Free The Taming of Ryder Cavanaugh by Stephanie Laurens Page A

There was that word again. Nevertheless, she asked, “Fright over what?” Resigned, she turned to face Ryder.
    His customary lazy lion expression in place, he met her gaze, then arched a brow. “Everyone knows this sort of event, especially when held at this time of year, has only one real aim—and that aim has nothing to do with music.”
    She didn’t dispute that; it was why she’d come. But . . . “Randolph and the others attended the ball last night. And he told me they—all of them—attended such events, events like this, to keep peace with their mothers, the hostesses, and the grandes dames.”
    “Admitted that, did he?” Ryder’s grin turned proud. “There’s hope for him yet.”
    She shot him a discouraging look. “In your terms, perhaps. But accepting Randolph’s statement as true, which I do, why aren’t he and his friends attending tonight?” She glanced swiftly, but comprehensively, around. “I’m sure their mothers would have wished them to. Just look at all the young ladies and their mamas and sponsors—and there’s a good showing of other younger-than-you gentlemen, too.”
    “Most of whom, if you look more closely, are a year or so younger than Rand and his set.”
    She had noticed that. As, frowning slightly, she considered the guests again, Ryder continued, answering the question that was forming in her mind, “I suspect that last night Rand and his cronies reached the point of actually looking into the chasm yawning at their feet.”
    “And them not being here is them stepping back?” She glanced at Ryder.
    His lips twisted lightly, not so much mockingly as in understanding, both of his brother and her, too. “I believe you would be correct in interpreting their absence as a declaration of sorts.”
    Somewhat to her surprise, she felt nothing more than resigned acceptance. “Well, in one sense that’s made my way forward clearer.” She met his eyes, slightly narrowed hers in warning. “As much as it pains me to acknowledge your prescience, clearly your brother is not the gentleman for me.”
    Ryder fought to keep his smile within bounds. “So glad we have that established.”
    “Yes, well.” Swinging to face the room, Mary stated, “So now I must move on.”
    Ryder blinked and promptly moved with her as she matched action to her words. “Ah . . . where to, exactly?”
    “To further assess the gentlemen of the ton to discover the right gentleman for me, of course.”
    “I . . . see.” He trailed her to a row of chairs halfway down the room, then followed on her heels down the row until she drew in her skirts, swung around and sat, then he claimed the chair alongside hers.
    As the musicians played a brief introductory piece, effectively summoning the guests to their seats, she cast him a sidelong glance. “Still keeping an eye on me?”
    He held her gaze for an instant, then, as the bulk of the guests settled and conversations abated, he smiled, leaned back, and, still holding her gaze, murmured, “In a manner of speaking.”
    She humphed and pointedly gave her attention to the musicians.
    Across the room, sinking onto a chair alongside Lavinia, Lady Carmody frowned. Under cover of the swelling music, she leaned closer to Lavinia and tugged her sleeve. “I say! What is your stepson doing here? And why is he conversing with Mary Cynster?” Lady Carmody glanced around. “And where is Lord Randolph?”
    Lavinia, now also studying the surprising pair across and further down the room, as were a great many other ladies, replied without turning her head; the strain in her voice suggested that she was speaking through clenched teeth while struggling not to scream. “All excellent questions. To none of which I have an answer.”
    After a moment, Lavinia swung her gaze forward, then ducked her head and hissed to Lady Carmody, “I told Randolph to be here!”
    “Yes, well.” Lady Carmody tried for a placating tone. “Boys will be boys, I suppose.”
    Lavinia faced