“To be honest,” the young lady admitted in a low voice, “I don’t at all mind the delay. I was dreading having to face the London ton.”
“You are just afraid to be courted by any beaux.”
Claire flushed while sending her brother a cool glance. “I am not afraid. I am simply nervous among strangers.”
She tended to stammer when she became nervous, which happened frequently, Ryder recalled, so the respite would undoubtedly be welcome to her. The boy’s disappointment was understandable, however. For the past year and more, Cecil had been champing at the bit to get away from Cyrene—a small island in the western Mediterranean not too distant from the coast of Spain—and have a taste of the glamorous London social life.
Ryder shook himself and entered the fray. “Mind your manners, halfling. Lady Claire will do very well in London. She’ll have countless beaux eating out of her hand, I have no doubt.”
Cecil had the grace to look apologetic. “Yes, sir, I am sure you are right. But meanwhile . . . I have a favor to ask of you, Mr. Ryder.”
“What favor?”
“Will you look after Claire while I am away at university? We have never been separated for long, you see, and I would feel better, knowing you were championing her. Escort her to the island assemblies, stand up with her at dances, that sort of thing. Help her to become more at ease in company to prepare for her eventual debut. I will worry myself sick otherwise.”
Ryder returned a wry smile. To the boy’s credit, he cared deeply for his twin and would let no one but himself plague her. The twin’s parents, however, were another matter entirely. “Your parents will object to my associating so intimately with Lady Claire.”
“No, they won’t, sir. They consider you almost respectable now, since you are a hero and command such distinguished patronage.”
“I suppose I should be gratified,” Ryder murmured sardonically. He had recently performed a valued service for the British Foreign Secretary, which had earned him several high-powered advocates in governmental ranks. But even that couldn’t make up for his notorious past with high sticklers such as Eve’s father.
“Besides,” Cecil added sincerely, “Claire may need help in standing up to Papa while I am away, and you are not the least afraid of him.”
Ryder curiously eyed Lady Claire, who was carefully studying him in turn. It surprised him that she remained mute while her brother arranged her future. Claire might be sweet and shy, yet Ryder knew she possessed an unexpected backbone hidden beneath her quiet demeanor.
But he smiled graciously and gave her a gallant bow, saying he would be honored to stand her champion while her brother was away in England.
When he then offered the twins breakfast, Cecil accepted with alacrity, exclaiming that he was famished, but Lady Claire suddenly became aware of Ryder’s state of undress. Her cheeks turned pink as she stammered a polite refusal, insisting that they had imposed long enough. She then marshalled her brother from the drawing room, leaving Ryder alone with his dazed thoughts.
Crossing to the window, he stared out at the foothills in the distance, which were covered with spring wildflowers. If Eve was now a widow, was it possible she would eventually remarry? And, if so, did he want to put himself in the running for her hand?
She might not welcome his suit. At their last meeting, his behavior had been less than admirable, for he’d practically assaulted her.
The image was burned into his mind. It was the summer he had returned to Cyrene in order to court her.
For two months he’d taken advantage of her habit of riding daily over the island. By journeying out every morning himself, he’d encountered her often and made significant progress in his campaign to gain her trust and affection. But then came a week when he saw nothing of her. He knew an English earl was visiting her family, and when he began hearing rumors about Lady Eve’s possible betrothal, he sent a servant to her with a message, asking her to meet him in the same meadow where he regularly fished.
He waited impatiently for her to come, and when she did, the oddly guilty look on her face told him without words that his dreaded suspicion had been realized. Until then, he had never credited she would accept a proposal from anyone but him.
“So it’s true?” he rasped, his stomach clenching with a feeling of betrayal. “You intend to marry that damned earl?”
As if to equalize their levels, Eve dismounted to join him before delivering her answer. “It is true that my parents have arranged a marriage of convenience for me.”
“Whose convenience? Theirs?” Ryder replied savagely.
“Well, yes . . . in part. Lord Hayden means to settle all of Papa’s debts and provide a dowry for Claire and fund Cecil’s university schooling as well. But it is considered a brilliant match for me.”
His anger and frustration spilled over. “What I see is that you are being sacrificed to order to keep your spendthrift father in horses and carriages.”
Eve’s expression held dismay as she tried to placate him. “Surely you understand that I must marry well, Ryder. I have always known that it was up to me to repair our family fortunes. That I would never have the luxury of making any kind of match but one of convenience.”
“You could marry me instead.”
She stared at him as if stunned, and Ryder stared back—fiercely. He hadn’t meant to declare his intentions so baldly, but her announcement had forced his hand.
“If you were to wed me, you would not be pressed into a marriage that is repugnant to you. I am wealthy enough to care for you and your family in style and comfort.”
“Oh, Ryder . . .” she whispered softly. Her eyes lowered. “That is exceedingly kind of you, but I could not accept.”
“Why not?”
When she made no reply, Ryder took a step closer. “I could take you away from here, Eve. We could elope.”
She managed a faint smile. “The thought is tempting, I admit. . . .” She shook her head and gave a quiet laugh. “It is foolish for me to even contemplate something so scandalous.”
She offered him another smile, this one bright and brave. “Come, now, Ryder, you needn’t feel pity for me. It won’t be so bad, being the wife of an earl. Certainly not repugnant. Lord Hayden is considered a prime catch. He is handsome and charming and moves in the first circles of Society, and he has vast estates in Hertfordshire and a mansion in London. I intend to make the best of it. I will make a fine countess, don’t you think?”
She was trying to lighten his savage mood by teasing him, but it had the opposite effect; Ryder wanted to strike out at something.
“Is that why you won’t accept my proposal?” he demanded. “Because I cannot make you a countess?”
“Mama is set on my marrying a title, true, but it is not merely that. . . .”
“It’s because your parents consider my gains ill-gotten.” Because he had earned his riches as a soldier of fortune, Ryder knew.
Eve gave a helpless shrug. “I could not deny my family’s wishes, Ryder. They would be devastated—and my sister and brother would only suffer for it.”
He understood all too well. She could not go against her family—indeed, all of Society—to wed a lowly mercenary, no matter how wealthy. It would brand her a social outcast and taint her family in the process.
But his bitterness couldn’t be controlled. He took a final step toward her, closing the distance between them. He’d always been careful never to touch her, to avoid temptation, but now he reached for Eve and pulled her into his arms, hard against him.
He intended to kiss her, needed to kiss her in order to express his helpless rage. He couldn’t stop himself; it would be easier to stop his own beating heart.
Her lips parted in a gasp an instant before Ryder brought his mouth crashing down on hers. Her body went rigid with shock at his unexpected assault, but he went on ravaging her mouth, his tongue thrusting deep into her warmth, as if by sheer force of will he could compel her to change her mind and accept his offer of marri
age instead of the one her family had obtained for her.
For a long moment, she remained frozen, paralyzed. And then suddenly, miraculously, she melted against him, reaching up to clutch at his shoulders. She returned his kiss with fervor, stunning Ryder to his core. At last, after all these years, she was in his arms, surrendering to his passion.
Devouring her mouth, he sank down with her on the grass, struggling for breath as he strove to control his primitive urges. He felt desperate, needy, hungry for the taste of her, for the incredible feel of her. Helplessly, he moved his hand over the jacket of her riding habit and covered her breast. She moaned at his touch, responding as passionately as he’d known she would.
The husky sound ignited a raging fire inside him. Driven by the need to possess her, he reached for the hem of her riding skirts and pushed up the fabric, dragging his palm along her bare thigh. In some vague corner of his mind, he thought he could prove to Eve that she didn’t want a cold-blooded marriage to a noble lord. That she wanted him. But when his hand reached the naked juncture of her thighs, she flinched in shock.
“Ryder, no!”
Frantically, she shoved his hand away and squirmed to break free from beneath his heavy body. When he released her, she scrambled to her feet, looking dismayed.
“Eve . . . God, Eve, I am sorry—”
She clapped a hand over her passion-bruised mouth and shook her head.
Turning, she practically ran to her horse and pulled herself into the sidesaddle. With one last despairing glance at Ryder, she spurred her horse into a canter and fled the meadow, leaving him staring after her retreating form, a cold knife blade twisting in his gut.
Cursing the memory as he stood at the drawing-room window, Ryder ran a hand raggedly through his dark hair. If Eve hadn’t stopped him, he would have taken her there in the meadow like a common doxy, with no thought for her innocence.
He should have been flogged for acting so savagely. Perhaps, he’d brooded afterward, he didn’t deserve her after all. And not merely because he had blood on his hands.
Society deemed him a killer with a tarnished soul, yet the state of his soul had never seriously troubled him before. He couldn’t honestly regret becoming a mercenary, since it had been his way out of poverty. He had sold his services to various private armies, true. His father had been a grenadier in the British army and had taught him the principles of explosives from a young age. Ryder had purposely become an expert at firearms and in devising explosive weapons—valued skills in the deadly art of warfare.
He knew a hundred ways to kill . . . yet he also knew how to protect. Foreign royalty paid well to remain safe from the threat of spies and assassins. It was while acting as personal bodyguard to a Russian prince that Ryder had earned his first lavish reward, which had become the seed for his future wealth.
But haughty aristocrats like Eve’s parents could never accept a former soldier of fortune for their precious daughter. And Ryder had seen the wisdom of moving beyond his mercenary past, at least in the eyes of Society.
It was his behavior toward Eve that day, however, that had jarred him and left him with a driving need to make something more of his life. As a result, he had turned his skills to a more admirable cause than merely protecting rich royalty: He’d joined the Guardians of the Sword, a secret order dedicated to a noble ideal, which publicly operated as a small arm of the British Foreign Office headquartered on Cyrene.
Ryder had been glad for his new purpose, gladder still to be given his first mission and a reason to leave the island, for he refused to stay and watch Lady Eve wed another man.
In the six years since, he had dedicated his life to serving the order’s cause. He’d found fulfillment with the Guardians, and his avocation had become a passion.
In all that time, he’d worked hard to convince himself that Eve no longer meant anything to him. Yet if he were entirely honest, he would admit that his longing for her had never fully diminished.
And now she had become a widow. And everything had changed.
At the realization, Ryder couldn’t deny the heavy thud of his heart or the restless ache welling in his chest.
He still wanted Lady Eve for his bride.
And he meant to win her. She was a symbol of everything he’d had to fight for all his life because of his common origins and questionable past. He intended to prove to her aristocratic world that he was good enough to aspire to their elite ranks.
But, most important, with Eve as his wife, he could finally satisfy his long-held desire for her.
Yet he would have to proceed carefully, Ryder knew. She would likely offer him resistance. But he would succeed this time.
As he made the fervent vow, Ryder felt his stomach tighten in anticipation. Fate was giving him another chance to win Eve. To fulfill his most cherished fantasy—to wed the golden princess who had haunted his dreams for so long.
Abruptly Ryder turned to stride from the drawing room. He had plans to make.
He would allow Eve the proper year of mourning, of course. But in the meantime, he would do everything in his power to clear his path. To remove any outward objections to his suit. He would make certain that he was not only welcomed in Society, but that he moved in the same vaunted circles as she did.
He would call in every favor ever owed him, take advantage of every obligation, all his wealth, ill-gotten or not.
And then nothing and no one would stop him from winning Eve Seymour for his bride.
Wicked Fantasy is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
A Ballantine Books Mass Market Original
Copyright © 2005 by Anne Bushyhead
Excerpt from Fever Dreams by Nicole Jordan copyright © 2005 by Anne Bushyhead
All rights reserved.
Published in the United States by Ballantine Books, an imprint of The Random House Publishing Group, a division of Random House, Inc., New York.
Ballantine and colophon are registered trademarks of Random House, Inc.
eISBN 0-345-48470-3
This book contains an excerpt from the forthcoming paperback edition of Fever Dreams by Nicole Jordan. This excerpt has been set for this edition only and may not reflect the final content of the forthcoming edition.
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