A Rake's Vow (Cynster 2)

Patience's eyes widened. "You saw who it was?"

"Yes and no. I only caught a glimpse as he went through a thinner patch of fog. He clambered over a rock, holding his light high, and I saw him outlined by the light. A grown man from his build. Height's difficult to judge at a distance, but build is harder to mistake. He was wearing a heavy coat, something like frieze, although my impression was it wasn't that cheap."

"But you're sure it wasn't Gerrard?"

Vane glanced down at Patience riding comfortably in his arms. "Gerrard's still too lightweight to be mistaken for a fully grown man. I'm quite certain it wasn't he."

"Hmm." Patience frowned. "What about Edmond-he's rather thin. Is he eliminated, too?"

"I don't think so. His shoulders are broad enough to carry a coat well, and with his height, if he was hunched, either against the cold or because he was playing the role of'the Spectre,' then he could have been the man I saw."

"Well, whatever else," Patience said, brightening, "you can put an end to this scurrilous talk of Gerrard being the Spectre." Her brightness lasted all of ten yards, then she frowned. "Why didn't you clear Gerrard's name just now, in the breakfast parlor?"

"Because," Vane said, ignoring the sudden chill in her voice, "it's patently obvious that someone-someone about the breakfast table-is quite content to cast Gerrard as the Spectre. Someone wants Gerrard as scapegoat, to distract attention from himself. Given the mental aptitudes you so accurately described, the gentlemen are, by and large, easily led. Present the matter right, and they'll happily believe it. Unfortunately, as none of them is unintelligent, it's difficult to tell just who's doing the leading."

He stopped before a door; frowning, Patience absent-mindedly leaned forward and opened it. Vane shouldered the door wide and carried her in.

As he had said, it was a parlor, but not one usually in use. It lay at the end of the wing housing Patience's bedchamber, one floor down. The windows were long, reaching almost to the floor. Maids had obviously been in, throwing back dust covers, dusting ferociously, and refurbishing the huge cast-iron Empire day bed that faced the long windows. Their curtains tied back, the windows looked over the shrubbery and a section of wilderness-most of the Hall's gardens were wilderness-to the golden brown canopies of the woods beyond. It was as pleasant a prospect as could be found in the present season. Farther to the right lay the ruins; in the distance, the grey ribbon of the Nene wound its way through lush meadows. Patience could recline on the daybed and contemplate the scenery. As the room was on the first floor, her privacy was assured.

Vane carried her to the daybed and carefully lowered her onto it. He plumped the pillows, arranging them supportively about her.

Patience lay back, watching as he settled a tapestry-covered cushion under her sore ankle. "Just what are your intentions over the Spectre?"

Vane met her gaze, then, raising one brow, strolled back to the door-and turned the key in the lock. Returning with the same long-strided prowl, he sat on the bed, beside her hip, bracing one hand on the daybed's iron back. "The Spectre now knows that he was followed last night-that, but for your untimely accident, he might well have been caught."

Patience had the grace to blush.

"All the household," Vane continued, his eyes locking on hers, "the Spectre included, are coming to the realization that I know the Hall well, possibly better than they do. I'm a real threat to the Spectre-I think he'll lie low and wait for me to depart before making another appearance."

Patience made an effort to live up to her name; she pressed her lips tightly together.

Vane smiled understandingly. "Consequently, if we're to lure the Spectre to reveal himself, I suspect it would be wise to let it appear that I'm still willing to entertain the notion that Gerrard-the obvious candidate-is to blame."

Patience frowned. She studied the cool grey of his eyes, then opened her lips.

"I would suggest," Vane said, before she could speak, "that it's not going to hurt Gerrard to let the household think what they like, at least for the immediate future."

Patience's frown deepened. "You didn't hear what they said." She crossed her arms beneath her breasts. "The General called him a boy."

Vane's brows rose. "Highly insensitive, I agree-but I think you're underestimating Gerrard. Once he knows all the people he cares about know he's innocent, he won't worry over what the others think. I suspect he'll view it as an exciting game-a conspiracy to catch the Spectre."

Patience narrowed her eyes. "You mean that's how you'll present it to him."

Vane grinned. "I'll suggest he responds to any aspersions cast his way with scornful boredom." He raised his brows. "Perhaps he can cultivate a superior sneer?"

Patience tried to eye him with disapproval. She was sure that, as Gerrard's guardian, she shouldn't approve of such plans. Yet she did; she could see Vane's plan was the fastest way to resuscitate Gerrard's confidence, and that, above all, was her primary concern. "You're rather good at this, aren't you?" And she didn't just mean his reading of Gerrard.

Vane's grin converted to a rakish smile. "I'm rather good at lots of things."

His voice had lowered to a rumbling purr. He leaned closer.

Patience tried, very hard, to ignore the vise slowly closing about her chest. She kept her eyes on his, drawing ever nearer, determined that she wouldn't-absolutely would not-allow her gaze to drop to his lips. As her heartbeat deepened, she raised one brow challengingly. "Such as?"

Kissing-he was very, very good at kissing.

By the time Patience reached that conclusion, she was utterly breathless-and utterly enthralled by the heady feelings slowly spiraling through her. Vane's confident possession of her lips, her mouth, left her giddy-pleasurably so. His hard lips moved on hers, and she softened, not just her lips, but every muscle, every limb. Slow heat washed through her, a tide of simple delight that seemed to have no greater meaning, no deeper import. It was all pleasure, simple pleasure.

With a mental sigh,