A Rake's Vow (Cynster 2)

Patience snuggled closer to the warm wall of his chest. He adjusted his hold; his hands slid about her waist, beneath her cloak. He drew her more firmly against him, shifting so she was trapped-very comfortably-between him and the old wall. One arm and shoulder protected her from the stones; the rest of him protected her from the night. His arms tightened; Patience felt the strength of him down her length, felt the press of his chest against her breasts, the weight of his hips against her stomach, the solid columns of his thighs hard against her softer limbs.

His lips found hers again; his hands spread over her back, molding her to him. Patience felt heat rise-from her, from him, between them. They were in no danger of taking a chill.

Myst hissed.

Vane raised his head, instantly alert.

A light flashed through the ruins. The fog had grown denser, making it difficult to tell where the lantern was. Reflections bounced off the cut faces of broken stones, setting up distracting glows. It took a moment to locate the strongest source of light.

It shone from beyond the cloisters.

"Stay here." With that whispered command, Vane set her from him, leaving her in the lee of the wall. In the next instant, he disappeared, merging into the fog like a wraith.

Patience swallowed her protest. She looked around-just in time to see Myst slip away in Vane's wake.

Leaving her totally alone.

Stunned, Patience stared after them. Somewhere ahead, the Spectre's lantern still glowed.

"You have to be joking!" With that muttered statement, she hurried after Vane.

She saw him once, as he crossed the courtyard within the cloisters. The light bobbed some way before him-not near the church but on the other side of the cloister, heading toward the remnants of other abbey buildings. Patience hurried on, glimpsing Myst as she leapt over the stones of the ruined wall of the cloister. As she followed, Patience tried to remember what lay beyond that wall.

A hole, as it happened-she tumbled headlong into it.

Patience valiantly smothered her instinctive shriek, nearly choking in the process. Luckily, it wasn't stone she fell on, but a grassed incline; the impact knocked the air from her lungs and left her gasping.

Twenty yards ahead, Vane heard her muffled shriek. He stopped and looked back, scanning the fog-shrouded stones. A yard behind him, Myst came to a quivering halt atop a stone, ears pricked as she looked back. Then the sleek cat leapt down and streaked back through the fog.

Silently, Vane cursed. He looked ahead.

The light had vanished.

Drawing a deep breath, he let it out, then turned and stalked back.

He found Patience lying where she'd fallen; she was struggling to push herself upright.

"Wait." Vane jumped down by her feet. Leaning over her, he slid his hands under her arms and lifted her. He set her on her feet beside him.

With a smothered cry, Patience crumpled. Vane caught her, lifting her, supporting her against him. "What is it?"

Patience leaned into him. "My knee." She bit her lip, then weakly added, "And my ankle."

Vane cursed. "Left or right?"

"Left."

He shifted to her left, then swung her into his arms, her left leg cradled between them. "Hang on."

Patience did. Holding her against his chest, Vane climbed the short slope. Lifting her high, he set her down on the edge of the hole, then clambered out. Then he bent and lifted her into his arms again.

He carried her into the cloisters, to where a large stone offered a convenient seat. Carefully, he set her down, letting her legs down gently.

Dead grass and damp leaves clung to her bodice. Vane brushed at them. Patience immediately brushed, too, not at all certain what she was brushing away-the detritus, or his hands. Despite the sharp pain in her knee and the duller ache in her ankle, the swift sweep of his fingers across her bodice had made the tips of her breasts crinkle tight.

The sensation left her breathless.

Vane shifted, half behind her. The next instant, she felt his hands slide about her from behind, fingers finning and feeling her ribs. Before she could gather her wits, his fingers slid upward.