A Rake's Vow (Cynster 2)

Vane watched as, her arm about Minnie, Patience helped her to the door.

Intending to follow, Mrs. Chadwick shooed Angela ahead of her, then detoured to inform the deserted group of males: "Minnie's not well-Patience and Timms will put her to bed. I'll go, too, in case they need help."

So saying, she herded a reluctant Angela out of the room and closed the door behind them.

Vane stared at the closed door-and inwardly cursed. Fluently.

"Well." Henry shrugged. "Left to our own devices, what?" He glanced at Vane. "Fancy a return match in the billiard room, Cynster?"

Edmond looked up; so did Gerrard. The suggestion obviously met with their approval. His gaze on the closed door beyond them, Vane slowly raised his brows. "Why not?" Lips firming to an uncompromising line, his eyes unusually dark, he waved to the door. "There seems little else to do tonight."

The next morning, his expression tending grim, Vane descended the main stairs.

Henry Chadwick had beaten him at billiards.

If he'd needed any confirmation of how seriously the current impasse with Patience was affecting him, that had supplied it. Henry could barely sink a ball. Yet he'd been so distracted, he'd been even less able to sink anything, his mind totally engrossed with the where, the when, and the how-and the likely sensations-of sinking into Patience.

Striding across the front hall, his boots ringing on the tiles, he headed for the breakfast room. It was past time he and Patience talked.

And after that…

The table was half-full; the General, Whitticombe, and Edgar were all there, as was Henry, blithely gay with a wide grin on his face. Vane met it without expression. He helped himself to a large and varied breakfast, then took his seat to wait for Patience.

To his relief, Angela did not appear; Henry informed him that Gerrard and Edmond had already broken their fast and gone out to the ruins.

Vane nodded, and continued to eat-and wait.

Patience didn't appear.

When Masters and his minions appeared to clear the table, Vane rose. Every muscle felt locked, every sinew taut and tight. "Masters-where is Miss Debbington?"

His accents, while even, held more than a hint of cold steel.

Masters blinked. "Her Ladyship's unwell, sir-Miss Debbington is presently with Mrs. Henderson sorting menus and going over the household accounts, it being the day for those."

"I see." Vane stared unseeing at the empty doorway. "And just how long do menus and household accounts take?"

"I'm sure I couldn't say, sir-but they've only just begun, and Her Ladyship usually takes all morning."

Vane drew a deep breath-and held it. "Thank you, Masters."

Slowly, he moved out from behind the table and headed for the door.

He was past cursing. He paused in the hall, then, his face setting like stone, he turned on his heel and strode for the stables. In lieu of talking with Patience, and the likely aftermath, he'd have to settle for a long, hard ride-on a horse.

He caught her in the stillroom.

Pausing with his hand on the latch of the half-open door, Vane grinned, grimly satisfied. It was early afternoon; many of the household would be safely napping-the rest would at least be somnolent. Within the stillroom, he could hear Patience humming softly-other than the rustling of her gown, he could hear no other sound. He'd finally found her alone and in the perfect location. The stillroom, tucked away on the ground floor of one wing, was private, and contained no daybed, chaise, or similar piece of furniture.

In his present state, that was just as well. A gentleman should not, after all, go too far with the lady he intended making his wife before informing her of that fact. The absence of any of the customary aids to seduction should make coming to the point easy, after which they could retire to some place of greater comfort, so he could be comfortable again.

The thought-of how he would ease the discomfort that had dogged him for the past days-wound his spring a notch tighter. Jaw set, he drew a deep breath. Setting the door wide, he stepped over the threshold.

Patience whirled. Her face lit up. "Hello. Not riding?"

Scanning the dimly lit stillroom, Vane slowly closed the door. And slowly shook his head. "I went out this morning." The last time he'd been in here, he'd been nine years old-the room had appeared much more spacious. Now… Ducking a dangling sheaf of leaves, he edged around the table running down the center of the narrow room. "How's Minnie?"

Patience smiled, gloriously welcoming, and dusted her hands. "Just a sniffle-she'll be better soon, but we want to keep an eye on her. Timms is sitting with her at present."