A Rake's Vow (Cynster 2)

Agatha Chadwick nodded in greeting. "It was very kind of your cousin to invite us all."

"I haven't been to a ball since I don't know when." Edith Swithins beamed at Vane. "It'll almost be an adventure."

Vane couldn't help returning her smile. "When's it to be?"

"Hasn't Honoria told you?" Minnie frowned. "I thought she said you knew-it's next Tuesday."

"Tuesday." Vane nodded, as if committing the fact to memory. He looked at Patience.

"Giddy nonsense, balls." Alice Colby very nearly sniffed. "But as the lady's a duchess, I daresay Whitticombe will say we must go. At least it's sure to be a suitably refined and dignified affair." Alice made the comment to the world at large. Concluding, she shut her pinched lips and stared straight ahead.

Vane stared, po-faced, at her. So did Minnie and Timms. All of them had attended impromptu balls Honoria had given. With all the Cynsters gathered in one room, refined and dignified tended to be overwhelmed by robust and vigorous. Deciding it was time Alice learned how the other half lived, Vane merely raised a brow and returned his attention to Patience.

At precisely the same moment she looked at him. Their gazes met and held; inwardly, Vane cursed. He needed to talk to Minnie; he wanted to talk to Patience. With her sitting there, waiting for him to invite her for a stroll, he couldn't ask Minnie instead. Not without adding to his problems, without leaving Patience feeling that he had, after all, started to ease back in his affections.

His affections, which were currently ravenous. Starved. Slavering for attention. And her.

He raised a languid brow. "Would you care for a stroll, Miss Debbington?"

Patience saw the hunger in his eyes, briefly, fleetingly, but quite clearly enough to recognize. The vise already locked about her chest tightened. Inclining her head graciously, she held out one gloved hand-and struggled to suppress the thrill that raced through her when his fingers closed strongly about hers.

He opened the door and handed her down. She turned to the carriage. Mrs. Chadwick smiled; Angela pouted. Edith Swithins positively grinned. Minnie, however, fluffed up her shawls and exchanged a quick glance with Timms.

"Actually," Timms said, "I rather think we should be getting back. The breeze is a mite chilly."

It was an Indian summer's day. The sun shone brightly, the breeze was almost balmy.

"Humph! Perhaps you're right," Minnie grumbled gruffly. She shot a glance at Patience. "No reason you can't go for your stroll-Vane can bring you home in his curricule. I know how much you miss your rambles."

"Indeed. We'll see you back at the house later." Timms poked the coachman with the tip of her parasol. "Home, Cedric!"

Left on the verge staring bemusedly after the carriage, Patience shook her head. Vane's arm appeared beside her. Placing her fingers on his sleeve, she glanced up into his face. "What was all that about?"

His eyes met hers. His brows rose. "Minnie and Timms are inveterate matchmakers. Didn't you know?"

Patience shook her head again. "They've never behaved like that with me before."

They'd never had him in their sights before either. Vane kept that thought to himself and guided Patience across the lawn. There were many couples strolling close to the carriageway. As they nodded and smiled, returning greetings as they headed for less-crowded terrain, Vane let his senses revel in the experience of having Patience once more by his side. He'd drawn her as close as propriety allowed; her green skirts swished against his boots. She was all woman, soft and curvaceous, mere inches away; he grew harder simply at the thought. The breeze, wafting past, lifted her perfume to his face-honeysuckle, roses, and that indefinable scent that evoked every hunter's instinct he possessed.

Abruptly, he cleared his throat. "Nothing happened last evening?" It was an effort to lift his voice from the gravelly depths to which it had sunk.

"Nothing." Patience slanted him a sharp, slightly curious glance. "Distressingly, Edmond and Henry have reverted to their competitive worst. Stolen items, or the disposal of same, seemed exceedingly far from their minds. If either of them are the thief or the Spectre, I'll eat my new bonnet."

Vane grimaced. "I don't think your new bonnet's in any danger." He studied the stylish creation perched atop her curls. "Is this it?"

"Yes," Patience returned, somewhat waspishly. He could at least have noticed.

"I thought it looked different." Vane flicked the cockade perched over her eyebrow-and met her gaze with a far-too-innocent look.

Patience humphed. "I take it the General and Edgar made no suspicious moves last night?"

"Suspicious moves aplenty, but more along the line of being suspiciously foxed. More to the point, however, Masters has heard from the Hall."

Patience's eyes widened. "And?"

Vane grimaced. "Nothing." Looking forward, he shook his head. "I can't understand it. We know the items haven't been sold. We haven't found them in the luggage brought up to town. But they aren't at the Hall. Grisham and the staff have been very thorough-they even checked the wainscot for hidden panels. There are a few. I didn't tell Grisham where they were, but he found them all. Empty, of course-I'd checked before we left. They searched every room, every nook and cranny. They checked under loose floorboards. They also searched the grounds and the ruins. Thoroughly. Incidentally, they did find some disturbance just beyond the door of the abbot's lodge."

"Oh?"