Chapter 18
For Patience, the next three days passed in a whirl of brief meetings, of whispered conferences, of desperate endeavors to locate Minnie's pearls, punctuated by last-minute fittings for her new ball gown, all squeezed between the social excursions necessary to keep all Minnie's household under observation. Beneath the frenetic rush ran a sense of gathering excitement, a swelling thrill of anticipation.
Highlighted whenever she met Vane, whenever they exchanged glances, whenever she sensed the weight of his personal, highly passionate, regard.
There was no hiding it, no sidestepping it; the desire between them grew stronger, more charged, with every passing day. She didn't know whether to blame him, or herself.
By the time she climbed the imposing steps of St. Ives House and passed into the brilliantly lit hall, her nerves had wound taut, coiled tight in her stomach. She told herself it was nonsense to allow the moment to so affect her, to imagine anything great would come of the evening. This was merely a private family ball, an impromptu affair, as Honoria had been at great pains to assure her.
There was no reason-no sense-to her reaction.
"There you are!" Honoria, magnificently gowned in mulberry silk, informally greeting her guests by the door, all but pounced on Patience as she crossed the music room's threshold. Nodding to Minnie, Timms, and the rest of their entourage, Honoria graciously waved them on, but kept hold of Patience. "I must introduce you to Devil."
Deftly linking arms with Patience, she swept up to where a tall, dramatically dark gentleman clothed in black stood talking to two matrons. Honoria jabbed his arm. "Devil-my husband. Duke of St. Ives."
The man turned, took in Patience, then slanted Honoria a mildly inquiring glance.
"Patience Debbington," his spouse supplied. "Minnie's niece."
Devil smiled, first at his wife, then at Patience. "It's a pleasure to meet you, Miss Debbington." He bowed gracefully. "You've just come up from Bellamy Hall, I hear. Vane seems to have found his stay there unexpectedly distracting."
The smooth tones of his deep voice, distinctly familiar, rolled over, and through, Patience. She resisted the urge to blink. Vane and Devil could have been brothers-the resemblance, the autocratic cast of their features, the aggressive line of nose and jaw, was impossible to mistake. The primary difference lay in their coloring-while Vane's hair was burnished brown, his eyes cool grey, Devil's hair was midnight black, his large eyes a pale green. There were other differences, too, but the similarities outweighed them. From their build, their distinctive height, and, most striking of all, the wicked glint in their eyes and the totally untrustworthy lilt to their lips, they were clearly as one beneath the skin. Wolves in human form.
Very masculine, distinctly distracting form.
"How do you do, Your Grace." Patience held out her hand, and would have sunk into the regulation deep curtsy, but Devil grasped her fingers and prevented it.
"Not 'Your Grace'. " He smiled, and Patience felt the mesmerizing power of his gaze as he raised her gloved fingers to his lips. "Call me Devil-everyone does."
For good reason, Patience decided. Despite that, she couldn't help but return his smile.
"There's Louise-I must speak with her." Honoria glanced at Patience. "I'll catch up with you later." Skirts swishing imperiously, she headed back to the door.
Devil grinned. He turned back to Patience-his gaze slid past her.
"Minnie's asking after you." Vane nodded to Patience as he halted beside her, then he returned his gaze to Devil. "She wants to relive some of our more embarrassing exploits-rather you than me."
Devil sighed feelingly. He raised his head, looking over the swelling throng to where Minnie was holding court, enthroned on a chaise by the wall. "Perhaps I could impress her with the weight of my ducal demeanor?" He raised his brows at Vane, who grinned.
"You could try."
Devil smiled. With a nod to Patience, he left them.
Patience met Vane's gaze; instantly, she was aware of the tension that held him. A peculiar shyness gripped her. "Good evening."
Something hot flashed through his eyes; his face hardened. He reached for her hand. She yielded it readily. He raised it, but instead of touching his lips to the backs of her gloved fingers, he reversed her hand. His eyes steady on hers, he pressed his lips to her inner wrist. Her pulse leapt beneath his caress.
"There's someone you should meet." His voice was low, gravelly. Placing her hand on his sleeve, he turned her.
"Hello, coz. Who's this?"
The gentleman who blocked their way was obviously another Cynster-one with light brown hair and blue eyes. Vane sighed, and made the introductions-and kept making them as more of them appeared. They were all similar-similarly dangerous-all large, all suavely assured-all elegant. The first went by the name of Gabriel; he was followed by Lucifer, Demon, and Scandal. Patience found it impossible not to soften under their practiced smiles. She grasped the moment to regain her breath, regain her poise. The pack-she instantly labeled them as such-chatted and sparred with effortless facility. She responded easily, but remained alert. How could one claim not to have been forewarned with names like that? She kept her hand firmly anchored to Vane's sleeve.
For his part, Vane showed no inclination to drift from her side. She told herself not to read too much into that fact. There simply might not be many ladies of the type to attract his interest in a crowd composed of family and friends.
A squeaky screech, followed by a plunk, heralded the start of the dancing. Four of the large men surrounding her hesitated; Vane did not. "Would you care to dance, my dear?"
Patience smiled her acceptance. With a gracious nod to the others, she consented to be led to the floor.