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

Randolph crouched beside Snickert. A second later, in a tone of stunned disbelief, he said, “She stabbed him through the eye. He’s dead.”

Ryder’s grip tightened about Lavinia’s wrists.

She seemed not to notice. She was panting, looking down at Snickert, at Randolph crouching there. “I had to kill him—you see that, don’t you?”

Slowly turning, Randolph looked up at her. “No, I don’t. Why?” Face contorting in something close to pain, he thrust a hand toward Snickert’s still form. “You just murdered him! My God, what do you think can excuse that?”

Lavinia tried to go to Randolph; Ryder held her back. Ignoring that, as if she could convince Randolph, she hurried to say, “He was the only one who knew. Now he’s gone”—she lifted one shoulder a fraction—“there’s nothing to be done. Nothing anyone can prove, so everything’s all right.”

“All right?” Randolph’s expression lay well beyond incredulous. “How can you imagine this will ever be all right?” Condemnation, absolute and unwavering, was etched in his features.

Still panting, Lavinia studied his face, then her eyes narrowed. Without warning, she tipped back her head and screeched, “I did it for you!” Pulling against Ryder’s hold, she repeated the words, all but spitting them at Randolph. When all he did was stare at her, horror in every line of his face, she shrieked at him, “For you!”

Mary saw the words hit Randolph, saw his face set, his expression lock, but her attention immediately shifted to Ryder. Ryder, who protected everyone in his care, and in this case . . .

She saw the violence that rolled through him, the wave that turned his muscles to iron, saw the stark reality in his face as, eyes closing, he fought against the urge . . . he could so very easily kill Lavinia.

Drawing breath, Mary walked up behind him, put her hand to his back, and gently rubbed. “Ryder.”

Ryder shuddered. She didn’t have to say or do anything more. The contact, her voice, his name, was enough. Nevertheless, it took effort, and several seconds, to pull back from the brink. Slowly filling his lungs, he opened his eyes. He still held Lavinia by her wrists. As he looked at Rand, his half brother rose, turning away from his mother, patently unable to look upon her anymore; walking toward the basement wall, he halted, staring at it. Ryder found his voice. “Kit—please.”

He didn’t have to ask twice. Kit, the most pragmatic and solidly practical of Ryder’s half brothers, came forward. Kit gestured to the two stable hands, who had witnessed the entire incident and remained frozen in shock atop the pile of sacks. “You two—off. Stand over there.” Kit pointed to the side of the basement, a little way from Rand.

The two men jerked to awareness, then scrambled to obey.

Kit turned to Lavinia; not a trace of emotion showed in his face or colored his voice as he said, “Madam.” As Ryder eased his hold on her wrists, Kit indicated the sacks. “Please sit.”

Wrenching her wrists free, Lavinia rubbed them. Narrowing, her gaze traveled over Kit, then shifted to Godfrey and Stacie. Ryder glanced back; the younger two stood shoulder to shoulder, blocking the way out of the basement. Under their mother’s scrutiny, they remained unmoving, unresponsive.

Finally, Lavinia turned, walked to the pile of sacks, swung about, and sat.

Only then did she look at Ryder, but Ryder was no longer interested in her.

To spare his half siblings, he needed to bring this entire tale to as neat an end as possible. Fixing his gaze on the two stable hands, he said, “As I’m sure you know, I’m the Lord Marshal of this area. That means I can hand you over to the authorities—it also means I can act as the authority.”

“We saw her.” The older of the pair nodded at Lavinia. “Plain as day saw her stab Snickert right in the eye with that pin of hers. Killed him, she did. In cold blood an’ all.”

“Yes, I know,” Ryder replied. “But that’s not what I need you to tell me. Both of you helped Snickert abduct my wife from the grounds of our home yesterday afternoon.”

The man who’d spoken looked at Mary. “She can’t’ve known it were us—none of us was ever in her sight, and Snickert was the only one who spoke.”

“Indeed.” Ryder inwardly shook his head. “But as you’ve just confirmed, you were there. Don’t waste time trying to deny it. Abducting a marchioness, incarcerating her, shooting at us—”

“That were Snickert.”

“Regardless, by helping him, you are guilty of the crime, too. For doing those three things alone, you are headed for the gallows. However”—Ryder held up a finger—“if you cooperate, given that I am the Lord Marshal and it was me and my wife you sought to harm, I will agree to convert your sentence from hanging to transportation.” He paused, then went on, “But that will only occur if you tell me all I want to know.”

The stable hands exchanged a long glance, then they looked at Ryder. Resignation seeping into his expression, the older man asked, “What do you want to know?”

“I want you to tell me, and all those here, everything you know, everything that Snickert told you, about his plans to murder me and my wife.”

The man pursed his lips in thought, then said, “Don’t know much about what happened in Lunnon, but he did say as how he’d hired this bent lawyer who knew some navvies weren’t too particular—”

The story came tumbling out, more or less whole. Lavinia’s initial plan to murder Ryder, subsequently expanded after his and Mary’s marriage to include Mary, too.

“He said as she said”—the stableman nodded toward Lavinia—“that now you was married, she needed your missus bumped off first, because if we bumped you off first, you might already have knocked her up, and as her family’s right powerful, they’d have swept her up and off and no one would have been able to touch her and your babe, and for some reason that weren’t any good, either. You and your get—she wanted you wiped from the earth.”

Rand shot a glance at Lavinia that was close to hate.