Rakes Vow

Chapter 16

Why wouldn't she marry him?

What did she have against marriage?

Those questions revolved in Vane's brain as he headed his horses down the London road. It was the second morning after Gerrard's accident. Pronounced fit to travel, Gerrard sat on the box seat beside him, idly studying the scenery.

Vane didn't even see his leader's ears. He was too engrossed with thoughts of Patience, and the situation he now found himself in. The lady herself, with Minnie and Timms, was traveling in the carriage following his curricle; behind that, a pageant of hired coaches bore the rest of the Bellamy Hall household away from Bellamy Hall.

Sudden pressure on his left ankle made Vane glance down; he watched as Myst recurled herself against his left boot. Instead of joining Patience in the closed carriage, Myst had surprised her mistress and elected to ride with him. While he had nothing against cats, or youthful sprigs, Vane would readily have traded both his companions for Patience.

So he could interrogate her over her inexplicable stance.

She loved him, but refused to marry him. Given her circumstances, and his, that decision more than qualified as inexplicable. His jaw setting, Vane looked ahead, staring fixedly between his leader's ears.

His original plan-to break down Patience's barriers with passion, to so addict her to his loving that she would come to view marrying him as very much in her best interests, and so admit to him what was worrying her-had developed a major hitch. He hadn't reckoned with becoming addicted himself, possessed by a desire more powerful than any he'd known. Addicted to the extent that that desire-and his demons-were no longer subject to his will.

His demons-and that mindless need-had broken free that first time in the barn. He'd excused that as understandable, given the circumstances and his pent-up frustrations. On the night he'd invaded her bedchamber, he'd had all the reins firmly in his grasp; he'd coolly and successfully retained control, even under the full force of her fire. That success had left him complacent, confidently assured.

Their third interlude, two nights ago, had shattered his complacency.

He'd come within a whisker of losing control again.

Worse-she knew it. A golden-eyed siren, she'd deliberately tempted him-and very nearly lured him to the rocks.

That a woman could reduce his vaunted self-control to the merest vestige of its usual despotic strength was not a fact he liked to contemplate. He'd slept alone last night-not well. He'd spent half the night thinking, warily wondering. The truth was he was more deeply entangled than he'd thought. The truth was, he yearned to let go-to lose himself utterly-in loving her. Just formulating that thought was enough to unnerve him-he'd always equated losing control, especially in that arena, as a form of surrender.

To knowingly surrender-knowingly let go as she'd asked-was… too unnerving to imagine.

Their interaction had developed dangerous undercurrents-currents he'd failed to forsee when he'd set sail on this particular tack. What would happen if she held firm to her inexplicable refusal? Would he ever be able to give her up? Let her go? Marry some other woman?

Vane shifted on the hard seat and resettled the reins in his hands. He didn't even want to consider those questions. Indeed, he refused point-blank to consider them. If she could take a stance, so could he.

She was going to marry him-she was going to be his wife. He just had to convince her there was no sane alternative.

The first step was to discover the basis for her inexplicable stance, the reason she would not agree to marriage. As the curricle rolled on, the pace slow so the carriages could keep up, he wrestled with schemes to uncover Patience's problem, which had now become his.

They stopped briefly for lunch at Harpenden. Both Patience and Timms spent their time cosseting Minnie, still under the weather. Other than a low-voiced query as to Gerrard's strength, Patience had no time to spend with him. Laying her sisterly qualms to rest, he let her return to Minnie's side, squelching all thought of taking her up in his curricle. Minnie's need was greater than his.

Their cavalcade got under way again. Gerrard settled back, surveying all with a keen and curious eye. "I've never been this far south."

"Oh?" Vane kept his gaze on his horses. "Where, exactly, is your home?"

Gerrard told him, describing the valley outside Chesterfield using words like brushstrokes; Vane had no difficulty seeing it in his mind's eye. "We've always lived there," Gerrard concluded. "For the most part, Patience runs things, but she's been teaching me the ropes for the last year."

"It must have been hard when your father died so unexpectedly-difficult for your mother and Patience to take up the reins."

Gerrard shrugged. "Not really. They'd been managing the estate for years even then-first Mama, then Patience."

"But…" Vane frowned. He glanced at Gerrard. "Surely your father managed the estate?"

Gerrard shook his head. "He was never interested. Well, he was never there. He died when I was six, and I couldn't remember him even then. I can't recall him ever staying for more than a few nights. Mama said he preferred London and his London friends-he didn't come home very often. It used to make her sad."

His gaze grew distant as memory took hold. "She was always trying to describe him to us, how handsome and gentlemanly he was, how he rode so well to hounds, how he carried the cloak of a gentleman so elegantly. Whenever he appeared, even if for only one day, she was always eager for us to see how impressive he was." He grimaced. "But I can't recall what he looked like at all."

A chill struck Vane's soul. For Gerrard, with his vivid visual memory, to have no recollection of his father spoke volumes. Yet for well-heeled gentlemen to behave toward their families as Reginald Debbington had was not unheard of and no crime. Vane knew it. But he'd never before been close to the children of such men, never before had cause to feel sorrow and anger on their behalf-sorrow and anger they themselves, the deprived, did not know they should feel-for what their father had not given them. All the things his own family, the Cynsters, held dear-all they stood for-family, home, and hearth. To have and to hold was the Cynster motto. The first necessitated the second-that was something all male Cynsters understood from their earliest years. You desired, you seized-then you accepted responsibility. Actively. When it came to family, Cynsters were nothing if not active.

As the curricle bowled along, Vane struggled to grasp the reality Gerrard had described-he could see Gerrard's home, but couldn't conceive of its atmosphere, how it had functioned. The entire concept-a family without its natural leader, its most stalwart defender-was alien to him.

He could, however, imagine how Patience-his determined, independent, practical wife-to-be-would have viewed her father's behavior. Vane frowned. "Your father-was Patience very attached to him?"

Gerrard's puzzled look was answer enough. "Attached to him?" His brows rose. "I don't think so. When he died, I remember her saying something about duty, and what was expected." After a moment, he added, "It's difficult to become attached to someone who's not there."

Someone who didn't value your attachment. Vane heard the words in his head-and wondered.

The shadows were lengthening when their cavalcade pulled up in Aldford Street, just west of South Audley Street. Vane threw the reins to Duggan and jumped down. Minnie's traveling carriage rocked to a stop behind his curricle, directly before the steps of Number 22. A discreet, gentleman's residence, Number 22 had been hired at short notice by a certain Mr. Montague, man of business to many of the Cynsters.

Opening the door of Minnie's carriage, Vane handed Patience to the pavement. Timms followed, then Minnie. Vane knew better than to attempt to carry her. Instead, with Patience lending support on her other side, he helped Minnie climb the steep steps. The rest of Minnie's household began debouching from their carriages, attracting the attention of late strollers. An army of footmen swarmed out of the house to assist with the luggage.

At the top of the steps, the front door stood open. Patience, carefully guiding Minnie, looked up as they gained the narrow porch-and discovered a strange personage standing in the front hall, holding the door wide. Stoop-shouldered, wiry, with an expression that would have done credit to a drenched cat, he was the oddest butler she'd ever encountered.

Vane, however, appeared to find nothing odd about the man; he nodded briefly as he helped Minnie over the threshold. "Sligo."

Sligo bowed. "Sir."

Minnie looked up and beamed. "Why, Sligo, what a pleasant surprise."

Following in Minnie's wake, Patience could have sworn Sligo blushed. Looking uncomfortable, he bowed again. "Ma'am."

In the melee that followed, as Minnie and Timms, then all the others, were received and shown to their rooms, Patience had ample time to observe Sligo, and the absolute rule he wielded over the junior servants. Both Masters and Mrs. Henderson, who had traveled up with their mistress, clearly recognized Sligo and treated him as a respected equal.

To Patience's relief, Vane distracted Henry, Edmond, and Gerrard, keeping them out from under everyone's feet while the other members of the household were settled. When those three at last took themselves off to explore their new accommodation in the hour left before dinner, Patience heaved a weary sigh and sank onto a chaise in the drawing room.

And looked up at Vane, standing in his usual pose, one shoulder propped against the mantelpiece. "Who," Patience asked, "is Sligo?"

Vane's lips curved slightly. "Devil's ex-batman."

Patience frowned. "Devil-the Duke of St. Ives?"

"One and the same. Sligo acts as Devil's caretaker when he's out of town. As it happens, Devil and his duchess, Honoria, returned to the fray yesterday, so I borrowed Sligo."

"Why?"

"Because we need someone trustworthy who knows a trick or two, here in the house. Sligo's presently coordinating the searches of all the arriving luggage. He's absolutely trustworthy and utterly reliable. If you want anything done-anything at all-ask him and he'll arrange it."

"But…" Patience's frown deepened. "You'll be here. Won't you?"

Vane met her gaze directly. "No." Dismay-or was it simply disappointment?-flitted through her golden eyes. Vane frowned. "I'm not deserting, but an instant's thought ought to show that Mr. Vane Cynster, known to have recently purchased a comfortable house just a stone's throw away in Curzon Street, cannot possibly have any acceptable need to reside under his godmother's roof."

Patience grimaced. "I hadn't thought of that. I suppose, now we're in London, we'll have to bow to society's dictates."

To whit, he couldn't spend the night in her bed. "Precisely." Vane suppressed his reaction. There were other options, but she didn't need to know about them yet. Once he'd manuevered their interaction onto a more manageable footing, he'd let her into the secret. Until then…

Straightening, he pushed away from the mantelpiece. "I'd better be on my way. I'll call tomorrow, to see how you've settled in."

Patience held his gaze, then coolly held out her hand. He grasped it, then bent and brushed his lips over her knuckles. And felt the tiny jolt that went through her.

Satisfied for the moment, he left her.

"It's all soooo exciting!"

Hearing Angela's paean for the tenth time that morning, Patience ignored it. Ensconsed in a comer of one of the two drawing-room chaises, she continued stitching yet another tray-cloth. The activity had palled, but she had to do something with her mind-her hands-while she waited for Vane to appear.

Presuming he would. It was already after eleven.

Beside her, Timms sat darning; Minnie, having survived the rigors of the journey surprisingly well, was sunk in the comfort of a large armchair before the hearth. The other chaise played host to Mrs. Chadwick and Edith Swithins. Angela-she of the senseless pronouncements-was standing beside the window, peeking through the lace curtains at the passersby.

"I can't wait to see it all-the theaters, the modistes, the milliners." Hands clasped to her breast, Angela whirled and twirled. "It'll be so wondrously exciting!" Ceasing her twirling, she looked at her mother. "Are you sure we can't go before luncheon?"

Mrs. Chadwick sighed. "As agreed, we'll go for a short excursion this afternoon to decide which modistes might be suitable."

"It will have to be one in Bruton Street," Angela declared. "But the best shops, Edmond says, are on Bond Street."

"Bond Street is just beyond Bruton Street." Patience had spent the journey down reading a guidebook. "Once we stroll the length of one, we'll have reached the other."

"Oh. Good." Her afternoon's prospects assured, Angela subsided back into her daydreams.

Patience resisted an urge to glance at the mantelpiece clock. She could hear its steady tick, counting away the minutes; it seemed like she'd been listening for hours.

She already knew town life would never suit her. Used to country hours, the routine of breakfasting at ten, of taking luncheon at two and dining at eight or later, would never find favor with her. Bad enough that she'd woken at her usual hour, and, finding the breakfast parlor empty, had had to make do with tea and toast in the back parlor. Bad enough that there was no piano with which she could distract herself. Much worse was the fact that it was, apparently, unacceptable for her to walk out unescorted. Worst of all was the fact that Number 22 Aldfbrd Street was a great deal smaller than Bellamy Hall, which meant they were all thrown together, under each other's feet-each other's noses-all the time.

To have to bear with the others at such close quarters looked set to drive her demented.

And Vane had not yet arrived.

When he did, she would inform him in no uncertain terms what she thought of his idea of removing to London. They had better flush out the thief and the Spectre. Soon.

The clock ticked on. Patience gritted her teeth and persevered with her needle.

A knock on the street door had her looking up. Along with everyone else but Edith Swithins-she happily tatted on. The next instant, a deep rumbling voice reached all their straining ears. Patience inwardly sighed-with a relief she had no intention of examining too closely. Minnie's face lit up as familiar prowling footsteps neared. Timms grinned.

The door opened. Vane strolled in, to be greeted with a panoply of smiles. His gaze flicked to Patience. She met it coolly. She studied him as he nodded to them all, then greeted Minnie elegantly and affectionately, inquiring after her health and how she'd spent the night.

"I very likely got more sleep than you," Minnie replied, a roguish twinkle in her eye.

Vane smiled lazily down at her and made no move to deny it. "Are you ready to brave the park?"

Minnie grimaced. "Perhaps tomorrow I might let you persuade me to a stroll. For today, I'm content to sit quietly, gathering my failing strength."

Her color, better than it had been for days, showed she was in no danger of fading away. Reassured, Vane glanced at Patience, watching with a reserved coolness he didn't appreciate. "Perhaps," he said, looking back at Minnie, "if you're settled today, I might take Miss Debbington up in your stead."

"By all means." Minnie beamed at Patience and made shooing motions. "So trying for Patience to be cooped up inside."

Vane slanted a rakish glance at Patience. "Well, Miss Debbington? Are you game for a turn about the park?"

Her gaze locked with his, Patience hesitated.

Angela opened her mouth and stepped forward; Mrs. Chadwick motioned her back, mouthing a definite "No!" Angela subsided, sulking.

Unable to read anything in Vane's eyes to explain the challenge in his words, Patience raised a brow. "Indeed, sir. I would be glad of the chance of some fresh air."

Vane inwardly frowned at her temperate acceptance. He waited while she set aside her work and stood, then, with a nod to Minnie and the rest, offered Patience his arm from the room.

He halted in the hall.

Patience lifted her hand from his sleeve and turned to the stairs. "I won't keep you above a minute."

Vane reached out, grasped her elbow, and drew her back to him. All the way back until he looked down into her now wide eyes. After a moment, he softly asked, "The others. Where are they?"

Patience struggled to think. "Whitticombe has taken over the library-it's well stocked but unfortunately quite small. Edgar and the General had nowhere else to go, so they've braved the chill, but I don't know how long they'll remain there. Edgar said something about looking in at Tattersails."

"Hmm." Vane frowned. "I'll make sure Sligo knows." He refocused on Patience. "The others?"

"Henry, Edmond, and Gerrard made straight for the billiard room." Vane's grip on her elbow slackened; twisting free, Patience straightened-and shot him a severe glance. "I won't tell you what I think of a house that has a billiard room but no music room."

Vane's lips twitched. "It is a gentleman's residence."

Patience humphed. "Regardless, I don't believe the allure of billiards will keep that trio satisfied. They were planning all manner of excursions." She gestured widely. "To Exeter Exchange, the Haymarket, Pall Mall. I even heard them mention some place called the Peerless Pool."

Vane blinked. "That's closed."

"Is it?" Patience raised her brows. "I'll tell them."

"Never mind. I'll tell them myself." Vane glanced at her again. "I'll have a chat with them while you fetch your pelisse and bonnet."

With a haughty nod, Patience acquiesced. Vane watched as she ascended the stairs, then, frowning more definitely, strode for the billiard room-to lay down a few ground rules.

He returned to the front hall as Patience regained the tiles. Minutes later, he handed her into his curricle and climbed up beside her. The park was close; as he headed his horses toward the trees, Vane checked over the list of Minnie's household. And frowned. "Alice Colby." He glanced at Patience. "Where's she?"

"She didn't come down to breakfast." Patience's brows rose. "I suppose she must be in her room. I haven't seen her about at all, now you mention it."

"She's probably praying. She seems to spend a good part of her time thus employed."

Patience shrugged and looked ahead. Vane glanced at her, letting his gaze slide appreciatively over her. Head high, face to the breeze, she scanned the avenue ahead. Beneath the poke of her bonnet, wispy tendrils of burnished brown fluttered against her cheeks. Her pelisse was the same powder blue as the simple morning gown she wore beneath it. His brain registered the fact that neither was new, much less in the latest style, but, to his eyes, the picture she presented as she sat on the box seat of his curricle was perfect. Even if her chin was tilted a touch too high, and her expression was a touch too reserved.

Inwardly, he frowned, and looked to his horses. "We'll need to ensure that none of Minnie's menagerie has a chance to get loose on their own. I think we can assume there's no conspiracy or partnership, at least between un related individuals. But we must ensure none of them has a chance to pass on any stolen valuables, like the pearls, to an accomplice. Which means we-you, me, Gerrard, Minnie, and Timms, with Sligo's help-will have to accompany them whenever they leave the house."

"Angela and Mrs. Chadwick plan to visit Bruton and Bond Streets this afternoon." Patience wrinkled her nose. "I suppose I could go with them."

Vane suppressed his grin. "Do." Most ladies of his acquaintance would hie off to Bruton and Bond Streets at the drop of a hat. Patience's lukewarm enthusiasms augered well for a peaceful life in Kent. "I've agreed, suitably reluctantly, to act as guide for Henry, Edmond, and Gerrard this afternoon, and I tipped Sligo the wink to keep his eye on Edgar and the General."

Patience frowned. "There are rather many to watch if they should decide to go out on their own."

"We'll have to curb their taste for town delights." Vane noted the carriages drawn up to the verge ahead. "Speaking of which… behold, the grandes dames of the ton."

Even without the warning, Patience would have recognized them. They sat delicately draped over velvet or leather seats, elegant turbans nodding, sharp eyes bright, gloved hands artfully waving as they dissected and discussed every snippet of potential gossip. From youthful but elegant matrons to eagle-eyed dowagers, they were assured, secure in their social positions. Their carriages lined the fashionable route as they exchanged information and invitations.

Many heads turned their way as they bowled steadily along. Turbans were graciously inclined; Vane returned the nods easily but did not stop. Patience noted that many of the eyes beneath the turbans came to rest on her. The expressions she detected were either arrested, haughtily disapproving, or both. Chin rising, she ignored them. She knew her pelisse and bonnet were unfashionable. Dowdy. Possibly even frumpish.

But she would only be in London for a few weeks-to catch a thief-so her wardrobe hardly mattered.

At least, not to her.

She glanced sidelong at Vane, but could detect no glimmer of consciousness in his expression. She couldn't read anything in it at all. He gave no sign of registering, let along responding, to the more artful of the looks directed his way. Patience cleared her throat. "There seem to be a lot of ladies present-I didn't think so many would have returned to town."

Vane shrugged. "Not everyone does, but Parliament's back in session, so the political hostesses are in residence, exerting their influence with the usual balls and dinners. That's what draws many of the ton back. The few weeks of social whirl nicely fill the time between the summer and the start of the shooting season."

"I see." Scanning the carriages ahead, Patience noted one lady who, rather than reclining languidly and watching them go by, had sat bolt upright. A second later, she waved-imperiously.

Patience glanced at Vane; from the direction of his gaze and his set lips, he'd already seen the lady. His hesitation was palpable, then, gathering tension as if girding his loins, he slowed his horses. The curricle rocked to a stop beside the elegant brougham.

Occupied by the lady, of similar age to Patience, with bright chesnut hair and a pair of exceedingly shrewd, blue-grey eyes. Said eyes instantly locked on Patience's face. Their owner smiled delightedly.

Grimly, Vane nodded. "Honoria."

The lady switched her bright smile to him. It deepened fractionally. "Vane. And who is this?"

"Allow me to present Miss Patience Debbington. Minnie's niece."

"Indeed?" Without waiting for more, the lady held out her hand to Patience. "Honoria, my dear Miss Debbington."

"Duchess of St. Ives," Vane grimly announced.

Honoria ignored him. "It's a pleasure to meet you, my dear. Is Minnie well?"

"She's much better than she was." Patience forgot about her shabby clothes and responded easily to the duchess's openness. "She took a chill a few weeks back, but she survived the journey down surprisingly well."

Honoria nodded. "How long does she plan to stay in town?"

Until they caught their thief-unmasked their Spectre. Patience held the duchess's clear gaze. "Ah…"

"We're not certain," Vane drawled. "It's just one of Minnie's usual bolts to town, but this time she's brought her entire menagerie with her." He raised his brows in patent boredom. "Presumably for distraction."

Honoria's gaze remained steady on his face long enough to make Patience wonder how much of Vane's glib explanation she believed. Then Honoria switched her gaze to her-and smiled warmly, welcomingly-far more personally than Patience had expected. "I'm sure we'll meet again shortly, Miss Debbington." Honoria pressed Patience's fingers. "I'll let you get on-you doubtless have a busy morning ahead of you. Indeed"-she shifted her gaze to Vane-"I've some calls to make, too."

Vane, tight-lipped, nodded curtly-and gave his horses the office.

As they bowled down the avenue, Patience glanced at his set face. "The duchess seems very nice."

"She is. Very nice." Also very nosy, and definitely too perceptive. Vane inwardly gritted his teeth. He'd known the family would find out sometime, but he hadn't expected it to be quite so soon. "Honoria's effectively the matriarch of the family." He struggled to find words to explain precisely what that meant-but gave up. Acknowledging the power Honoria-or any of the Cynster women-wielded within the family was something he, and all his male relatives, always found exceedingly difficult.

Vane narrowed his eyes and headed his team toward the park gates. "I'll call for you tomorrow, at much the same time. A drive or a walk seems the best way for us to exchange information on what the others have done, and where they're intending to go."

Patience stiffened. He'd taken her for this drive so they could coordinate their plans-he viewed the outing as a campaign meeting. "Indeed," she replied, somewhat tartly. An instant later, she said, "Perhaps we should get Sligo to accompany us?" When Vane, frowning, glanced her way, she added, "So we can get his views firsthand."

Vane frowned harder-his horses distracted him.

As they negotiated the park gates and turned into the crowded thoroughfare, Patience sat, stiffly erect; inside, her emotions churned. As the horses' hooves struck the cobbles of Aldford Street, she lifted her chin. "I realize that you feel committed to identifying the thief an't'tl the Spectre, but, now you've returned to London, I daresay you have other engagements-other distractions-on which you'd much rather spend your time." She drew a tight breath; a cold vise had fastened about her chest. She felt Vane's quick glance. Head high, eyes forward, she continued, "I'm sure, now Sligo has joined us, we could find some way to get the relevant information to you without having to waste your time on unnecessary walks or drives."

She would not cling. Now they were in town, and he could see that she didn't fit within his elegant world, couldn't hold a candle to the exquisitely arrayed beauties he was accustomed to consorting with, she would not try to hold on to him. Like her mother had clung to her father. Theirs was a temporary relationship; in her mind, she could already see its end. By taking the first step and acknowledging the inevitable, she might, just possibly, prepare her heart for the blow.

"I have no intention of not seeing you at least once a day."

The words were bitten off, infused with a steely rage Patience could not possibly mistake. Taken aback, she glanced at Vane. The carriage rocked to a halt, he tied off the reins and jumped down.

Then swung around. He grasped her waist and lifted her bodily from the seat-and placed her, with quiveringly rigid control, on the pavement before him.

Steel shards, his eyes held hers. Breathless, Patience blinked up at him. His face was hard, a warrior's mask. Waves of anger and aggression lapped about her.

"When it comes to distraction," he informed her through clenched teeth, "nothing in this world could top you."

His words were invested with meaning-a meaning she didn't understand. Mentally at sea, Patience struggled to catch her breath. Before she succeeded, Vane had marched her up the steps and deposited her in the front hall.

Narrow-eyed, he looked down at her. "Don't expect to see the last of me anytime soon."

With that, he swung on his heel and stalked out.