stroll, he couldn't ask Minnie instead. Not without adding to his problems, without leaving Patience feeling that he had, after all, started to ease back in his affections.
His affections, which were currently ravenous. Starved. Slavering for attention. And her.
He raised a languid brow. 'Would you care for a stroll, Miss Debbington?'
Patience saw the hunger in his eyes, briefly, fleetingly, but quite clearly enough to recognize. The vise already locked about her chest tightened. Inclining her head graciously, she held out one gloved hand-and struggled to suppress the thrill that raced through her when his fingers closed strongly about hers.
He opened the door and handed her down. She turned to the carriage. Mrs. Chadwick smiled; Angela pouted. Edith Swithins positively grinned. Minnie, however, fluffed up her shawls and exchanged a quick glance with Timms.
'Actually,' Timms said, 'I rather think we should be getting back. The breeze is a mite chilly.'
It was an Indian summer's day. The sun shone brightly, the breeze was almost balmy.
'Humph! Perhaps you're right,' Minnie grumbled gruffly. She shot a glance at Patience. 'No reason you can't go for your stroll-Vane can bring you home in his curricule. I know how much you miss your rambles.'
'Indeed. We'll see you back at the house later.' Timms poked the coachman with the tip of her parasol. 'Home, Cedric!'
Left on the verge staring bemusedly after the carriage, Patience shook her head. Vane's arm appeared beside her. Placing her fingers on his sleeve, she glanced up into his face. 'What was all that about?'
His eyes met hers. His brows rose. 'Minnie and Timms are inveterate matchmakers. Didn't you know?'
Patience shook her head again. 'They've never behaved like that with me before.'
They'd never had him in their sights before either. Vane kept that thought to himself and guided Patience across the lawn. There were many couples strolling close to the carriageway. As they nodded and smiled, returning greetings as they headed for less-crowded terrain, Vane let his senses revel in the experience of having Patience once more by his side. He'd drawn her as close as propriety allowed; her green skirts swished against his boots. She was all woman, soft and curvaceous, mere inches away; he grew harder simply at the thought. The breeze, wafting past, lifted her perfume to his face-honeysuckle, roses, and that indefinable scent that evoked every hunter's instinct he possessed.
Abruptly, he cleared his throat. 'Nothing happened last evening?' It was an effort to lift his voice from the gravelly depths to which it had sunk.
'Nothing.' Patience slanted him a sharp, slightly curious glance. 'Distressingly, Edmond and Henry have reverted to their competitive worst. Stolen items, or the disposal of same, seemed exceedingly far from their minds. If either of them are the thief or the Spectre, I'll eat my new bonnet.'
Vane grimaced. 'I don't think your new bonnet's in any danger.' He studied the stylish creation perched atop her curls. 'Is this it?'
'Yes,' Patience returned, somewhat waspishly. He could at least have noticed.
'I thought it looked different.' Vane flicked the cockade perched over her eyebrow-and met her gaze with a far-too-innocent look.
Patience humphed. 'I take it the General and Edgar made no suspicious moves last night?'
'Suspicious moves aplenty, but more along the line of being suspiciously foxed. More to the point, however, Masters has heard from the Hall.'
Patience's eyes widened. 'And?'
Vane grimaced. 'Nothing.' Looking forward, he shook his head. 'I can't understand it. We know the items haven't been sold. We haven't found them in the luggage brought up to town. But they aren't at the Hall. Grisham and the staff have been very thorough-they even checked the wainscot for hidden panels. There are a few. I didn't tell Grisham where they were, but he found them all. Empty, of course-I'd checked before we left. They searched every room, every nook and cranny. They checked under loose floorboards. They also searched the grounds and the ruins. Thoroughly. Incidentally, they did find some disturbance just beyond the door of the abbot's lodge.'
'Oh?'
'Someone had cleared off a section of the flags. There's an iron ring set in a stone-an old hatch. But the hatch
'Hmm.' Patience frowned. 'I'll ask him if he's remembered anything more about what he saw before he was hit.'
Vane nodded absently. 'Unfortunately, none of that sheds any light on our mystery. The puzzle of where the stolen goods, including Minnie's pearls, have gone darkens with every passing day.'
Patience grimaced and briefly tightened her hold on his arm-simply because it seemed the right thing to do, to comfort and sympathize. 'We'll just have to remain vigilant. On our guard. Something will happen.' She looked up and met Vane's eyes. 'It has to.'
There was no arguing with that. Vane slid his free hand over her fingers, anchoring her hand on his sleeve.
They walked for some minutes in silence, then Vane glanced at Patience's face. 'Are you excited by the prospect of Honoria's ball?'
'Indeed.' Patience glanced fleetingly up at him. 'I understand it's an honor to be invited. As you saw, Mrs. Chadwick and Angela are in alt. I can only hope awe is sufficient to overcome Henry. Edmond, however, will remain unimpressed. I'm sure he'll come.ibut I doubt even a ducal ball has sufficient weight to puncture his self- assurance.'
Vane made a mental note to mention that to Honoria.
Patience glanced up at him, a frown in her eyes. 'Will you be there?'
Vane raised his brows. 'When Honoria issues a summons, we all fall in.'
'You do?'
'She's Devil's duchess.' When Patience's puzzled frown persisted; Vane elaborated: 'He's the head of the family.'
Looking ahead, Patience mouthed an 'Oh.' She was clearly still puzzled.
Vane's lips twisted wryly.
'There were two other ladies in the carriage with Honoria when she stopped to invite us.' Patience looked at Vane. 'I think they were Cynsters, too.'
Vane kept his expression impassive. 'What did they look like?'
'They were older. One was dark and spoke with a French accent. She was introduced as the Dowager.'
'Helena, Dowager Duchess of St. Ives-Devil's mother.' His other godmother.
Patience nodded. 'The other was brown-haired, tall, and stately-a Lady Horatia Cynster.'
Vane's expression turned grim. 'My mother.'
'Oh.' Patience glanced his way. 'Both your mother and the Dowager were… very kind.' She looked ahead. 'I didn't realize. All three-Honoria and the other two ladies-seemed very close.'
'They are.' Resignation rang in Vane's tone. 'Very close. The whole family's very close.'
Mouthing another 'Oh,' Patience looked ahead again.
Glancing sidelong, Vane studied her profile, and wondered what she'd made of his mother-and what his mother had made of her. Not that he anticipated any resistance on that front. His mother would welcome his chosen bride with open arms. And a great deal of otherwise classified information and far-too-insightful advice. Within the Cynster clan, that was the way things were done.
A deep requirement, a need, for commitment to family, formed, he was now sure, part of Patience's bulwark, one part of the hurdle that stood between her and marriage. That was one element of her problem he barely needed to take aim at-all he needed to do was introduce her to
Despite the sacrifices it demanded of him, St. Ives House next Tuesday night was definitely the right address to send her to. After she saw the Cynsters all together, in their natural setting, she would rest easy on that score.
She would see, and believe, that he cared about family. And then…
