Rakes Vow

Philosophically, she'd shrugged and accepted fate's decree, and set her sights on London. Potential aspirants to the position of Gerrard's mentor would clearly be more numerous there. Comfortable and secure, she and Gerrard had settled into Minnie's household.

Now comfort and security were things of the past-and would remain so until Vane Cynster left.

At that instant, the drawing-room door opened; together with Mrs. Chadwick and Angela, Patience turned to watch the gentlemen stroll in. They were led by Whitticombe Colby, looking insufferably superior as usual; he made for the chaise on which Minnie and Timms sat, with Alice in a chair beside them. Edgar and the General followed Whitticombe through the door; by mutual consent, they headed for the fireplace, beside which Edith Swithins, vaguely smiling, sat tatting industriously.

Her gaze glued to the door, Patience waited-and saw Edmond and Henry amble in. Beneath her breath, she swore, then coughed to disguise the indiscretion. Damn Vane Cynster.

On the thought, he strolled in, Gerrard by his side.

Patience's mental imprecations reached new heights. Mrs. Chadwick had not lied-Vane Cynster was the very epitome of an elegant gentleman. His hair, burnished chestnut several shades darker than her own, glowed softly in the candlelight, wave upon elegant wave sitting perfectly about his head. Even across the room, the strength of his features registered; clear-cut, hard-edged, forehead, nose, jaw, and cheeks appeared sculpted out of rock. Only his lips, long and thin with just a hint of humor to relieve their austerity, and the innate intelligence and, yes, wickedness, that lit his grey eyes, gave any hint of mere mortal personality-all else, including, Patience grudgingly acknowledged, his long, lean body, belonged to a god.

She didn't want to see how well his grey coat of Bath superfine hugged his broad shoulders, how its excellent cut emphasized his broad chest and much narrower hips. She didn't want to notice how precise, how wondrously elegant his white cravat, tied in a simple 'Ballroom,' appeared. And as for his legs, long muscles flexing as he moved, she definitely didn't need to notice them.

He paused just inside the door; Gerrard stopped beside him. As she watched, Vane made some smiling comment, illustrating with a gesture so graceful it set her teeth on edge. Gerrard, face alight, eyes glowing, laughed and responded eagerly.

Vane turned his head; across the room, his eyes met hers.

Patience could have sworn someone had punched her in the stomach; she simply couldn't breathe. Holding her gaze, Vane lifted one brow-challenge flashed between them, subtle yet deliberate, quite impossible to mistake.

Patience stiffened. She dragged in a desperate breath and turned. And plastered a brittle smile on her lips as Edmond and Henry reached them.

'Isn't Mr. Cynster going to join us?' Angela, oblivious of her mother's sharp frown, leaned around to stare past Henry to where Vane and Gerrard still stood talking by the door. 'I'm sure he'd be much more entertained talking to us than to Gerrard.'

Patience bit her lip; she did not agree with Angela, but she fervently hoped Angela would get her wish. For an instant, it seemed she might; Vane's lips curved as he made some comment to Gerrard, then he turned-and strolled to Minnie's side.

It was Gerrard who joined them.

Hiding her relief, Patience welcomed him with a serene smile-and kept her gaze well away from the chaise. Gerrard and Edmond immediately fell to plotting the next scene in Edmond's melodrama-a common diversion for them. Henry, one eye on Patience, made a too-obvious effort to indulgently encourage them; his attitude, and the too-warm look in his eye, irked Patience, as it always did.

Angela, of course, pouted, not an especially pretty sight. Mrs. Chadwick, inured to her daughter's witlessness, sighed and surrendered; she and Angela, now beaming with delight, crossed to join the group about the chaise.

Patience was content to remain where she was, even if that meant withstanding Henry's ardent gaze.

Fifteen minutes later, the tea trolley arrived. Minnie poured, chatting all the while. From the corner of her eye, Patience noted Vane Cynster discoursing amiably with Mrs. Chadwick; Angela, largely ignored, was threatening to pout again. Timms looked up and offered some comment which made everyone laugh; Patience saw her aunt's wise companion smile affectionately up at Vane. Of all the ladies about the chaise, only Alice Colby appeared unimpressed-not, however, unaffected. To Patience's eyes, Alice was even more tense than usual, as if holding back her disapproval by sheer force of will. The object of her ire, however, seemed to find her invisible.

Inwardly humphing, Patience tuned her ears to her brother's conversation, currently revolving about the 'light' in the ruins. Undoubtedly a safer topic than whatever glib sally caused the next wave of laughter from the group about the chaise.

'Henry!'

Mrs. Chadwick's call had Henry turning, then he smiled and nodded to Patience. 'If you'll excuse me, my dear, I'll return in a moment.' He glanced at Gerrard. 'Don't want to miss any of these scintillating plans.'

Knowing full well Henry had no real interest in Gerrard or in Edmond's drama, Patience simply smiled back.

'I'd actually favor doing that scene with the arch in the background.' Gerrard frowned, clearly picturing it. 'The proportions are better.'

'No, no,' Edmond returned. 'It has to be in the cloister.' Looking up, he grinned-at a point past Patience. 'Hello-are we summoned?'

'Indeed.'

The single word, uttered in a voice so deep it literally rumbled, rang in Patience's ears like a knell. She swung around.

A teacup in each hand, Vane, his gaze on Edmond and Gerrard, nodded toward the tea trolley. 'Your presence is requested.'

'Right-ho!' With a cheery smile, Edmond took himself off; without hesitation, Gerrard followed.

Leaving Patience alone, stranded on an island of privacy in the corner of the drawing room with the one gentleman in the entire company she heartily wished at the devil.

'Thank you.' With a stiff inclination of her head, she accepted the cup Vane offered her. With rigid calm, she sipped. And tried not to notice how easily he had isolated her-cut her out from her protective herd. She'd recognized him immediately as a wolf; apparently, he was an accomplished one. A fact she would henceforth bear in mind. Along with all the rest.

She could feel his gaze on her face; resolutely, she lifted her head and met his eyes. 'Minnie mentioned you were on your way to Leamington, Mr. Cynster. I daresay you'll be eager to see the rain cease.'

His fascinating lips lifted fractionally. 'Eager enough, Miss Debbington.'

Patience wished his voice was not so very deep; it made her nerves vibrate.

'However,' he said, his gaze holding hers, his words a languid rumble, 'you shouldn't sell the present company short. There are a number of distractions I've already noted which will, I'm convinced, make my unplanned stay worthwhile.'

She was not going to be intimidated. Patience opened her eyes wide. 'You intrigue me, sir. I wouldn't have imagined there was anything at Bellamy Hall of sufficient note to claim the attention of a gentleman of your… inclinations. Do, pray, enlighten me.'

Vane met her challenging look, and considered doing just that. He raised his teacup and sipped, holding her gaze all the while. Then, looking down as he set his cup on its saucer, he stepped closer, to her side, so they stood shoulder to shoulder, he with his back to the room. He looked at her along his shoulder, and raised a brow. 'I could be a rabid fan of amateur theatricals.'

Despite her patently rigid resolve, her lips twitched. 'And pigs might fly,' she returned. Looking away, she sipped her tea.

Vane's brow quirked; he continued his languid prowl, slowly circling her, his gaze caressing the sweep of her throat and nape. 'And then there's your brother.' Instantly, she stiffened, as poker-rigid as Alice Colby; behind her, Vane raised both brows. 'Tell me,' he murmured, before she could bolt, 'what's he done to get not only Whitticombe and the General, but Edgar and Henry, too, casting disapproving glances his way?'

The answer came, swift, decisive, and in distinctly bitter tones. 'Nothing.' After a second's pause, during