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

“That being so, speaking as the ultimate employer of all the staff here, this is what I want you to do.”

Five minutes later, the household was secure. The Dower House staff were confined in the kitchen, with two of the abbey footmen standing guard inside the door leading to the kitchens and another blocking the back door. Snickert and his two helpers, reportedly belligerently mutinous, were sitting atop the stacked sacks of grain in the basement, watched over by Dukes and three of the abbey men, all armed. The abbey coach had been driven into the stable yard, out of sight of the front of the house; Ridges and Filmore were in charge in the stable yard, waiting for Lavinia’s carriage to roll in.

Satisfied, Ryder led Mary into the unlighted drawing room and shut the door. Through the gloom, he met her eyes. “Now we wait.”

She nodded, looked around, then crossed to a chaise and sat. “Why didn’t you want Snickert and the other two to see or hear us? Or to in any way learn that we’ve escaped their trap?”

Ryder had had Dukes take charge of securing Snickert, giving orders for the abbey staff to behave as if they had no idea where he and Mary were. He paused by a table to light the lamp atop it. “Because while Snickert and his cronies think they hold the winning card—that you and I are still trapped below them—they’ll be much easier to manage. Snickert, at least, will believe to the last that Lavinia will be grateful enough to get them out of any potential difficulty . . . and, in truth, if you and I were still missing, no amount of suspicion of foul deeds befalling us would get the abbey staff or even the authorities anywhere.”

He’d also sworn Caldicott and the footman who had come to the door to secrecy regarding his and Mary’s presence, then had allowed them to rejoin the others in the kitchen. That neither Caldicott nor the rest of the staff had any idea what had been going on had been transparent enough; Dukes had reported that they were puzzled and confused, but willing enough to wait in the kitchen and allow whatever game their betters were engaged in to play out elsewhere.

The wick of the lamp caught and Ryder turned the flame low. Replacing the lamp glass, he glanced at the window. Mary had realized and was already on her feet. Crossing to the wide bay window, she hauled one long heavy curtain halfway across, then went to the other side and started to draw its mate, but then paused. Screened by the curtain, she stared out through the narrow gap remaining. “There’s a carriage—a curricle, I think—coming up the drive. Whoever’s driving it, they’re in a furious rush.”

Frowning, Ryder circled to peer over her head. Using the curtain as a screen as she was, he looked out.

Glancing up, Mary saw his frown deepen. “Who is it?”

His expression grew grimmer. “Rand.” His hand clenched on the edge of the curtain, then he met her eyes. “I still don’t believe he had anything to do with this.”

She let her lips curve. “Nor do I.”

Ryder studied her eyes, read her confidence in his judgment, then, glancing up as, gravel crunching, Rand angled his lathered horses into the forecourt, he drew the curtain fully closed. “Wait here. I’ll go and let him in.”

By the time Ryder reached the front door and swung it open, Rand was striding up the steps.

He checked his pace at the sight of Ryder in the doorway.

Even in the poor light, Ryder could tell Rand’s face was unnaturally pale, his features drawn—and clearly saw those features transform, saw them light up with relief and unrestrained joy as Rand took in the sight of him.

“You’re all right!” Quickening his pace, Rand crossed the porch.

Ryder gestured. “As you see—but come in.”

As Rand stepped past him, Ryder saw the shadowy figures of his men drift in to take the curricle around the house. Shutting the door, he turned to find Rand looking him up and down.

A puzzled frown forming on his face, Rand met Ryder’s eyes. “You’re not even injured.”

“No. Not in the least.” Ryder waved him into the drawing room and Rand instinctively obeyed, but as Ryder followed him in and shut the door, he could see the questions forming in Rand’s mind.

Seeing Mary, Rand halted, then moved forward, holding out his hands. “Mary.”

“Randolph.” She gave him her hands and Rand bussed her proffered cheek.

But as he drew back, he looked even more confused. He glanced at Ryder. “Clearly, you’re both well.”

Ryder arched a brow. “Why did you think we weren’t? And why are you here?”

“For one and the same reason.” His frown deepening, Rand reached into his pocket and drew out a note. He handed it to Ryder, then glanced from him to Mary. “And if it comes to that, what are you two doing here? Where’s Mama?”

Smoothing out the note, Ryder scanned its few lines, then offered the single sheet to Mary. “As it transpires, it appears we’re all here as part of the same game.”

Taking the note, Mary read it aloud. “ ‘Randolph, dearest. Come urgently, darling—something’s gone terribly wrong at the abbey. Come to the Dower House first, and I’ll explain.’ ” Raising her head, Mary looked at Ryder. “When did she write this?”

At Ryder’s in

quiring look, Rand shrugged. “It was delivered by courier. I got it at nine o’clock and left as soon as I could.”

“So assuming she didn’t dispatch it from here,” Ryder said, “but from somewhere closer to London, then the latest she could have written this was about six o’clock.”