Rakes Vow

duchess. She nodded over her shoulder at Patience. 'Take him'-her nod indicated Vane-'the other way, or you'll never meet everyone.'

Patience grinned, and obeyed. Vane went quietly. His gaze dwelling on Patience's face, on her figure, he found it no chore to play the proud and besotted groom.

From the other side of the ballroom, Vane's mother, Lady Horatia Cynster, watched him, and Patience, and sighed. 'If only they hadn't married in such a rush. There was obviously no need for it.'

Her second son, Harry, better known as Demon, to whom this was addressed, shot her a glance. 'I suspect your notion of 'need' and Vane's differ in certain pertinent respects.'

Horatia humphed. 'Whatever.' Deserting the sight of her firstborn, so well and appropriately settled, she turned her sights on Harry. 'Just as long as you never try the same thing.'

'Who? Me?' Harry was honestly shocked.

'Yes-you.' Horatia jabbed his chest. 'I hereby give you fair warning, Harry Cynster, that if you dare marry by special license, I'll never, ever, forgive you.'

Harry promptly held up his hand. 'I swear by all that's holy that I will never marry by special license.'

'Humph!' Horatia nodded. 'Good.'

Harry smiled-and completed his vow in silence. Or any other way.

He was determined to be the first Cynster in history to escape fate's decree. The notion of tying himself up to some chit-of restricting himself to one woman-was ludicrous. He wasn't getting married-ever.

'Think I'll go see how Gabriel's doing.' With a sweeping, ineffably elegant bow, he escaped his mother's orbit, and went in search of less scarifying company. People who weren't fixated on weddings.

The afternoon passed; the shadows slowly lengthened. Guests started to take their leave, then the bulk left in a rush. The long day drew to a close with Vane and Patience on the front porch of the Place, waving the last of the guests away. Even the family had departed. Only Devil and Honoria remained at the Place-and they'd retired to their apartments to play with Sebastian, who'd spent much of the afternoon with his nurse.

As the last carriage rumbled away down the drive, Vane glanced at Patience, close by his side.

His wife.

The four-letter word no longer shook him, at least, not in the same way. Now, in his head, it rang with posses-siveness, a possessiveness that satisfied, that sat well with his conqueror's soul. He'd found her, he'd seized her-now he could enjoy her.

He studied her face, then raised one brow. And turned her back into the house.

'Did I tell you this place has an extremely interesting conservatory?'