And suddenly realized that, in this position, her options were limited. *
She was at his mercy and could do nothing to change it.
With a gasp, she lowered her head, her fingers tightening on the bowl's rim. Pleasure, relentless, passionate, rolled through her in waves, rearing every time he sank into her and stretched her. Completed her.
Patience felt a scream building-and bit her lip-hard.
Vane sank into her again and felt her quiver. He remained sunk in her heat for a fraction longer, then smoothly withdrew. And sank into her again.
He was in no hurry. Savoring the slick, scalding softness that welcomed him, the velvet glove that fitted him so well, glorying in all the heady signs of her body's acceptance of him-the natural, abandoned way the hemispheres of her bottom, glowing ivory in the moonlight, met his body, the slick wetness that made his staff gleam, the total absence of all restraint, the completeness of her surrender-he took time to appreciate it all.
Before him, she tightened, and tensed, and helplessly squirmed.
He held her steady. And slowly filled her again. She was close to frantic. He withdrew from her, nudged her legs wider, and filled her even more deeply.
A muted squeal escaped her.
Vane narrowed his eyes, and took firm hold of his reins. 'What brought you here? To the conservatory?'
After a fractured minute, Patience gasped, 'I told you-the amenities.'
'Not because you saw me come in here with a lovely young lady?'
'No!' The answer came back too quickly. 'Well,' Patience breathlessly temporized, 'she was your cousin.'
With his free hand, Vane reached around her, filling his palm with the swollen fullness of her breast. He searched and found the tight bud of her nipple-and rolled it gently between thumb and finger, before squeezing firmly. 'You didn't know that until I told you.'
Patience valiantly swallowed her scream. 'The music's stopped-they must all be at supper.' She was so breathless, she could barely speak. 'We'll miss it all if you don't hurry.'
She'd die if he didn't hurry.
Hard lips caressed her nape. 'The lobster patties can wait. I'd rather have you.'
To Patience's relief, he tightened his grip on her, held her even more rigidly, as he stroked more powerfully. The flames within her roared, then fused and coalesced; the bright sun of release drew steadily nearer. Grew steadily brighter. Then he paused.
'You seem to be missing something here.'
Patience knew what she was missing. The bright sun stopped, three heartbeats away. She gritted her teeth-a scream welled in her throat-
'I told you-you're mine. I want you-and you alone.'
The words, uttered softly, with rocklike conviction, drove all other thoughts from Patience's head. Opening her eyes, she stared unseeing at the marble maiden, shimmering softly in the moonlight.
'There's no other woman I want to be inside-no other woman I crave.' She felt his body tense, gather-then he thrust deep. 'Only you.'
The sun crashed down on her.
Hot pleasure washed through her like a tidal wave, sweeping all before it. Her vision clouded; she was unaware that she screamed.
Shifting his hand to her lips, Vane muffled the worst of her ecstatic cry-the sound still shredded his control. His chest swelled; grimly, he struggled to contain the desire raging through him, pounding his senses, liquid fire in his loins.
He succeeded-until the ripples of her release caressed him. He felt the power gather, felt it swell, grow and build within him. And in that final moment, as the cosmos crashed about him, he surrendered.
And did as she'd once asked, let go-and poured himself into her.
The instant Minnie's carriage door closed, cloaking her in the safe dark, Patience slumped against the squabs. And prayed she'd be able to master her limbs sufficiently to leave the carriage and walk to her bed when they arrived in Aldford Street.
Her body no longer felt like hers. Vane had taken possession and left her limp. Wrung out. The half hour between their return to the ballroom and Minnie's departure had been a near-run thing. Only his surreptitious support, his careful maneuvering, had concealed her state. Her deeply sated state.
At least she'd been able to speak. Reasonably coherently. And think. In some ways, that had made things worse. Because all she could think about was what he'd said, whispered against her temple, when she'd finally stirred in his arms.
'Have you changed your mind yet?'
She'd had to search for the strength to say 'No.'
'Stubborn woman,' in the tone of a soft curse, had been his reply.
He hadn't pressed her further, but he hadn't given up.
His question replayed in her mind. His tone-one of understated but unswerving determination-bothered her. His strength ran deep, not just a physical characteristic; overcoming it-convincing him she wouldn't acquiesce and be his wife-was proving a far harder battle than she'd foreseen. The unwelcome possibility that, unintentionally, she'd pricked his pride, taunted his conqueror's soul, and would now have to contend with the full force of that side of his character, too, wasn't a cheering thought.
Worst of all was the fact that she'd hesitated before saying 'No.'
Temptation, unheralded, had slunk in and slipped under her guard. After all she'd seen, all she'd observed, of the Cynsters, their wives, and their firmly stated and rigidly applied attitudes on the subject of family, it was impossible to escape the fact that Vane's offer was the best she'd ever get. Family-the one thing that was most important to her-was critically important to him.
Given all his other attributes-his wealth, his status, his handsomeness-what more could she possibly want?
The problem was, she knew the answer to that question.
That was why she had said 'No.' Why she would keep saying 'No.'
The Cynster attitude to family was possessive and protective. They were a warrior clan-the open commitment she'd initially found so surprising was, viewed in that light, perfectly understandable. Warriors defended what was theirs. Cynsters, it seemed, regarded their family as a possession, to be defended at all costs and in all arenas. Their feelings sprang from their conquerors' instincts-the instinct to hold on to whatever they'd won.
Perfectly understandable.
But it wasn't enough.
Not for her.
Her answer still remained-had to remain-'No.'
Chapter 19
Sligo opened the front door of Number 22 at nine the next morning.
Vane nodded curtly and strode in. 'Where's Her Ladyship?' He cast a quick glance about the hall; it was mercifully untenanted. Bar Sligo, who was gaping.
Vane frowned.
Sligo blinked.'Should think Her Ladyship would still be abed, sir. Should I send up-'
'No.' Vane looked up the stairs. 'Which room is hers?'
'Last on the right.'
Vane started up. 'You haven't seen me. I'm not here.'
'Aye, sir.' Sligo watched Vane ascend, then shook his head. And headed back to his porridge.
