Only in My Arms (48 page)

Mary's climax rocked her forward, arching her body like a bow. Ryder came into her, held her, and shuddered with his own release. They went limp together, easing themselves down on the wet tile.

Mary hid her face in the curve of her elbow. When she felt Ryder tap her lightly on the shoulder she turned her head and gave him the benefit of one open eye and a single raised brow. "Don't ever interrupt my bath again," she said, weary with pleasure. "I won't survive it."

"May I take that as a compliment?"

She nodded and closed her eye. "This floor's cold." Still, she made no move to get up. Ryder helped her a little later, after he found dry towels in the washstand. He sent her off to the bedroom and cleaned up the mess they'd made.

"Someone's knocking at the door," she called in to him. "Are you expecting anyone?"

"It's our dinner," he said. "I'll get it. You're not decent."

"I'm decent," she mumbled. "I'm just not dressed." Mary flopped back on the bed. The towel unraveled at her breasts, and she was tugging it closed as Ryder came into the room. She regarded him skeptically. "You're not precisely prepared to receive company either."

In short order Ryder pulled on a dry shirt and clean trousers. He was tucking in the shirt, on his way to the door, when he called back to her. "Get dressed. When we're done eating, we're going out."

"Out?"

Ryder didn't reply. He opened the door. Doc was standing on the threshold with a large tray of covered dishes. Ryder took the tray.

"I don't do this for just anyone," Doc said.

"I didn't expect personal service." Ryder balanced the tray in one hand and began searching his pocket for money for a tip.

Doc shook his head. "Don't trouble yourself. I came on another matter, too."

"Oh?"

"Mrs. Anderson—she's the boarder below you—came to me with a complaint. Seems there's a regular waterfall coming from your suite into hers. You wouldn't know anything about that, would you?"

Ryder's expression didn't change. "My wife was taking a bath," he said. "I'll have to ask her."

Doc looked at Ryder's wet hair and the shirt that was clinging damply to his chest and drew his own conclusions. He cleared his throat, hiding his smile, and said, "You do that."

Ryder shut the door and carried the tray to the table by the window of their sitting room. He lifted the lids and waved some of the fragrance of their hot meal in the direction of the bedroom. "Can you smell that?" he asked. "Dinner's ready."

"I heard everything that man said," she called back. "I'm never coming out."

Ryder smiled. "Suit yourself."

He arranged the dishes on the table and sat down. He hadn't finished unfolding the napkin in his lap when Mary joined him.

"My stomach's growling," she explained defensively, taking the chair opposite him.

"I didn't say anything."

She ladled mushroom soup into her bowl. "You didn't have to. No one who uses silence as effectively as you has to say much of anything. I swear you could have wrung a confession from Saint Joan." Mary spooned some soup, raising it to her lips. The aroma was delicious, and the first taste proved it was every bit as good as it smelled.

They ate in silence for several minutes, moving from the soup to the crisp salad with vinaigrette dressing. Mary asked, "Where are we going?"

"To the theater."

"The theater?" She could not have been more surprised if he had said they were going to jump in the Potomac. "There's a play you want to see?"

"Not exactly."

She waggled her fork at him. "I know how to use this weapon."

He laughed. "All right. I was at the library this afternoon, catching up on what Washington knows about the Colter Canyon affair. While I was going through some of the most recent papers I saw an opening night notice for
Much Ado About Nothing.
It's anticipated to draw quite a crowd because Yvonne Marie is playing the role of Beatrice. I may not have seen anything but saloon hall dramas these last few years, but even I've heard of Miss Marie."

"I shouldn't wonder," Mary said tartly. "She has her picture on cigarette packages. I've seen them."

He arched one dark brow. "Really."

"We had patients at the hospital who swore her picture, if held close to the heart, had healing powers. It was not a notion well received by Mother Superior."

Or Mary either, he suspected. "Well, tonight she's live at the Regent Theater and I'd like to be there." He served Mary her portion of the broiled trout and parsley potatoes.

"I rather despise myself for saying this," she commented, "but I really don't have anything to wear."

Ryder's gray glance slid smoothly over Mary's dark green gown. It was embellished with ivory lace at the throat and cuffs, and she had found a brooch among her sister's things to enhance the high neckline. "You look fine to me."

She grimaced. "That's because you haven't been to anything but saloon hall dramas. Someday I'll explain how insulting that comment is."

He changed the wording a bit. "You look beautiful, and you'll be fine for what I have in mind."

Mary rolled her eyes. "That's only marginally better."

"Trust me."

"I have to," she said. "I have no idea what you're up to."

* * *

What Ryder had in mind did not involve stepping foot in the theater. Mary sat back in the carriage, propped her feet on the seat opposite her, and sighed dramatically. "And I did so want to see Miss Marie perform Beatrice," she said.

Ryder patted her foot absently as he continued to stare out the carriage window in the direction of the Regent's front entrance. He had a good view of the six double doors that led into the theater. While carriages waited in a very civilized line along the wide avenue to pick up the theater patrons, none blocked the entrance, and therefore, none blocked Ryder's line of vision from across the street.

"I can't imagine what you think you'll see," Mary said, stifling a yawn. "It will be at least ten minutes before the final curtain."

"People are enamored of the theater to different degrees," he said. Ryder put Mary's feet on his lap and massaged her ankles. "Someone may always leave early."

She hummed her pleasure as his fingers worked over her ankles and feet and didn't bother to disagree with him. Once the play was ended there would be a well-bred, mannerly rush to the street to exit the entertainment hall, but leaving prior to the first round of applause was simply not done.

This last thought was barely a complete sentence in her head when the doorman stepped forward to open the doors on the right side of the entrance. Mary caught the movement out of the corner of her eye, and she sat up straighter, removing her feet from Ryder's lap. She leaned closer to the carriage window and immediately had to clear the condensation of her breath on the glass.

"Washington," she murmured, shaking her head. "This wouldn't happen in New York." She heard Ryder chuckle under his breath, but she ignored him as two couples exited the theater. Both of the men were wearing Army uniforms. Mary didn't know enough about insignia to identify their ranks. "Do you know them?" she asked.

Ryder didn't answer her. He was frowning, studying the soldiers with a narrowed, incisive gaze.

As Mary watched, the doorman went to the curb and waved for a hack. A hansom detached itself from the long line of waiting cabs, and the driver smartly guided his horse and hack to the entrance. The carriage blocked her view momentarily, and when the hansom moved on, the doorman was once again a solitary figure outside the Regent Theater.

Mary leaned back again, turning her attention to Ryder. He was no longer looking across the street, but his eyes, though trained in Mary's direction, were not seeing her either. "Ryder?" she asked. "What is it?"

He didn't answer immediately, and when he did, the reply was cryptic. "The unexpected," he said.

Mary had no patience for that. Her foot connected with his shin. She nodded, satisfied that she now commanded his complete attention.

"You kicked me," he said accusingly.

"I nudged you," she said. "There's a difference."

"Tell that to my leg." He rubbed it a moment. "I thought I recognized one of the men, that's all," he said. "I'm probably mistaken."

Mary wasn't convinced that Ryder would make that sort of mistake. For some reason she couldn't divine, he wasn't prepared to tell her more. She decided to share what she knew instead. "Neither of them were high-ranking officers," she said. "Nor have they been in Washington very long."

Ryder regarded her with interest. "How do you surmise that?"

"The hansom that was summoned for them is rented, just as ours is. The carriages lining the street on the other side belong to their owners. If those men were more permanent residents of the city, and if they could afford it, they would have had their own carriage meet them at the entrance. It makes a more proper presentation, and even in Washington, perhaps most
especially
in Washington, presentation is as important as substance."

"What else?" he asked, intrigued.

"Neither one of them has been an officer long," she said. "Their uniforms are slightly faded, but the insignia is new. It was much brighter under the theater lights than even their buttons."

"And?"

"And they didn't go to West Point," she said with assurance. "They would have learned some manners there if they hadn't been taught any at home. They should not have left the theater early. Illness alone might provoke that action, but you could see very well that none of the party was ill." Mary's smile was a trifle smug as she concluded, "And the women they escorted were as rented as the hacks."

Ryder was not surprised she had noticed that.

"It's really not appropriate to hire a... a..."

"An escort," Ryder supplied. "I think that's the word you're searching for."

"It's not," she said honestly. "But it will serve. As I was saying, it's not appropriate for an opening-night performance. Husbands quite properly escort their wives to an event like this. They don't even take their mistresses unless they want to embarrass them or publicly humiliate their wives. It's simply not done. Now, tomorrow evening is an entirely different matter."

Ryder's lip curled derisively as he considered the mores and mandates of polite society. "How does one learn these things?" he asked with a touch of sarcasm.

"My point exactly," Mary said. "One learns by living with them. These rules aren't written down anywhere. They're rarely spoken of. Yet they often are accorded more respect than the Ten Commandments, and they are enforced with more exacting punishments than the plagues God visited upon the Egyptians. Those two men who just exited don't know the rules or they didn't care enough to observe them. Now, if you thought you recognized one of them it only makes sense to me that you met the man in the West." Mary gave Ryder a firm, questioning glance. "So? Are you going to tell me something more than you have or do I—"

Ryder held up his hand as all the double doors in front of the Regent were opened with considerable flourish. The opening-night patrons began to spill onto the sidewalk almost immediately. "You can wait here or come with me," he said, as a handsomely gilded carriage approached the front doors and blocked their view. "But if you come, stay by my side and don't draw attention to yourself."

"As if I would."

Leaning forward quickly, Ryder kissed her quickly on the cheek. "You can't help it, Mary. Cover your hair." He opened the door of the hansom, jumped down, and held out his hand to her.

Mary raised the hood of her cape before she took the proffered hand. Ryder told their driver to move on, circle the block, but not take another fare. He assured the man they would be making the return to the boarding house with him and they would pay for his time. Mary was going to remark on the wisdom of this, in light of their reduced funds, when she felt Ryder tug on her arm to get her to cross the avenue.

The pace was more frantic now as hansoms vied with each other to collect their owners and the hired hacks moved in to snare the patrons who didn't have their own means of transportation. Ryder and Mary dodged horses and hansoms as they crossed the wide thoroughfare. They slipped behind a hack just pulling up to the sidewalk and then took their place as part of the crowd. Ryder wove Mary skillfully through the throng until they were able to stand just beyond the gaslights on the shadowed perimeter of the theater.

Mary did not know who he was looking for or what to expect, but she was able to identify a number of people in the sea of faces. "That's Alvin Schafer," she whispered to Ryder. "And his wife Carolyn. Over there, in the blue, just coming out now. He's a social reformer, and very well connected politically. I've heard him speak in New York. They take up the cause of orphaned children in the cities."

Ryder was only listening with half an ear. He gave the couple a cursory glance and continued to scan the faces in the swarm in front of the theater.

"There are the Dodds." She stood on tiptoe to get a better view of the pendant at Mrs. Dodd's throat. "Why, I believe that's paste," she said, astonished. "She must have sold the original and had a copy made. I can tell you, the original is not half so large as that garish item. And look at the way she refuses to close her cape. She's inviting everyone to ogle it."