The Taming of Ryder Cavanaugh (The Cynster Sisters Duo 2)

The soft snoring that had been emanating from the corner of the room abruptly broke off in a series of snorty snuffles. Ignoring Collier, walking to the head of the bed, she leaned across and placed her palm on Ryder’s forehead.

The rose quartz pendant swung free of her bodice.

Raising the fingers of the hand lying on his chest, Ryder caught it. “So that’s what it is.” He turned the hexagonally cut crystal between his fingers. “I glimpsed you clutching it during the night and wondered what it was.” Fingers stroking the long, flat surfaces, he frowned faintly. “Odd—it seems quite hot.”

Considering where it had been resting, Mary wasn’t surprised. “Yes, well.” Tugging the pendant from his fingers—he allowed it to slip free without hindrance—she gripped it and, ignoring his interested gaze, tucked it back between her breasts, registering as she did that it was, indeed, very warm. “It seems to hold heat.”

Drawing her hand from his forehead, she stepped back. He quirked his brows questioningly.

“You’re warm, but I don’t think you have a fever.”

“Given how cold I felt last night, feeling warm again is exceedingly welcome.” Still weak as a newborn kitten, Ryder barely managed a vague wave down his body. “I take it Sanderson was summoned.”

“Yes. He came and checked your wound, then sewed you up.” Mary hesitated, her eyes on his, then more quietly added, “He said if you woke up, all should be well.”

So until she’d woken and discovered him awake, she hadn’t known . . . if she’d wake to a living man or a corpse.

“Thank you for staying.” If he could have moved his arm, he would have taken her hand and kissed it. “If I could bow, I would. As it is, I’m not up to even nodding, but you may take my abject gratitude as read.”

Concern reappeared in her cornflower blue eyes. “How weak are you?”

He told himself admitting the truth wouldn’t hurt—not to her. “Extremely.”

“You lost a horrendous amount of blood, so that’s probably not surprising.” Her frown grew more definite. “Sanderson said he’d be back as soon as he delivered some lady of her baby, but until then I don’t even know if we should feed you.”

“At the moment, I’m not sure I can even swallow—not food, anyway.”

“Perhaps we can try some water, and if you can manage that I’m sure Mrs. Perkins will have some broth prepared.” Mary glanced at the mantelpiece clock, blinked, then stared. “Good Lord! It’s eleven o’clock already!”

Collier chose that moment to snort himself awake. He looked across the room—and came out of his chair on a highly unprofessional cry of delight. Immediately recollecting himself, he bowed and apologized profusely, although his beaming smile didn’t dim in the least. He concluded with, “I’m just so relieved to see you awake, my lord.”

“And compos mentis,” Mary dryly observed. She met Ryder’s eyes as he glanced up at her. “You appear to be in full possession of your faculties.”

He grinned; facial expressions, at least, were within his ambit. “You’ll be pleased to know that my mind is unimpaired.”

“Can I do anything for you, my lord? Can I fetch anything?” Collier fussed eagerly at the foot of the bed.

“Water,” Mary answered. She pointed at the pitcher on the table beside the bed. “Fresh water would be preferable.”

“Yes, of course.” Collier swooped on the pitcher and bore it off, delighted to have something to do.

“And let the others know I’m back from the dead,” Ryder called after him, “and tell Pemberly to send Sanderson up as soon as he appears.”

“Yes, my lord!’ Collier left with a spring in his step.

Ryder inwardly shook his head. “You’d never think he’d spent all night asleep in a chair.”

Looking up, he found Mary regarding him steadily. “They’re all very devoted to you.”

He managed the hint of a shrug. “They’ve been with me, as they say, boy and man.” But now Collier had gone, he could ask some of the questions banking up in his brain. “The two who attacked me—I left them in the alley.”

“Sanderson realized you’d want to investigate when you woke, and told Pemberly to take in the bodies and store them somewhere.”

“Good man.” Now for the trickier question. “What arrangements—”

The sound of the front doorbell pealing reached them; Collier had left the door ajar.

“Ah! That will be my parents.” Mary started for the door; glancing back she said, “They’ve been away for the last few days and were due home this morning. I sent them a note explaining where I was and why, and asked them to come as soon as they could and”—reaching the door, she gestured—“lend me countenance, so to speak.”