She was naive, innocent-she needed to be loved tenderly, coaxed to passion gently, savored slowly.
As he was savoring her now, the softness of her mouth his to enjoy, her breast firm under his fondling hand. Her innocence was refreshing-heady, addictive, entrancing.
Angling his head, Vane deepened the kiss for an instant, then drew back, releasing her lips. But not her breast.
He waited, fingers stroking the swollen mounds, first one, then the other, waiting… until he saw her eyes glint beneath her lashes. He caught her gaze, then slowly, deliberately, lifted his fingers to the top button of her bodice.
Patience's eyes widened under her heavy lids; her breasts swelled as she drew in a shocked breath. The sudden release of the top button was almost a relief. Her senses reeled as his fingers moved down-to the next button; she felt every slow beat of her heart, pulsing under her skin, as, one after another, the tiny pearl rounds slipped their moorings.
And her bodice slowly opened.
For one fraught instant, she wasn't sure what she wanted-whether she even wanted to know what came next. The hesitation lasted only a second-the second it took for Vane to slowly brush aside the soft fabric of her bodice, for his fingers to slide knowingly in.
One gentle tug, and her chemise slid down. Then came the first tantalizing touch of his fingertips on her skin; Patience's senses whirled. Aghast, agape, utterly enthralled, her every nerve tingled to his touch, to the caress of his palm, to those long, hard fingers as they closed about her breast.
Vane watched her reaction from under heavy lids, watched flaring passion light her eyes. Sparks of pure gold flashed in the hazel depths as he gently kneaded, then sent his fingers gliding over her silken skin. He knew he should kiss her, distract her, from what came next-but the compulsion to witness, to know her reaction as she learned what he would do, as he filled his senses with her, waxed strong.
Deliberately, he shifted his hand; his fingers closed confidently about one tightly budded nipple.
Patience gasped-the sweet sound filled the room. Instinctively, she arched, pressing her breast more firmly into the hard palm surrounding it, seeking relief from the sharp sensation that speared her-again and again as his fingers firmed.
Vane bent his head and his lips found hers.
Patience clung to his kiss, held to it like an anchor in her suddenly whirling world. Pure streams of heat arced through her, waves of hot pleasure sank to her bones, pooled in her loins. She clutched Vane's shoulders, and kissed him back, suddenly desperate to know, to feel, to appease the desire throbbing in her veins.
Abruptly, he broke their kiss. He shifted, and his lips touched her throat. No longer cool, they seared like a brand as he traced the long sweep of her throat. Patience pressed her head back into the pillows and fought to catch her breath.
Only to lose it entirely a bare second later.
His lips closed about one tightly furled nipple-Patience thought she would die. Gasping desperately, she clenched her hands on his shoulders, fingers sinking deep. His lips firmed, he suckled gently-Patience felt the earth quake. The heat of his mouth shocked her-the wet sweep of his tongue scalded her. She gave a strangled cry.
That sound, keenly feminine, acutely evocative, caught and focused Vane's attention. Focused every hunter's instinct. Desire heightened, need escalated. His demons turned frenzied-her siren's song lured them on. Urged him on. Compulsion swelled-tense, turbulent, powerful. Desire seethed hotly. He drew a ragged breath-
And remembered-all he'd nearly forgotten, all her wild responses had driven from his mind. This was one seduction he had to, needed to, manage perfectly-this time, there was meaning beyond the act. Seducing Patience Debbington was too important to rush-conquering her senses, her body, was only the first step. He didn't want her just once-he wanted her for a lifetime.
Dragging in a shuddering breath, Vane caught hold of his reins and hauled his impulses up short. Something in him wailed with frustration. He shut his mind to the relentless pounding of his arousal.
And set himself to soothe hers.
He knew how. There were planes of warm desire on which women could float, neither driven, nor quiescent, but simply buoyed on a sea of pleasure. With hands and lips, mouth and tongue, he soothed her fevered flesh, took the sting from her aches, the edge from her passion, and eased her into that pleasured sea.
Patience was beyond understanding-all she knew was the peace, the calm, the profound pleasure that welled and washed through her. Content, she flowed with the tide, letting her senses stretch. The whirling that had disorientated her slowed; her mind steadied.
Full consciousness, when it came, was no shock; the continuing touch of Vane's hands, the artful caress of his lips, his tongue, were familiar-no threat.
Then she remembered where they were.
She tried to open her eyes, but her lids were too heavy. Finding breath enough to whisper was just possible. "What if someone comes in?"
Her words ended on a sigh as Vane lifted his head, lifted his lips from her breast. His voice rumbled softly through her. "The door's locked-remember?"
Remember? With his lips brushing hers, with his fingers caressing her breast, Patience was hard-pressed to remember her own name. The peace holding her stretched, her senses slowly sank. Every muscle gradually relaxed.
Vane had noticed the dark rings under her large eyes. He wasn't surprised to find her drifting close to sleep. Gradually, he slowed his caresses, then stopped. Carefully, he drew back, and smiled-at the soft smile that curved her kiss-bruised lips, the soft glow that lit her face.
He left her sleeping.
Patience wasn't sure when she realized he was gone-she sleepily cracked open her lids-and saw the windows rather than him. The warm peace that pervaded her was too deep to leave; she smiled and closed her eyes again.
When she finally awoke, the morning had gone. Blinking her eyes wide, she wriggled higher on the pillows. And frowned.
Someone had left her embroidery on the table beside the daybed; dredging through her foggy memories, she vaguely recalled Timms dropping by, remembered a hand gently stroking her hair.
Remembered a hand gently stroking her breasts. Patience blinked. Other memories, other sensations, crowded into her mind. Her eyes widened. "No-that must have been a dream." Frowning, she shook her head-but couldn't dull the sharpness of the sensual images, rising one after another in her mind. To dispell the nagging uncertainty, she glanced down-uncertainty crystallized to fact.
Her bodice was undone.
Horrified, Patience muttered an imprecation, and rapidly did it up. "Rakes!" Frowning direfully, she glanced about. Her gaze collided with Myst's. The small grey cat was settled comfortably on a side table, sitting on her brisket, front paws neatly tucked in.
"Have you been there all this time?"
Myst blinked her wide blue eyes-and stared steadily back.
Patience felt color rise in her cheeks-and wondered if it was possible to feel shy of a cat. Because of what a cat might have seen.
Before she could make up her mind, the door opened-Vane strolled in. The smile on his face, curving those fascinating lips, was more than enough to make Patience inwardly swear that she would not, not for anything, give him the pleasure of knowing how flustered she felt. "What's the time?" Nonchalance laced her tones.
"Lunchtime," replied the wolf.
Feeling very like Red Riding Hood, Patience smothered a feigned yawn, then held up her arms and waved him closer. "You may carry me down then."
Vane's smile deepened. With elegant ease, he lifted her into his arms.
Their entry into the dining room was noted by all. The rest of the household was already assembled about the table, with one notable exception. Gerrard's chair was empty.
Minnie and Timms both smiled benignly as Vane settled Patience into her chair. Mrs. Chadwick inquired after her injury with matronly politeness. Patience responded to the ladies with smiles and gentle words-and totally ignored all t
he men.
Except Vane-she couldn't ignore him. Even if her senses would have allowed it, he didn't-he insisted on instituting a general conversation on mild and unprovoca-tive topics. When, encouraged by the prevailing sense of calm, Henry, under the pretext of helping her to more ham, tried to engage her with a smile and a gentle query about her knee, Patience froze him with a reply couched in sheet ice, and felt, beneath the table, Vane's knee jog hers. She turned and fixed him with an innocent look-he met her gaze, his eyes a flat grey, then ruthlessly drew her into the conversation.
When he lifted her into his arms at the end of the meal, Patience was in no very good mood. Not only had the undercurrents at the table abraded her nerves, but Gerrard had not appeared.
Vane carried her up to her private parlor and settled her back on the daybed.
"Thank you." Patience wriggled and prodded at her pillows, then sank back and reached for her embroidery. She threw Vane a quick, somewhat darkling glance, then shook out the linen cloth.
Stepping back, Vane watched her pull colored silks from her bag, then turned and strolled to the window. The day had started clear, but now clouds were rolling in, greying the sky.
Glancing back, he studied Patience. She sat amid the pillows and cushions, her work in her hands, bright silks strewn about her. But her hands were still; an absentminded frown had settled on her face.
Vane hesitated, then his lips firmed. He swung to face her. "If you like, I'll go and look for him."
He made the offer nonchalantly, leaving her the option of declining without embarrassment.
She looked up, her expression difficult to read. Then color seeped into her cheeks-and Vane knew she was recalling all she'd accused him of only two days before. But she did not look down, did not shift her gaze from his. After a further moment of consideration, she nodded. "If you would, I would be…"
Patience stopped, and blinked-but couldn't stop the word that rose to her lips. "Grateful." Her lips quirked; she looked down.
The next instant, Vane was beside her. Fingers sliding beneath her chin, he tipped her face up. He looked down at her for a long moment, his expression unreadable, then he stooped and touched his lips to hers. "Don't worry-I'll find him."
Instinctively, she returned the kiss. Gripping his wrist, she held him back, searching his face, then squeezed and let him go.
When the door closed behind him, Patience drew a deep, very deep breath.
She'd just placed her trust in an elegant gentleman. More than that, she'd trusted him with the one thing on earth she held most dear. Had he addled her wits? Or had she simply lost them?
For a full minute, she gazed unseeing at the window, then frowned, shook her head, shook her shoulders, and picked up her embroidery. There was no point wrestling with facts. She knew Gerrard was safe with Vane-safer than with any other gentleman within Bellamy Hall, safer than with any other gentleman she'd ever met.
And, she thought, pulling her needle free, while she was on the subject of startling admissions, she might as well admit that she felt relieved as well-relieved that Vane was there, that she wasn't, any longer, Gerrard's sole protector.
As startling admissions went, that took the prize.
"Here, you must be hungry by now." Vane dropped the sack he'd brought onto the grass beside Gerrard, who jumped like a scalded cat.
Gerrard looked around, then stared as Vane lowered himself to the grassy top of the old burial mound. "How did you know I'd be here?"
His gaze on the horizon, Vane shrugged. "Just a guess." A lilting smile touched his lips. "You hid your horse well enough, but you left tracks aplenty."
Gerrard humphed. His gaze fell on the sack. He pulled it closer and opened it.
While Gerrard munched on cold chicken and bread, Vane idly studied the views. After a while, he felt Gerrard's gaze on his face.
"I'm not the Spectre, you know."
Vane raised his brows arrogantly. "I do, as it happens."
"You do?"
"Hmm. I saw him last night-not well enough to recognize but enough to know it definitely wasn't you."
"Oh." After a moment, Gerrard went on, "All that talk of me being the Spectre-well, it always was just so much rot. I mean, as if I'd be silly enough to do such a thing anywhere near Patience." He snorted derisively. "Of course she'd go to look. Why-she's worse than I am." A second later, he asked, "She is all right, isn't she? I mean, her knee?"
Vane's expression hardened. "Her knee's as well as can be expected-she has to stay off it for at least a few days, which, as you can imagine, is not improving her temper. At the moment, however, she's worrying-about you."
Gerrard colored. Looking down, he swallowed. "I lost my temper. I suppose I'd better go back." He started to pack up the sack.
Vane halted him. "Yes, we'd better get back and put a stop to her worrying, but you haven't asked about our plan."
Gerrard looked up. "Plan?"
Vane filled him in. "So, you see, we need you to continue to behave"-he gestured widely-"exactly as you have been-like a sapskull with his nose put out of joint."
Gerrard chuckled. "All right, but I am allowed to sneer dismissively, aren't I?"
"As much as you like, just don't forget your role."
"Minnie knows? And Timms?"
Vane nodded and got to his feet. "And Masters and Mrs. Henderson. I told Minnie and Timms this morning. As the staff are all reliable, there seemed little point keeping them in the dark, and we can use all the eyes we can get."
"So," Gerrard said, untangling his legs and rising, "we let it appear that I'm still chief suspect, all but convicted, and wait for the Spectre-"
"Or the thief-don't forget you're prime suspect there, too."
Gerrard nodded. "So we wait and we watch for their next move."
"Right." Vane started down the mound. "That, at the moment, is all we can do."
Chapter 9
Two days later, Patience sat in her private parlor and applied herself to her embroidery. The cloths for the drawing room were almost finished; she'd be glad to see the last of them. She was still confined to the daybed, her knee still bound, her foot propped on a cushion. Her suggestion, made earlier that morning, that she could probably hobble perfectly well using a stick, had made Mrs. Hen-derson purse her lips, shake her head, and pronounce that four days' complete rest would be wiser. Four days! Before she could voice her utter antipathy to the idea, Vane, in whose arms she'd been at the time, had weighed in, backing Mrs. Henderson.
When, after breakfast, Vane had carried her here and laid her on the daybed, he'd reminded her of his earlier threat to tie her to it should he discover her on her feet. The reminder had been couched in sufficiently intimidating terms to keep her reclining, attending to the household linens with apparent equanimity.
Minnie and Timms had come to bear her company; Timms was busy knotting a fringe while Minnie watched, lending a finger whenever an extra was needed. They were all used to spending hours in quiet endeavors; none saw any reason to fill the peace with chatter.
Which was just as well; Patience's mind was fully occupied elsewhere-mulling over what had ensued the first time Vane had carried her to this room. What with hiding her reaction, and her worries over Gerrard and the accusations hurled his way, it had been that night before she'd had time to fully examine the event.
Ever since, she had, at one level or another, thought of little else.
She should, of course, feel scandalized, or at the very least, shocked. Yet whenever she allowed herself to recall all that had happened, sweet pleasure washed through her, leaving her skin tingling and her breasts deliciously warm. Her "shock" was exciting, thrilling, an enticing reaction, not one of revulsion. She should feel guilty, yet whatever guilt she possessed was swamped beneath a compulsion to know, to experience, and an intense recollection of how much she'd enjoyed that particular experience.
Lips firming, she set a stitch. Curiosity-it was her curse, her bane, the cross she had to bear. She kne
w it. Unfortunately, knowing didn't quell the impulse. This time, curiosity was prompting her to waltz with a wolf-a dangerous enterprise. For the last two days, she'd watched him, waiting for the pounce she'd convinced herself would come, but he'd behaved like a lamb-a ridiculously strong, impossibly arrogant, not to say masterful lamb, but with a guileless newborn innocence, as if a halo had settled over his burnished locks.
Squinting at her work, Patience swallowed a disbelieving humph. He was playing some deep game. Unfortunately, due to lack of experience, she had no idea what.
"Actually"-Minnie settled back in her chair as Timms shook out the shawl they'd been working on-"this thief is worrying me. Vane might have scared the Spectre off, but the thief seems made of sterner stuff."
Patience glanced at Timms. "Your bracelet's still missing?"
Timms grimaced. "Ada turned my room upside down, and Minnie's, too. Masters and the maids have hunted high and low." She sighed. "It's gone."
"You said it was silver?"
Timms nodded. "But I wouldn't have thought it of any great value. It was engraved with vine leaves-you know the sort of thing." She sighed again. "It was my mother's and I'm really quite…"-she looked down, fiddling with the fringe she'd just knotted-"bothered that I've lost it."
Patience frowned absentmindedly and set another stitch.
Minnie sighed gustily. "And now here's Agatha similarly afflicted."
Patience looked up; so did Timms. "Oh?"
"She came to me this morning." Minnie frowned worriedly. "She was quite upset. Poor woman-what with all she's had to cope with, I wouldn't have had this happen for the world."
"What?" Patience prompted.
"Her earrings." Her expression as grim as it ever got, Minnie shook her head. ' The last small piece she had left, poor dear. Oval drop garnets surrounded by white sapphires. You must have seen her wearing them."
"When last did she see them?" Patience remembered the earrings well. While handsome enough, they couldn't have been overly valuable.
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