

Jack, she seemed to recall from her days in England, was a familiar form of John. So, Jack was, in fact, Lord…Eva frowned in concentration as she worked out the proper form of address for the younger son of an English duke. Ah, yes, first names. Lord Sebastian, and his wife, rather strangely she had always thought, would be Lady Sebastian.

Only of course he did not have a wife. And he was, by all accounts, at odds with his family. No, that was not quite right. He had spoken with somewhat wry affection of his numerous relatives. It was his father he appeared to have had the strained relationship with. That, and his own position as an English aristocrat.

He was not living this adventurer’s life for lack of money, nor, from the way Wellington had spoken to him, because of any disgrace. He just seemed to enjoy it.

Her lover, she mused, was a lord. A duke’s son. A very respectable position for a lover, in fact. Only she did not care tuppence whether he was a lord or a labourer, she just loved him. And he was no longer her lover. He might come to her tonight, if it could be done without risk of scandal, but it would not be the same. Out there, anonymous fugitives, they had been free, simply Eva and Jack, with only Henry’s sniff of disapproval to remind them of what the real world would say.

Now, when she thought of him, looked at him, she had to guard her expression every second. When she was close to him she must be constantly vigilant in case she reached to touch him. When they were alone they were in peril every moment of being spied upon or overheard. In constant danger of having something that was heartfelt and honest and beautiful turned in to a squalid scandal for the gossip columns to hint and snigger at.

Eva closed the heavy volume and stood up, weighing it in her hands. Then she took it over to the bookcase it belonged in, pulling over the library steps so she could reach the shelf. It slid back easily into its rightful place, but she stayed where she was, seized with inertia.

They had been travelling to such purpose; now they had stopped, if only for a while, and it all seemed strange and purposeless. She had no control, she was simply the queen on the chessboard being moved about by invisible players. Should she even be here now—or should she be in Maubourg? What if Philippe had succumbed to his illness, or Antoine had made his way back? Or perhaps there was no one there in control. She wanted to be with Freddie so much it hurt, but the anxiety over what was the right thing to do nagged painfully.

‘What are you dreaming about?’ Jack was so close beside her that she jumped and almost overbalanced on the steps. He reached up his hands, and, heedless of all her mental warnings to herself, she let him lift her down, sliding down the length of his body, aware that he was finding that contact as instantly arousing as she was.

‘Those trousers are too snug for this sort of thing,’ she remarked, letting her eyes linger on the very visible evidence as she stepped away. ‘I was thinking about chess,’ she added.

‘Indeed. And you are quite right, I had best stay in here studying something dull while you remove yourself.’ He seemed serious under the flash of humour, turning to study the rows of books.

‘No…actually I was thinking that perhaps I should go back to Maubourg, now. What if Philippe has died? Or Antoine has got back there? What if King Louis discovers our troops came across the frontier and invades? The French would love an excuse.’

Jack turned slowly on his heel and regarded her. ‘Are you saying you want to turn round now and go all that way back, into God knows what and with Bonaparte still on the loose?’

‘I think perhaps I should.’ Eva found she was twisting her hands together in her skirt and made herself stop.

‘And your son?’

She shook her head, helplessly. ‘I know what I want, to be with him, but is it right? How can I tell what my duty is?’

‘To hell with your duty,’ Jack said explosively. ‘I do not know, and I do not care, about the Grand Duchy of Maubourg, but I do know what my duty is—and that is to get you back to England and reunite you with a small boy who needs his mother.’

‘Do you think that isn’t what I want?’ she demanded. ‘Do you think I want to meddle in politics rather than be with Freddie?’

‘I don’t know—do you?’

‘No! Oh, for goodness’ sake, can’t you see I love my son more than anything? But Maubourg is his inheritance.’

‘If he loses his mother, that is irretrievable. If something happens to the Duchy, then the Allies will sort it out.’

‘Possibly they will—some time, when all the big, important things have been done. Or they’ll find a good use for it and we’ll be helpless.’ Eva found she had marched down the room in a swirl of skirts and swung round, infuriated by Jack’s lack of understanding. ‘Jack, I think I should go back. I’ll write to Freddie, let him know I will join him as soon as I can.’

She paused, catching her breath on a sob as she thought of Freddie reading such a note, expecting Jack to answer with a solution that would make it all right, but he was silent, watching her. As she glared he folded his arms, casually, as though waiting for her tantrum to blow itself out.

‘Do not stand there like that!’ Goaded, Eva jabbed one long finger at him. ‘Say you’ll take me back’

‘And do not do that,’ Jack retorted, unmoving. ‘I am not your footman to be hectored. I will not take you back, and if you try to arrange it yourself I will take you back to England by force.’ For the first time she saw the full power of his anger turned on her. It was not in his voice, or his tone—both were calm and polite—but it was in his eyes, hard flint that were sparking fire.

‘Oh!’ Exasperated, frightened by what she read in those eyes, Eva acted without conscious intent. The flat of her hand swung for his right cheek, even as she realised what she was doing and that Jack had not even troubled to move to avoid the blow. His hand came up with almost insulting ease and caught her wrist and they stared at each other, so close that the angry rise and fall of her breasts almost touched his shirt front.