pull out the chair next to Vane's, angling it so it faced the head of the table. Gently, Vane deposited her in it. Masters rolled an ottoman into position; Vane set her injured ankle upon it.
'Would you like a cushion, miss?' Masters inquired.
What could she do? Patience conjured a grateful smile. 'No, thank you, Masters.' Her gaze shifted to Vane, standing in front of her. 'You've been more than kind.'
'Not at all, miss. Now, what would you like for breakfast?'
Between them, Vane and Masters saw her supplied with suitable nourishment-then watched over her as she ate. Patience bore with their male version of fussing as stocially as she could. And waited.
Vane's shoulders were coated with fine droplets of mist.
His hair was darker than usual, an occasional droplet glittering amid the thick locks. He also broke his fast, working steadily through a plate piled with various meats. Patience inwardly sniffed-he was obviously a carnivore.
Eventually, Masters returned to the kitchen, to fetch chafing dishes to keep the fare warm.
As his footsteps faded, Patience pounced. 'You've been out investigating.'
Vane looked up, then nodded and reached for his coffee cup.
'Well?' Patience prompted, when he simply sipped.
Lips compressing, he studied her face, then grudgingly informed her: 'I thought there might be a footprint or two-a track I could follow.' He grimaced. 'The ground was wet enough, but the ruins are all either flags, rocks, or matted grass. Nothing to hold any impression.'
'Hmm.' Patience frowned.
Masters returned. He set down his tray, then crossed to Vane's side. 'Grisham and Duggan are waiting in the kitchen, sir.'
Vane nodded and drained his coffee cup. He set it down and pushed back his chair.
Patience caught his eye and held it. She clung to the contact; her unspoken question hung in the air.
Vane's face hardened. His lips thinned.
Patience narrowed her eyes. 'If you don't tell me, I'll go to the ruins myself.'
Vane narrowed his eyes back. He flicked a glance at Masters, then, somewhat grimly, looked back at Patience. 'We're going to check for any sign that the Spectre came from outside. Hoofprints, anything to suggest he didn't come from the Hall itself.'
Her expression relaxing, Patience nodded. 'It's been so wet, you should find something.'
'Precisely.' Vane stood. 'If there's anything to find.'
Masters left the parlor, on a return trip to the kitchens. From the direction of the stairs came an airy voice, 'Good morning, Masters. Is anyone about yet?'
Angela. They heard Masters's low-voiced answer; Vane looked down and met Patience's wide eyes.
'That's obviously my cue to depart.'
Patience grinned. 'Coward,' she whispered, as he passed her chair.
A heartbeat later, he'd swung about and bent over her, his breath feathering the side of her neck. His strength flowed around her, surrounded her.
'Incidentally,' he murmured, in his deepest purr, 'I meant what I said about the daybed.' He paused. 'So, if you have the slightest inkling of self-preservation, you won't move from this chair.' Cool, hard lips brushed her ear, then slid lower, to lightly caress, with just the barest touch, the sensitive skin beneath her jaw. Patience lost the fight and shivered; her lids lowered.
Vane tipped her chin up; his lips touched hers in a fleeting, achingly incomplete kiss. 'I'll be back before breakfast is over.'
Angela's footsteps sounded in the hall.
Patience opened her eyes to see Vane striding out of the parlor. She heard Angela's delighted greeting, then Vane's answering rumble, dying away as he continued striding. A second later, Angela appeared. She was pouting.
Feeling infinitely older, infinitiely wiser, Patience smiled. 'Come and have some breakfast. The eggs are particularly good.'
The rest of the breakfast crowd gradually wandered in. To Patience's dismay, they, one and all, had already heard of her injury, courtesy of the household grapevine. Luckily, neither she nor Vane had seen fit to inform anyone of the reason for her nighttime excursion, so no one knew how she'd come by her hurts.
Everyone was suitably shocked by her 'accident'; all were quick to proffer their sympathy.
'Distressing business,' Edgar offered with one of his meek smiles.
'Twisted m'knee once, when I was in India.' The General directed a curious glance up the table. 'Horse threw me. Native wallahs wrapped it up in evil-smelling leaves. Knee, not the horse. Came good in no time.'
Patience nodded and sipped her tea.
Gerrard, beside her, occupying the chair she usually used, asked softly, 'Are you sure you're all right?'
Ignoring the ache in her knee, Patience smiled and squeezed his hand lightly. 'I'm hardly a weak creature. I promise you I'm not about to swoon from the pain.'
Gerrard grinned, but his expression remained watchful, concerned.
With her pleasant smile firmly in place, Patience allowed her gaze to roam. Until, across the table, she met Henry's frown.
'You know,' he said, 'I don't quite understand how you came to wrench your knee.' His inflection made the statement a question.
Patience kept smiling. 'I couldn't sleep, so I went for a stroll.'
'Outside?' Edmond's surprise faded to consideration. 'Well, yes, I suppose you'd have to stroll outside- strolling
Smiling over clenched teeth was not easy; Patience managed it, just. 'I did go outside, as it happened.' Silence would have been wiser, but they were all hanging on her words, as avidly curious as only those leading humdrum lives could be.
'But…' Edgar's brow folded itself into pin tucks. 'The fog…' He looked at Patience. 'It was a pea-souper last night. I looked out before I blew out my candle.'
'It was rather dense.' Patience looked at Edmond. 'You would have appreciated the eerieness.'
'I had heard,' Whitticombe diffidently commented, 'that Mr. Cynster carried you in.'
His words, quietly spoken, hung over the breakfast table, raising questions in every mind. A sudden stillness ensued, fraught with surprise and shocked calculation. Calmly, her smile no longer in evidence, Patience turned and, her expression distant, regarded Whitticombe.
Her mind raced, considering alternatives, but there was only one answer she could give. 'Yes, Mr. Cynster did help me back to the house-it was lucky he found me. We'd both seen a light in the ruins and gone to investigate.'
'The Spectre!' The exclamation came from both Angela and Edmond. Their eyes glowed, their faces lit with excitement.
Patience tried to dampen their imminent transports. 'I was following the light when I fell down a hole.'
'I had thought,' Henry said sternly, and all heads swung his way, 'that we all promised Minnie we wouldn't go chasing the Spectre in the dark.' The tenor of his voice and the expression on his face were quite surprising in their intensity. Patience felt a blush touch her cheeks.
'I'm afraid I forgot my promise,' she admitted.
'In the chill of the moment, so to speak.' Edmond leaned across the table. 'Did your spine tingle?'
Patience opened her mouth, eager to grasp Edmond's distraction, but Henry spoke first.
'I think, young man, that this nonsense of yours has gone quite far enough!'
The words were wrath-filled. Startled, everyone looked at Henry-his face was set, skin slightly mottled. His eyes were fixed on Gerrard.
Who stiffened. He met Henry's gaze, then slowly put down his fork. 'What do you mean?'
'I mean,' Henry replied, biting off the words, 'that given the pain and suffering you've caused your sister, I'm shocked to discover you such an unfeeling whelp that you can sit there, beside her, and pretend to innocence.'
