Rakes Vow

Chapter 22

It was full dark when Vane eased his horses off the road onto the back track leading to the Bellamy Hall stables. The night had turned icy, crisply chill; the horses's breaths steamed in the still air.

"The fog will be heavy tonight," Vane whispered.

Beside him, pressed close, Patience nodded.

The back barn, second of two, loomed ahead; Vane uttered a silent prayer. It went unanswered. As he rolled the curricle to a halt just inside the bam, he saw Minnie's menagerie milling at the other entrance, peering toward the main barn, the stables, and the house beyond. They were all there, even, he noted, glimpsing a grey shadow darting about, Myst. He jumped to the ground, then lifted Patience down. The others came hurrying up, Myst in the lead.

Leaving Patience to deal with Minnie and the rest, Vane helped Duggan and Gerrard stable the greys. Then, grim-faced, he returned to the whispering group thronging the barn's center.

Minnie immediately stated, "If you're entertaining the notion of ordering us to wait in this drafty barn, you may save your breath."

Her belligerence was reflected in her stance and was echoed by the usually practical Timms, who nodded direfully. Every member of Minnie's ill-assorted menage was likewise imbued with decisive determination.

The General summed up their mood. "Blighter's kinged it over us all-need to see him exposed, don't y'know."

Vane scanned their faces, his features set. "Very well." He spoke through clenched teeth. "But if any of you makes the slightest sound, or are so witless as to alert Colby or Alice to our presence before we've gained sufficient details to prove beyond doubt who the Spectre and the thief are…"-he let the moment stretch as he scanned their faces-"they'll answer to me. Is that understood?"

A flurry of nodding heads replied.

"You'll need to do exactly as I say." He looked pointedly at Edmond and Henry. "No bright ideas, no sudden elaborations to the plan."

Edmond nodded. "Right."

"Indubitably," Henry swore.

Vane glanced around again. They all looked back, meek and earnest. He gritted his teeth and grabbed Patience's hand. "Come on, then. And no talking."

He strode for the main barn. Halfway there, shielded from the house by the bulk of the stables, he halted, and, rigidly impatient, waited for the others to catch up.

"Don't walk on the gravel or on the paths," he instructed. "Keep to the grass. It's foggy; sound travels well in fog. We can't assume they're snug in the parlor-they might be in the kitchen, or even outside."

He turned and strode on, blocking out all thoughts of how Minnie was coping. She wouldn't thank him, and, at the moment, he needed to concentrate on other things.

Like where Grisham was.

Leading Patience, with Gerrard close behind, he reached the stables. Grisham's quarters gave off it. "Wait here," Vane whispered, his lips close by Patience's ear. "Stop the others here. I'll return in a moment."

With that, he slid into the shadows. The last thing he wanted was Grisham imagining they were intruders and sounding the alarm.

But Grisham's room was empty; Vane rejoined his ill-assorted hunting party at the rear of the dark stables. Duggan had checked the grooms' rooms. He shook his head and mouthed, "No one here." Vane nodded. Minnie had mentioned she'd given most of the staff leave.

"We'll try the side door." They could force the window of the back parlor-that wing was farthest from the library, Whitticombe's favorite bolt-hole. "Follow me, not too close together. And remember-no sound."

They all nodded mutely.

Swallowing a futile curse, Vane made for the shrubbery. The high hedges and grassed paths eased his mind of one worry, but as he and Patience, Duggan and Gerrard at their backs, neared the place where the hedges gave way to open lawn, a light flashed across their path.

They froze. The light disappeared.

"Wait here." On the whisper, Vane edged forward until he could look across the lawn. Beyond lay the house, the side door closed. But a light was bobbing up from the ruins-the Spectre was walking tonight.

The light rose again briefly; in its beam, Vane saw a large, dark figure lumbering along the side of the lawn, heading their way.

"Back!" he hissed, pushing Patience, who'd edged up to his shoulder, into the hedge behind him. In the lee of the hedge, he waited, counting the seconds, then the lumbering figure swung into the path-and was upon them.

Vane grabbed him in a headlock; Duggan clung to one muscled arm. The figure tensed to fight.

"Cynster!" Vane hissed, and the figure went limp.

"Thank Gawd!" Grisham blinked at them. Vane released him. Looking down the path, Vane was mollified to see that the rest of the party had frozen, strung out in the shadows. Now, however, they clustered closer.

"I didn't know what to do." Grisham rubbed his neck.

Vane checked; the carrier of the bobbing light was still some distance away, negotiating the tumbled stones. He turned back to Grisham. "What happened?"

"The Colbys arrived late afternoon. I figured it was the sign we was watching for. I told 'em straight off there was only me and two maids in the house-if anything, Colby seemed well pleased. He had me make up the fire in the library, then called for dinner early. After that, he told us we could retire, as if he was doing us a favor an'all." Grisham snorted softly. "I kept a close eye on 'em, of course.

They waited a while, then took one of the library lamps and headed for the ruins."

Grisham glanced back. Vane checked, then nodded for him to continue. They still had a few minutes before whispers became too dangerous.

"They went all the way across to the abbot's lodge." Grisham grinned. "I stayed close. Miss Colby grumbled all the way, but I wasn't near enough to make out what she said. Colby went straight for that stone I told you about." Grisham nodded at Vane. "Checked it over real careful-like, making sure no one had lifted it. He was right pleased with himself after that. They started back then-I came on ahead, so's I'd be here to see what's next."

Vane raised his brows. "What indeed?"

The light flashed again, much closer now-everyone froze. Vane clung to the edge of the hedge, aware of Patience pressed to his side. The others edged closer, wedged together so they could all see the section of lawn before the side door.

"It's not fair! I don't see why you had to give back my treasure." Alice Colby's disgruntled whine floated on the frosty air. "You're going to get your treasure, but I won't have anything!"

"I told you those things weren't yours!" Whitticombe's tone turned from aggravated to scathing. "I would have thought you'd have learned after last time. I won't have you caught with things that aren't yours. The very idea of being branded the brother of a thief!"

"Your treasure isn't yours either!"

"That's different." Whitticombe stumped into view before the side door; he looked around at Alice, trailing after him. And sniffed contemptuously. "At least, this time, I could put your little foible to some use. It was just what I needed to deflect Cynster's attention. While he's getting young Debbington cleared, I'll have the time I need to complete my work."

"Work?" Alice's contempt matched Whitticombe's. "You're obsessed with this foolish treasure hunt. Is it here, or is it there?" she parroted in a singsong voice.

Whitticombe threw open the door. "Just go inside."

Still singing her little ditty, Alice walked in.

Vane looked at Grisham. "Run like the devil-through the kitchen, into the old parlor behind the library. We'll come to the windows."

Grisham nodded and set off at a run.

Vane turned to the others; they all looked at him in mute expectation. He set his teeth. "We're going to backtrack, quickly and quietly, around the house t6 the terrace. On the terrace, we'll have to be especially quiet-Whitticombe will probably make for the library. We need to know more about this treasure of his, and whether he was, indeed, the one who struck Gerrard."

As one, they all nodded. Resisting a strong urge to groan, Vane, Patience's hand locked in his, led the way back through the shrubbery.

They picked their way along the verge bordering the carriage drive, then gingerly climbed to the terrace flags. Myst, a swift shadow, ran ahead; Vane silently cursed-and prayed the fiendish animal would behave.

Grisham was waiting, a wraith at the long parlor windows. He eased back the catch-Vane stepped in, then helped Patience over the raised sill.

"They're arguing in the hall," Grisham whispered, "over who owns some elephant or other."

Vane nodded. He looked back and saw Timms and Edmond help Minnie in. Turning, he strode to the wall-and opened a door concealed in the paneling-revealing the back of another door, set into the paneling of the next room, the library. His hand on the latch of the second door, Vane glanced, frowning, over his shoulder.

The assembled company obediently held their breaths.

Vane eased opened the door.

The library was empty, lit only by the flames dancing in the hearth.

Scanning the room, Vane saw two large, four-paneled screens, used during summer to protect the old tomes from sunlight. The screens hadn't been folded away; they stood open, parallel to the fireplace, effectively screening the area before the hearth from the terrace windows.

Stepping back, Vane drew Patience to him. Nodding to the screens, he gently pushed her through the door. Quickly, her gaze on the library door, she scooted across the floor, blessedly covered in a long Turkish rug, and took refuge behind the farthest screen.

Before Vane could blink, Gerrard followed his sister.

Vane glanced back, nodded the others toward the room, then followed his brother-in-law-to-be.

When footsteps fell outside the library door, the entire company, barring only Grisham, who'd elected to remain in the parlor, were all crammed behind the two screens, eyes glued to the fine slits between the panels.

Vane prayed no one would sneeze.

The door handle turned; Whitticombe led the way in, his expression disdainful. "It matters not who owned the elephant. The fact is, the goods inside it weren't yours!"

"But I wanted them!" Face mottled, Alice clenched her fists. "The others lost them, and they became mine-but you took them away! You always take my things away!"

"That's because they're not yours to begin with!" Grinding his teeth, Whitticombe pushed Alice into the chair by the fire. "Just sit there and keep quiet!"

"I will not keep quiet!" Alice's eyes blazed. "You always tell me I can't have things I want-that it's wrong to take them-but you're going to take the abbey treasure. And that doesn't belong to you!"

"It's not the same!" Whitticombe thundered. He fixed Alice with a baleful eye. "I know the distinction is hard for you to grasp, but retrieving-resurrecting-lost church plate-restoring the magnificence of Coldchurch Abbey-is not the same as stealing!"

"But you want it all for yourself."

"No!" Whitticombe forced himself to draw a calming breath, and lowered his voice. "I want to be the one to find it. I fully intend to hand it over to the proper authorities, but…" He lifted his head and straightened. "The fame of finding it, the glory of being the one who, through his tireless scholarship, traced and restored the lost plate of Coldchurch Abbey-that," he declared, "will be mine."

Behind the screen, Patience caught Vane's eye. He smiled grimly.

"All very well," Alice grumped. "But you needn't make out you're such a saint. Nothing saintly about hitting that fool boy with a rock."

Whitticombe stilled. He stared down at Alice.

Who smirked. "Didn't think I knew, did you. But I was in dear Patience's room at the time and chanced to look out over the ruins." She smiled maliciously. "I saw you do it-saw you pick up the rock, then creep up close. Saw you strike him down."

She sat back, her gaze fixed on Whitticombe's face. "Oh, no, dear brother, you're no saint."

Whitticombe sniffed, and waved dismissively. "Just a concussion-I didn't hit him that hard. Just enough to make sure he never finished that sketch." He started to pace. "When I think of the shock I got when I saw him poking about the abbot's cellar door! It's a wonder I didn't hit him too hard. If he'd been more curious, and mentioned it to one of those other dunderheads-Chadwick, Edmond, or, heaven forbid, Edgar-Lord knows what might have happened. The fools might have stolen my discovery!"

"Your discovery?"

"Mine! The glory will be mine!" Whitticombe paced on. "As it is, everything's worked out perfectly. That tap on the head was enough to scare the old woman into taking her precious nephew off to London-mercifully, she took all the others as well. So now-tomorrow-I can hire some itinerants to help me lift that stone, and then-!"

Triumphant, Whitticombe whirled-and froze.

All those peeking through the screens saw him, hand upraised as if to exhort adulation, staring, goggle-eyed, into the shadows at the side of the room. Everyone tensed. No one could see, or imagine, what he was staring at.

His mouth started to work first, opening and closing to no effect. Then: "Aaarrrrgh!!!" His face a mask of abject horror, Whitticombe pointed. "What's that cat doing here?"

Alice looked, then frowned at him. "That's Myst. Patience's cat."

"I know." Whitticombe's voice shook; his gaze didn't shift.'

Risking a glance around the screen, Vane sighted Myst, sitting neatly erect, her ancient, all-seeing blue gaze fixed, unwinking, on Whitticombe's face.

"But it was in London!" Whitticombe gasped. "How did it get here?"

Alice shrugged. "It didn't come down with us."

"I know that!"

Someone choked on a laugh; the second screen wobbled, then teetered. A hand appeared at the top and righted it, then disappeared.

Vane sighed, and stepped out, around the other screen. Whitticombe's eyes, which Vane would have sworn could not get any wider, did.

"Evening, Colby." Vane waved Minnie forward; the others followed.

As the company assembled in full sight, Alice chortled. "So much for your secrets, dear brother." She sank back in her chair, grinning maliciously, clearly unconcerned by her own misdemeanors.

Whitticombe threw her a swift glance and drew himself up. "I don't know how much you heard-"

"All of it," Vane replied.

Whitticombe blanched-and glanced at Minnie.

Who stared at him, disgust and disaffection clear in her face. "Why?" she demanded. "You had a roof over your head and a comfortable living. Was fame so important you would commit crimes-and for what? A foolish dream?"

Whitticombe stiffened. "It's not a foolish dream. The church plate and the abbey's treasure were buried before the Dissolution. There's clear reference made in the abbey records-but after the Dissolution there's no mention of it at all. It took me forever to track down where they'd hidden it-the crypt was the obvious place, but there's nothing but rubble there. And the records clearly state a cellar, but the old cellars were excavated long ago-and nothing was found." He drew himself up, inflated with self-importance. "Only I traced the abbot's cellar. It's there-I found the trapdoor." He looked at Minnie, avaricious hope lighting his eyes. "You'll see-tomorrow. Then you'll understand." Confidence renewed, he nodded.

Bleakly, Minnie shook her head. "I'll never understand, Whitticombe."

Edgar cleared his throat. "And I'm afraid you won't find anything, either. There's nothing to be found."

Whitticombe's lip curled. "Dilettante," he scoffed. "What would you know of research?"

Edgar shrugged. "I don't know about research, but I do know about the Bellamys. The last abbot was one-not in name-but he became the grandfather of the next generation. And he told his grandsons of the buried treasure-the tale was passed on until, at the Restoration, a Bellamy asked for and was granted the old abbey's lands."

Edgar smiled vaguely at Minnie. "The treasure is all around us." He gestured to the walls, the ceiling. "That first Bellamy of Bellamy Hall dug up the plate and treasure as soon as he set foot on his new lands-he sold them, and used the proceeds to build the Hall, and to provide the foundation for the future wealth of the family."

Meeting Whitticombe's stunned stare, Edgar smiled. "The treasure's been here, in plain sight, all along."

"No," Whitticombe said, but there was no strength in his denial.

"Oh, yes," Vane replied, his gaze hard. "If you'd asked, I-or Grisham-could have told you the abbot's cellar was filled in more than a hundred years ago. All you'll find under that trapdoor is solid earth."

Whitticombe continued to stare, then his eyes glazed.

"I rather think, Colby, that it's time for some apologies, what?" The General glared at Whitticombe.

Whitticombe blinked, then stiffened, and lifted his head arrogantly. "I don't see that I've done anything particularly reprehensible-not by the standards of this company." Features contorting, he scanned the others. And gestured disdainfully. "There's Mrs. Agatha Chadwick, struggling to bury a nincompoop of a husband and settle a daughter with not two wits to her name and a son not much better. And Edmond Montrose-a poet and dramatist with so much flair he never accomplishes anything. And we mustn't forget you, must we?" Whitticombe glared vituperatively at the General. "A General with no troops, who was nothing but a sergeant major in a dusty barracks, if truth be known. And we shouldn't forget Miss Edith Swithins, so sweet, so mild-oh, no. Don't forget her, and the fact she's consorting with Edgar, the rambling historian, and thinking no one knows. At her age!"

Whitticombe poured out his scorn. "And last but not least," he pronounced with relish, "we have Miss Patience Debbington, our esteemed hostess's niece-"

Crunnnch! Whitticombe sailed backward and landed on the floor, some yards away.

Patience, who'd been standing beside Vane, quickly stepped forward-to come up with Vane, who'd stepped forward as he delivered the blow that had lifted Whitticombe from his feet.

Clutching Vane's arm, Patience looked down-and prayed Whitticombe had the sense to stay down. She could feel the steel in the muscles beneath her fingers. If Whitticombe was foolish enough to fight back, Vane would demolish him.

Stunned, Whitticombe blinked back to full consciousness. As the others gathered about, he raised one hand to his jaw. And winced. "Assault!" he croaked.

"The battery might yet follow." The warning-entirely unneccessary from Patience's perspective-came from Vane. One look at his face, as hard as granite and equally unyielding, would have informed any sane person of that fact.

Whitticombe stared-then he scanned the circle about him. "He hit me!"

"Did he?" Edmond opened his eyes wide. "Didn't see it myself." He looked at Vane. "Would you care to do it again?"

"No!" Whitticombe looked shocked.

"Why not?" the General inquired. "A sound thrashing-do you good. Might even knock some sense into you. Here-we'll all come and watch. Ensure fair play and all that. No blows below the belt, what?"

The horrified look on Whitticombe's face as he gazed around the circle of faces-and found not one showing the slightest glimmer of sympathy-would have been comic if any had been in the mood to be amused. When his gaze returned to Vane, he sucked in a breath, and sniveled: "Don't hit me."

Narrow-eyed, Vane looked down at him, and shook his head. His battle-ready tension eased; he stepped back. "A coward-through and through."

The verdict was greeted with nods and humphs of agreement. Duggan pushed forward and grasped Whitticombe by the collar. He hauled the miserable figure upright. Duggan looked at Vane. "I'll lock him in the cellar, shall I?"

Vane looked at Minnie. Tight-lipped, she nodded.

Alice, who had watched it all, face alight with vindictive glee, laughed and waved at Whitticombe. "Off you go, brother! You wanted to look at a cellar all these months-enjoy it while you can." Cackling, she slumped back in her chair.

Agatha Chadwick laid a hand on Minnie's arm. "Allow me." With considerable dignity, she descended on Alice. "Angela."

For once, Angela did not drag her heels. Joining her mother, her face a mask of determination, she grasped Alice's other arm; together, they hoisted Alice to her feet.

"Come along, now." Mrs. Chadwick turned to the door.

Alice glanced from one to the other. "Did you bring my elephant? It is mine, you know."

"It's on its way from London." Agatha Chadwick glanced at Minnie. "We'll lock her in her room."

Minnie nodded.

All watched the trio pass through the door. The instant it closed behind them, the iron that had kept Minnie's spine straight for the past hours dissolved. She slumped against Timms. Vane softly cursed-without requesting permission, he scooped Minnie up in his arms and gently eased her into the chair Alice had vacated.

Minnie smiled tremulously up at him. "I'm all right-just a bit rattled." She grinned. "But I enjoyed seeing Whitticombe fly through the air."

Relieved to see that grin, Vane stepped back, letting Patience get closer. Edith Swithins, likewise at the end of her resources, was being solicitously helped into the second armchair by Edgar.

As she sank down, she, too, smiled at Vane. "I've never seen any fisticuffs before-it was quite exciting." Rummaging in her bag, she retrieved two bottles of smelling salts. She handed Minnie one. "I thought I'd lost this one years ago, but lo and behold, it turned up at the top of my bag last week."

Edith sniffed from her bottle, eyes twinkling at Vane.

Who discovered he could still blush. He glanced around; the General and Gerrard had been conferring-the General looked up. "Just discussing the dispositions, what? No staff here-and we haven't dined yet."

The observation got them all moving, lighting fires, making up beds, and preparing and serving a hot, sustaining dinner. Grisham, Duggan, and the two maids assisted, but everyone, bar only Alice and Whitticombe, readily contributed their share.

As no fire had been lit in the drawing room, the ladies remained at the table while the port did the rounds. The glow of common experience, of camaraderie, was evident as they shared thoughts of the past weeks.

At the end, as yawns started to interrupt their reminiscences, Timms turned to Minnie. "What will you do with them?"

Everyone quieted. Minnie grimaced. "They really are pitiful. I'll speak to them tomorrow, but, in all Christian charity, I can't throw them out. At least not at the moment, not into the snow."

"Snow?" Edmond raised his head, then rose and pulled back one of the drapes. Fine flakes swirled across the beam of light shining out. "Well, fancy that."

Vane did not fancy that. He had plans-a heavy fall of snow was not part of them. He glanced at Patience, seated beside him. Then he smiled, and quaffed the last of his port.

Fate couldn't be that cruel.

He was the last to climb the stairs, after walking a last round about the huge house. All was silent, all was still. It seemed the only other life in the old house was Myst, darting up the stairs before him. The small cat had elected to follow him on his round, weaving about his boots, then dashing into the shadows. He'd walked out of the side door to study the sky. Myst had disappeared into the dark, only to return a few minutes later, sneezing snowflakes off her pink nose, shaking them disdainfully from her fur.

His thoughts in the future, Vane followed Myst up the stairs, through the gallery, down one flight, and along the corridor. He reached his room and opened the door; Myst darted through.

Vane grinned and followed-then remembered he'd meant to go to Patience's room. He looked around, to call Myst back-and saw Patience, dozing in the chair by the fire.

Lips curving, Vane closed the door. Myst woke Patience before he reached her-she looked up, then smiled, rose-and walked straight into his arms. He closed them about her.

Eyes shining, she looked into his. "I love you."

Vane's lips lifted as he bent to kiss her. "I know."

Patience returned the gentle caress. "Was I that obvious?"

"Yes." Vane kissed her again. "That part of the equation was never in doubt." Briefly, his lips brushed hers. "Nor was the rest of it. Not from the moment I first held you in my arms."

The rest of it-his part of the equation-his feelings for her.

Patience drew back so she could study his face. She lifted a hand to his cheek. "I needed to know."

The planes of his face shifted; desire flared in his eyes. "Now you do." He lowered his head and kissed her again. "Incidentally, don't ever forget it."

Already breathless, Patience chuckled. "You'll have to make sure you remind me."

"Oh, I will. Every morning and every night."

The words were a vow-a promise. Patience found his lips with hers and kissed him until she was witless. Chuckling, Vane lifted his head. Wrapping one arm around her, he steered her to the bed. "Theoretically, you shouldn't be here."'

"Why? What's the difference-your bed or mine?"

"Quite a lot, by servants' standards. They'll accept the sight of gentlemen wandering the house in the early hours, but for some reason, the sight of ladies flitting through the dawn in their nightgowns incites rampant speculation."

"Ah," Patience said, as they halted by the bed. "But I'll be fully clothed." She gestured to her gown. "There'll be no reason for speculation."

Vane met her gaze. "What about your hair?"

"My hair?" Patience blinked. "You'll just have to help me put it up again. I assume 'elegant gentlemen,' such as you, learn such useful skills very early in life."

"Actually, no." Straight-faced, Vane reached for her pins. "Us rakes-of-the-first-order…" Dropping pins left and right, he set her hair cascading down. With a satisfied smile, he caught her about the waist and drew her hard against him. "We," he said, looking into her eyes, "spend our time concentrating on rather different skills-like letting ladies' hair down. And getting them out of their clothes. Getting them into bed. And other things."

He demonstrated-very effectively.

As he spread her thighs and sank deeply into her, Patience's breath fractured on a gasp.

He moved within her, claiming her, pressing deep, only to withdraw and fill her again. Arms braced, he reared above her, and loved her; beneath him, Patience writhed. When he bent his head and found her lips, she clung to the caress, clung to the moment. Clung to him.

Their lips parted, and she sighed. And felt his words against her lips as he moved deeply within her.

"With my body, I thee worship. With my heart, I thee adore. I love you. And if you want me to say it a thousand times, I will. Just as long as you'll be my wife."

"I will." Patience heard the words in her head, tasted them on her lips-she felt them resonate in her heart.

The next hour passed, and not a single coherent phrase passed their lips. The warm stillness within the room was broken only by the rustling of sheets, and soft, urgent murmurs. Then the silence gave way to soft moans, groans, breathless pants, desperate gasps. Culminating in a soft, piercingly sweet scream, dying, sobbing, into a deep guttural groan.

Outside, the moon rose; inside, the fire died.

Wrapped in each other's arms, limbs and hearts entwined, they slept.

"Bye!" Gerrard stood on the front steps and, smiling hugely, waved them away.

With a cheery wave, Patience faced forward, settling herself under the thick rug. The rug Vane had insisted she needed in order to go driving with him. She glanced at him. "You aren't going to fuss over me, are you?"

"Who? Me?" He threw her an uncomprehending glance. "Perish the thought."

"Good." Patience tipped her head back and looked at the sky, still threatening snow. "There's really no need-I'm perfectly accustomed to looking after myself."

Vane kept his eyes on his horses's ears.

Patience slanted him another glance. "Incidentally, I meant to mention…" When he merely raised an inquiring brow, and kept his gaze forward, she put her nose in the air and baldly stated, "If you dare, ever, to go into a conservatory with a beautiful woman, even if she's related-even a first cousin-I will not be held accountable for the outcome."

That got her a glance, a mildly curious one.

"Outcome?"

"The fracas that will inevitably ensue."

"Ah." Vane looked forward again, easing his horses down the lane to the main road. "What about you?" he eventually asked. Meekly mild, he raised his brows at her. "Don't you like conservatories?"

"You may take me to see any conservatory you please," Patience snapped. "My liking for pot plants is not, as you well know, the subject of this discussion."

Vane's lips quirked, then lifted-lightly. "Indeed. But you may put that particular subject from your head." The look in his eyes told Patience he was deadly serious. Then he smiled, his wolfish, Cynster smile. "What would I want with other beautiful women, if I can show you conservatories instead?"

Patience blushed, and humphed, and looked ahead.

A fine sprinkling of snow covered the landscape and sparkled in the weak sunshine. The breeze was chilly, the clouds leaden grey, but the day remained fine-fine enough for their drive. They reached the main road, and Vane turned north. He flicked the reins, and his greys stepped out. Lifting her face to the breeze, Patience thrilled to the steady rolling rhythm, to the sense of traveling quickly along a new road. In a new direction.

The roofs of Kettering lay ahead. Drawing a deep breath, she said, "I suppose we should start making plans."

"Probably," Vane conceded. He slowed the greys as they entered the town. "I'd imagined we'd spend most of our time in Kent." He glanced at Patience. "The house in Curzon Street is big enough for a family, but other than the obligatory appearances during the height of the Season, I can't imagine we'll be there all that much. Unless you've discovered a liking for town life?"

"No-of course not." Patience blinked. "Kent sounds wonderful."

"Good-did I mention there's a deal of redecorating to do?" Vane grinned at her. "Infinitely better you than me. Most of the house needs attention-especially the nurseries."

Patience mouthed an "Oh."

"Of course," Vane continued, deftly steering his cattle through the main street, "before we get to the nurseries, I suppose we should consider the main bedchamber." His expression impossibly innocent, he caught Patience's eye. "I daresay you'll need to make changes there, too."

Patience narrowed her eyes at him. "Before we get to the main bedchamber, don't you think we should get to a church?"

Vane's lips twitched; he looked ahead. "Ah, well. Now that poses some problems."

"Problems?"

"Hmm-like which church."

Patience frowned. "Is there some tradition in your family?"

"Not really. Nothing we need concern ourselves with. It really comes down to personal preference." With the town behind then, Vane set the greys pacing. And turned his attention to Patience. "Do you want a big wedding?"

She frowned. "I hadn't given it much thought."

"Well, do. And you might like to ponder the fact that there are approximately three hundred friends and connections who will have to be invited from the Cynster side alone, should you elect to go that route."

"Three hundred!"

"That's just the close ones."

It didn't take Patience long to shake her head. "I really don't think a big wedding is called for. It sounds like it'll take forever to organize."

"Very likely."

"So-what's the alternative?"

"There are a few," Vane admitted. "But the fastest method would be to marry by special license. That can be done at virtually anytime, and would take next to no time to organize."

"Beyond obtaining the license."

"Hmm." Vane looked ahead. "So, the question is, when would you like to marry?"

Patience considered. She looked at Vane, at his profile, puzzled when he kept his eyes forward and refused to meet her gaze. "I don't know," she said. "You pick a date."

He looked at her then. "You're sure? You won't mind what I decide?"

Patience shrugged. "Why should I? The sooner the better, if we're to go on as we are."

Vane let out a breath, and whipped up his horses. "This afternoon."

"This after…" Patience swiveled on the seat to stare at him. Then she snapped her mouth shut. "You've already got a license."

"In my pocket." Vane grinned-wolfishly. "That was where I was yesterday, while Sligo was hunting high and low."

Patience slumped back against the seat. Then their pace, Gerrard's wide grin, and the distance they'd already traveled, registered. "Where are we going?"

"To get married. In Somersham." Vane smiled. "There's a church in the village by the ducal estate, which you could say I've a connection with. Of all the churches in this land, I'd like to be married there. And the vicar, Mr. Postlethwaite, will fall over himself to do the honors."

Feeling slightly dizzy, Patience drew in a deep breath-then let it out. "Well, then-let's be married in Somersham village."

Vane glanced her way. "You're sure?"

Meeting his eyes, reading the uncertainty, the question, in the grey, Patience smiled, and slid closer. "I'm overwhelmed." She let her smile deepen, let her joy show. "But I'm sure."

Tucking one hand in Vane's arm, she gestured grandly. "Drive on!"

Vane grinned, and complied. Patience clung close, and listened to the wheels' steady clatter. Their journey together had already begun. Their dream was waiting-just beyond the next bend.