A Rake's Vow (Cynster 2)

"Indeed," Patience agreed. Anything to cut short this farcical gathering.

"Gerrard, come down-your horse has forgotten why it's out here." Vane's command, delivered in world-weary tones, elicited nothing more than a chuckle from Gerrard.

He stood, stretched, nodded to Patience, then disappeared around the other side of the mound. Within minutes, he reappeared at ground level, dusting his hands. He grinned at Vane, nodded to Edmond and Henry, and ignored Pen-wick. Accepting his reins, he flashed Patience a smile, then swung up to the saddle. "Shall we?"

A lift of one brow and a brief wave accompanied the question. Patience stiffened-she stared. She knew precisely where Gerrard had picked up both those little mannerisms.

"How were the views?" Edmond paired his horse with Gerrard's. They led the way down the rise, Gerrard responding readily, describing various vistas and expounding on the interplay of light, cloud, and haze.

Her gaze fixed on Gerrard, Patience set her horse to follow his. Consternation ensued. With Vane holding steady on her right, Penwick and Henry jostled for the position on her left. By dint of defter management, Penwick secured the prize, leaving Henry sulking in the rear. Inwardly, Patience sighed, and made a mental note to be kind to Henry later.

Within three minutes, she would gladly have strangled Penwick.

"I flatter myself, Miss Debbington, that you are clearsighted enough to comprehend that I have your best interests at heart." That was Penwick's beginning. From there he progressed to: "I cannot but be convinced it does your sisterly sensitivities, those softer emotions with which gentlewomen are so well endowed, no good at all to be constantly abraded by the youthful but sadly inconsiderate exploits of your brother."

Patience kept her gaze on the fields and let Penwick's dissertation pass her by. She knew he wouldn't notice her abstraction. Other men always brought out the worst in Penwick-in his case, the worst was an unassailable belief in his own judgment, combined with an unshakable certainty that she not only shared his views, but was well on the way to being Mrs. Penwick. How he'd arrived at such a conclusion Patience was at a loss to understand; she'd never given him the slightest encouragement.

His portentous pronouncements flowed past her as they ambled on. Henry fidgeted, then coughed, then butted in with: "Do you think we'll get more rain?"

Patience fell on the witless question with relief and used it to distract Penwick, whose other obsession, beyond the sound of his own voice, was his fields. By dint of a few artless inquiries, she set Henry and Penwick to arguing over the effect of the recent rain on the crops.

Throughout, Vane said nothing. He didn't have to. Patience was quite sure of his thoughts-as cynical as her own. His silence was more eloquent, more powerful, more successful in impinging on her senses, than Penwick's pedantic statements or Henry's garrulous chatter.

To her right lay a sense of security, a front she did not, for the moment, need to defend. His silent presence gave her that; Patience inwardly sniffed. Yet another thing, she supposed, for which she should be grateful to him. He was proving adept at that cool, arrogant, subtle yet unrelenting maneuvering she associated with "elegant gentlemen." She was not surprised. From the first, she'd identified him as an expert practitioner.

Focusing on Gerrard, Patience heard him laugh. Over his shoulder, Edmond threw her a smiling glance, then reap-plied himself to Gerrard. Then Gerrard made some comment, underscoring his point with the same indolent wave he'd used before.

Patience set her teeth. There was nothing wrong, per se, with the gesture, although Vane did it better. At seventeen, Gerrard's artist's hands, although well made, had yet to gain the strength and mature form Vane Cynster's hands possessed. When he performed that gesture, it reeked of a masculine power Gerrard had yet to attain.

But copying gestures was one thing-Patience worried that Gerrard's emulation would not stop there. Still, she reasoned, glancing swiftly at Vane riding quietly beside her, it was only a mannerism or two. Despite Penwick's beliefs, she was not a female overburdened with nonsensical sen-sivities. She was, perhaps, more acutely conscious of Vane Cynster and his propensities, more watchful than she would be with other men. But there seemed no real reason to intervene. Yet.

With a laugh, Gerrard broke away from Edmond; wheeling his horse, he brought his chestnut alongside Vane's grey. "I've been meaning to ask"-Gerrard's eyes shone with enthusiasm as he looked into Vane's face-"about those greys of yours."

A disturbance on her other side forced Patience to glance that way, so she missed Vane's answer. His voice was so deep that, when he was facing away from her, she couldn't discern his words.

The disturbance proved to be Edmond, taking advantage of Penwick's distraction with Henry to insinuate his horse between Penwick's and Patience's. "There!" Edmond blithely ignored Penwick's outraged glare. "I've been waiting to ask your opinion of my latest verse. It's for the scene where the abbot addresses the wandering brothers."

He proceeded to declaim the recent fruits of his brain.

Patience gritted her teeth; she felt literally torn. Edmond would expect her to comment intelligently on his work, which he took with all the seriousness he failed to devote to more worldly matters. On the other hand, she desperately wanted to know what Vane was saying to Gerrard. While one part of her mind followed Edmond's rhymes, she strained her ears to pick up Gerrard's words.

"So their chests are important?" he asked.

Rumble, rumble, rumble.

"Oh." Gerrard paused. "Actually, I thought weight would give a fair indication."

A long series of rumbles answered that.

"I see. So if they do have good stamina…"

Patience glanced to her right-Gerrard was now closer to Vane. She couldn't even hear his half of the conversation.

"So!" Edmond drew in a breath. "What do you think?"

Head snapping back, Patience met his eyes. "It didn't hold my interest-perhaps it needs more polish?"

"Oh." Edmond was deflated, but not cast down. He frowned. "Actually, I think you might be right."