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

Lips tightening, Mary nodded her agreement.

Rand looked from one to the other. “What’s going on?” A thread of weary wariness wound through his voice. He sighed. “What’s Mama done now, and where is she?”

“At a guess, she’s been out since early afternoon, possibly even earlier. As for what she’s done . . . I believe it would be best if you hear that from her.”

Rand studied Ryder’s face, then nodded. “All right.”

The three of them turned to the sofa and chairs but halted. All raised their heads, listening. Mary met Ryder’s eyes. “Another carriage.”

“Also racketing along.” Ryder went to look through the curtains, Rand at his shoulder.

“That’s Kit’s curricle,” Rand said.

“And he’s got Stacie and Godfrey with him.” Ryder glanced at Rand. “She must have sent notes to all of you.”

Rand nodded. “I’ll let them in.”

He went out, and Ryder returned to stand beside Mary. Rand had left the drawing room door open. They heard Kit yell, “What’s happened?”

“Nothing, apparently,” Rand replied. “Ryder and Mary are here—come inside.”

Stacie reached Rand first. “My God! Are they really all right? That’s all I could think that Mama’s note meant.”

The next instant Stacie rushed into the drawing room, saw Ryder and Mary, and all but flew across the room to hug first Ryder, then Mary. “Thank God you’re all right!”

Then Godfrey and Kit came in, followed by Rand, who closed the door. Hugs and transparently genuine exclamations of relief came first, then the questions.

Having had time to think, Ryder held to his tack of refusing to answer the latter, other than to assure his half siblings that he and Mary were indeed as hale and whole as they appeared. Standing with his back to the fireplace, he kept his hands clasped behind his back; he’d torn several nails while wrestling with the stone blocks, and that was the sort of thing Stacie might notice.

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!”