“How good of you to join us, Sir Alex,” Eve declared, her greeting holding genuine warmth. “I wanted to thank you for taking Claire and Cecil on their outing yesterday.”
Once again Ryder felt struck by a gut-clenching awareness. Eve looked impossibly bright and fresh, wearing a rose-colored morning gown that flattered her perfect figure, with her gleaming mass of tawny hair swept up casually and held in place by a ribbon.
“I trust you won’t mind the imposition, Lady Hayden,” Ryder said truthfully. “The workmen at my house are creating such a racket that I hoped to take refuge here for a while.”
“But of course.”
After Ryder had been welcomed by the twins (eagerly) and acknowledged by the aunts (barely), Eve introduced him to the other caller. George, Viscount Gyllford, owned the vast estates adjacent to Hayden Park in Hertfordshire, Ryder was aware. Both twins had warned him that Lord Gyllford had been trying to woo Eve for months, even before she had left off mourning—“to get a jump on the competition,” in Cecil’s words.
Ryder disliked the nobleman on sight, his reaction stemming primarily from jealousy but partly from distaste. Eve’s country neighbor was dressed as a tulip of fashion, in blindingly bright colors with shirt points so absurdly high, he could barely move his head.
After staring at Ryder dismissively and waiting for him to be seated, his lordship returned to the subject they had been discussing, adopting a tone of simpering charm. “As I was saying, Evelyn, you must come for a drive with me and try out my new prads. You will enjoy them, I have no doubt.”
Ryder saw her wince at Gyllford’s casual form of address. “Evelyn”, he knew, was her full name, but she’d always preferred to be called Eve.
“I am certain I would, my lord,” she replied lightly, “since you have such excellent taste in horseflesh. But I fear my schedule keeps me so busy of late that I have not a single moment to spare. I hope you will forgive me,” she added with a smile so winsome that Gyllford obviously found it difficult to protest. “In any event, the weather does not appear to be cooperating with your desire for a drive.” Tilting her head toward the windows, Eve called attention to the chill drizzle trickling down the panes.
She did not return to the settee to sit beside his lordship, but instead moved over to the bellpull to ring for fresh tea and then stood near the hearth fire, holding out her hands as if seeking warmth.
She was uncomfortable with Viscount Gyllford’s proprietary air, Ryder realized.
Recognizing his own possessive instincts, he repressed the urge to go to Eve’s side, as if guarding his property, and forced himself to settle casually back in his chair. When the aunts, who as usual were busy sewing on their tambour frames, took up the topic of the weather, with Lady Claire chiming in softly now and then after controlling her initial stammer, Ryder let the conversation flow around him, content to watch Eve.
Her natural setting was a drawing room. Yet underneath her elegant, gracious air, he sometimes caught a tantalizing glimpse of another woman entirely, a woman of passion and courage and fire.
All his muscles tightened as he remembered the rawly sexual dreams he’d experienced for most of the past night. Feeling heat spread through him to pool in his groin, Ryder shifted uncomfortably in his seat. It was with a sense of relief that he realized a footman had entered the drawing room, bearing a fresh pot of hot tea.
Claire courteously poured tea for Ryder and more reluctantly for Lord Gyllford when the viscount held out his cup. At least another twenty minutes passed before Gyllford finally took his leave.
The nobleman made a great show of gallantry, lauding the aunts before moving over to the hearth to corner Eve, bending over her hand to kiss it and ignoring her subtle attempts to pull free.
Ryder felt a savage urge to plant his fist in the fawning peer’s face, but with effort, he managed to tamp it down and remain civilized.
Cecil, however, was not so sanguine. The moment Gyllford left the drawing room, the boy gave a snort of disgust. “Of all the insufferable toadeaters…how can you bear to let him simper over you like that, Eve?”
Lady Wykfield spoke before Eve could respond. “His lordship has exquisite manners, young man. You would do well to emulate him.”
Scowling, Cecil jumped to his feet. “Exquisite—hah! Surely you noticed that he overstayed his welcome by more than a half hour, Aunt Dru. We could not get rid of him. How is that mannerly—for him to refuse to take the hint that he is not wanted here?”
“Do not be impertinent!” Drucilla snapped.
Cecil had obviously taken a violent dislike to the viscount, Ryder realized. But it was Eve’s opinion that concerned him most.
“Has Gyllford been in London long?” he asked casually.
“He just arrived this week for the Season,” Eve replied.
Cecil snorted. “He is mainly here to court Eve. His lordship won’t stop hounding her,” he explained to Ryder. “It’s no wonder she brought us to London early—to get away from that man-milliner. She has already refused one marriage proposal from him, but he’s oblivious to the fact that she wants nothing to do with him.”
“Cecil, that is quite enough,” Eve said with an edge of embarrassment. “You need not air our personal affairs in front of Sir Alex.”
“Well, he already knows Gyllford is courting you, because I told him so. And I think you would be wise to use Sir Alex to help you fend off that popinjay’s unwanted advances.”
Drucilla intervened then. “Eve will do no such thing. Lord Gyllford is a highly respectable suitor.”
“Oh, yes,” Cecil agreed with a revolted grimace. “He has an excellent pedigree and vast estates. Too bad he so sadly lacks brains.”
At Drucilla’s haughty stare, Cecil finally fell silent, apparently realizing he had gone a step too far in his denunciation of the viscount. With a dismissive sniff, the elderly dowager turned her attention to Eve. “His lordship would make a good second husband for you, my dear.”
It was Eve’s turn to wince. “I can understand why you might believe so, Drucilla, but I have no intention of marrying Lord Gyllford or any other man.”
A frown appeared between Lady Beatrice’s eyes. “You are still young, Eve. Of course you will marry again.”
Eve gave the younger aunt an exasperated smile. “I know you only wish my happiness, but I assure you, I am perfectly content to remain a widow.”
“Well, I am glad you are here in London now,” Beatrice said, “where you can mix in proper society for the Season. Who knows? You might find a gentleman who can persuade you to change your mind.”
“I am glad as well,” Drucilla observed. “London will be safer for you than the country, I sincerely trust.”
“Safer?” Ryder asked curiously.
“It is nothing,” Eve replied. “I met with a mishap or two in Hertfordshire shortly before leaving to come here.”
Beatrice frowned again. “They were more serious than mere mishaps, Eve, you know very well.”
Ryder glanced at Eve, waiting for an explanation, but it was Claire who responded in a troubled tone. “The first was a wolf trap set in the path where Eve frequently walks. And then a stray gunshot in the woods came close to hitting her while she was riding.”
“They were simply accidents,” Eve said. “They could have happened to anyone. I was never in any real danger.”
Cecil gave another snort, this one of disbelief. “That trap was deadly enough to maim you for life. And the shot could have killed you.”
“I expect a poacher was at work,” she insisted. “No doubt he took himself off as soon as our steward initiated a search for the culprit.”
Ryder felt himself frowning, not quite satisfied with that explanation. Both incidents could indeed have been lethal, and the thought of Eve maimed, or worse, dead, made his blood run cold.
Apparently Cecil concurred. “They might,” the boy murmured to Ryder, “have been mere accidents, but I confess they worried me. I have been keeping a
closer eye on Eve ever since, and I would be obliged if you would do the same, Sir Alex.”
“Of course,” he agreed, all his own protective instincts aroused.
Eve had heard her brother, however, and immediately protested. “There is no need for anyone to watch over me.”
Cecil shook his head. “It won’t hurt for Sir Alex to be on the lookout. Protecting people is his profession, after all.”
Lady Beatrice eyed Ryder thoughtfully, and even Drucilla turned to scrutinize him with something other than disdain.
“Very well then,” Eve said with a hint of exasperation. “You may both play at guarding me, if it will comfort you. But perhaps now we could change this morbid subject?”
“What subject might we discuss?” Ryder asked amiably.
“I thought we might plan your social debut.”
Ryder’s eyebrow shot up. “My debut? You intend to treat me as a debutante?”
Eve responded to his wry question with an arch smile. “Of course. The strategy we employ for you will be scarcely any different than for a young lady such as Claire. We must make certain you are introduced to appropriate candidates in a setting that will show you to best advantage. The ideal time to launch your campaign to win a bride, I suspect, will be Lord and Lady Thorne’s soiree this Friday. What better way to show you off than at a gathering to honor your knighthood?”
“I can see your point,” Ryder said, amused. “I just never thought of myself in the same league as Lady Claire.”
Cecil snickered while Claire’s eyes began to dance as she met Ryder’s gaze.
Ignoring her brother and sister, Eve went to a side table to fetch her notes. “Every successful matchmaking mother since the beginning of time has learned the wisdom of plotting a careful strategy,” she said lightly. “I have made a list of suitable candidates and want to make certain that as many as possible are present at the soiree. I hoped we could review my list this morning, Sir Alex. You could then give it to Lady Thorne so she can see that all the ladies and their chaperones are invited.”
“As you wish,” Ryder murmured, holding back his laughter. “I am at your disposal, Countess.”
Moving back across the room, Eve handed him a sheet of paper. “As you can see, there are eleven names in alphabetical order.”
“This is the new crop of debutantes on the marriage mart this Season?” he asked, perusing the list.
“These are the ones I consider most eligible. Have you met any of these young ladies thus far?”
“No, I’m not familiar with any of them.”
“Who is on the list, Sir Alex?” Claire asked. “Perhaps we could offer our opinions as well, so you will be better able to judge. We have met a number of debutantes these past few weeks in the course of my comeout.”
“Miss Abercrombie,” Ryder read out loud.
Claire nodded. “I have met her. She seems quite congenial.”
“The Honorable Miss Doddridge.”
Cecil grimaced. “She is pretty enough but a featherhead. You would be bored to tears within a week, Sir Alex.”
Refraining from commenting that a featherhead would be his very last choice, Ryder continued down the list. “Miss Gouge.”
“Don’t know her,” Cecil said bluntly.
“Miss Gouge,” Eve said, “is possibly the most promising candidate in appearance and fortune. But she has no title.”
“That doesn’t concern me,” Ryder said mildly. “Lady Hannah Irwin.”
Claire wrinkled her nose. “I am afraid she is not very kind.”
“Miss Leeson.”
“Know her brother,” Cecil said. “Fine, sporting chap. And I hear his sister is a bruising rider to hounds.”
Glancing at Eve, Ryder saw her bite back a smile. Of course Cecil would approve of any young lady with excellent horsemanship. “The Honorable Miss Nisbett,” he went on.
“Don’t know her either.”
He waited for Eve to comment, which she did. “Miss Nisbett is a bit plain in appearance, but very clever. I think you might like her.”
“I would be pleased to meet her,” Ryder said. “Miss Pittard.”
Eve hesitated. “Miss Pittard is a little on the common side but a beauty and exceedingly wealthy. I added her because she will doubtless be the most sought after young lady of the Season.”
“Yes,” Claire observed rather mournfully. “Miss Pittard is regarded as the chief competition this Season.”
Ryder gave a contemplative nod. “Miss Robson.”
From across the room, Lady Beatrice interjected her opinion. “Miss Robson is nearly penniless, but then you don’t require a fortune, do you, Sir Alex?”
“No,” Ryder agreed. “I don’t need a rich wife.” He glanced further down the list. “Lady Susan Rumbotham.”
To his surprise, Drucilla spoke. “Lady Susan is a duke’s daughter. Her lineage is impeccable.”
Glancing again at Eve, Ryder saw that she was managing to keep her expression impassive, but the amused light in her eyes acknowledged one small victory: The elderly dame had unbent enough to at least enter into the conversation, and with none of the snideness that usually characterized Drucilla’s remarks regarding him.
“Miss Smythe.”
“She squints,” Cecil offered. “She needs to be fitted with a decent pair of spectacles, but she is too vain to be seen wearing them.”
Eve gave her brother a look of exasperation. “If you only mean to point out defects, Cecil, then you may take yourself off. We don’t need your discouragement.”
“But Sir Alex should know the defects of the lady he will be making his wife,” Cecil protested. “After all, he will have to live with her the entire rest of his life.”
Ryder smiled. “True, but I value your sister’s opinion, Cecil. If she thinks I should consider all these candidates, then I certainly will.”
“Well, don’t blame me if you wind up with a bride who will make you miserable, sir. And remember I tried to warn you.”
“I won’t blame you, cawker,” Ryder said, amused. “And I thank you for your advice. Miss Waters,” he added, naming the last lady on the list.
Beatrice’s eyebrows drew together in a frown. “She is quite young…nearly a child, it seems. I should think a man like Sir Alex would prefer a bride nearer his own age to a green girl barely out of the schoolroom. Perhaps one with more…experience.”
Ryder found himself momentarily staring at Lady Beatrice, surprised by her perceptiveness that he preferred a bride with less innocence and more passion. But when the lady’s cheeks turned a becoming pink in embarrassment at her forwardness, he immediately recalled his manners and favored her with an appreciative smile. “I might indeed, my lady. Is there anyone,” he asked Eve, “nearer your own age who might be a suitable candidate?”
“Well,” Eve replied reluctantly, “there are one or two more who might fit your requirements, but they are both widowed, and I thought you wanted a young lady.”
“A widow would be acceptable,” Ryder said.
“Then I will add Lady Keeling. Lydia is elegant and charming, and she happens to be a close friend of mine.”
“Lady Keeling has excellent ton,” Drucilla agreed.
“And perhaps Mrs. Ferris-Jones might do,” Eve continued.
Cecil huffed in appreciation. “Whoa, she is a prime looker, no mistake.”
“Don’t be vulgar, young man,” Drucilla commanded with a dark look.
“Yes, pray control your tongue, Cecil,” Eve seconded, but less sternly. “Mrs. Ferris-Jones is a beauty, true,” she told Ryder, “but she is best known for her wit.”
“I am rather fond of sharp wit,” Ryder said blandly.
In response, Eve gave him a searching glance, then averted her gaze as she took back her list from him. “Very well, I will add their names so that you may give this list to Lady Thorne.”
While Eve scribbled with her pencil, Cecil moved to look over her shoulder at her list, murmuring quite seriously, “
I say, this courtship business is hard work. Even after Sir Alex chooses a particular lady, he will have to persuade her to consider his suit. If you ask me, it would be easier if he simply flung a sack over her head and carried her off to Gretna to be married over the anvil. He could save himself the bother of wooing a lady who might turn him down.”
At the suggestion that Ryder abduct his choice of bride over the Scottish border, where they could be married without approval of parents or church, Eve’s mouth dropped open. When she glanced back and saw the mischievous gleam in her sibling’s eye, however, she couldn’t help laughing.
“Cecil, you are positively outrageous. Abducting young ladies is out of the question, as surely even you know. But hopefully by the time you are ready to pursue a wife, you will understand the rules governing courtship.”
Cecil made a face. “My courting anyone will be a long time in coming. I have a great deal of wild oats to sow before I even think about getting leg-shackled.”
“That is fortunate, since no woman would have you if you intend to treat her like a sack of potatoes.”
Watching Eve’s teasing warmth with her brother, Ryder felt something vibrate through him, a sensation that was part laughter, part physical desire. He couldn’t help but admire her relationship with her younger siblings. Eve was more than simply supportive toward them; she was protective and nurturing, fostering a feeling of family that was rare among the nobility. She made Cecil feel as if he were almost a man rather than a callow youth. She made shy, insecure Claire believe she could accomplish anything. She even made the aging aunts feel useful and wanted.
Just then Eve met his gaze, and Ryder went very still, his muscles clenching with renewed awareness. She had the power to turn him inside out with no more than a look.
Then her smile slowly faded, as if she were unnerved by the intense way he was staring at her. Ryder swore silently at himself, forcibly remembering that he was supposed to treat Eve as merely a friend.
She seemed to recall their pact at the same time he did, for she briskly folded the list and handed it to him. “Now that is done, it will be up to Lady Thorne to see they are invited.”
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