The Taming of Ryder Cavanaugh (40 page)

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.

“So then—”

The stablemen continued, detailing how Snickert had got into the abbey, first to plant the adder, then the scorpion, by using a secret tunnel that led from the Dower House priest hole, hidden behind the mantelpiece in the dining room, to the chapel on the first floor of the abbey.

Ryder turned to his half siblings. “What tunnel?”

They all blinked at him. “Didn’t you know?” Godfrey asked.

When Ryder shook his head, Kit humphed. “I suppose we all just assumed you did.”

Turning back to the stablemen, Ryder gestured for them to continue. With a prompt here and there from Mary, and a question from Rand, they confirmed the entirety of Snickert’s actions on Lavinia’s behalf, ending with them using Mary to bait their trap for him, and then locking him and Mary in the cellar beneath the basement.

“Snickert thought the poisoned water was a nice touch, and apparently her ladyship agreed. We thought when her ladyship came home, we’d be opening up the door under the sacks there and finding your dead bodies laid out all neat and nice.” The stableman looked at him with a certain shrewd acceptance. “Weren’t to be, though, was it? Told Snickert it were never a good thing to cross swords with a nob.”

Ryder met his gaze. “You should have listened to your own advice.”

The older man inclined his head. “Aye, so I should.” He straightened. “So, what now?”

“Now I’m going to hand you over to my men. They’ll take you to the abbey—there’s a holding cell there. You’ll be placed in it until I can summon the constables to take you away.”

“Wait.” Rand walked to Lavinia and halted directly in front of her. He looked into her face. “Do you deny any of what they’ve said?”

She looked flatly back at him, then sneered. “Of course not.” She glanced at Ryder with naked hate. “I’m just sorry I couldn’t find more competent staff.”

Rand studied her for a moment more, then turned and faced Ryder. “Kit and I will take her upstairs and lock her in her room.”

Ryder nodded. “The rest of us will wait in the drawing room.” Without looking at Lavinia, he reached for Mary. “We’ll need to discuss what to do.”

Twining her arm with his, Mary walked beside him out of the basement, collecting Stacie and Godfrey as they went, leaving Rand and Kit to deal with their mother.

Now very definitely a murderess.

T
ea was the universal remedy.

At Mary’s suggestion, Caldicott, who had remained on duty, brought in a tray. In addition to two teapots, he’d set out some pound cake on a plate.

Watching Godfrey crumble a slice rather than eat it, Mary said, “You must be starving.”

Godfrey looked down at the mound of crumbs, sighed. “I am—but I don’t think I’ll be able to eat anything in this house again.”

Stacie shivered. “Let alone in Chapel Street.”

Mary glanced at Ryder, then reached out to close her hand around one of Stacie’s. “Don’t worry about that. You’ll be staying with us, of course.” She looked across at Godfrey. “Both of you.”

The looks of relief combined with real gratitude that passed over their faces were heart-wrenching.

The door opened and Randolph, followed by Kit, walked in.

Mary held up the teapot, a question in her eyes. Randolph caught his breath, then saw the glass of brandy in Ryder’s hand. “Ah—no, thank you.” He turned to see Kit already at the sideboard pouring two glasses. “That speaks more to my need.”

Once Randolph and Kit, glasses of brandy in hand, had settled in two armchairs, Ryder glanced around the circle, then said, “So what do we do?”

“It has to be incarceration,” Randolph declared. “The only question is where.”

Kit nodded and leaned forward, cradling his glass between his hands. “It can’t be here, for obvious reasons, nor yet on any of the family estates—too hard to keep it secret. Yet where else is possible, and—more to the point—I’m not sure I would trust anyone except us not to be drawn in by her . . . well, her ways.”

Grimly, Godfrey nodded. “She doesn’t look like a woman who would pull out her scarf pin and stab a man through the eye.”

Stacie didn’t say anything, just hugged herself tighter.

Ryder sat back. “I’ll support whatever decision you make, as long as it will keep me and mine safe from her and her plotting.”

“That goes without saying.” Randolph looked into his glass, swirling the liquid. “I understand now why you insisted we had to hear it from her.” Abruptly, he drained the glass; lowering it, he admitted, “If you’d told me that—even if I’d heard it from those men without her sitting there, listening and not reacting, and then not denying it—I honestly don’t think I would truly have believed—”

A scream cut off his words. They all looked up in time to see a shape fall past the windows.

“Oh,
no
!” Hands to her face, Stacie shot to her feet.

Everyone else did, too. Mary held Stacie back, let the men rush ahead, Randolph and Kit in the lead, Godfrey close behind. Pausing in the doorway, Ryder glanced back and saw Mary following more slowly with Stacie; he met her eyes, briefly nodded, then went ahead.

By the time Mary and Stacie reached the front steps, Randolph and Kit had covered their mother’s body with their coats.

Mary was grateful; she’d had more than enough shocks for one day, and she knew Stacie was at the end of her reserves. She and her brothers had had to face more in a few hours than anyone ever should have to endure.

Ryder came to Stacie’s other side and helped her down the steps.

The three of them drew nearer but halted when Stacie’s faltering feet did not seem to want to go further.

Her brothers saw her standing there, trembling in Mary’s arms, Ryder’s arm around her shoulders, and one by one they left their mother’s body and joined them—the living.

Mary and Ryder surrendered Stacie into Kit’s arms.

Randolph came to stand beside Ryder, his face a mask of shock. “Did she jump, do you think, or did she fall while trying to escape?”

Ryder hesitated, then said, “I can’t imagine her even contemplating suicide, can you?”

One after another, they shook their heads.

“In that case,” Ryder said, “as we’re all agreed, I can declare her death an accident.”

“She would have wanted that—it will gain her some sympathy. It was always about her.” Randolph glanced back at the shrouded body lying on the gravel. “It was
always
all about her.”

Mary let a moment of silence pass, then briskly stated, “Very well. Now that’s been decided, let’s go back inside. We have orders to give, and then all of you are coming home with us to the abbey.”

She’d used her marchioness’s voice and was entirely unsurprised that no one argued.

D
awn was painting its first pale streaks across the eastern sky when Ryder followed Mary into their bedroom.

Mary heaved a gigantic sigh. “Finally, it’s over.”

They’d spent the last hours sorting everyone and everything out as well as they could. Rand, Kit, Stacie, and Godfrey had been gathered in by the abbey staff, led by Mary herself. As Ryder’s half siblings often visited, they had their own rooms; wrung out, they’d retired as soon as their quarters had been made ready. “I just hope,” he said, “that the others can sleep.”

“Hmm.” Mary glanced at him. “Do you foresee any difficulties with the two stable hands over Snickert’s death?”

He shook his head. “Lavinia, through Snickert, had offered them a small fortune to help him do away with us—they know how close to the gallows they stand.” He hesitated, then admitted, “If Lavinia hadn’t died, then Snickert’s death would pose more of a problem, but as she has, and the stable hands know that, then . . .” He exhaled. “I think—hope—that this will blow over without anything that might damage the others socially coming out.”

“How much detail do you need to give of the manner of Lavinia’s death?”

“Officially, not much—just that she died of an accident. Death through misadventure, which is true enough. Given the staff at the Dower House rallied around, and will deal with the body and the undertakers tomorrow—no, today—other than organizing the funeral itself, there’s very little more that needs to be done to set this matter to rest.”

“To lay Lavinia to rest, and free her children.”

“That, too.” Looping an arm about Mary’s waist, Ryder drew her with him to the window.

They stood there, leaning against each other, watching the dawn break across the sky.

Eventually, Mary stirred. “A new dawn—a new beginning.”

Ryder glanced at her. “Not just for us, but for the other four, too—for the Cavanaughs.”

Meeting his gaze, Mary smiled. “For the Cavanaughs.” Catching both his hands in hers, she backed toward the bed, towing him, unresisting, with her.

“Continuing in that vein”—halting beside the bed and releasing his hands, Mary pressed close, stretched up, wound her arms about his neck and looked deep into his hazel eyes—“I believe we should fall into this bed, and do what we can to make certain of the next generation.”

Ryder’s lips slowly curved, then he laughed, swept her up in his arms, set his lips to hers, kissed her—and tipped them both onto the bed.

They bounced.

Mary shrieked, then laughed.

Then fell to as they wrestled each other out of their clothes, as they paused, both caught by the lancing sensual jolt as skin met naked skin, only to be filled with piercing pleasure as hands caressed and stroked, lovingly, worshipfully tracing now familiar curves, reclaiming, possessing anew—familiar yet never before so poignant.

Their eyes met—and in the blue, in the hazel, dwelled the same knowledge of comprehension and capitulation, the rock-solid certainty of what, through the tumult of the night’s events, they’d embraced, shared, and owned to.

Openly. Directly. Without guile.

Without any screens to shield them from each other they came together on a shared gasp, in a moment of shining clarity caught their breaths, then she drew his lips to hers, and he bent to her, and they let their passion and the power that fueled it rear like a wave—let it roar in and take them, let it sweep them away.