A Rake's Vow (Cynster 2)

To her surprise, he headed for the back of the hall, and shouldered open the green baize door. "Masters!"

Masters popped out from the butler's pantry. "Yes, sir?-oh my!"

"Indeed," Vane replied. "Summon Mrs. Henderson and one of the maids. Miss Debbington went wandering in the ruins and has turned her ankle and wrenched her knee."

That, of course, did for her. Very thoroughly. Patience had to put up with Masters, Mrs. Henderson, and Minnie's old dresser, Ada, fussing nonstop about her. Vane led the bleating procession up the stairs-as he'd said, he set her down in her room, not before.

He set her, very gently, on the end of her bed. Frowning, he stood back. Hands on hips, he watched as Mrs. Henderson and Ada fussed with a mustard bath for her ankle and the makings of a poultice for her knee.

Apparently satisfied, Vane turned and trapped Patience's gaze. His eyes were hard. "For God's sake, do as you're told." With that, he strode for the door.

Utterly dumbfounded, Patience stared after him. She couldn't think of anything halfway suitable to hurl at him before he disappeared. The door clicked shut. She snapped her mouth shut, let herself fall back on the bed, and relieved

her feelings with a teeth-gritted groan.

Ada fluttered over. "It'll be all right, dear." She patted Patience's hand. "We'll make it all better in a moment."

Patience set her teeth-and glared at the ceiling.

Mrs. Henderson came to wake her the next morning. Patience, lying on her back in the middle of her bed, was surprised to see the motherly housekeeper; she'd expected one of the maids.

Mrs. Henderson smiled as she drew the curtains wide. "I'll need to remove that poultice and bind up your knee."

Patience grimaced. She'd hoped to escape a bandage. She glanced idly at her clock, then stared. "It's only seven o'clock."

"Aye. We doubted you'd sleep all that well, what with the awkwardness."

"I couldn't turn over." Patience struggled to sit up.

"It won't be so bad tonight. Just a bandage should be enough from now on."

With the housekeeper's help, Patience got up. She sat patiently while Mrs. Henderson removed the poultice, clucked over her knee, then bound it up in a fresh bandage.

"I can't walk," Patience protested, the instant Mrs. Henderson helped her to her feet.

"Of course not. You must stay off your feet for a few days if that knee's to heal."

Patience closed her eyes and stifled a groan.

Mrs. Henderson helped her to wash and dress, then let her prop against the bed. "Now, would you like a tray up here, or would you rather go downstairs?"

To think of spending the entire day closeted in her room was bad enough; to be forced to do so would be torture. And if she was to go down the stairs, it had best be now, before anyone else was about. "Downstairs," Patience replied decisively.

"Right then."

To her amazement, Mrs. Henderson left her and headed for the door. Opening it, she put her head out, said something, then stood back, holding the door wide.

Vane walked in.

Patience stared.

"Good morning." His expression impassive, he crossed the room. Before she could formulate her thoughts, let alone the words to express them, he stooped and scooped her into his arms.

Patience swallowed her gasp. Just like last night-with one highly pertinent alteration.

Last night, she'd been wearing her cloak; its thick folds had muted his touch sufficiently to render it undisturbing. Now, clad in a morning gown of fine twill, even through her petticoats she could feel every one of his fingers, one set gripping her lower thigh, the others firm beneath her arm, close by the swell of her breast.

As he angled her through the door, then straightened and headed for the gallery, Patience tried to steady her breathing, and prayed her blush wasn't as vivid as it felt. Vane's gaze touched her face, then he looked ahead and started down the stairs.