A Rake's Vow (40 page)

“He’s not related—at least not by blood.” After a moment, Vane added, “I suppose, these days, he’s an honorary Cynster.” He glanced at Patience. “We elected him for services rendered to the dukedom.”

“Oh?” Patience let her eyes ask her question.

“He and Devil have a history. Ask Honoria about it sometime.”

The musicians started up again. Before Patience could blink, Lucifer was bowing before her. Vane let her go, somewhat reluctantly, she thought. But as she whirled down the floor, she saw him whirling, too, a striking brunnette in his arms.

Abruptly, Patience looked away, and gave her attention to the dance, and to dealing with Lucifer’s glib tongue. And ignoring her sinking heart.

The end of the measure saw them well down the room. Lucifer introduced her to a group of ladies and gentlemen, all chatting easily. Patience tried to concentrate, tried to follow the conversation.

She literally jumped when hard fingers closed about hers, lifted her hand from Lucifer’s sleeve and placed it, firmly, on a familiar arm.

“Upstart,” Vane growled. And deftly insinuated himself between Lucifer and Patience.

Lucifer grinned engagingly. “You need to work for it, coz. You know none of us appreciates that which comes too readily.”

Vane slayed him with a look, then turned to Patience. “Come, let’s stroll. Before he puts misguided notions into your head.”

Intrigued, Patience allowed herself to be escorted on an amble up the room. “What misguided notions?”

“Never mind.
Good God
—there’s Lady Osbaldestone! She’s hated me ever since I stuck a marble up the end of her cane. She couldn’t understand why it kept sliding away from her. Let’s go the other way.”

They tacked back and forth through the crowd, chatting here, exchanging introductions there. Yet when the music resumed, another Cynster appeared before her like magic.

Demon Harry, Vane’s brother, stole her away; Vane stole her back the instant the music ceased. The voluptuous blonde he’d whirled around the room was nowhere in sight.

The next waltz brought Devil to bow, ineffably elegant before her. As he swung her into the first turn, he read the question in her eyes and grinned. “We always share.”

His grin deepened as her eyes, beyond her control, widened. Only the wicked laughter in his eyes assured Patience he was teasing.

And so it went on, through waltz after waltz. After every one, Vane reappeared by her side. Patience tried to tell herself it meant nothing, that it could simply be that he’d found nothing more scintillating, no lady more enticing, with whom to spend his time.

She shouldn’t make too much of it—yet her heart leapt one notch, one giddy rung higher on the ladder of irrational hope, every time he reclaimed her hand, and his position by her side.

“These balls of Honoria’s are such a good idea.” Louise Cynster, one of Vane’s aunts, leaned on her husband, Lord Arthur Cynster’s arm, and smiled at Patience. “Despite the fact we all move in the same circles, the family’s so large, we can often go for weeks without meeting each other, at least not long enough to exchange our news.”

“What my dearest wife means,” Lord Arthur smoothly said, “is that, although the ladies of the family meet often, they miss the opportunity of seeing how the other half of the family’s comporting itself, and these little gatherings of Honoria’s guarantee we’ll all turn out on parade.” His eyes twinkled. “To be inspected, as it were.”

“Bosh!” Louise tapped him smartly on the arm with her fan. “As if you men ever need any excuse to turn out on parade. And as for being inspected! There’s not a lady in the
ton
who won’t tell you that Cynsters are past masters at ‘inspecting’ themselves.”

The comment brought chuckles and grins all around. The group dissolved as the music resumed. Gabriel materialized to bow before Patience. “My turn, I believe?”

Patience wondered if Cynsters had a monopoly on wolfish smiles. They also all had quick and ready tongues: During every dance, she’d found her attention firmly held by the brisk repartee that seemed their hallmark.

A minor ruckus ensued as they started to whirl. Passing close by its epicenter, Patience discovered Honoria grappling with Devil.

“We’ve already danced once. You should dance with one of our guests.”

“But I want to dance with
you
.”

The look that went with that was uncompromising. Despite her status, Honoria was clearly not immune. “Oh, very well.” The next instant, she was whirling, masterfully captured, then Devil bent his head to hers.

As she and Gabriel swirled past, Patience heard Honoria’s ripple of laughter, saw the glow in her face as she looked up at her husband, then closed her eyes and let him whirl her away.

The sight caught at Patience’s heart.

This time, when the music finally slowed and died, she’d lost sight of Vane. Assuming he’d soon reappear, she chatted easily with Gabriel. Demon joined them, as did a Mr. Aubrey-Wells, a dapper, very precise gentleman. His interest was the theater. Not having seen any of the current productions, Patience listened attentively.

Then, through a gap in the crowd, she saw Vane, talking to a young beauty. The girl was exquisite, with a wealth of blond hair. Her understated gown of pale blue silk positively screamed “outrageously expensive.”

“I think you’ll find the production at the Theatre Royal worth a visit,” Mr. Aubrey-Wells intoned.

Patience, her gaze locked on the tableau on the other side of the room, nodded absently.

The beauty glanced about, then put her hand on Vane’s arm. He looked behind them, then took her hand in his. Swiftly, he conducted her to a double door in the wall. Opening it, he handed her through and followed her in.

And shut the door.

Patience stiffened; the blood drained from her face. Abruptly, she looked back at Mr. Aubrey-Wells. “The Theatre Royal?”

Mr. Aubrey-Wells nodded—and continued his lecture.

“Hmm.” Beside Patience, Gabriel nodded to Demon, then inclined his head toward the fateful door. “Looks serious.”

Patience’s heart plummeted.

Demon shrugged. “Daresay we’ll hear later.”

With that, they both turned attentively to Patience. Who kept her gaze fixed on Mr. Aubrey-Wells, parroting his remarks as if the theater filled her mind. In reality, her mind was full of the Cynsters, several and singular.

Elegant gentlemen, one and all. All and one.

She should never have forgotten it, should never have let her senses shut her eyes to the reality.

But she hadn’t lost anything, given anything she hadn’t wanted to give. She’d expected this from the first. With an effort, she suppressed a racking shiver. She’d felt surrounded by warmth and laughter; now bleak disappointment pierced her bones and froze her marrow. As for her heart, that was so cold she was sure that, at any moment, it would fracture. Shatter into frozen shards.

Her face felt the same way.

She let Mr. Aubrey-Wells’s discourse flow past her, and wondered what she should do. As if in answer, Gerrard’s face swam into her restricted vision.

He smiled at her, then, more tentatively, at her escort.

Metaphorically, Patience grabbed him. “Mr. Cynster, Mr. Cynster and Mr. Aubrey-Wells—my brother, Gerrard Debbington.”

She gave the men the minimum of time to exchange greetings, then, smiling too brightly, beamed at them all. “I really should check on Minnie.” Mr. Aubrey-Wells looked confused; she beamed even more brightly. “My aunt, Lady Bellamy.” Taking Gerrard’s arm, she flung them another brilliant smile. “If you’ll excuse us?”

They all bowed with ready grace, Gabriel and Demon easily outperforming Mr. Aubrey-Wells. Inwardly gritting her teeth, Patience steered Gerrard away. “Don’t you ever dare bow like that.”

Gerrard sent her a startled look. “Whyever not?”

“Never mind.”

They had to tack through the crowd. The throng was at its height. Supper had yet to be served. All had arrived but few had yet departed.

In order to get to Minnie’s
chaise
, they had perforce to pass by the double doors through which Vane and the beauty had disappeared. Patience had intended to sweep past, nose in the air. Instead, as they neared the innocent-looking panels, she slowed.

When she halted a few steps from the doors, Gerrard threw her an inquiring look. Patience saw it; she took a moment before she met it.

“You go on.” Drawing a deep breath, she straightened. Lips setting, she lifted her hand from his sleeve. “I want to check on something. Can you see Minnie into supper?”

Gerrard shrugged. “Of course.” Smiling, he ambled on.

Patience watched him go—then turned on her heel and marched straight to the double doors. She knew perfectly well what she was doing—even if she couldn’t formulate a single coherent thought through the haze of fury clouding her brain. How
dare
Vane treat her like this? He hadn’t even said good-bye. He might be an elegant gentleman to his toes, but he was going to have to learn some manners!

Besides, the beauty was too young for him, she could barely be more than seventeen. A chit out of the schoolroom—it was scandalous.

Her hand on the doorknob, Patience paused—and tried to think of an opening line—one suitable for the scene she might very likely stumble in upon. Nothing leapt to her tongue. Grimly, she shook aside her hesitation. If, in the heat of the moment, nothing occurred to her, she could always scream.

Eyes narrow, she grasped the handle and turned. The door flew inward, pulled open from within. Yanked off her feet, Patience tripped on the raised threshold and fetched up against Vane’s chest.

The impact knocked the air from her lungs; Vane’s arm, locking about her, kept her breathless. Wide-eyed and gasping, Patience looked up into his face.

His eyes met hers. “Hel-
lo
.”

His intent expression made Patience stiffen, only to realize the arm around her, steadying her, was also trapping her.

Hard against him.

Dazed, she glanced around; the dark shapes of huge leaves reared above the denser dark of heavy pots, grouped upon a tiled floor. Moonlight streamed through walls of long windows and panes in the ceiling, silvering paths wending between stands of palms and exotic blooms. The rich scents of earth and the warm humidity of growing things hung on the heavy air.

She and Vane stood within the shadows, just beyond the shaft of light lancing through the open door. A yard away, enveloped in soft gloom, stood the beauty, regarding her with open curiosity.

The beauty smiled and bobbed a curtsy. “How do you do? Miss Debbington, isn’t it?”

“Ah—yes.” Patience looked, but could see no signs of disarray—the girl appeared neat as a pin.

Into her total bewilderment Vane’s voice fell, like a bell tolling. “Allow me to present Miss Amanda Cynster.”

Stunned, Patience looked up; he captured her gaze and smiled. “My cousin.”

Patience mouthed an innocent, “Oh.”

“First cousin,” he added.

Amanda cleared her throat. “If you’ll excuse me?” With a quick nod, she slipped past, out of the door.

Abruptly, Vane raised his head. “Remember what I said.”

“Of
course
I will.” Amanda threw him a disgusted frown. “I’m going to tie him in knots, and then hoist him from his . . .” She gestured, then, with a swish of her skirts, stalked into the crowd.

Patience reflected that Amanda Cynster sounded like a beauty who would never need rescuing.

She, however, might.

Vane returned his attention to her. “What are you doing here?”

She blinked, and glanced around again—then hauled in a breath, difficult with her breasts pressed to his chest. She gestured to the room. “Someone mentioned it was a conservatory. I’ve been thinking of suggesting that Gerrard install one at the Grange. I thought I’d look in.” She peered into the leafy gloom. “Study the amenities.”

“Indeed?” Vane smiled, the merest lifting of his long lips, and released her. “By all means.” With one hand, he pushed the door shut; with the other, he gestured to the room. “I’ll be only too pleased to demonstrate some of the benefits of a conservatory.”

Patience cast him a swift glance and quickly stepped forward, out of his reach. She gazed at the arches forming the ceiling. “Was this room always part of the house, or was it added on?”

Behind her, Vane slid the bolt on the doors; it engaged noiselessly. “It was, I believe, originally a loggia.” Strolling unhurriedly, he followed Patience down the main pathway, into the palm-shrouded depths.

“Hmm, interesting.” Patience eyed a palm towering above the path, handlike leaves poised as if to seize the unwary. “Where does Honoria get such plants?” Passing beneath the palm, she trailed her fingers through delicate fern fronds surrounding the palm’s base—and threw a quick glance behind her. “Do the gardeners propagate them?”

Pacing steadily in her wake, Vane caught her gaze. His brows rose fractionally. “I’ve no idea.”

Patience looked ahead—and quickened her pace. “I wonder what other plants do well in such a setting. Palms like these might be a bit hard to come by in Derbyshire.”

“Indeed.”

“Ivies, I daresay, would do well. And cacti, of course.”

“Of course.”

Flitting along the path, absentmindedly touching this plant or that, Patience stared ahead—and tried to spot the way out. The path wound randomly about; she was no longer entirely sure of her bearings. “Perhaps, for the Grange, an orangery might be more sensible.”

“My mother has one.”

The words came from just behind her. “She has?” A swift glance behind revealed Vane almost at her shoulder. Gulping in a quick breath, Patience mentally acknowledged the skittering excitement that had cinched tight about her lungs, that had started, very effectively, to draw her nerves taut. Expectation, anticipation, shivered in the moonlit dark. Breathless, wide-eyed, she lengthened her stride. “I must remember to ask Lady Horatia—oh!”

She broke off. For one moment, she stood stock-still, drinking in the simple beauty of the marble fountain, the base of its pedestal wreathed in delicate fronds, that stood, glowing lambently in the soft white light, in the center of a small, secluded, fern-shrouded clearing. Water poured steadily from the pitcher of the partially clad maiden frozen forever in her task of filling the wide, scroll-lipped basin.