Fever Dreams

by Nicole Jordan

  Determinedly planting a smile on her lips, Eve accepted her cup of punch and drank, vowing to enjoy the rest of the evening and put Ryder and his matrimonial dilemmas out of her mind.

  Ryder considered the evening a marginal success, for on the drive home, he was able to tell Eve that personally meeting her candidates had helped him narrow down the field and that she could cross off several—the youngest and flightiest—from her list.

  Once his town carriage had deposited the ladies and Cecil on their doorstep and then continued around the square to set him down at his own house, Ryder repaired to his study, where he poured himself a stiff brandy.

  It was perhaps an hour later when he was interrupted by a footman from Hayden House, who delivered a handwritten message.

  Ryder’s heart jumped, but upon reading the note he realized it was from Lady Claire.

  You must help me, Sir Alex, for I fear Cecil may be involving himself in grave trouble. Will you come to my window as soon as possible, please, so that I may explain? I have left a candle burning.

  Puzzled and frowning, Ryder dismissed the footman and then waited a short time before following the servant across the square. Keeping to the shadows, he slipped around the house until he spied a female form at a dimly lit second-floor window. Most of the other windows were dark, indicating that the rest of the household was abed.

  Claire leaned out at once and waved a handkerchief at him. She was still fully dressed in her pretty evening gown, Ryder saw as he moved to stand directly beneath her window.

  “Oh, thank you for coming, Sir Alex!” she whispered down to him.

  Her secrecy concerned him, admittedly. He might have expected such cloak-and-dagger schemes from Cecil, but not from Claire.

  “What seems to be the problem?” Ryder asked, keeping his own voice low.

  “It’s Cecil. He has disappeared. He sneaked out of the house, I believe, shortly after we arrived home. Oh, Sir Alex, I think he meant to visit a gaming hell.”

  The disgust and anger in Claire’s plaintive tone was underlain by a note of sheer dread. “I fear he means to gamble all his funds away! He will land us all in debt again, and Eve will have to pay the price. It isn’t fair, Sir Alex, it just isn’t fair, but I don’t know what to do!”

  “Lady Claire, take a deep breath,” Ryder said to calm her, “and slow down so I can understand you.”

  Obediently she took a shuddering breath, then said more slowly, “Please, you have to help me stop him!”

  “Of course I will help. I’ll go in search of Cecil at once. But I’ll do it alone. London gaming hells are no place for a young lady. Do you know what club he might have chosen?”

  “No, I haven’t the least idea. But I doubt it was White’s or Brooks’s or any of the respectable gentlemen’s clubs, for they wouldn’t let a green youth in without a sponsor, would they?”

  “No,” Ryder agreed.

  “I would not even know where to start looking for him, but I hoped you might.”

  “I know of a dozen clubs I can try, and I have friends who can tell me about a hundred others. I’ll find him, I promise you.”

  “Oh, thank you, Sir Alex.”

  Ryder smiled reassuringly. “Don’t mention it, my lady. Now go to bed and try to get some sleep. It may take me a while to find Cecil and bring him home.”

  “I don’t think I could sleep a wink,” Claire whispered passionately.

  “You need to try. You don’t want to alarm your sister, do you?”

  “No…. Very well, I will try.”

  Ryder waited until Claire had retreated into her bedchamber before returning to his house and calling for his carriage. He armed himself in case he ran into trouble, and then he and his coachman and two sturdy footmen set out to search London for the Honorable Cecil Montlow.

  He spent the next two hours making the rounds of gaming hells and pleasure clubs, attempting to quell his concern. Cecil was nowhere near the rebel Ryder had been in his own youth, but the boy was eager to sample the delights London had to offer and wouldn’t be satisfied with the tame, proper entertainments his sisters enjoyed. Ryder had every intention of keeping the boy out of trouble, if he could.

  He eventually found Cecil at a shabby hell near St. James Street, hunched over the faro table, three sheets to the wind and more than a thousand pounds in debt.

  The relief on Cecil’s face when he saw Ryder, however, clearly exposed his knowledge that he’d gotten in over his head. Several other young gentlemen about his age were present, all looking guilty as sin, so it wasn’t hard to deduce that the lad had come here with his friends.

  Sauntering up to the table, Ryder amiably clapped a hand on Cecil’s shoulder. “I was just making my way home when it occurred to me that I should offer you a ride.”

  Cecil shook his head drunkenly. “Can’t leave yet, Shir Alex…not till I recoup m’ losses.”

  “I would enjoy your company, old chap.”

  “But…that fellow there woan take my voucher.” He pointed unsteadily at the dealer who held the faro bank.

  “No problem.”

  Ryder calmly drew out his purse and paid the dealer, then put a firm hand under Cecil’s arm and helped him rise. “Would your friends care to accompany us?”

  The oldest of the young men answered for the rest. “We are winning, sir. But a flat like Cecil should never have come here.”

  “You might have considered that before you brought him to a hell that regularly fleeces young gulls,” Ryder returned icily before guiding his drunken charge away from the gaming tables toward the entrance.

  The bruiser who stood guard took one look at Ryder’s expression and gingerly stepped aside to let them pass.

  When he’d supported Cecil down the stairs and onto the street, his footmen helped him load the boy into the waiting town coach, then shut the door behind them and jumped on the footboard.

  Almost immediately the coach rolled forward. Ryder settled back, silently watching Cecil, who lay sprawled on the seat groaning.

  He suspected that remorse was nagging at the boy’s fogged brain, and he was right. Two minutes later, Cecil mumbled an apology while covering his face with his arm as if ashamed.

  “ ’M sorry, shir. ’Twas a damn fool thing to do.”

  “I won’t disagree,” Ryder said coolly.

  “Eve’ll kill me if she fines out…send me to the country for shure….”

  “If you plan to act like a country bumpkin, then perhaps you belong there.”

  Cecil pried one blurry eye open and tried to sit, as if the threat had partially sobered him. “No, please! I’ve learned m’ lesshon…shwear it. Doan tell Eve…beg you, sir. I’ll pay you back every penny.”

  Ryder hid his smile and paused a long while before finally saying, “When we reach your home, we’ll slip you inside and up to bed. Hopefully your sister will be none the wiser.”

  Cecil let out a heavy sigh of relief, then promptly groaned again and clutched his temples.

  “Your aching head in the morning may be punishment enough,” Ryder added with unsympathetic amusement.

  “Aye, it will,” Cecil mumbled. “But I promise…you won’t regret it.”

  “I trust not, halfling,” Ryder said levelly.

  The entrance hall of the Haydon mansion was dimly lit by a candle wall sconce, and so was the upstairs corridor. Ryder managed to support Cecil all the way to his bedchamber door before the boy stubbed a toe on the carpet and painfully turned his ankle.

  When he let out a vivid oath that could be heard halfway across London, another door opened and Claire peered out.

  Ryder winked at her and gestured with his head for her to go back to bed. With a grateful smile, she obeyed, shutting the door softly behind her.

  But then a third door opened farther down the hallway, and Eve stepped out.

  “Ryder? What are you…oh, my word,” she said, taking in the sight of her brother clinging to Ryder, both still dressed in the evening clothes they’d wor
n to the soiree.

  Caught red-handed, Cecil froze. His slurred plea “Now, doan be mad, Evie,” was followed quickly by Ryder’s remark, “There is nothing to worry about, Lady Hayden.”

  Eve obviously jumped to her own conclusions. “I cannot believe it, Ryder! You got my brother drunk?”

  “Wuzzen his fault,” Cecil muttered. But when he started to expound further, Eve lowered her voice to a whisper and cut him off tartly. “Not here in the hall where everyone can hear. You will wake the entire household!”

  Moving forward, she pushed open the door to Cecil’s room, then made a sound of disgust as she caught a whiff of him. “You smell like cheroot smoke and cheap perfume. Honestly, Cecil, get inside. I won’t have Aunt Drucilla seeing you in this odious state.”

  Politely elbowing Ryder aside, Eve put her shoulder under Cecil’s arm, trying to take his weight, but when she immediately stumbled, Ryder took over again, guiding the boy inside the dark room to the bed and helping him lie down.

  Eve lit the bedside lamp, then stood with her arms crossed over her chest, watching in grim disapproval as Ryder pulled off Cecil’s shoes and form-fitting coat. “I am severely disappointed in you, Sir Alex, corrupting him this way. You should know better than to take a mere boy to a place that would allow him to become so disgustingly foxed.”

  “Yes, I should,” Ryder replied calmly.

  At her scolding, Cecil clutched his head and tried to shake it at the same time. “Sir Alesh wasn’t to blame at all, Eve. He didn’t take me to that gaming house. Fact, he saved me.”

  “You went to a gaming house?” Her voice rose in dismay. “Cecil, how could you?”

  “I know. I’m sorry, believe me. I’m not like Papa, Evie, I shwear it. Just wanted to play in t’ shame league with the other chaps. Thank my shtars Sir Alex came to fetch me. That bloody dealer was a shark, Eve. Took all my blunt and then some.”

  Eve fell grimly silent, and Ryder could sense the effort she was making to hold back her wrath. After a moment he could feel her gaze shift to him. “Well, we will discuss this later, Cecil, but it seems that I must eat my words.” She cleared her throat as if embarrassed by her obvious mistake. “I owe you an apology, Sir Alex.”

  Ryder glanced back over his shoulder and froze at the picture Eve made in the lamplight. She was directly behind him, dressed in nothing more than a long-sleeved cambric nightdress, barefoot, with her bright mane of tawny hair tumbling about her shoulders in disarray. A beautiful siren just risen from her bed, God help him.

  Desire clenched in his gut—a damnably inappropriate reaction for the moment, considering how distressed she was about her brother.

  Cursing himself silently, Ryder tried to crush his response, even as his gaze roamed helplessly over her form, from her flowing gold hair to the sweet curve of her breasts barely concealed by cambric to her long slender limbs.

  At his intent scrutiny, Eve’s cheeks suddenly flooded with color as she apparently became aware of her scanty state of dress. “Will you await me downstairs while I finish putting Cecil to bed, Sir Alex? I would like to speak to you in private.”

  Carefully straightening, Ryder stepped away so he didn’t have to breathe in her scent and nodded his assent so he wouldn’t betray the sudden huskiness of his voice.

  Another nod acknowledged Cecil when the boy mumbled, “Thank y’ again, sir.”

  Letting himself from the bedchamber, Ryder made his way downstairs to the library, choosing the most severe room of the house for his late-night interview with Eve. He lit a lamp and perused an old history tome as he waited, but his mind kept reviewing images of her in her nightclothes while his body hardened at the thought of taking her back to her bed.

  The oath Ryder swore at himself was soft and potent. If he was wise, he would leave here this instant and wait for the bright light of day to face Eve. The entire evening had already been something of a torment. He’d watched her during the soiree, charming her way through the crowd of beautiful, elegant people. Even in the glittering company, Eve caught the eye. Gentlemen had danced attendance on her without pause, eager to do her least bidding. It was all Ryder could do to curb his jealousy.

  He was in no mood to be wise just now, though. He wasn’t about to give up his one chance to have Eve alone. Perhaps he could even use the opportunity to chip away at her defenses—if he could manage to control his own lust.

  When she finally appeared some five minutes later, she had thankfully donned a wrapper and slippers, but Ryder had to remind himself to unclench his teeth at the provocative sight.

  When Eve paused in the doorway, he averted his glance and returned his attention to his book, pretending to be absorbed in the text. She seemed a little hesitant to face him alone, but then took a deep breath, as if bolstering her courage, and crossed purposefully to where he stood before a section of leather-bound volumes.

  “I want to apologize, Ryder,” Eve said somewhat sheepishly. “It was absurd of me to accuse you of corrupting my brother. I should have known you would never allow him to become so drunk, let alone take him to a gaming hell.”

  He gave a casual shrug. “It was an honest mistake.”

  Her smile was wry. “I’m surprised you didn’t tell me to go to the devil. You would have had every right.”

  “Very well, if it will make you feel better, sweeting: Go to the devil.”

  She laughed, as he’d meant her to do to break some of the tension between them. “Well, thank you for bringing Cecil safely home. I owe you my sincere gratitude.”

  “You needn’t thank me. I care a great deal for your brother, even as reckless and maddening as he can be occasionally.”

  “He told me how much he owed you. I intend to repay you at once.”

  “No.” Ryder shook his head firmly. “Any debt is between Cecil and me. He needs to understand there are consequences for his actions, or he’ll never learn to take responsibility when he gets himself into a scrape. I will hold him accountable for his debt, one way or another.”

  Eve nodded in fervent agreement, then gave a small shudder. “This was far worse than a scrape. It could have been disastrous. I can’t bear to think of Cecil following in our father’s footsteps—becoming infected with gambling fever.”

  “I don’t believe he will. Cecil is merely doing what every normal young man does at his age—sowing his wild oats.”

  Eve studied Ryder with a faint smile. “You were not still sowing oats at his age.”

  “Because I had to earn my living. I sowed whole fields when I was younger. This was a good lesson for Cecil, though. And I’ll keep a closer watch on him from now on.”

  “Thank you. He responds so well to you, much better than he does to me.”

  “It’s the least I can do, considering all your help in finding me a bride.”

  Ryder returned the volume to the shelf, then eyed the other rows of books, as if looking for something else to read. “To be truthful, I’m glad for the chance to speak to you privately. I have a question I hoped you might answer.”

  Eve eyed him in surprise. “Certainly…if I can. What question?”

  “Well, it’s a rather delicate matter.”

  “Yes?”

  Turning to face her, Ryder leaned one broad shoulder against the oaken bookshelves. “I want your advice, actually. On how to woo a woman.”

  Eve felt her heart give a sudden leap. “I’m not sure I understand. What do you mean, ‘to woo a woman’?”

  “You see, I’ve changed my mind. Or rather, my marital ambitions have changed. I’m no longer interested in simply buying a convenient bride. I want something more.”

  “More?”

  “For some time now I’ve wondered about the possibility of making a love match.”

  “You want to make a love match?” she repeated weakly, blinking at him.

  “Yes. Or at least to increase my chances of making one.”

  She stared up at Ryder, finding it hard to believe that he actually wanted love in his ma
rriage. Or that he would go to the effort of trying to make his future bride come to love him. The sentiment was so different from her experiences with any other gentlemen, especially her late husband.

  But Ryder seemed perfectly serious. There were no traces of cynicism or hardness on his chiseled face. Instead, his dark eyes were keen and watchful.

  “So,” he said softly, “how do I woo a woman so that she will come to love me rather than my fortune?”

  Eve couldn’t manage a reply. In the hushed quiet of the library, her heart was drumming warnings against her rib cage. The intense way Ryder was looking at her made her shiver. And his velvet-edged voice had a stark effect on all her feminine nerve endings.

  Thankfully he had no idea how her body had warmed at that sound. She was safe as long as he didn’t realize how vulnerable she was to his potent masculinity. Even so, she took a step back, putting more distance between them as she shook her head. “I’m afraid I am not the right person to advise you.”

  He cocked his head at a lazy angle and folded his arms across his chest, giving her a perceptive glance that was disconcertingly thorough. “No? Why not?”

  His eyes had become very warm, Eve realized, the irises dark and brilliant—which only intensified the shivering rush of awareness that swept through her.

  Disturbed by the way her body flared in response to his scrutiny, Eve tried to make light of the moment. “You must realize I have no experience with love matches, Ryder. I wouldn’t have the faintest idea how a man should woo a woman to win her heart. My late husband never attempted to woo me. There was no need for him to, since ours was a union purely of convenience.”

  She saw Ryder’s jaw harden for an instant before he smiled blandly. “But you can tell me what appeals to you. What you would want in a suitor…in a lover.”

  The question both flustered and dismayed her. Eve fought the urge to wrap her arms around herself. Perhaps it was pride, but she didn’t want Ryder knowing the sordid details of her marriage. “I cannot help you, Ryder. I have never had a lover, only a husband—so I have no way to judge what is appealing and what is not.”