A Rake's Vow (Cynster 2)

Naturally, he led the way out.

The morning greeted them, crisp and clear. Pale grey clouds dotted the washed-out sky; the smell of damp greenery was all-pervasive. Their first stop was a knoll, three miles from the Hall. Vane had ridden the fidgets from his mount in a series of short gallops that Patience had tried hard not to watch. After that, the grey had cantered beside her mare. Gerrard had ridden on her other side. None of them had spoken, content to look about and let the cool air refresh them.

Reining in beside Vane on the top of the knoll, Patience looked around. Beside her, Gerrard scanned the horizon, gauging the view. Twisting in his saddle, he eyed the steep mound beyond Vane, covering one end of the knoll.

"Here." Thrusting his reins into her hands, Gerrard dismounted. "I'm going to check the view."

Patience glanced at Vane, sitting his grey with deceptive ease, hands crossed on the saddlebow. He smiled lazily at Gerrard but made no move to follow. They watched as Gerrard scrambled up the steep sloping side of the mound. Gaining the top, he waved, then looked about. After a moment, he sank down, his gaze fixed in the distance.

Patience grinned and transferred her gaze to Vane's face. "I'm afraid he might be hours. He's very much taken with landscapes at present."

To her surprise, the grey eyes watching her showed no sign of alarm at that news. Instead, Vane's long lips curved. "I know," he said. "He mentioned his current obsession, so I told him about the old burial mound."

He paused, then added, his eyes still on hers, his smile deepening, "The views are quite spectacular." His eyes glinted. "Guaranteed to hold a budding artist's attention for a considerable space of time."

Patience, her gaze locked in the grey of his, felt a tingling sensation run over her skin. She blinked, then frowned. "How kind of you." She turned to study the views herself. And again felt that odd sensation, a ripple of awareness sliding over her nerves, leaving them sensitized. It was most peculiar. She would have put it down to the touch of the breeze, but the wind wasn't that cold.

Beside her, Vane raised his brows, his predator's smile still in evidence. Her lavender habit was not new, hardly fashionable, yet it hugged her contours, emphasizing their softness, leaving him with an urgent longing to fill his arms with their warmth. The grey shifted; Vane steadied him. "Minnie mentioned you and your brother hail from Derbyshire. Do you ride much while there?"

"As much as I can." Patience glanced his way. "I enjoy the exercise, but the rides in the vicinity of the Grange are rather restricted. Are you familiar with the area around Chesterfield?"

"Not specifically." Vane grinned. "That's a bit farther north than my usual hunting grounds."

For foxes-or females? Patience stifled a humph. "From your knowledge of the locality"-she glanced at the mound beside them-"I take it you've visited here before?"

"Often as a child. My cousin and I spent a few weeks here most summers."

Patience humphed. "I'm surprised Minnie survived."

"On the contrary-she thrived on our visits. She always delighted in our exploits and adventures."

When she returned no further comment, Vane softly said, "Incidentally, Minnie mentioned the odd thefts that have occurred at the Hall." Patience looked up; he trapped her gaze. "Is that what you were looking for in the flower bed? Something that disappeared?"

Patience hesitated, searching his eyes, then nodded. "I told myself Myst must have knocked it out of the window, but I hunted high and low, in the room and in the flower bed. I couldn't find it anywhere."

"What was 'it'?"

"A small silver vase." She sketched the shape of a bud vase. "About four inches high. I've had it for years-I don't suppose it's particularly valuable, but…"

"You'd rather have it than not. Why were you so keen not to mention it last night?"

Her face setting, Patience met Vane's eyes. "You aren't going to tell me the gentlemen of the household didn't happen to mention over the breakfast table this morning that they think Gerrard is behind all these odd occurrences-the Spectre, as they call it, and the thefts as well?"

"They did, as it happens, but we-Gerrard, myself, and, surprisingly enough, Edmond-pointed out that that notion has no real foundation."

The unladylike sound Patience made was eloquent-of irritation, frustration, and overstretched tolerance.

"Indeed," Vane concurred, "so you have yet another reason to feel grateful to me." As Patience swung his way, he frowned. "And Edmond, unfortunately."

Despite herself, Patience's lips quirked. "Edmond would gainsay the elders simply for a joke-he doesn't take anything seriously, other than his muse."

"I'll take your word for it."

Instead of being distracted, Patience continued to study his face. Vane raised one brow. "I did tell you," he murmured, holding her gaze, "that I'm determined to put you in my debt. You needn't concern yourself over the gentlemen's attitude to Gerrard while I'm about." He didn't think her pride would allow her to accept an outright offer of a broad shoulder to deflect the slings and arrows of the present Hall society; presenting his aid in the guise of a rake's machinations, would, he hoped, permit her to let the matter go with a shrug and a tart comment.

What he got was a frown. "Well, I do thank you if you tried to set them straight." Patience glanced up to where Gerrard was still communing with the horizon. "But you can see why I didn't want to make a fuss over my vase-they'd only blame Gerrard."

Vane raised his brows noncommittally. "Whatever. If anything more disappears, tell me, or Minnie, or Timms."