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

Sinking into the chair, she looked back down the room; she hadn’t immediately chosen this room because it was so distant from the rest of the reception rooms, yet it felt so uniquely hers, thanks in large part to Ryder’s decorating. He’d envisaged the place as a sort of temple for her, and it felt like she belonged.

Smiling, she relaxed; turning her head, she admired the views, then wondered if she should go downstairs and retrieve her book.

She was debating doing so when her eye fell on her wicker embroidery box. She hadn’t done any embroidering for some time, but Aggie had left the box alongside the armchair, which, indeed, offered the best light for the purpose. Smiling, deciding that it probably was time she got back to the cushion cover she’d started, she leaned down, flipped open the lid, and reached in—

A scorpion skittered about, turning toward her hand, tail arching high.

On a scream, she pulled back her hand just as the scorpion struck.

Leaping to her feet, with the toe of her shoe she flipped the lid of the box closed.

Her heart in her throat, she stared at the box, unable—unwilling—to shift her gaze in case the scorpion might somehow push the lid up and escape.

Footsteps thundered down the corridor, then the door crashed open and Ryder was there, wrapping her protectively in his arms, one hand cradling her head. “What is it?” He scanned the room as two footmen, followed by Forsythe, all looking alarmed and pugnacious, rushed into the room. “Where?”

Still shaking, Mary pulled out of Ryder’s hold enough to point at her embroidery box. “Scorpion. In there.”

“Scorpion?” Not scorn but puzzlement.

Mary nodded, gulped, then said, “I’m not frightened of rodents, but I hate creepy crawlies, and there’s definitely a scorpion in there, a red one. It was on top of everything and it tried to sting me.”

Ryder cursed; jaw clenching, he set Mary gently aside, then crossed to the box, bent, and, clamping the lid shut, picked it up.

“Be careful.” Despite her fear, Mary hovered. “It’s already aroused and you don’t have gloves on.”

Ryder didn’t reply. He carried the box to the door, then, with Mary hurrying alongside and the footmen and Forsythe following, he marched through the house, down the stairs, and, after waiting for Forsythe to open the front door, out onto the porch. There, he bent and set down the box. He glanced at Mary. “Stay well back.”

She nodded uncertainly but, for once obedient, hovered in the open doorway. Forsythe obligingly stationed himself in front of her, a little to one side so she could view the proceedings.

Satisfied, Ryder glanced up at the footmen, who had come to stand to either side of him. “Ready?”

When both grimly nodded, he used the toe of his boot to flip the lid of the box open. Sure enough, a scorpion, a remarkably brightly colored specimen, skittered on top of the folded linens inside. When the scorpion, somewhat wisely, showed no inclination to climb out, Ryder circled to the other side of the box, bent, and, grasping the rear side and bottom of the box, partially upended it, shaking it as he did.

Several pieces of embroidery fell out—along with the scorpion. Clicking and skittering, the beast shot out to Ryder’s right.

He crushed it under his boot.

Leaving the footmen to examine the remains—they’d never seen a scorpion before—he looked into the box. No further sounds came from it; carefully lifting aside each piece of cloth, each skein of silk, he searched it thoroughly. Finding nothing, he bent, picked up the two pieces of embroidery that had fallen out, shook them vigorously, then tucked them back in the box. Finally closing the box, he carried it to Mary and handed it to her. “All clear.”

She accepted the box, nodded. “Thank you.” She looked up, and he could still see the shock in her face.

He put an arm around her shoulders, tucked her against him. “Forsythe?”

“Aye, my lord—we’ll do a sweep of the room and all your apartments. In fact, I rather think we’ll do the whole wing.”

Ryder nodded. “Do.” He turned Mary, unresisting, inside. “Come and sit with me in the library.”

Some brandy would do them both good.

Half an hour later, Mary had progressed from shock to outright anger. “This has got to stop!”

“I couldn’t agree more.” Sprawled in the armchair opposite hers, Ryder sipped his second glass of brandy. The first he’d downed in a single gulp; Mary was still nursing hers.

After a moment, she said, “I’ve never seen a scorpion before, only in books.”

“I have.” He paused, then added, “I’ve a friend whose house lies outside Rye. He sees them occasionally, but they’re quite different—larger and dark brown. They’re not poisonous, although I’ve heard the sting is painful.”

“Hmm. That one was red.”