A Rake's Vow (Cynster 2)

"To Bedford and back."

"Bedford?" Patience noticed the open window. She swung around to face him. "How did you get in here?" When she'd woken and seen him, he'd been standing in the moonlight looking down at Myst.

Vane glanced back at her. "Through the window."

He turned back to the fire; Patience turned back to the window. "Through the…?" She looked out-and down. "Good Lord-you might have been killed!"

"I wasn't."

"How did you get in? I'm sure I locked this window."

"Myst opened it."

Patience turned to stare at her cat, curled in her favorite position atop a small table to one side of the fire. Myst was observing Vane with feline approval-he was, after all, creating a nice blaze.

He was also creating utter confusion.

"What's going on?" Patience arrived back before the hearth just as Vane rose. He turned to her, and reached for her, helping her the last step into his arms.

Muted by nothing more than fine lawn, his touch seared her. Patience gasped. She looked up. "What-"

Vane sealed her lips with his, and drew her fully against him. Her lips parted instantly; inwardly Patience cursed. His tongue, his lips, his hands, all started to weave their magic. She made a wild mental grab-for shock, surprise, anger, even witless distraction-anything that would give her the strength to distance herself from… this.

From the drugging wonder of his kiss, the immediate yearning that swelled within her. She

knew precisely what was happening, knew precisely where he was leading her. And was powerless to prevent it. Not while all of her body-and all of her heart-was madly in alt at the prospect.

When not even hauteur would come to her aid, she gave up all resistance and kissed him back. Hungrily. Had it only been this morning she'd had her last taste of him? If so, she was addicted. Beyond recall.

Her hands slid up, over his shoulders; her fingers found their way into his thick hair. Breasts swelling, nipples sensitive against the hard wall of his chest, Patience abruptly drew back, desperate for air.

She gasped as his lips slid down her throat, then fastened hotly over the spot where her pulse thundered. She shuddered and closed her eyes. "Why are you here?"

Her words were a thread of silver in the moonlight. His answer was deep as the deepest shadows.

"You offered to be my inamorata, remember?"

It was as she'd thought; he wasn't going to let her go yet. He hadn't finished with her, had not yet had his fill of her. Eyes closed tight, Patience knew she should fight. Instead, her willful heart sang. "Why did you go to Bedford?" Had he gone in search of information, or because…

"Because I lost my senses. I found them and came back."

Patience was very glad he, busy branding her throat with his lips, couldn't see the smile that curved hers-soft, gentle-utterly besotted. His words confirmed her reading of his character, his reactions; he had indeed been hurt and angry-furious enough to leave her. She would have thought a great deal less of him if, after all she'd said in the conservatory, he hadn't felt that way. As for the need that had brought him back to her-the desire and passion she sensed flowing so hotly in his veins-that, she could only be grateful for.

He raised his head, his lips returned to hers. One hand caressing his lean cheek, Patience welcomed him back. The kiss deepened; desire and passion blended and swelled. When next he lifted his head, they were both heated through-both very aware of what it was that shimmered hotly about them.

Their gazes locked. They were both breathing rapidly, both totally focused.

Feeling the touch of cooler air below her throat, Patience looked down. And saw Vane's fingers quickly, deliberately, slipping free the tiny buttons down the front of her nightgown. She studied the sight for an instant, aware of the throbbing in her blood, of the beat that seemed to vibrate about them. As his fingers passed the point between her breasts, and moved lower, she drew in a shuddering breath.

And closed her eyes. "I won't be your whore."

Vane heard the tremor in her voice. He regretted the word, but… He glanced at her face, then looked down, watching the small white buttons slide between his fingers, watching the halves of her nightgown slowly open, revealing her soft, sumptuous body.

"I asked you to be my wife, you offered to be my lover. I still want you as my wife." Her eyes flew open. He met her gaze, his face set, etched with passion, hard with determination. "But if I can't have you as my wife, then I'll have you as my lover." Forever, if need be.

Her gown was open to her waist. He slid one hand inside, palm sliding possessively around her hip, fingers sinking into soft flesh as he drew her to him. He took her lips, her mouth-a second later, he felt the shudder that passed through her, her achingly sweet surrender.

He felt her fingers at his nape; they slid into his hair. Her lips were soft, pliant, eager to appease-he feasted, on them, on her mouth, on the warmth she so freely offered. She pressed herself to him. Inside her gown, he slid his hand down her back, to stroke, then cup the smooth swell of her bottom. The lower half of her gown was still fastened, restricting his reach; withdrawing his hand, Vane drew back from their kiss.