A Rake's Vow (Cynster 2)

At the sideboard, Patience forced herself to breathe deeply while absentmindedly filling her plate. She'd intended to wake early and be here in time to protect Gerrard. Instead, she'd slept in, drained by escalating worry, followed by unsettling dreams. The other ladies generally took breakfast on trays in their chambers, a habit to which she'd never subscribed. Ears tuned to the rumble of conversation behind her, she heard Vane's lazy drawl and felt her skin prickle. She frowned.

She knew the male members of the household too well-there was no possiblity they'd omitted to mention last night's contretemps, nor that they hadn't, in one way or another, accused Gerrard of it. But he was clearly unperturbed, which could mean only one thing. For whatever reason, Vane Cynster had taken up the cudgels in her stead and deflected the household's unreasoning suspicions of Gerrard. Her frown deepened as she heard Gerrard's voice, youthful enthusiasm ringing as he described a nearby ride.

Eyes widening, Patience picked up her plate and whirled. She advanced on the table, to the chair beside Gerrard. Masters drew it out and held it while she sat.

Gerrard turned to her. "I was just telling Vane that Minnie kept the best of Sir Humphrey's hunters. And the rides hereabouts are quite reasonable."

His eyes glowed with a light Patience hadn't seen in them before. Smiling, he turned back to Vane. Her heart sinking, Patience looked to the head of the table, too. Vane sat relaxed, wide shoulders encased in a grey hacking jacket settled comfortably against the chair back, one hand resting on the chair's arm, the other stretched on the table, long fingers crooked about the handle of a coffee cup.

In daylight, his features were as hard-edged as she'd thought them, his face every bit as strong. His heavy lids hid his eyes as, with lazy interest, he listened to Gerrard extol the equestrian virtues of the locality.

To her right, the General snorted, then pushed back his chair. Whitticombe rose, too. One after the other, they left the room. Frowning, Patience applied herself to her breakfast and tried to think of another subject with which to capture the conversation.

Vane saw her frown. The devil in him stirred and stretched, then settled to contemplate this latest challenge. She would, he felt sure, avoid him. Shifting his hooded gaze, he studied Gerrard. Vane smiled. Lazily. He waited until Patience took a bite of her toast.

"Actually," he drawled, "I was thinking of filling in the morning with a ride. Anyone interested?"

Gerrard's eager response was instantaneous; Patience's response, though far less eager, was no less rapid. Vane stifled a grin at the sight of her stunned expression as, with her mouth inhibitingly full, she heard Gerrard accept his invitation with undisguised delight

Patience looked out through the long parlor windows. The day was fine, a brisk breeze drying the puddles. She swallowed, and looked at Vane. "I thought you would be leaving."

He smiled, a slow, devilish, fascinating smile. "I've decided to stay for a few days."

Damn! Patience bit back the word and looked across the table at Edmond.

Who shook his head. "Not for me. The muse calls-I must do her bidding."

Patience inwardly cursed, and switched her gaze to Henry. He considered, then grimaced. "A good idea, but I should check on Mama first. I'll catch up if I can."

Vane inclined his head, and slanted a smiling glance at Gerrard. "Looks like it's just the two of us, then."

"No!" Patience coughed to disguise the abruptness of her answer; then took a sip of tea and looked up. "If you'll wait while I change, I'll come, too."

She met Vane's eyes, and saw the grey glint wickedly. But he smoothly, graciously, inclined his head, accepting her company, which was all she cared about. Setting down her teacup, she rose. "I'll meet you at the stables."

Rising with his customary grace, Vane watched as she left, then sank back, elegantly asprawl. He lifted his coffee cup, thus hiding his victorious smile. Gerrard, after all, wasn't blind. "Ten minutes, do you think?" He lifted a brow at Gerrard.

"Oh, at least." Gerrard grinned and reached for the coffeepot.

Chapter 4

By the time she gained the stable yard, Patience had the bit firmly between her teeth. Vane Cynster was not a suitable mentor for Gerrard, but, given the evidence of her eyes, Gerrard was already well on the way to an unhealthy respect, which could all too easily lead to adulation. Hero worship. Dangerous emulation.

It was all very clear in her mind.

The train of her lavender-velvet riding habit over her arm, she strode into the yard, heels ringing on the cobbles. Her reading of the situation was instantly confirmed.

Vane sat a massive grey hunter with elegant ease, effortlessly controlling the restive beast. Beside him, on a chestnut gelding, Gerrard blithely chatted. He looked happier, more relaxed, than he had since they'd arrived. Patience noted it, but, halting in the shadows of the stable arch, her attention remained riveted on Vane Cynster.

Her mother had often remarked that "true gentlemen" looked uncommonly dashing on horseback. Quelling an inward sniff-her normal reaction to that observation, which had invariably alluded to her father-Patience reluctantly conceded she could now see her mother's point: There was something about the harnessed power of the man, dominating an

d harnessing the power of the beast, that made her stomach tighten. The clop of hooves had drowned out her approach; she stared for a minute longer, then gave herself a mental shake, and walked forward.

Grisham had the brown mare she favored saddled and waiting; Patience ascended the mounting block, then climbed into the saddle. She settled her skirts and picked up the reins.

"Ready?"

The question came from Vane. Patience nodded.