back just in time, he frowned-then banished the expression to smile, far too intently, into Patience's eyes. 'I've been waiting to fill you in on the latest developments-the figures on production after we instituted the new rotation scheme. I know,' he said, smiling fondly down at her, 'how interested you are in 'our little patch.''
'Ah-yes.' What could she say? She'd always used agriculture, and having run the Grange for so long she had a more than passing knowledge of the subject, to distract Penwick. 'Perhaps-?' She glanced hopefully at Henry. Tight-lipped, his gaze was fixed, not amiably, on Penwick. 'Henry was just telling me how fine the weather's been these last few days.'
Henry obligingly followed her lead. 'Should stay fine for the foreseeable future. I was talking to Grisham only this morning-'
Unfortunately, despite considerable effort, Patience could not get Henry to switch to the effect of the weather on the crops, nor could she get Penwick to, as he usually did, distract Henry and himself with such matters.
To crown all, Edmond kept taking snippets from both Henry's and Penwick's words and fashioning them into verse, then, across whoever was speaking, trying to engage her in a discussion of how such verses might fit with the development of his drama.
Within five minutes, the conversation descended into a three-way tug-of-war for her attention-Patience was ready to throttle whichever foolish servant it was who'd divulged her up-until-then-secret location.
At the end of ten minutes, she was ready to throttle Henry, Edmond and Penwick as well. Henry held his position and pontificated on the elements; Edmond, nothing loath, was now talking of including mythological gods as commentators on his main characters' actions. Penwick, losing out to the chorus, puffed out his chest and portentously asked: 'Where's Debbington? Surprised he isn't here, bearing you company.'
'Oh, he tagged along with Cynster,' Henry offhandedly informed him. 'They escorted Angela and Mama to Northampton.'
Finding Patience's gaze riveted on his face, Henry beamed at her. 'Deal of sunshine, today-shouldn't wonder if Angela doesn't claim a turn in Cynster's curricle.'
Patience's brows rose. 'Indeed?'
There was a note in her voice which successfully halted all conversation; the three gentlemen, suddenly wary, glanced sidelong at each other.
'I think,' Patience declared, 'that I have rested long enough.' Tossing aside the rug that had lain across her lap, she pushed herself to the edge of the daybed, and carefully let down her good leg, then the damaged one. 'If you would be so good as to give me your arm…?'
They all rushed to help. In the end, it wasn't as easy as she'd thought-her knee was still tender, and very stiff. Taking her full weight on that leg was out of the question.
Which made the stairs impossible. Edmond and Henry made a chair of their arms; Patience sat and held their shoulders for balance. Puffed with importance, Penwick led the way down, talking all the while. Henry and Edmond couldn't talk-they were concentrating too much on balancing her weight down the steep stairs.
They made it to the front hall without mishap, and set her carefully on her feet on the tiles. By then Patience was having second thoughts-or rather, she
That Angela had enjoyed the drive-would even now be enjoying the drive-she herself had fantasized over, but had, for the greater good, not sought to claim.
She was not in a very good mood.
'The back parlor,' she declared. Leaning on both Henry's and Edmond's arms, she hobbled along between them, trying not to wince. Penwick rattled on, recounting the number of bushels 'their little patch' had produced, his matrimonial assumptions waving like flags in his words. Patience gritted her teeth. Once they gained the back parlor, she would dismiss them all-and then, very carefully, massage her knee.
No one would look for her in the back parlor.
'You're not supposed to be on your feet.'
The statement, uttered in a flat tone, filled the sudden gap where Penwick's babble had been.
Patience looked up, then had to tip her chin higher-Vane was standing directly in front of her. He was wearing his caped greatcoat; the wind had ruffled his hair. Behind him, the side door stood open. Light streamed into the dim corridor, but didn't reach her. He blocked it-a very large, very male figure, made even larger by the capes of his greatcoat, spread wide by his broad shoulders. She couldn't see the expression on his face, in his eyes-she didn't need to. She knew his face was hard, his eyes steel grey, his lips thin.
Irritation poured from him in waves; in the confines of the corridor, it was a tangible force. 'I did warn you,' he said, his tones clipped, 'what would happen.'
Patience opened her lips; all she uttered was a gasp.
She was no longer on her feet, she was in his arms.
'Just a minute!'
'I say-!'
'Wait-!'
The ineffectual exclamations died behind them. Vane's swift strides had them back in the front hall before Penwick, Edmond, and Henry could do more than collectively blink.
Catching her breath, Patience glared. 'Put me down!'
Vane glanced, very briefly, into her face. 'No.' He started up the stairs.
Patience drew in a breath-two maids were coming down the stairs. She smiled as they passed. And then they were in the gallery. It had taken the others ten full minutes to get her downstairs; Vane had accomplished the reverse in under a minute. 'The other
'Sapskulls.'
Patience's breasts swelled. 'I
'Why?'
Why? Because then, if he came looking for her after his fine day out at Northampton with Angela, he wouldn't have known where she was and might have been worried? 'Because,' Patience tartly replied, folding her arms defensively across her breasts, 'I've grown sick of the upstairs parlor.' The parlor he'd arranged for her. 'I'm bored there.'
Vane glanced at her as he juggled her to open the door. 'Bored?'
Patience looked into his eyes and wished she'd used some other word. Bored was, apparently, a red rag to a rake. 'It's not long to dinner, perhaps you should just take me to my room.'
The door swung wide. Vane stepped through, then kicked it shut behind them. And smiled. 'There's more than an hour before you need change. I'll carry you to your room-later.'
His eyes had narrowed, silvery with intent. His voice had changed to his dangerous purr. Patience wondered if any of the other three would have the courage to follow-she couldn't believe they would. Ever since Vane had so coldly annihilated their senseless accusations of Gerrard, both Edmond and Henry treated him with respect-the sort of respect accorded dangerous carnivores. And Penwick knew Vane disliked him-intensely.
Vane advanced on the daybed. Patience eyed it with increasing misgiving. 'What do you think you're doing?'
'Tying you to the daybed.'
She tried to humph, tried to ignore the premonition tickling her spine. 'Don't be silly-you just said that as a threat.' Would it be wise to wind her arms about his neck?
He reached the back of the bed, and stopped. 'I never issue threats.' His words floated down to her as she stared at the cushions. 'Only warnings.'
With that, he swung her over the wrought-iron back and set her down with her spine against it. Patience immediately squirmed, trying to twist around. One large palm, splayed across her midriff, kept her firmly in place.
'And then,' Vane continued, in the same, dangerous tone, 'we'll have to see what we can do to… distract you.'
'Distract me?' Patience stopped her futile wriggling.
'Hmm.' His words feathered her ear. 'To alleviate your boredom.'
