Fever Dreams

by Nicole Jordan

  Ryder stood there for a moment, eyes closed, his expression savage. Then he made straight for the brandy decanter, cursing himself all the while.

  Eve was still shaking when she reached the bedchamber upstairs, but the cause had little to do with the threat to her life and everything to do with the dangerous man she had left behind in the study.

  She was grateful when the housekeeper withdrew, saying she would fetch warm water for her ladyship to wash with and a damp cloth to remove the stains on her gown.

  When Eve sat down at the dressing table to take off her soiled gloves, however, she winced at the image of herself in the mirror. Her cheeks were flushed, her mouth was red and glistening, and her hair hung in wisps around her face. She did indeed look as if she had been ravished.

  She felt precisely the same way.

  She raised her fingertips to her still-tingling lips. She had always been a little unnerved by Ryder’s intensity, but this time it had overwhelmed her. Eve let out a shaky breath, remembering how he had looked at her. The emotions in those turbulent dark eyes had held her riveted. And then his lips had touched hers.

  The heat and tension radiating from him was frankly shocking. She’d felt seared by his heat, by the hunger burning in his kiss, and suddenly it was too much. Lying there beneath him she’d felt helpless, overpowered by his ardent sensuality.

  Eve closed her eyes now, recalling how her heart had pounded in her chest, how she had fought for breath. She had frankly panicked.

  Yet it wasn’t simply fear of Ryder that had made her bolt like a frightened doe. It was fear of her own feelings. She was bewildered by the fierce yearning he made her feel. She’d never felt such savage need, such craving as the hot ache that had come painfully to life between her thighs. She’d been swept away by the same fire, the same passion as when he’d kissed her in the meadow all those years ago…except that this time the sensations were a thousand times more powerful.

  It would have to stop, Eve vowed to herself. She wanted control over her feelings, not chaos and uncertainty and helpless desire. She had spent her entire existence with no power or control over her life, and now that she’d finally gained some measure of control, she was determined never to lose it. She would never again be at the mercy of some man, no matter who he was.

  Pressing her lips together, Eve yanked the pins from her hair so she could brush it out and start all over with a new coiffure.

  She would start anew with Ryder as well. He had turned her own senses against her, but she wouldn’t let it happen again.

  Yet that meant she could never again allow herself to be alone with him, Eve told herself fiercely. She had barely escaped this time, and she might not be so fortunate the next.

  Chapter

  Seven

  If Eve hoped to avoid Ryder, she immediately realized the impossibility, for he made clear his intention to remain underfoot—beginning that very afternoon when he escorted her across the square to break the news about her mishap to the aunts.

  As soon as he returned home, Ryder sent two of his own footmen over to join her staff, and promised a third in the morning. And that evening he insisted on squiring the family to two different balls.

  At both events, he kept Eve in his sights the entire time, even when his attention was formally engaged by the various beauties vying for his hand.

  Eve was profoundly grateful for his support, despite her determination to keep her distance from him, for she still felt jittery and vulnerable. Whenever she caught Ryder’s eye, it was like a reassuring touch in the dark. She didn’t want to admit her fear, even to herself, yet she found herself staring at shadows and looking over her shoulder, searching for nonexistent villains.

  The aunts were no help in calming her nerves, either. As predicted, they were shocked and appalled by the attack on her life and offered to cancel all their engagements for the indefinite future. Eve refused, however. She wanted nothing to interfere with her sister’s Season or chance to make an ideal match. She was determined to control her trepidation and go on as normally as possible, even if she was in danger.

  It was easier said than done. Eve had a nightmare that night and woke bleary-eyed and uneasy the next morning. Breakfast was a subdued affair, even though Cecil kept up a cheery monologue throughout the meal, supported now and then by Claire.

  When afterward Eve retired directly to the morning room, intent on taking refuge there, she was immediately followed by her family, who were resolved to provide her company and keep her mind off her troubles.

  Moments later, she heard the rap of the door knocker. Her nerves still on edge, Eve felt all her muscles tense—until she realized that the visitor was likely Ryder, since it was too early for normal callers.

  She set aside the book on agriculture that she was reading and strove for poise, although she felt at a disadvantage wearing an old gown, with her hair piled carelessly on top of her head. Then Ryder strolled into the room and sent her a quiet smile before greeting the others. Absurd how his presence instantly comforted her.

  Amazingly, he was welcomed warmly by both Drucilla and Beatrice.

  At least some benefit, Eve thought wryly, had come from her near death. Because Ryder had saved her life, the aunts had amended their opinion of him somewhat, and he was tentatively established in their good graces at least for the moment.

  “I promised you another footman, Countess,” Ryder said when the aunts were done expressing their gratitude once more. He gestured toward the door, and immediately a handsome chestnut-haired man entered and moved to stand before Eve.

  Her eyes widened when she recognized Mr. Beau Macklin, for oddly enough, he was dressed as a footman.

  Although his stance was appropriately humble for a servant and his expression solemn, his eyes twinkled at her. “Good morning, my lady. Macky, at your service.”

  Cecil bounded to his feet, looking astonished. “Macky, is that really you?”

  “Aye, lad, ’tis I,” he responded with a bold grin.

  “What the devil are you doing dressed as a servant?”

  “It is my costume, of course—to support my new role. I will be posing undercover as a footman in your house.” He gave Eve a formal bow. “I was formerly an actor, my lady, so I have experience playing roles other than that of gentleman about town.”

  Ryder spoke up. “As I told you, Countess, I want someone to protect you when I cannot be here, and this is the most expedient way. Consider Macky your new shadow. You will take him with you everywhere you go, and I mean everywhere. You are not to leave the house without him.”

  “Very well,” Eve said slowly, “if you think it necessary. But won’t Mr. Macklin be recognized?”

  “Probably not by anyone in your household, since your servants have never seen him before. And it’s unlikely your peers will make the connection, since gentry rarely glance twice at servants.”

  Ryder turned to address the aunts. “Lady Wykfield, Lady Beatrice, I hope you won’t hold Macky’s former profession against him. He is well qualified for the task of keeping Lady Hayden safe. I would trust him with my life—and have done so on more than one occasion. He is sometimes employed by the Foreign Office, as I am.”

  When Drucilla gave Macky a cold scrutiny, Eve could tell she was offended that they’d been duped into assuming Macky a gentleman. But for once Drucilla stifled her class prejudices in favor of more practical concerns and nodded regally. “We will all be grateful for his presence, Sir Alex. I scarcely slept a wink last night, worrying about Lady Hayden. I feared that she—indeed, we all—could be assaulted in our very beds.”

  “I say!” Cecil exclaimed. “Never knew you were an agent of the F.O., Macky. It must be exciting. I hope you will tell me about some of your adventures.”

  “Certainly I will,” Macky agreed. “But you will need to keep my identity a secret. We don’t want to alert our villain and spoil the chance to catch him, now do we?”

  Cecil chuckled, and Eve could tell her brother consi
dered it great fun to support the hoax. Even Claire was smiling softly. The twins had grown fond of Ryder’s friend in the short time they’d known him, and Eve enjoyed his company too, for Macky could be counted on to liven any gathering and frequently made them all laugh with his wit.

  With another bow, Macky withdrew from the room to stand guard just outside the door, but Ryder settled beside Eve on the settee, saying he wanted to question them about who might want her harmed.

  He was deadly serious about protecting her, Eve knew, consoled by the thought. It was Ryder himself, however, who made her feel safe. For him, defending others against potential violence was commonplace. It was his profession, after all. He was a man comfortable with danger, and his self-assurance and air of purpose bolstered her own confidence and made her believe that eventually they would discover the identity of and thwart her unknown assailant.

  Ryder appeared all business when he asked her again to recount the two incidents that had occurred in Hertfordshire. Then his inquiry turned to possible suspects—anyone with whom she might have had altercations during the past year.

  “There is only one person I can think of,” Eve said pensively. “The former steward of Hayden Park, Tobias Meade.”

  “Yes,” Cecil agreed. “Meade would have good reason to dislike you—although not enough to murder you, I should think.”

  “Why would he dislike her?” Ryder asked.

  “Because Evie fired him six months ago.”

  “I let him go for poor management,” she explained, “and for gravely neglecting the estate tenants. I didn’t believe Meade was crooked, merely lazy and incompetent. But after my husband died, I could no longer tolerate his ineptitude. So I fired him and hired a better steward to take his place.”

  Ryder raised an eyebrow. “Did you have the authority to fire him? I thought the estate was entailed.”

  “It is,” Eve replied. “Hayden’s elderly uncle, Laurence Seymour, inherited the title and all the entailed property, but he lives in Bath and has no desire to take up residence at Hayden Park.”

  “A crabby skinflint if there ever was one,” Cecil interjected scornfully.

  Drucilla intervened, her tone haughty as usual. “You will not speak so of your betters, young man. The new Lord Hayden is my cousin, and you will show him proper respect.”

  Cecil grinned. “Didn’t mean to be improper, Aunt Dru. I only meant that he doesn’t concern himself with anything but profits. Before he died, Evie’s earl did his best to let his ancestral seat go to rack and ruin, and now your cousin is following his lead.”

  Eve couldn’t dispute her brother’s contention. Richard had neglected his estates whenever possible, for he had no interest in farming, and tolerated his tenants only for the income they brought him. And the new Lord Hayden was so miserly, he refused to care for his tenant farmers or to pour any of his inherited assets into making the Park a productive estate. Which was why she had taken a greater role in running affairs there.

  “Come to think of it, Evie,” Cecil said thoughtfully, “the new earl isn’t happy with your nagging. Wonder if he has it in for you.”

  “I hardly think Lord Hayden would stoop to murder,” Eve said wryly, “simply because I have pressed him to acknowledge his obligations.”

  “But your interference isn’t making him happy. No doubt he would be glad to be rid of you.”

  Beatrice spoke up in her gentle tone. “Laurence may be a skinflint, but he would not exert himself to do murder. It would require too much effort.”

  Eve couldn’t help but smile. “It is absurd to consider him a suspect, Cecil.”

  “What have you done that is so vexing?” Ryder asked her.

  “I’ve merely tried to oversee the estate in his place, since he won’t trouble himself.”

  Drucilla grimaced. “You have troubled yourself to the point of obsession, Eve. You never take your nose out of that almanac or some other publication on agriculture.”

  When she pointed at the book lying on the table before Eve, Eve saw Ryder glance down and read the title: The Farmer’s Calendar by Arthur Young.

  His eyebrow lifted in surprise, and she felt a need to explain. “I cannot judge how an estate steward is performing if I am totally ignorant about agriculture, so I’ve tried to learn about land management and more productive methods of farming.”

  Drucilla scoffed at this. “It is bad enough that you delve into such unladylike matters as crop rotation and drainage and the impact of the Corn Laws. But I don’t know why you insist on spending so much of your widow’s jointure on repairs of tenant cottages and such. It is not your responsibility in the least.”

  “Perhaps I have no formal responsibility, but morally I feel obliged to make amends for Richard’s neglect. And Lord Hayden refuses to become involved.”

  “No doubt,” Beatrice pointed out, “he would be delighted if you simply remained in London and never returned to the Park.”

  That much was true, Eve reflected. The London house belonged to her, willed to her by her late husband. When Richard was alive, they had spent most of their time in London, for he had relished the whirl of town life. But Eve much preferred the country. She was glad the new earl had declined to assume residence at Hayden Park—the family seat of the Earls of Hayden. But even if he did eventually claim his seat, he could not evict her entirely. She had the right to remove to the nearby dower house, which was a rather large, comfortable manor specifically built for the widows of the Hayden earls.

  “I have no intention of leaving Hayden Park,” Eve replied lightly. “I cannot simply abandon the tenants there. They need someone to champion them, so for the time being, I have appointed myself to the role.”

  “I think it quite admirable of you, Eve,” Claire said loyally.

  “So do I,” Beatrice seconded.

  Feeling Ryder’s eyes on her, Eve glanced at him. He was studying her as if she were fascinating to him.

  She looked away as a blush rose to her cheeks. “Whatever contribution I’ve made to their welfare is merely their due. The tenants welcomed me as their mistress seven years ago, and I merely want to repay them. And truthfully, it is satisfying to be able to help. There is so little ladies are allowed to do, but this is one way I can make a difference.”

  She strove to keep her tone light, although it was difficult. She’d been helpless to aid the tenants much when Richard was alive, for he wouldn’t countenance her involvement in estate affairs beyond the superficial. But she had tried to make up for it since.

  “I think you make too much of your perceived limitations, Eve,” Drucilla said. “Ladies are permitted a great deal of independence within the boundaries of their station.”

  Eve winced and couldn’t help but respond to what was such a sore subject for her. “I beg to disagree, Drucilla. Ladies, even more than most women, have little control over anything in their lives. And wives are hardly more than chattel. The law doesn’t even consider them persons, but rather the property of some man. And a woman with no fortune is utterly powerless.”

  She couldn’t control the edge of bitterness in her tone, and Drucilla objected just as vociferously. “It is simply as God ordained. Yet any lady of birth and breeding wields a great deal of authority.”

  “Not without the permission of her husband,” Eve retorted. “Some are expected to be nothing more than a possession, a pretty, useless ornament for a nobleman’s arm. Richard considered that my proper role.”

  Seeing Ryder’s frown, Eve realized how sharp her tone had become. She shook herself, wondering how she could have let herself get so carried away. She hadn’t meant for the discussion to lead to her own views on female independence.

  “But never mind that,” she said, softening her tone. “We were discussing what enemies I might have made—unconsciously or otherwise.”

  “Well, it is unlikely to be any of the estate tenants,” her brother commented. “They all think you a saint. But there is always Viscount Gyllford,” Cecil added, r
eferring to the owner of the neighboring estate who had been pestering her to wed him. “He could still be angry at you for rejecting his proposal.”

  “Enough to kill me?” Eve asked dubiously.

  “He is eager to marry you, Evie. Perhaps he doesn’t want anyone else claiming you.”

  She shook her head, and a long silence followed while they all stewed over who the culprit might be.

  Eventually Ryder broke the silence. “I think for now we can put your former steward at the head of our list of suspects. Certainly enough to warrant investigating him.”

  The aunts went on to speak in Lord Gyllford’s defense, repeating their arguments regarding his eligibility for Eve’s possible remarriage. Ryder listened with only half an ear while contemplating the feelings Eve had let slip about her late husband—her bitterness and resentment.

  He understood clearly now that she hadn’t relished her vaunted position as a nobleman’s prize possession. That even now she hoped to make a difference in the lives of her former estate tenants, despite the fact that they were no longer her responsibility.

  What shamed Ryder was knowing he was guilty of striving to acquire Eve as his possession. For years he’d viewed her as a living, breathing symbol of all the things he’d never had, all he’d ever wanted.

  Yet now that he was coming to know the real woman behind the image, he’d discovered she was even more captivating than the golden girl of his dreams. Her generosity of spirit, her caring nature, were more irresistible than her beauty or her alluring siren’s smile.

  And his desire for her was far more than carnal. He craved her company, her conversation, her thoughts. Learning more about Eve, truly knowing her, had become as much of an obsession as making love to her. He wanted to know everything about her: her longings and fears, the joy and pain in her life, the things that made her Eve, the woman he loved.

  Ryder suddenly went still as his heart slammed hard in his chest. He had refused to put a name to the feelings he’d always had for Eve, but he could no longer deceive himself.