A Rake's Vow (48 page)

Patience stared at him, then blinked, and looked down. “Oh. Myst.” Fighting free of the tangled sheets, she leaned over and scooped Myst up. “Off, Myst. Come on.” Wriggling, Patience slid fully across Vane—her hips slid over his—as Vane sucked in an agonized breath.

Patience grinned, and dropped Myst over the side of the bed. “Off you go.” She watched the cat stalk off, offended, then, entirely deliberately, wriggled back across Vane.

And stopped halfway.

“Hmm.” Finding her lips level with one flat nipple, she stuck out her tongue and licked. The jolt that shook him made her smile. “Interesting.”

She uttered the word as she wriggled some more, so her torso was more or less atop him, her legs sliding over his.

Vane frowned. “Patience . . .”

Warm flesh encased in smooth satin slithered over his hips, over the rigid length of his erection. Vane blinked, several times, and tried to recall what he’d been about to say.

“Hmm?”

Patience’s tone suggested she had other things on her mind: She was busily trailing warm, openmouthed kisses down his increasingly tense torso.

Jaw setting, Vane gathered his resolve—and reached for her. “Patience, we need to—” A groan cut off his words—he was almost surprised to recognize it as his. Muscle after muscle tensed and locked. Lust roared through him—in response to her artless, inquisitive touch, to the husky chuckle she gave. Soft fingers trailed up his rigid length, then slid about him and tentatively closed. She traced and caressed, then explored further, squirming downward as she did—clearly delighted by his helpless reaction.

Rigid to his toes, Vane jerked as she circled his sensitive, swollen head. “
Good God, woman
! What . . . ?” His voice suspended as she reached further still, and closed her hand. Vane groaned, and closed his eyes. The inside of his lids burned with raging lust.

He dragged in a desperate breath, and reached down, fighting through the tangled sheets to try to capture her hand. She chuckled again and eluded him easily; he slumped back, breathing too fast. His limbs had turned heavy, weighted with lust, burning with desire.

“Don’t you like it?” The teasing question, clearly rhetorical, floated up from under the sheets. Then she squirmed again. “Perhaps you’d like this better.”

Vane did, but he wasn’t about to say so. Gritting his teeth, he suffered the hot, wet sweep of her tongue, the gentle caress of her lips. She didn’t have the faintest idea what she was doing—thank God. What she was doing was bad enough. If expertise was added to the equation, he’d be dead.

He tried to remind himself that the experience was hardly new to him—the rationalization didn’t work. He couldn’t distance himself from Patience’s touch, couldn’t imagine she was some faceless lady with whom he was sharing a bed. No logic seemed strong enough to quench or control the fire she was igniting.

He heard himself gasp. He licked lips suddenly dry. “Where the devil did you get the idea . . . ?”

“I heard some maids talking.”

Inwardly cursing all wanton maids, he summoned the last of his strength. She’d gone far enough. Jaw clenched so hard his teeth ached, he reached for her. Beneath the soft sheets, he found her head; he threaded his fingers through her hair, searching downward for her shoulders.

Beneath his hands, she shifted. Hot wetness closed about him.

His fingers spasmed and clutched. The rest of his body reacted equally predictably. For one instant, Vane thought he’d die. Of heart failure. Then she released him. He groaned—and she took him into her mouth again. Eyes closed, he fell back on the pillows, and surrendered.

She had him at her mercy.

She knew it—she set about enjoying her newfound mastery. To the hilt. Extrapolating wantonly. Inventing with gay abandon.

Until, with a desperate groan, he was driven to expend his last ounce of strength and capture her, wrestle free, and find her waist and lift her. Over him. He lowered her, expertly nudging into the slick flesh between her thighs. Then he pulled her down, impaling her on the achingly urgent phallus she’d spent the last ten minutes inciting.

She gasped, then sank farther, her hands fastening tight about his forearms as she deliberately took him all. She rose on her knees immediately, pushing his hands from her, refusing to allow him to set the pace.

He acquiesced, filling his hands with her breasts instead, drawing the tight peaks to his mouth. She rode him with reckless abandon; he filled her and feasted, until, in a glorious, giddy rush, they fell over the edge of the world and, locked together, plunged into the selfless void.

They had no time to talk, no time to speak, no time to discuss anything at all. When, with the house waking about them, Vane, mildly irritated, left her, Patience was incapable of conscious thought.

Some four hours later, Patience sat at the breakfast table. Smiling. Glowingly. She’d seen the sight in her mirror, but hadn’t been able to find any expression capable of disguising her joy.

She’d woken to find the tweeny quietly cleaning her grate, and Vane nowhere in sight. Which was undoubtedly just as well. The last sight she’d had of him would have driven the tweeny into hysterics. Lolling in her bed, which had looked like a whirlwind had struck it, she’d considered going and telling Minnie her news. But she’d decided against saying anything yet, not until she and Vane had discussed the details. From what she’d seen of the Cynsters, and what she knew of Minnie, once they made an announcement,
things
would simply happen.

So she’d lolled some more, replaying Vane’s declaration, committing every word, every nuance, to memory. No doubt of the veracity, or the strength of his feelings, could ever assail her—not with memories like that. She had, indeed, started to wonder if her desire to hear that particular assurance stated, in words, might, in the end, be too much to ask, an unrealistic expectation from a man like him. Men like the Cynsters did not set their tongue to that four-letter word lightly. “Love” was not something they gave readily, and, as Minnie had warned her, even once given, they did not easily acknowledge it.

Vane had.

In simple words so laden with feeling she could not doubt, could not question. She’d wanted that, needed it, so he’d given it. No matter the cost.

Was it any wonder her heart was light, singing joyfully? In contrast, the rest of the household remained subdued; Gerrard’s empty place cast a pall over the conversation. Only Minnie and Timms, at the other end of the table, were unaffected; Patience beamed a happy smile up the board, and knew in her heart that Minnie understood.

But Minnie waggled her head at her and frowned. Recalling that she was supposed to be the anguished sister of a young sprig hauled off to face justice, Patience dutifully tried to mask her glow.

“Have you heard anything?” Henry’s nod to Gerrard’s empty chair clarified his question.

Patience hid her face behind her teacup. “I haven’t heard of any charges.”

“I fancy we’ll hear by this afternoon.” Whitticombe, his expression coldly severe, reached for the coffeepot. “I daresay the magistrate was not available yesterday. Theft, I fear, is a common enough crime.”

Edgar shifted uneasily. Agatha Chadwick looked shocked. But no one said anything.

Henry cleared his throat, and looked at Edmond. “Where shall we go today, do you think?”

Edmond humphed. “Not really in the mood for more sights today. Think I’ll dust off my script.”

Henry nodded glumly.

Silence fell, then Whitticombe eased back his chair. He turned to Minnie. “By your leave, cousin, I believe Alice and I should return to Bellamy Hall.” Patting his thin lips with his napkin, he laid it aside. “We are, as you know, somewhat rigid in our beliefs. Old-fashioned, some might call it. But neither my dear sister nor I can countenance close association with those we believe transgress acceptable moral codes.” He paused long enough for his meaning to sink in, then smiled, unctuously patronizing, at Minnie. “Of course, we appreciate your position, even applaud your devotion, misguided though it sadly seems to be. However, Alice and I seek your permission to repair to the Hall, there to await your return.”

He concluded with an obsequious nod.

Everyone looked at Minnie. There was, however, nothing to be read in her unusually closed expression. She studied Whitticombe for a full minute, then solemnly nodded. “If that is what you wish, then certainly, you may return to the Hall. However, I warn you I do not have any immediate plans to return there myself.”

Whitticombe raised his hand in a gracious gesture. “You need not concern yourself with us, cousin. Alice and I can entertain ourselves well enough.” He glanced at Alice, all in black. At no time since she’d entered the room had she looked anywhere but at her plate. “With your permission,” Whitticombe continued, “we’ll leave immediately. The weather looks like turning, and we have no reason to dally.” He glanced at Minnie, then looked up at Masters, standing behind her chair. “Our boxes could be sent on.”

Minnie nodded. Tight-lipped, she glanced up at Masters, who bowed. “I’ll arrange it, ma’am.”

Bestowing a last unctuous, ingratiating smile on Minnie, Whitticombe rose. “Come, Alice. You’ll need to pack.”

Without a word, without a glance, Alice rose and preceded Whitticombe from the room.

The instant the door closed behind them, Patience looked at Minnie. Who waved her to silence. To some semblance of discretion.

Patience bit her lip, and munched her toast, and waited.

A few minutes later, Minnie heaved a sigh and pushed back her chair. “Ah, me. I’m going to rest for the morning. All these unexpected happenings.” Shaking her head, she rose and looked down the table. “Patience?”

She didn’t need to be summoned twice. Dropping her napkin on her plate, Patience hurried to assist Timms help Minnie from the room. They went straight to Minnie’s bedchamber, summoning Sligo on the way.

He arrived as Minnie sank into her chair.

“Whitticombe’s making a dash for the Hall.” Minnie pointed her cane at Sligo. “Go fetch that godson of mine—fast!” She shot a glance at Patience. “I don’t care if you have to drag him from his bed, just tell him our hare has finally bolted.”

“Indeed, ma’am. Right away, ma’am.” Sligo headed for the door. “Even in his nightshirt.”

Minnie grinned grimly. “Right!” She thumped the floor with her cane. “And not before time.” She looked up at Patience. “If it does turn out to be that worm, Whitticombe, behind it all, I’ll disown him utterly.”

Patience gripped the hand Minnie held out to her. “Let’s wait and see what Vane thinks.”

There was one problem with that—Vane couldn’t be found.

Sligo returned to Aldford Street an hour later, with the news Vane was not at any of his habitual haunts. Minnie sent Sligo back out with a flea in his ear and a dire warning not to return without Vane.

“Where could he be?”

Minnie looked at Patience. Mystified, Patience shook her head. “I’d assumed he’d gone home—to Curzon Street.”

She frowned. He couldn’t possibly be walking the streets with a creased, reused cravat. Not Vane Cynster.

“He gave you no hint as to any lead he might be following?” Timms asked.

Patience grimaced. “I was under the impression he’d run out of possiblities.”

Minnie humphed. “So was I. So
where
is he?”

No one answered. And Sligo didn’t return.

Not until late afternoon, by which time Minnie, Timms, and Patience had reached the end of their collective tether. Whitticombe and Alice had departed at noon in a hired carriage. Their boxes were piled in the front hall, awaiting the carter. Lunch had come and gone, the household marginally more relaxed. Edmond and Henry were playing billiards. The General and Edgar had taken their usual constitutional to Tattersalls. Edith was tatting with Mrs. Chadwick and Angela for company in the drawing room.

In Minnie’s room, Patience and Timms took turns by the window; it was Patience who saw Vane’s curricle bowl up and stop before the door. “He’s here!”

“Well you can’t run downstairs,” Minnie admonished her. “Just contain your transports until he gets here.
I
want to hear where he’s
been
.”

Minutes later, Vane strolled in, smoothly elegant as ever. His eyes went straight to Patience, then he bent and kissed Minnie’s cheek.

“Where, by all that’s holy, have you
been
?” she demanded.

Vane raised his brows. “Out. Sligo told me Whitticombe’s left. What did you want to see me for?”

Minnie stared at him, then swiped at his leg with one hand. “To find out what comes
next
, of course!” She glared at him. “Don’t try your high-handed Cynster ways with me.”

Vane’s brows rose higher. “I wouldn’t dream of it. But there’s no need for any panic. Whitticombe and Alice have gone—I’ll follow, and see what they get up to. Simple.”

“I’m coming, too,” Minnie declared. “If Humphrey’s nephew’s a bad egg, I owe it to Humphrey to see the proof with my own eyes. After all, it’s me who’ll have to decide what to do.”

“Of course, I’ll go with Minnie,” Timms added.

Patience caught Vane’s eye. “If you think I’m staying behind, think again. Gerrard’s my brother—if Whitticombe’s the one who knocked him on the head . . .” She didn’t finish her sentence—her expression said it all.

Vane sighed. “There’s really no need—”

“Cynster! Have to show you—”

With a clatter of boots, the General, followed by Edgar, burst into the room. Seeing Minnie, the General flushed, and ducked his head. “Apologies, Minnie, and all that, but thought you’d all be interested. Best see this.”

Crossing the room, he bent and awkwardly slid a small object from his large palm onto Minnie’s lap.

“Great
heavens
!” Minnie picked the object up, and held it to the light. “Agatha’s earring.” She looked at the General. “The other one?”

“Must be,” Edgar put in. He glanced at Vane. “We found it in the elephant sitting in the front hall.”

“The
elephant
?” Vane looked from Edgar to the General.

“Indian contraption. Recognized it instantly. Seen ones like it in India, don’t y’know.” The General nodded. “Couldn’t resist opening it—showed it to Edgar here. One of the tusks is the catch. Twist it, and the beast’s back opens up. Indian wallahs used the things to store treasure.”