Rakes Vow

Chapter 18

For Patience, the next three days passed in a whirl of brief meetings, of whispered conferences, of desperate endeavors to locate Minnie's pearls, punctuated by last-minute fittings for her new ball gown, all squeezed between the social excursions necessary to keep all Minnie's household under observation. Beneath the frenetic rush ran a sense of gathering excitement, a swelling thrill of anticipation.

Highlighted whenever she met Vane, whenever they exchanged glances, whenever she sensed the weight of his personal, highly passionate, regard.

There was no hiding it, no sidestepping it; the desire between them grew stronger, more charged, with every passing day. She didn't know whether to blame him, or herself.

By the time she climbed the imposing steps of St. Ives House and passed into the brilliantly lit hall, her nerves had wound taut, coiled tight in her stomach. She told herself it was nonsense to allow the moment to so affect her, to imagine anything great would come of the evening. This was merely a private family ball, an impromptu affair, as Honoria had been at great pains to assure her.

There was no reason-no sense-to her reaction.

"There you are!" Honoria, magnificently gowned in mulberry silk, informally greeting her guests by the door, all but pounced on Patience as she crossed the music room's threshold. Nodding to Minnie, Timms, and the rest of their entourage, Honoria graciously waved them on, but kept hold of Patience. "I must introduce you to Devil."

Deftly linking arms with Patience, she swept up to where a tall, dramatically dark gentleman clothed in black stood talking to two matrons. Honoria jabbed his arm. "Devil-my husband. Duke of St. Ives."

The man turned, took in Patience, then slanted Honoria a mildly inquiring glance.

"Patience Debbington," his spouse supplied. "Minnie's niece."

Devil smiled, first at his wife, then at Patience. "It's a pleasure to meet you, Miss Debbington." He bowed gracefully. "You've just come up from Bellamy Hall, I hear. Vane seems to have found his stay there unexpectedly distracting."

The smooth tones of his deep voice, distinctly familiar, rolled over, and through, Patience. She resisted the urge to blink. Vane and Devil could have been brothers-the resemblance, the autocratic cast of their features, the aggressive line of nose and jaw, was impossible to mistake. The primary difference lay in their coloring-while Vane's hair was burnished brown, his eyes cool grey, Devil's hair was midnight black, his large eyes a pale green. There were other differences, too, but the similarities outweighed them. From their build, their distinctive height, and, most striking of all, the wicked glint in their eyes and the totally untrustworthy lilt to their lips, they were clearly as one beneath the skin. Wolves in human form.

Very masculine, distinctly distracting form.

"How do you do, Your Grace." Patience held out her hand, and would have sunk into the regulation deep curtsy, but Devil grasped her fingers and prevented it.

"Not 'Your Grace'. " He smiled, and Patience felt the mesmerizing power of his gaze as he raised her gloved fingers to his lips. "Call me Devil-everyone does."

For good reason, Patience decided. Despite that, she couldn't help but return his smile.

"There's Louise-I must speak with her." Honoria glanced at Patience. "I'll catch up with you later." Skirts swishing imperiously, she headed back to the door.

Devil grinned. He turned back to Patience-his gaze slid past her.

"Minnie's asking after you." Vane nodded to Patience as he halted beside her, then he returned his gaze to Devil. "She wants to relive some of our more embarrassing exploits-rather you than me."

Devil sighed feelingly. He raised his head, looking over the swelling throng to where Minnie was holding court, enthroned on a chaise by the wall. "Perhaps I could impress her with the weight of my ducal demeanor?" He raised his brows at Vane, who grinned.

"You could try."

Devil smiled. With a nod to Patience, he left them.

Patience met Vane's gaze; instantly, she was aware of the tension that held him. A peculiar shyness gripped her. "Good evening."

Something hot flashed through his eyes; his face hardened. He reached for her hand. She yielded it readily. He raised it, but instead of touching his lips to the backs of her gloved fingers, he reversed her hand. His eyes steady on hers, he pressed his lips to her inner wrist. Her pulse leapt beneath his caress.

"There's someone you should meet." His voice was low, gravelly. Placing her hand on his sleeve, he turned her.

"Hello, coz. Who's this?"

The gentleman who blocked their way was obviously another Cynster-one with light brown hair and blue eyes. Vane sighed, and made the introductions-and kept making them as more of them appeared. They were all similar-similarly dangerous-all large, all suavely assured-all elegant. The first went by the name of Gabriel; he was followed by Lucifer, Demon, and Scandal. Patience found it impossible not to soften under their practiced smiles. She grasped the moment to regain her breath, regain her poise. The pack-she instantly labeled them as such-chatted and sparred with effortless facility. She responded easily, but remained alert. How could one claim not to have been forewarned with names like that? She kept her hand firmly anchored to Vane's sleeve.

For his part, Vane showed no inclination to drift from her side. She told herself not to read too much into that fact. There simply might not be many ladies of the type to attract his interest in a crowd composed of family and friends.

A squeaky screech, followed by a plunk, heralded the start of the dancing. Four of the large men surrounding her hesitated; Vane did not. "Would you care to dance, my dear?"

Patience smiled her acceptance. With a gracious nod to the others, she consented to be led to the floor.

Stepping into the space rapidly clearing at the room's center, Vane confidently drew her into his arms. When her eyes widened, he raised a brow. "You do waltz in the wilds of Derbyshire, don't you?"

Patience lifted her chin. "Of course. I quite enjoy a good waltz."

"Quite enjoy?" The first strains of a waltz swelled. Vane's lips lifted wickedly. "Ah-but you've yet to waltz with a Cynster."

With that, he drew her closer, and whirled her into the dance.

Patience had parted her lips to haughtily ask just why Cynsters were thought such exponents of the art-by the time they'd revolved thrice, she had her answer. It took her three more revolutions before she managed to suck in a breath and close her mouth. She felt like she was airborne-swooping, sweeping. Effortlessly twirling, all in strict time.

Her startled gaze fell on the mulberry gown of the lady in the couple ahead of them, who was revolving every bit as vigorously as she. Honoria-their hostess. In the arms of her husband.

A quick glance revealed that all the Cynsters who'd been politely conversing with her earlier, had claimed ladies and taken to the floor. It was easy to pick them out among the crowd; they didn't revolve any faster than anyone else, but with greater enthusiasm, immensely greater power. Harnessed, controlled, power.

Feet flying, her skirts aswirl, compelled by the steely arms that held her, the powerful body that so effortlessly steered her, checked her, reversed her and turned her, Patience clung tight-to her wits, and to Vane.

Not that she felt in any danger of being released.

The thought brought his nearness, his strength, into sharper focus. They neared the end of the room; his hand burning like a brand through the fine silk of her gown, he drew her closer, deeper into his protective embrace. They swung into the turn; Patience dragged in a desperate breath-and felt her bodice, her breasts, shift against his coat. Her nipples constricted, excruciatingly tight.

On a muted gasp, she looked up, and her gaze collided with his, silvery grey, mesmerically intent. She couldn't look away, could barely breathe, as the room revolved about them. Her senses narrowed, until the world she knew was encompassed within the circle of his arms.

Time stopped. All that was left was the sway of their bodies, caught in the compelling, powerful rhythm only they could hear. The violins played a minor theme; the music that played between them came from a different source.

It swelled and grew. Hips and thighs met, caressed, and parted as they shifted through the turns. The rhythm called, their bodies answered, flowing effortlessly with the dance, pulsing with the beat, heating slowly. Touching tantaliz-ingly. Teasing and promising. When the violins ceased and their feet slowed, their music still played on.

Vane hauled in a deep breath; the moment shivered about them. He forced his arms from about Patience, caught her hand, and placed it on his sleeve, unable, even though he knew too many were watching avidly, to forgo placing his free hand over her fingers.

He felt her slight shudder, took her weight as, for an instant, she leaned more heavily on him, blinking rapidly as she struggled to pull free of the magic.

She lifted her eyes and studied his face. Coolly, a great deal more coolly than he felt, he raised a brow.

Patience straightened. Looking ahead, she put her nose in the air. "You waltz quite creditably."

Vane chuckled through his teeth. His jaw was set against the urge to whisk her away, through one of the doors that led from the music room. He knew this house like the back of his hand. While she might not know their options, he did. But too many were watching them, and Honoria, for one, would never forgive him. Not so early in the evening, when sudden absences were too obvious.

Later. He'd already given up all thought that he could weather tonight without sating his demons. Not while she was wearing that dress.

Dashing, Minnie had termed it.

Dashed impossible, from his point of view.

He'd had every intention of toeing the line, at least until she'd accepted his offer. Now… There was such a thing as tempting a wolf too far.

He glanced down. Patience strolled serenely on his arm. The bronze-silk gown fitted snugly about her breasts, with only the tiniest wisps of sleeves, set off her shoulders, to distract from the glorious expanse of creamy skin, the ripe swells of her upper breasts, the delicate molding of her shoulders. The long straight skirts draped gently over her curvy hips, sleekly concealing her derriere; they fluttered elegantly about her legs, the hems ruffled to tantalizingly reveal her ankles as she walked.

While the neckline was low, there was nothing specifically outrageous about the gown. It was the combination of the woman wearing it and Celestine's faultlessly draped fabric that was causing his problems.

Only from his vantage point was it possible to see how deeply Patience's breasts rose and fell.

A second later, he forced himself to lift his head and look ahead.

Later.

He drew a deep breath, and held it.

"Evening, Cynster." An elegant gentleman stepped forward from the crowd, his gaze on Patience. "Miss…?" Smoothly, he looked at Vane.

Who sighed. Audibly. And nodded. "Chillingworth." Vane glanced at Patience. "Allow me to present the earl of Chillingworth." He looked at Chillingworth. "Miss Debbington, Lady Bellamy's niece."

Patience curtsied. Chillingworth smiled charmingly, and bowed, as gracefully as any Cynster.

"I take it you've come up to town with Lady Bellamy, Miss Debbington. Are you finding the capital to your liking?"

"Actually, no." Patience saw no reason to prevaricate. "I fear I'm addicted to early mornings, my lord, a time the ton seems to eschew."

Chillingworth blinked. He glanced swiftly at Vane, then his gaze dropped fleetingly to where Vane's hand covered Patience's fingers, resting on his sleeve. He raised his brows and smiled suavely at Patience. "I'm almost tempted to explain, my dear, that our apparent dismissal of the morning hours is, in fact, a natural consequence of our activities in the later hours. Then again…" He slanted a glance at Vane. "Perhaps I had better leave such explanations to Cynster, here."

"Perhaps you had." There was no mistaking the steel in Vane's tone.

Fleetingly, Chillingworth grinned, but when he looked back at Patience, he was calmly serious once more. "You know, it's really quite odd." He smiled. "While I rarely find myself in agreement with Cynsters, one has to admit their taste in one respect resonates remarkably with mine."

"Indeed?" Patience acknowledged the veiled compliment with an assured smile. Having dealt with Vane for three weeks, the earl, charming and undeniably handsome though he was, had no chance of ruffling her feathers.

"Indeed." Chillingworth turned to quiz Vane. "Don't you find that remarkable, Cynster?"

"Not at all," Vane replied. "Some things are so blatantly obvious even you should appreciate them." Chillingworth's eyes sparked. Vane smoothly continued, "However, given your admittedly similar tastes, you might reflect on where following such tastes might land you." He nodded across the room.

Both Chillingworth and Patience followed his direction, and saw Devil and Honoria by the side of the ballroom, clearly engaged in some pointed discussion. As they watched, Honoria clasped her hands about Devil's arm and pushed to turn him down the room. The look Devil cast the ceiling, the long-suffering look he cast his wife as he acquiesced, made it clear who had won the round.

Chillingworth shook his head sadly. "Ah, how the mighty have fallen."

"You'd best be on your guard," Vane advised, "given that your tastes so parallel the Cynsters', that you don't find yourself in a situation you're constitutionally unprepared to handle."

Chillingworth grinned. "Ah, but I don't suffer from the Achilles' heel with which fate has hobbled the Cynsters." Still grinning, he bowed to Patience. "Your servant, Miss Debbington. Cynster." With a last nod, he went on his way, ignoring Vane's narrow-eyed glare.

Patience looked up into Vane's face. "What Achilles' heel?"

Vane stirred. "Nothing. It's just his notion of a joke."

If it was a joke, it had had an odd effect. "Who is he?" Palienee asked. "Is he a Cynster connection of sorts?"

"He's not related-at least not by blood." After a moment, Vane added, "I suppose, these days, he's an honorary Cynster." He glanced at Patience. "We elected him for services rendered to the dukedom."

"Oh?" Patience let her eyes ask her question.

"He and Devil have a history. Ask Honoria about it sometime."

The musicians started up again. Before Patience could blink, Lucifer was bowing before her. Vane let her go, somewhat reluctantly, she thought. But as she whirled down the floor, she saw him whirling, too, a striking brunnette in his arms.

Abruptly, Patience looked away, and gave her attention to the dance, and to dealing with Lucifer's glib tongue. And ignoring her sinking heart.

The end of the measure saw them well down the room, Lucifer introduced her to a group of ladies and gentlemen, all chatting easily. Patience tried to concentrate, tried to follow the conversation.

She literally jumped when hard fingers closed about hers, lifted her hand from Lucifer's sleeve and placed it, firmly, on a familiar arm.

"Upstart," Vane growled. And deftly insinuated himself between Lucifer and Patience.

Lucifer grinned engagingly. "You need to work for it, coz. You know none of us appreciates that which comes too readily."

Vane slayed him with a look, then turneti to Patience. "Come, let's stroll. Before he puts misguided notions into your head."

Intrigued, Patience allowed herself to be escorted on an amble up the room. "What misguided notions?"

"Never mind. Good God-there's Lady Osbaldestone! She's hated me ever since I stuck a marble up the end of her cane. She couldn't understand why it kept sliding away from her. Let's go the other way."

They tacked back and forth through the crowd, chatting here, exchanging introductions there. Yet when the music resumed, another Cynster appeared before her like magic.

Demon Harry, Vane's brother, stole her away; Vane stole her back the instant the music ceased. The voluptuous blonde he'd whirled around the room was nowhere in sight.

The next waltz brought Devil to bow, ineffably elegant before her. As he swung her into the first turn, he read the question in her eyes and grinned. "We always share."

His grin deepened as her eyes, beyond her control, widened. Only the wicked laughter in his eyes assured Patience he was teasing.

And so it went on, through waltz after waltz. After every one, Vane reappeared by her side. Patience tried to tell herself it meant nothing, that it could simply be that he'd found nothing more scintillating, no lady more enticing, with whom to spend his time.

She shouldn't make too much of it-yet her heart leapt one notch, one giddy rung higher on the ladder of irrational hope, every time he reclaimed her hand, and his position by her side.

"These balls of Honoria's are such a good idea." Louise Cynster, one of Vane's aunts, leaned on her husband, Lord Arthur Cynster's arm, and smiled at Patience. "Despite the fact we all move in the same circles, the family's so large, we can often go for weeks without meeting each other, at least not long enough to exchange our news."

"What my dearest wife means," Lord Arthur smoothly said, "is that, although the ladies of the family meet often, they miss the opportunity of seeing how the other half of the family's comporting itself, and these little gatherings of Honoria's guarantee we'll all turn out on parade." His eyes twinkled. "To be inspected, as it were."

"Bosh!" Louise tapped him smartly on the arm with her fan. "As if you men ever need any excuse to turn out on parade. And as for being inspected! There's not a lady in the ton who won't tell you that Cynsters are past masters at 'inspecting' themselves."

The comment brought chuckles and grins all around. The group dissolved as the music resumed. Gabriel materialized to bow before Patience. "My turn, I believe?"

Patience wondered if Cynsters had a monopoly on wolfish smiles. They also all had quick and ready tongues: During every dance, she'd found her attention firmly held by the brisk repartee that seemed their hallmark.

A minor ruckus ensued as they started to whirl. Passing close by its epicenter, Patience discovered Honoria grappling with Devil.

"We've already danced once. You should dance with one of our guests."

"But I want to dance with you."

The look that went with that was uncompromising. Despite her status, Honoria was clearly not immune. "Oh, very well." The next instant, she was whirling, masterfully captured, then Devil bent his head to hers.

As she and Gabriel swirled past, Patience heard Honoria's ripple of laughter, saw the glow in her face as she looked up at her husband, then closed her eyes and let him whirl her away.

The sight caught at Patience's heart.

This time, when the music finally slowed and died, she'd lost sight of Vane. Assuming he'd soon reappear, she chatted easily with Gabriel. Demon joined them, as did a Mr. Aubrey-Wells, a dapper, very precise gentleman. His interest was the theater. Not having seen any of the current productions, Patience listened attentively.

Then, through a gap in the crowd, she saw Vane, talking to a young beauty. The girl was exquisite, with a wealth of blond hair. Her understated gown of pale blue silk positively screamed "outrageously expensive."

"I think you'll find the production at the Theatre Royal worth a visit," Mr. Aubrey-Wells intoned.

Patience, her gaze locked on the tableau on the other side of the room, nodded absently.

The beauty glanced about, then put her hand on Vane's arm. He looked behind them, then took her hand in his. Swiftly, he conducted her to a double door in the wall. Opening it, he handed her through and followed her in.

And shut the door.

Patience stiffened; the blood drained from her face. Abruptly, she looked back at Mr. Aubrey-Wells. "The Theatre Royal?"

Mr. Aubrey-Wells nodded-and continued his lecture.

"Hmm." Beside Patience, Gabriel nodded to Demon, then inclined his head toward the fateful door. "Looks serious."

Patience's heart plummeted.

Demon shrugged. "Daresay we'll hear later."

With that, they both turned attentively to Patience. Who kept her gaze fixed on Mr. Aubrey-Wells, parroting his remarks as if the theater filled her mind. In reality, her mind was full of the Cynsters, several and singular.

Elegant gentlemen, one and all. All and one.

She should never have forgotten it, should never have let her senses shut her eyes to the reality.

But she hadn't lost anything, given anything she hadn't wanted to give. She'd expected this from the first. With an effort, she suppressed a racking shiver. She'd felt surrounded by warmth and laughter; now bleak disappointment pierced her bones and froze her marrow. As for her heart, that was so cold she was sure that, at any moment, it would fracture. Shatter into frozen shards.

Her face felt the same way.

She let Mr. Aubrey-Wells's discourse flow past her, and wondered what she should do. As if in answer, Gerrard's face swam into her restricted vision.

He smiled at her, then, more tentatively, at her escort.

Metaphorically, Patience grabbed him. "Mr. Cynster, Mr. Cynster and Mr. Aubrey-Wells-my brother, Gerrard Debbington."

She gave the men the minimum of time to exchange greetings, then, smiling too brightly, beamed at them all. "I really should check on Minnie." Mr. Aubrey-Wells looked confused; she beamed even more brightly. "My aunt, Lady Bellamy." Taking Gerrard's arm, she flung them another brilliant smile. "If you'll excuse us?"

They all bowed with ready grace, Gabriel and Demon easily outperforming Mr. Aubrey-Wells. Inwardly gritting her teeth, Patience steered Gerrard away. "Don't you ever dare bow like that."

Gerrard sent her a startled look. "Whyever not?"

"Never mind."

They had to tack through the crowd. The throng was at its height. Supper had yet to be served. All had arrived but few had yet departed.

In order to get to Minnie's chaise, they had perforce to pass by the double doors through which Vane and the beauty had disappeared. Patience had intended to sweep past, nose in the air. Instead, as they neared the innocent-looking panels, she slowed.

When she halted a few steps from the doors, Gerrard threw her an inquiring look. Patience saw it; she took a moment before she met it.

"You go on." Drawing a deep breath, she straightened. Lips setting, she lifted her hand from his sleeve. "I want to check on something. Can you see Minnie into supper?"

Gerrard shrugged. "Of course." Smiling, he ambled on.

Patience watched him go-then turned on her heel and marched straight to the double doors. She knew perfectly well what she was doing-even if she couldn't formulate a single coherent thought through the haze of fury clouding her brain. How dare Vane treat her like this? He hadn't even said good-bye. He might be an elegant gentleman to his toes, but he was going to have to learn some manners!

Besides, the beauty was too young for him, she could barely be more than seventeen. A chit out of the schoolroom-it was scandalous.

Her hand on the doorknob, Patience paused-and tried to think of an opening line-one suitable for the scene she might very likely stumble in upon. Nothing leapt to her tongue. Grimly, she shook aside her hesitation. If, in the heat of the moment, nothing occurred to her, she could always scream.

Eyes narrow, she grasped the handle and turned.

The door flew inward, pulled open from within. Yanked off her feet, Patience tripped on the raised threshold and fetched up against Vane's chest.

The impact knocked the air from her lungs; Vane's arm, locking about her, kept her breathless. Wide-eyed and gasping, Patience looked up into his face.

His eyes met hers. "Hel-lo."

His intent expression made Patience stiffen, only to realize the arm around her, steadying her, was also trapping her.

Hard against him.

Dazed, she glanced around; the dark shapes of huge leaves reared above the denser dark of heavy pots, grouped upon a tiled floor. Moonlight streamed through walls of long windows and panes in the ceiling, silvering paths wending between stands of palms and exotic blooms. The rich scents of earth and the warm humidity of growing things hung on the heavy air.

She and Vane stood within the shadows, just beyond the shaft of light lancing through the open door. A yard away, enveloped in soft gloom, stood the beauty, regarding her with open curiosity.

The beauty smiled and bobbed a curtsy. "How do you do? Miss Debbington, isn't it?"

"Ah-yes." Patience looked, but could see no signs of disarray-the girl appeared neat as a pin.

Into her total bewilderment Vane's voice fell, like a bell tolling. "Allow me to present Miss Amanda Cynster."

Stunned, Patience looked up; he captured her gaze and smiled. "My cousin."

Patience mouthed an innocent, "Oh."

"First cousin," he added.

Amanda cleared her throat. "If you'll excuse me?" With a quick nod, she slipped past, out of the door.

Abruptly, Vane raised his head. "Remember what I said."

"Of course I will." Amanda threw him a disgusted frown. "I'm going to tie him in knots, and then hoist him from his…" She gestured, then, with a swish of her skirts, stalked into the crowd.

Patience reflected that Amanda Cynster sounded like a beauty who would never need rescuing.

She, however, might.

Vane returned his attention to her. "What are you doing here?"

She blinked, and glanced around again-then hauled in a breath, difficult with her breasts pressed to his chest. She gestured to the room. "Someone mentioned it was a conservatory. I've been thinking of suggesting that Gerrard install one at the Grange. I thought I'd look in." She peered into the leafy gloom. "Study the amenities."

"Indeed?" Vane smiled, the merest lifting of his long lips, and released her. "By all means." With one hand, he pushed the door shut; with the other, he gestured to the room. "I'll be only too pleased to demonstrate some of the benefits of a conservatory."

Patience cast him a swift glance and quickly stepped forward, out of his reach. She gazed at the arches forming the ceiling. "Was this room always part of the house, or was it added on?"

Behind her, Vane slid the bolt on the doors; it engaged noiselessly. "It was, I believe, originally a loggia." Strolling unhurriedly, he followed Patience down the main pathway, into the palm-shrouded depths.

"Hmm, interesting." Patience eyed a palm towering above the path, handlike leaves poised as if to seize the unwary. "Where does Honoria get such plants?" Passing beneath the palm, she trailed her fingers through delicate fern fronds surrounding the palm's base-and threw a quick glance behind her. "Do the gardeners propagate them?"

Pacing steadily in her wake, Vane caught her gaze. His brows rose fractionally. "I've no idea."

Patience looked ahead-and quickened her pace. "I wonder what other plants do well in such a setting. Palms like these might be a bit hard to come by in Derbyshire."

"Indeed."

"Ivies, I daresay, would do well. And cacti, of course."

"Of course."

Flitting along the path, absentmindedly touching this plant or that, Patience stared ahead-and tried to spot the way out. The path wound randomly about; she was no longer entirely sure of her bearings. "Perhaps, for the Grange, an orangery might be more sensible."

"My mother has one."

The words came from just behind her. "She has?" A swift glance behind revealed Vane almost at her shoulder. Gulping in a quick breath, Patience mentally acknowledged the skittering excitement that had cinched tight about her lungs, that had started, very effectively, to draw her nerves taut. Expectation, anticipation, shivered in the moonlit dark. Breathless, wide-eyed, she lengthened her stride. "I must remember to ask Lady Horatia-oh!"

She broke off. For one moment, she stood stock-still, drinking in the simple beauty of the marble fountain, the base of its pedestal wreathed in delicate fronds, that stood, glowing lambently in the soft white light, in the center of a small, secluded, fern-shrouded clearing. Water poured steadily from the pitcher of the partially clad maiden frozen forever in her task of filling the wide, scroll-lipped basin.

The area had clearly been designed to provide the lady of the house with a private, refreshing, calming retreat in which to embroider, or simply rest and gather her thoughts. In the moonlit night, surrounded by mysterious shadow and steeped in a silence rendered only more intense by the distant sighing of music and the silvery tinkle of the water, it was a hauntingly magical place.

For three heartbeats, the magic held Patience immobile.

Then, through the fine silk of her gown, she felt the heat of Vane's body. He did not touch her, but that heat, and the flaring awareness that raced through her, had her quickly stepping forward. Hauling in a desperate breath, she gestured to the fountain. "It's lovely."

"Hmm," came from close behind.

Too close behind. Patience found herself heading for a stone bench, shaded by a canopy of palms. Stifling a gasp, she veered away, toward the fountain.

The fountain's pedestal was set on a stone disc; she stepped onto the single, foot-wide step. Beneath her soles, she felt the change from tiles to marble. One hand on the rim of the basin, she glanced down, then, nerves flickering wildly, forced herself to bend and study the plants nestling at the pedestal's base. "These look rather exotic."

Behind her, Vane studied the way her gown had pulled tight over the curves of her bottom-and didn't argue. Lips lifting in anticipation, he moved in-to spring his trap.

Her heart racing, tripping in double time, Patience straightened, and went to slide around the fountain, to place it between herself and the wolf she was trapped in the conservatory with. Instead, she ran into an arm.

She blinked at it. One faultless grey sleeve enclosing solid bone well covered with steely muscle, large fist locked over the scrolled rim of the basin, it stated very clearly that she wasn't going anywhere.

Patience whirled-and found her retreat similarly blocked. Swinging farther, she met Vane's gaze; standing on the tiled floor, one step below her, arms braced on the rim, his eyes were nearly level with hers. She studied them, read his intent in the silvered grey, in the hardening lines of his face, the brutally sensual line of those uncompromising lips.

She couldn't believe her eyes.

"Here?" The word, weak though it was, accurately reflected her disbelief.

"Right here. Right now."

Her heart thudded wildly. Prickling awareness raced over her skin. The certainty in his voice, in the deepening tones, riveted her. The thought of what he was suggesting made her mind seize.

She swallowed, and moistened her lips, not daring to take her eyes from his. "But… someone might come in."

His gaze dropped from hers, his lids veiling his eyes. "I locked the door."

"You did?" Wildly, Patience glanced back toward the door; a tug at her bodice hauled her back, refocused her scattered wits. On the top button of her bodice, now undone. She stared at the gold-and-tortoiseshell whorl. "I thought they were just for show."

"So did I." Vane popped the second of the big buttons free. His fingers moved to the third and final button, below her breasts. "I must remember to commend Celestine on her farsighted design."

The final button slid free-his long fingers slid beneath the silk. Patience sucked in a desperate breath; he had very quick fingers-with locks, and other things. On the thought, she felt the ribbons of her chemise give; the fine silk slid down.

His hand, hot and hard, closed over her breast.

Patience gasped. She swayed-and grabbed his shoulders to keep herself upright. The next second, his lips were on hers; they shifted, then settled, hard and demanding. For one instant, she stood firm, savoring the heady taste of his desire-his need of her-then she yielded, opening to him, inviting him in, brazenly delighting in his conquest.

The kiss deepened, not by degrees, but in leaps and bounds, in a blind, breathless downhill rush, a giddy pursuit of sensual delights, carnal pleasures.

Parched for air, Patience drew back on a gasp. Head back, she breathed deeply. Her breasts rose dramatically; Vane bent his head to pay homage.

She felt his hand at her waist, burning through her thin gown as he held her steady before him; she felt his lips, hot as brands, tease and tug at her nipples. Then he took the engorged flesh into the wet heat of his mouth. She tensed. He suckled-her strangled cry shivered in the moonlight.

"Ah." His eyes glinted wickedly as he lifted his head and transferred his attention to her other breast. "You'll have to remember. This time, no screaming."

No screaming? Patience clung to him, clung desperately to her wits as he feasted. His mouth, his touch, drew and fragmented her attention, stoked and fed the desire already flaring hotly within her.

But it was impossible-it had to be.

There was the bench-but it was cold and narrow and surely too hard. Then she remembered how he'd once lifted her and loved her.

"My dress-it'll crush horribly. Everyone will guess."

His only response was to tuck the sides of her bodice back, completely baring her breasts.

Through her next gasp, Patience managed, "I meant my skirts. We'll never be able to…"

The rumbling chuckle that rolled through him left her shuddering.

"Not a single crease." His lips brushed the crests of her breasts, now tight and aching; his teeth grazed the furled tips, and daggers pierced her flesh. "Trust me."

His voice was deep, dark, heavy with passion. He lifted his head. His hands closed about her waist. Deliberately, he drew her to him, so her tingling breasts pressed against his coat. She gasped, and he bent his head and kissed her, kissed her until she had softened through and through, until her weakening limbs could barely support her.

"Where there's a will there's a way." He breathed the words against her lips. "And I will have you."

For one fractured instant, their gazes met-no pretense, no amount of guile could conceal the emotions driving them. Simple, uncomplicated. Urgent.

He turned her; Patience blinked at the fountain, pearly white in the moonlight, blinked at the barely robed maiden steadily filling the bowl. She felt Vane behind her, hot, solid-aroused. He bent his head; his lips grazed the side of her throat. Patience sank back against him, angling her head back, encouraging his caresses. She let her hands drop to her sides, to his thighs, hard as oak behind her. Spreading her fingers, she gripped the long, tensed muscles-and felt them harden even more.

He reached around her; she waited to feel his hands close about her breasts, to feel him fill his hands with her bounty.

Instead, with just the very tips of his fingers, he traced the swollen curves, circled the aching peaks. Patience shuddered-and sank deeper against him. His hands left her; she felt him reach out. She forced her eyes open. From under weighted lids, she watched as, with one hand, he traced the bare breast of the maiden, lovingly caressing the cool stone.

Leaving the maiden, his fingers traileH lightly in the clear water in the marble bowl. Then he raised the same fingers to her heated flesh-and touched her as he'd touched the maiden-delicately, evocatively. Enticingly.

Patience closed her eyes-and shivered. His fingers, cool, wet, trailed and traced-exquisite sensation lanced through her. Pressing her head back against his shoulder, she bit her lip against a moan, and flexed her fingers on his thighs.

And managed to gasp: "This is…"

"Meant to be."

After a moment, she licked her parched lips. "How?"

She sensed the change in him, the surge of passion he immediately leashed. Her flaring response, the urgent need to have him take her, completely and utterly, and give himself in the same way, stole her breath.

"Trust me." He reached around her again, moving closer; his strength flowed around her, surrounded her. His hands closed about her breasts, no longer delicately teasing but hungry. He filled his hands and kneaded; Patience felt the flames rise-in him, in her.

"Just do what I tell you. And don't think."

Patience mentally groaned. How? What…? "Just remember my dress."

"I'm an expert, remember? Grasp the rim of the bowl with both hands."

Bemused, Patience did. Vane shifted behind her; the next instant, her skirts, then her petticoats, were flipped up, over her waist. Cool air washed over the backs of her thighs, over her bottom, exposed to the moonlight.

She blushed hotly-and opened her mouth on a protest.

The next second, she forgot about protest, forgot about everything, as long, knowing fingers slid between her thighs.

Unerringly, he found her, already slick and swollen. He traced, and tantalized, teased and caressed, then evocatively probed her.

Eyes closed, Patience bit her lip against a moan. He reached deep, stroking into her softness; she gasped, and gripped the marble bowl more tightly.

Then he reached around her, one large palm sliding under her dress and petticoats, gliding over her hip to splay possessively over her naked stomach. The hand shifted, fingers searching boldly through her curls. Until one found and settled against her most sensitive spot.

She couldn't find enough breath to gasp-let alone moan or scream. Patience desperately drew air into her lungs, and felt him behind her. Felt the hot hard length of him press between her thighs. Felt the wide head nudge into her softness and find her entrance.

Slowly, he sank into her, easing her hips back, then holding her steady, bracing her as he slid fully home. And filled her.

Slowly, deliberately, he withdrew-and returned, pressing so deeply she rose on her toes.

Her gasp hung like shimmering silver in the moonlight, eloquent testimony to her state.

Again and again, with the same relentlessly restrained force, he filled her. Thrilled her. Loved her.

The hand at her belly didn't shift, but simply held her steady so she could receive him, could feel, again and again, his possession, the slow repetitive penetration impinging on her mind as well as her body, on her emotions as well as her senses.

She was his and she knew it. She gave herself gladly, received him joyfully, obediently struggled to hold back her moans as he shifted and sank deeper.

Tucking her bottom firmly against his hips, he moved more forcefully within her, thrusting more deeply, more powerfully.

The tension-within him, within her, holding them so tightly-grew, swelled, coiled. Patience swallowed a gasp- and clung to sanity. And prayed for release while dazedly wondering if this time she really would lose her mind.

Again and again he filled her. The golden glimmer she now knew and desired glowed on her horizon. She tried to reach for it-to draw it nearer-tried to tighten about him and urge him on.

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."