Fever Dreams

by Nicole Jordan

  Two footmen entered directly behind the aunts. Drucilla was a stickler for proper form and wished to be waited on every morning rather than to fill her own plate from the sideboard as Eve and the twins did. The servants proceeded to pour coffee and serve breakfast for the ladies, while Cecil answered Lady Wykfield’s question.

  “We were speaking of Sir Alex Ryder, Aunt. Claire and I mean to see the London sights with him.”

  Drucilla’s elegant features turned disapproving. “Certainly you will not. It would be highly inappropriate for Lady Claire to jaunt around town escorted by a bachelor, particularly one of that man’s infamous reputation.”

  “An outing would be acceptable if Cecil accompanies her,” Eve interjected evenly.

  She wasn’t wild for the idea either, since Ryder’s notoriety could do Claire little good. But the twins shared a long friendship with Ryder, and Eve had no intention of forbidding the relationship. Nor did she care for the way Drucilla tried to rule every aspect of her sister’s life. Claire was timid enough without being ordered about until she was too frightened to have a thought of her own.

  Cecil also objected to Drucilla’s opposition. “There is nothing wrong with Claire’s accompanying me, Aunt Drucilla. We’ve known Mr. Ryder—Sir Alex—for a donkey’s age, since we were out of leading strings. He taught us how to fish and to swim and all manner of—”

  “That is hardly a recommendation,” Drucilla stated airily, not hiding her scorn. “He is nothing but a pretentious upstart who has attempted to acquire respectability by purchasing himself a knighthood.”

  Cecil bristled. “That is a complete lie!”

  Seeing her brother’s welling anger, Eve quietly dismissed the two footmen, not wanting them to witness a family argument. “Cecil,” she remarked then, knowing she had to set a good example even if she agreed with him in this instance, “you will apologize to Aunt Drucilla for your outburst.”

  “Sorry,” the young man muttered, though with little contrition. “I did not mean to imply you were a liar, Aunt.”

  Drucilla, who still looked coldly offended, deigned to give a brusque nod.

  Quelling the urge to smile at the baroness’s indignant countenance, Eve took the opportunity to smooth over the contretemps. “Sir Alex did not purchase his title, Drucilla. He was knighted for valor, for his exemplary service to the Crown.”

  Drucilla gave an elegant “Humph!” and applied herself to her coffee.

  “Indeed, Aunt,” Claire spoke up. “Sir Alex is a true hero. He saved the life of Lord Castlereagh, as well as several other Foreign Office diplomats.”

  “He is still no better than a mercenary.”

  At that accusation, Cecil couldn’t hold his tongue, although at least this time his tone was more respectful when he declared, “Even as a mercenary Mr. Ryder saved the lives of countless people, protecting them from assassination. And he gave up his military post to assist our government. He has honorably served the Foreign Office for years.”

  That had surprised Eve—to learn Ryder had worked for the Foreign Office, under the leadership of Sir Gawain Olwen. The elderly baronet was a revered figure on Cyrene, and a man for whom she had great affection. She knew that Sir Gawain ran a small department of the British Foreign Office headquartered on Cyrene, and her respect for Ryder had only deepened upon hearing that he’d joined Sir Gawain’s endeavors.

  She had always admired Ryder’s boldness, and more, his staunch determination to challenge his fate. Yet it troubled her to know he had blood on his hands. Apparently he’d made a concerted effort to redeem his dark past and wild reputation—and in the eyes of Cyrenean society at least, he had succeeded.

  Indeed, Sir Gawain himself had sponsored Ryder and recommended him for knighthood to the Prince Regent. Now he was wealthy and titled.

  They had never discussed his circumstances, but even when she was young, she’d known that he chafed at his poverty and the social divisions that relegated him to the lower classes. It could not be pleasant to be disdained for the vagaries of birth and fortune.

  But Drucilla shared the same haughty attitude as her noble peers. Her aquiline nose rose in the air as she eyed a fuming Cecil. “Hero or not, his fortune was earned through blood, selling his sword to foreign princes. There is no possible justification for that.”

  “Not all of his fortune,” Cecil insisted in passionate defense of his hero. “Most of it was earned by perfectly respectable means, investing in the Company. Hayden did the same, as have any number of lords.”

  Eve couldn’t help but smile at this rational argument. Her late husband had indeed increased his fortune substantially by investing in the East India Company’s lucrative shipping trade. From what Eve understood, Ryder had done the same, taking the rich rewards he’d earned in his service to foreign royalty and investing wisely. Reportedly he had multiplied his investments a hundredfold, quietly becoming as wealthy as some of the British nabobs who’d amassed their staggering fortunes in India.

  But Lady Beatrice chimed in then, echoing her elder sister, although less stridently. “An accumulated fortune and awarded title cannot compensate for lack of birth and breeding. He is indeed an ineligible connection for a young lady like Claire.”

  Of course she would agree with Drucilla, Eve knew. The aunts were daughters of an earl, born to aristocratic privilege and highbrowed notions of superiority. They would not readily accept anyone into their blue-blooded ranks.

  “I don’t believe the connection is ineligible,” Eve replied, managing to repress her own growing impatience. “Sir Alex’s mother came from a good family in Kent, and he was educated as a gentleman’s son. In fact he shared a tutor with the son of a local viscount on Cyrene.”

  From what Eve had gathered, Sir Gawain had arranged Ryder’s schooling to try and curb his rebel tendencies, while his mother had taught him refined manners, how to speak properly and such—the sort of critical education that defined a gentleman.

  “But he is not a gentleman’s son,” Drucilla parried. “Who was his father? And if his mother was genteel, why did she marry so far beneath her?”

  “I understand it was a love match,” Eve murmured, although she knew that changing the aunts’ minds was a hopeless cause.

  “Well,” the baroness pronounced, “he will have difficulty finding a bride from the Quality, given his encumbrances.”

  Refraining from disputing the observation, Eve fell silent. The rumors that Ryder was in the market for a genteel wife had surprised her even more than his new title. The Alex Ryder she knew had never cared much for polite society or sought their good opinion, and his disdain for the nobility’s pretensions was fierce. But she supposed it made sense that Ryder would want to shop the Marriage Mart during the Season now that he’d been knighted.

  Cecil had intimated as much, and Eve had no reason to doubt her brother’s reports. The twins knew far more about Ryder than she did, for they had both regularly written to him since joining her in Hertfordshire in February. And Cecil had called on Ryder at his bachelor’s lodgings several times since their arrival in London, so Eve had kept somewhat abreast of his plans.

  Moreover, she’d heard various tales about Ryder from her own set of friends, in addition to the gossip in the newspapers. Speculation was rife regarding what sort of bride he was seeking and what his chances were for attracting one from among the nobility.

  Her own opinion was that Ryder’s obvious encumbrances might not overshadow his advantages of acquired title and enormous wealth. She doubted, however, that he would make good husband material. Although even the most refined ladies would find him fascinating, with his combination of smoldering vitality and dark, charismatic charm, “fascinating” men rarely made admirable mates.

  Still, Eve well understood how appealing a man such as Ryder would be to a young lady of marriageable age. The summer he’d returned to Cyrene from his adventures abroad, she had been eighteen and ripe for his masculine admiration.

  Admittedly, she’d
been shockingly attracted to Ryder, with his sensual dark looks and forbidden allure, although a little unnerved by his fervent intensity. If her circumstances had been different, she might have let herself be swept away by her longings for him. But she hadn’t been free to choose her future or indulge in dreams of handsome, dangerously improper suitors as other young girls were.

  Regrettably, however, that hadn’t stopped her from responding with wanton abandon when he’d kissed her so ruthlessly that day in the meadow, Eve remembered with chagrin.

  Feeling herself grow warm at the memory, she returned to the discussion at hand. “I think it unexceptional for Cecil and Claire to accept Sir Alex’s invitation.”

  Her brother’s mulish expression faded. “Capital! You are a trump, Eve.”

  Claire smiled contentedly. “It will be a pleasure to see Mr. Ryder—Sir Alex—again after these past few months.”

  The aunts, particularly Drucilla, were not happy with Eve’s permissiveness, but she wisely steered the conversation to Claire’s wardrobe, a subject the elderly ladies found dear to their hearts. The modiste was coming at ten to give Claire another fitting, and Eve felt confident in leaving the aunts to supervise. Not only did they need to feel useful by contributing to her sister’s debut, but both ladies had superb taste and an excellent eye for the styles and colors that would show a fair-haired, pale-complected girl like Claire to best advantage.

  Thus breakfast ended on a congenial note after all, with the aunts accompanying Claire upstairs for her fitting and Cecil haring off to visit some friends who were nearer his own age.

  Eve, on the other hand, went to the kitchens and asked Cook to make up a fresh batch of scones, to be ready within the hour. She intended to send a basket of provisions across the square to Sir Alex, since it was only polite to welcome him to the neighborhood.

  After relaying her instructions, Eve proceeded to the morning room, where she attended to her correspondence and reviewed household and estate accounts. As the hour wore on, however, she found herself distracted, staring out the window at Ryder’s newly acquired house across the square when she should have been sorting through and replying to invitations.

  Seeing him again after all these years had brought back wistful memories of her last summer on Cyrene, when she’d felt the first sweet stirrings of passion. When her growing attraction to Ryder had led her to dream about what might have been.

  That summer she hadn’t been eager to marry a strange nobleman and move to England, far away from her family and friends. She would much rather have remained on Cyrene, where she was permitted a fair measure of independence, far more than that allowed in well-bred English society. But for the sake of her parents and her two younger siblings, she’d been willing to do her duty, agreeing to the kind of bargain women had been making for centuries—trading beauty and breeding for financial security and a loveless marriage of convenience to a wealthy aristocrat.

  It had warmed Eve’s heart when Ryder offered to wed her himself to save her from making such a sacrifice. It had stunned her when Ryder kissed her. Shaken her to her very core.

  She would never forget that incredible kiss. The intense passion behind it, the ravishing hunger of his lips. Even now she remembered the hard press of his body as he drew her down among the wildflowers. The burning heat of his embrace, his devouring mouth.

  His tender savagery had kindled a response in her that was basic, primitive, wholly feminine: the fierce yearning to surrender to her primal needs as a woman, to give herself wholly to Ryder, heart and body and soul.

  Thankfully she’d come to her senses at the last possible instant and fled the meadow. But his sensual assault was still branded on her memory. And admittedly, those few unforgettable moments in his arms had been more erotic than any spent with her husband during their six cold years of marriage.

  For her, marriage had been a rude awakening to reality, shattering all her budding dreams. The heated promise she’d felt in Ryder’s kiss had died a swift death on her wedding night.

  She had not seen Ryder since that scandalous embrace, when he’d given her her first and last taste of desire. Eve sometimes wondered if he remembered that passionate kiss. She hoped he had forgotten about it long ago, just as she should be doing.

  Certainly she would never refer publicly to that brazen moment between them. No one need know about their past, other than the innocuous fact that they had once been friends and neighbors on Cyrene. And I refuse to be intimidated now, simply because he is living across the square.

  She was determined to repress any lingering inappropriate feelings of attraction for Ryder. She was a mature woman now, Eve sternly reminded herself. Perfectly capable of dealing with him—

  “Sir Alex Ryder to see you, my lady.”

  Her butler’s unexpected pronouncement gave Eve such a start that she jerked back her quill pen and promptly turned over the inkwell, spilling black ink across the surface of the letter she’d been trying to compose.

  Giving a gasp, she jumped up from her chair and hurriedly righted the well. At the same time, she was keenly aware that Ryder had crossed the room to her side. Drawing out a linen handkerchief, he tossed it over the spill before the stain spread across the marquetry surface of her writing desk.

  Turning to look up at Ryder, Eve froze as she met his dark gaze. He stood frozen as well, his eyes riveted on her.

  He looked lean and male and dangerous, she thought, feeling her heart race wildly. And he was still as breathtaking as ever.

  His eyebrows were heavy and straight, his lashes a tangled fringe over eyes the shade of midnight. Her scrutiny took in his lean cheekbones, his chiseled jawline, his firm, sensual mouth. His skin was deeply tanned as usual, and his hair—so dark to be almost black—was cut longer than the current fashion and curled a little. Moreover, his eyes still held that intensity she found so unsettling…like a physical touch.

  The thick rim of lashes lowered as slowly his gaze swept down her figure, then lifted again so that his stare captured hers.

  “Lady Hayden,” he said. “Forgive me for startling you. I’ve come to pay my respects…and to gain your permission to take your brother and sister on a sightseeing tour of London tomorrow.”

  “Yes…. They told me of your invitation.”

  Odd that she found breathing difficult when she had no reason to. It was merely the pleasant shock of seeing him again that unsettled her.

  Ryder was still as dynamic and imposing as she remembered, with heat and vitality radiating from his body in waves. But he had changed subtly. He was all man now, all traces of youth gone. She could see the hard life of a soldier in his striking features, along with the alertness that was second nature to him. He reminded her of a wolf she had once glimpsed in a forest—lean, primal, potentially deadly.

  Except that she doubted she would ever be this keenly attracted to a real wolf.

  Eve promptly scolded herself, yet she couldn’t seem to break the heated tension that vibrated between them.

  “May I take this away, my lady?”

  Vaguely she realized that her butler was speaking to her. He had cleaned up the ink spill and was carefully holding the sodden handkerchief and her half-written letter in his cupped palms.

  “Thank you, Dunstan,” she said gratefully. “Will you see that Sir Alex is given a replacement for his handkerchief?”

  “That won’t be necessary,” Ryder responded lightly, “since I caused the accident.”

  Eve’s gaze was drawn back to him. She wished she could think of something clever to say. Instead, she settled for addressing her butler again. “Dunstan, please send for my sister and tell her Sir Alex is here.”

  “I already have done so, my lady. Lady Claire asked to be informed should Sir Alex call.”

  So Claire had expected him, Eve thought with a twinge of annoyance. She wished she had known Ryder was coming, for she might have been less flustered upon seeing him again.

  But in fact she should be glad he was he
re now. She would rather get their first meeting over with in private, so there would be no awkwardness between them when they met in public.

  “Very well, Dunstan. Then will you have Cook prepare a tea tray for our guest? And tell her she may bring Sir Alex’s basket here to the morning room when it is ready.”

  “As you wish, my lady.”

  “Basket?” Ryder repeated when the butler had bowed himself out.

  “I asked my cook to do some baking for you. I thought to welcome you to the neighborhood.”

  A gleam entered his dark eyes. “Playing lady of the manor, are you, Countess?”

  Eve glanced at him uncertainly, wondering if his remark was a gibing reference to her marriage. “I have a good deal of experience with the role. Being mistress of a large estate holds obligations. For your information, I requested hot scones. You were once very fond of them, if I recall.”

  Suddenly he gave her one of his rare smiles—a slow, charming, devilish grin that seared all her nerve endings. “You remembered.”

  “Well, yes.”

  “That happens to be one of my fondest boyhood memories. How you used to sneak me scones from your kitchens, kept warm by a heated brick.”

  She tried to repress her flush of warmth at the remembrance. “There will be strawberry preserves also, freshly made from the forcing houses at Hayden Park.”

  “Thank you, Countess. I’m certain I will enjoy them.”

  Eve gestured toward the sitting area at one side of the room. “Will you take a seat, Sir Alex? I will see what is keeping my sister.”

  When she retreated a step toward the door, the smile in Ryder’s eyes deepened. “Running away so soon? I never took you for a coward.”

  Eve found his perceptiveness disconcerting, but she instantly halted, a spark of exasperation flaring in her own eyes. “Of course I am not a coward.”

  “Yet I seem to remember you disappeared just as quickly the last time we met.”

  “I hoped we might ignore that unfortunate incident, Sir Alex. It happened a long time ago and is best forgotten.”

  A slashing black eyebrow lifted quizzically. “Do you think I could possibly forget that day? You were my first proposal—in fact, my only proposal. A man never forgets a thing like that. Not to mention our kiss.”