Henry chuckled indulgently and flicked Patience a smile. "I suppose I'll be in on it, too."

Gerrard looked at Vane.

Who smiled. "I'll give you a handicap-lead off."

Gerrard waited for no more. With a "Whoop!" he sprang his horse.

Edmond made to give chase, as did Henry, but, as Patience tapped her heels to her mare's sides, they moved off with her. Letting her mare have her head, Patience followed in her brother's wake; Gerrard was forging ahead, unchallenged. The three other men held their horses back, matching the mare's shorter strides.

Ridiculous! What possible benefit could any of them gain by keeping to her side over one short field? Patience fought to keep a straight face, to keep from grinning and shaking her head at the sheer silliness of men. As they neared the lane, she couldn't resist a brief glance at Vane.

Keeping station on her right, the grey held easily in check, he met her gaze-and raised one brow in weary self-deprecation.

Patience laughed-an answering gleam lit Vane's eyes. The lane drew near; he glanced forward. When he looked back, the light in his eyes had hardened, sharpened.

He edged his grey closer, crowding her mare. The mare reacted by lengthening her stride. Henry and Edmond fell behind, forced to hold back as the grey and the mare swept into the lane, only wide enough for two horses abreast.

Then they were clattering under the arch and into the yard. Pulling up, Patience dragged in a breath and looked back; Edmond and Henry were some way behind.

Gerrard, having won the race, laughed and set his chestnut prancing. Grisham and the grooms came running.

Patience looked at Vane and saw him dismount-by bringing his leg over the saddlebow and sliding to the ground, landing on his feet. She blinked, and he was by her side.

His hands closed about her waist.

She almost gasped when he lifted her from the saddle as if she weighed no more than a child. He didn't swing her down, but slowly lowered her to earth, setting her on her feet beside the mare. Less than a foot from him. He held her between his hands; she felt the long fingers flex about her, fingertips on either side of her spine, thumbs against her sensitive midriff. She felt… captured. Vulnerable. His face was a hard mask, his expression intent. Her eyes locked on his, Patience felt the cobbles beneath her feet, but her world continued to spin.

It was he-the source of those peculiar sensations. She'd thought it must be, but she'd never felt such sensations before-and those streaking through her now were far stronger than those she'd felt earlier. It was his touch that did it-the touch of his eyes, the touch of his hands. He didn't even need to contact bare skin to make every square inch she possessed react.

Patience dragged in a breath. A flicker at the edge of her vision made her shift her focus. To Gerrard. She saw him dismount, exactly as Vane had done. Grinning, brimming with prideful good humor, Gerrard crossed the cobbles toward them.

Vane turned, smoothly releasing her.

Patience dragged in another breath and fought to steady her giddy head. She plastered a bright smile on her lips for Gerrard's benefit-and continued to breathe deeply.

"A wily move, Cynster." Edmond, grinning good-naturedly, dismounted in the customary way. Patience noted it was a great deal slower than the way Vane had achieved the same end.

Henry also dismounted; Patience got the impression he hadn't liked seeing Vane lift her down. But he directed one of his hearty smiles at Gerrard. "Congratulations, my boy. You beat us fairly and squarely."

Which was laying it on a great deal too thick. Patience glanced swiftly at Gerrard, expecting some less than gracious response. Instead, her brother, standing beside Vane, merely raised one brow-and smiled cynically.

Patience gritted her teeth; her jaw set. Of one thing she was quite sure-she wasn't overreacting.

Vane Cynster was going too far, far too fast-at least with respect to Gerrard. As for the rest-his teasing of her senses-she suspected he was merely amusing himself without any serious intent. As she was not susceptible to seduction, there seemed no reason to call him to account for that.

Over Gerrard, however…

She mulled over the situation as the horses were led away. For a few moments, all four men stood together in the center of the yard; a little to one side, she studied them-and acknowledged she could hardly blame Gerrard for choosing Vane to emulate. He was the dominant male.

As if sensing her regard, he turned. One brow quirked, then, inherently graceful, he offered her his arm. Patience steeled herself and took it. As a group, they walked to the house; Edmond left them at the side door. They climbed the main stairs, then Gerrard and Henry turned aside, heading for their rooms. Still on Vane's arm, Patience strolled into the gallery. Her room was down the same corridor as Minnie's. Vane's was on the floor below.

There wasn't any point voicing her disapproval unless there was a real need. Patience paused in the archway leading from the gallery, from where they would go their separate ways. Drawing her hand from Vane's arm, she looked up, into his face. "Are you planning a long stay?"

He looked down at her. "That," he stated, his voice very low, "depends largely on you."

Patience looked into his grey eyes-and froze. Every muscle was paralyzed, all the way to her toes. The idea that he was amusing himself, without any real intent, died-slain by the look hi his eyes.

The intent in his eyes.

It couldn't have been clearer had he put it into words.

Bravely, drawing on an inner reserve she hadn't known she possessed, she lifted her chin. And forced her lips to curve, just enough for a cool smile. "I think you'll find you're mistaken."

She uttered the words softly, and saw his jaw lock. A premonition of intense danger swept her; she didn't dare say anything more. With her smile still in place, she haughtily inclined her head. Sweeping about, she passed through the arch and into the safety of the corridor beyond.

Narrow-eyed, Vane watched her go, watched her hips sway as she glided along. He remained in the archway until she reached her door. He heard it shut behind her.

Slowly, very slowly, his features eased, then a Cynster smile tugged at his lips. If he couldn't escape fate, then, ipso facto, neither could she. Which meant she would be his. The prospect grew more alluring by the minute.

Chapter 5

It was time to act.

Later that evening, waiting in the drawing room for the gentlemen to reappear, Patience found it increasingly difficult to live up to her name; inside, she mentally paced. Beside her, Angela and Mrs. Chadwick, occupying a settee, were discussing the best trim for Angela's new morning gown. Nodding vaguely, Patience didn't even hear them. She had weightier matters on her mind.

A dull ache throbbed behind her temples; she hadn't slept well. Worries had consumed her-worry over the increasingly pointed accusations aimed at Gerrard, worry over Vane Cynster's influence on her impressionable brother.

Added to that, she now had to cope with the distraction occasioned by her odd reaction to Vane Cynster, "elegant gentleman." He'd affected her from the first; when she'd finally succumbed to sleep, he'd even followed her into her dreams.

Patience narrowed her eyes against the ache behind them.

"I think the cerise braid would be much more dashing." Angela threatened a pout. "Don't you think so, Patience?"

The gown they were discussing was palest yellow. "I think," Patience said, summoning up what she could of that virtue, "that the aquamarine ribbon your mother suggested would be much more the thing."

Angela's pout materialized; Mrs. Chadwick promptly warned her daughter of the unwisdom of courting wrinkles. The pout magically vanished.

Drumming her fingers on the arm of her chair, Patience frowned at the door and returned to her preoccupation-to rehearsing her warning to Vane Cynster. It was the first time she'd had to warn any male off-she would much rather she didn't have to start now, but she couldn't let things go on as they were. Quite aside from her promise to her mother, tendered on her deathbed, that she would always keep Gerrard safe, she simply couldn't countenance Gerrard getting hurt in such a way-by being used as a pawn to win her smiles.

Of course, they all did it to some degree. Penwick treated Gerrard as a child, playing to her protectiveness. Edmond used his art as a link to Gerrard, to demonstrate his affinity with her brother. Henry pretended an avuncular interest patently lacking in real emotion. Vane, however, went one better-he actually did things. Actively protected Gerrard, actively engaged her brother's interest, actively interacted-all with the avowed intention of making her grateful, of placing her in his debt.

She didn't like it. They were all using Gerrard, but the only one from whom Gerrard stood in danger of taking any hurt was Vane. Because the only one Gerrard liked, admired, potentially worshiped, was Vane.

Patience surreptitiously massaged her left temple. If they didn't finish with the port soon, she would have a raging migraine. She would probably have one anyway-after her disturbed night, followed by the surprises of the breakfast table, capped by the revelations of their ride, she'd spent most of the afternoon thinking of Vane. Which was enough to warp the strongest mind.

He distracted her on so many levels she'd given up trying to untangle her thoughts. There was, she felt sure, only one way to deal with him. Directly and decisively.

Her eyes felt gravelly, from staring unblinking at nothing for too long. She felt like she hadn't slept in days. And she certainly wouldn't sleep until she'd taken charge of the situation, until she'd put a stop to the relationship developing between Gerrard and Vane. True, all she'd seen and heard between them thus far had been innocent enough-but no one-no one-could call Vane innocent.

He wasn't innocent-but Gerrard was.

Which was precisely her point.

At least, she thought it was. Patience winced as pain shafted from one temple to the other.

The door opened; Patience sat up. She scanned the gentlemen as they wandered in-Vane was the last. He strolled in, which was of itself enough to assure her that her tortuous reasoning was right. All that prowling, arrogant masculinity set her teeth on edge.

"Mr. Cynster!" Without a blush, Angela beckoned. Patience could have kissed her.

Vane heard Angela and saw her wave; his gaze flicked to Patience, then, with a smile she unhesitatingly classed as untrustworthy, he prowled in their direction.

As a group, the three of them-Mrs. Chadwick, Angela, and Patience-rose to greet him, none wishing to risk a crick in the neck.

"I wanted to ask particularly," Angela said, before anyone else could essay a word, "whether it's true that cerise is currently the most fashionable color for trimming for young ladies."

"It's certainly much favored," Vane replied.

"But not on pale yellow," Patience said.

Vane looked at her. "I devoutly hope not."

"Indeed." Patience took his arm. "If you'll excuse us, Angela, ma'am"-she nodded to Mrs. Chadwick-"I have something I really must ask Mr. Cynster." So saying, she steered Vane toward the far end of the room-and thanked the deity he consented to move.

She felt his gaze, slightly surprised, distinctly amused, on her face. "My dear Miss Debbington." Beneath her hand, his arm twisted-and then he was steering her. "You need only say the word."

Patience flashed him a narrow-eyed glance. The purring tones in his voice sent shivers down her spine-delicious shivers. "I'm very glad to hear you say that, for that's precisely what I intend to do."

His brows rose. He searched her face, then raised a hand and gently rubbed one fingertip between her brows.

Patience stilled, shocked, then drew her head back. "Don't do that!" A warm glow suffused the area he'd touched.

"You were frowning-you look like you have a headache."

Patience frowned harder. They'd reached the end of the room; halting, she swung to face him. And plunged into the attack. "I take it you're not leaving tomorrow?"

He looked down at her. After a moment, he replied, "I can't see myself departing in the foreseeable future. Can you?"