"How on earth can I tell?" Spreading her hands, she appealed to Myst. "I've never felt this way before."

The thought suggested another possibility. Halting, Patience lifted her head, then, with returning confidence, drew herself up and glanced hopefully at Myst. "Perhaps I'm just imagining it?"

Myst stared, unblinking, through big blue eyes, then yawned, stretched, jumped down, and led the way to the door.

Patience sighed. And followed.

The telltale tension between them-there from the first-had intensified. Vane felt it as he held Patience's chair while she settled her skirts at the dinner table that evening. Consciousness slid under his guard, like the brush of raw silk across his body, raising hairs, leaving every pore tingling.

Inwardly cursing, he took his seat-and forced his attention to Edith Swithins. Beside him, Patience chatted easily with Henry Chadwick, with no detectable sign of confusion. As the courses came and went, Vane struggled not to resent that fact. She appeared breezily unconscious of any change in the temperature between them, while he was fighting to keep the lid on a boiling pot.

Dessert was finally over, and the ladies withdrew. Vane kept the conversation over the port to a minimum, then led the gentlemen back to the drawing room. As usual, Patience was standing with Angela and Mrs. Chadwick halfway down the long room.

She saw him coming; the fleeting flare of awareness in her eyes as he drew near was a momentary sop to his male pride. Very momentary-the instant he stopped by her side, her perfume reached him, the warmth of her soft curves tugged at his senses. Decidedly stiff, Vane inclined his head fractionally to all three ladies.

"I was just telling Patience," Angela blurted out, pouting sulkily, "that it's beyond anything paltry. The thief has stolen my new comb!"

"Your comb?" Vane flicked a glance at Patience.

"The one I bought in Northampton," Anglea wailed. "I didn't even get to wear it!"

"It may still turn up." Mrs. Chadwick tried to sound encouraging, but with her own, much more serious loss clearly in mind, she failed to soothe her daughter.

"It's unfair!" Flags of color flew in Angela's cheeks. She stamped her foot. "I want the thief caught!"

"Indeed." The single word, uttered in Vane's coolest, most bored drawl, succeeded in dousing Angela's imminent hysterics. "We would all, I fancy, like to lay our hands on this elusive, light-fingered felon."

"Light-fingered felon?" Edmond strolled up. "Has the thief struck again?"

Instantly, Angela reverted to her histrionic best; she poured out her tale to the rather more appreciative audience of Edmond, Gerrard, and Henry, all of whom joined the circle. Under cover of their exclamations, Vane glanced at Patience; she felt his gaze and looked up, meeting his eyes, a question forming in hers. Vane opened his lips, the details of an assignation on his tongue-he swallowed them as, to everyone's surprise, Whitticombe joined the group.

The garrulous recitation of the thief's latest exploit was instantly muted, but Whitticombe paid little heed. After a general nod to all, he leaned closer and murmured to Mrs. Chadwick. She immediately raised her head, looking across the room. "Thank you." Reaching out, she took Angela's arm. "Come, my dear."

Angela's face fell. "Oh, but…"

For once entirely deaf to her daughter's remonstrances, Mrs. Chadwick towed Angela to the chaise where Minnie sat.

Both Vane and Patience followed Mrs. Chadwick's progress, as did the others. Whitticombe's quiet question had them turning back to him.

"Am I to understand that something else has gone miss-ing?"

Entirely by chance, he was now facing the others, all arrayed in a semicircle, as if joined in league against him. It was not a felicitous social grouping, yet none of them-Vane, Patience, Gerrard, Edmond, or Henry-made any move to shift position, to include Whitticombe more definitely in their circle.

"Angela's new comb." Henry briefly recited Angela's description.

"Diamonds?" Whitticombe's brows rose.

"Paste," Patience corrected. "It was a… showy piece."

"Hmm." Whitticombe frowned. "It really brings us back to our earlier question-what on earth would anyone want with a garish pincushion and a cheap, somewhat tawdry, comb?"

Henry's jaw locked; Edmond shifted. Gerrard stared pugnaciously-directly at Whitticombe, who'd fixed his cold, transparently assessing gaze on him.

Beside Vane, Patience stiffened.

"Actually," Whitticombe drawled, the instant before at least three others spoke, "I was wondering if it isn't time we instituted a search?" He lifted a brow at Vane. "What do you think, Cynster?"

"I think," Vane said, and paused, his chilly gaze fixed on Whitticombe's face, until there wasn't one of the company who did not know precisely what he truly thought, "that a search will prove fruitless. Aside from the fact that the thief will certainly hear of the search before it begins, and have time aplenty to secrete or remove his cache, there's the not inconsiderable problem of our present location. The house is nothing short of a magpie's paradise, let alone the grounds. Things hidden in the ruins might never be found."

Whitticombe's gaze momentarily blanked, then he blinked. "Ah… yes." He nodded. "I daresay you're right. Things might never be found. Quite true. Of course, a search would never do. If you'll excuse me?" With a fleeting smile, he bowed and headed back across the room.

Puzzled to varying degrees, they all watched him go. And saw the small crowd gathered about the chaise. Timms waved. "Patience!"

"Excuse me." With a fleeting touch on Vane's arm, Patience crossed to the chaise, to join Mrs. Chadwick and Timms, gathered about Minnie. Then Mrs. Chadwick stood back; Patience stepped closer and helped Timms assist Minnie to her feet.

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."

"Ah." Dodging more branches of drying herbs, carefully avoiding a rack of large bottles, Vane eased down the aisle between the central table and the side counter at which Patience was working. He only just fitted. The fact registered, but dimly; his senses had focused on Patience. His eyes locked on hers as he closed the distance between them. "I've been chasing you for days."

Desire roughened his voice; he saw the same emotion flare in her eyes. He reached for her-in precisely the same moment she stepped toward him. She ended in his arms, her hands sliding up to frame his face, her face lifting to his.

Vane was kissing her before he knew what he-they-were about. It was the first time in his extensive career he'd misstepped, lost the thread of his predetermined plot. He'd intended speaking first, making the declaration he knew he should make; as Patience's lips parted invitingly under his, as her tongue boldly tangled with his, all thought of speech fled from his head. Her hands left his face to slide and lock over his shoulders, bringing her breasts against his chest, her thighs against his, the soft fullness of her belly caressing the aching ridge distorting the front of his breeches.

Need burst upon him-his, and, to his utter amazement, hers. His own lust he was used to controlling; hers was something else again. Vibrant, gloriously naive, eager in its innocence, it held a power far stronger than he'd expected. And it drew something from him-something deeper, stronger, a compulsion driven by something much more powerful than mere lust.

Heat rose between them; in desperation, Vane tried to lift his head. He only succeeded in altering the angle of their kiss. Deepening it. The failure-so totally unprecedented-jerked him to attention. Their reins had well and truly slipped from his grasp-Patience now held them-and she was driving far too fast.