A Rake's Vow Read online

  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.”

  “It’s full of sand,” Edgar said. “Fine, white stuff.”

  “Used for weight,” the General explained. “The sand stabilizes the beast, then the treasure’s settled in the sand. I grabbed up a handful to show Edgar—sharp eyes, he has—spotted the gleam of that trinket in the pile.”

  “I’m afraid we made rather a mess unearthing it.” Edgar looked at the earring in Minnie’s fingers. “But it is Agatha’s, isn’t it?”

  “Isn’t what?”

  They all looked up; Mrs. Chadwick entered, followed by Angela, with Edith Swithins trailing vaguely behind. Agatha Chadwick grimaced apologetically at Minnie. “We heard the commotion . . .”

  “Just as well.” Minnie held up the earring. “This is yours, I believe.”

  Agatha took it. The smile that broke across her face was all the answer anyone needed. “Where was it?” She looked at Minnie—who looked up at Vane.

  Who shook his head in amazement. “In Alice Colby’s room, in the elephant she kept by her hearth.” He glanced at Patience—

  “There’s sand all over the front hall!” Mrs. Henderson swept in, a galleon in full sail; Henry, supported by Edmond and Masters, hobbled in in her wake. Mrs. Henderson gestured at him. “Mister Chadwick slipped and nearly broke his head.” She looked at Vane. “It’s from inside that evil elephant!”

  “I say.” Edmond had focused on the earring in Agatha Chadwick’s hand. “What’s going on?”

  The question drew a spate of garbled answers. Recognizing opportunity, Vane edged to the door.

  “Stop right there!” Minnie’s order brought an abrupt end to the cacophony. She waved her cane at Vane. “Don’t you dare try to leave us behind.”

  Patience swung about—and glared daggers at Vane.

  “What’s afoot?” Edmond demanded.

  Minnie folded her arms and snorted, then glared at Vane. Everyone turned and looked at Vane.

  He sighed. “It’s like this.” His explanation—that whoever attempted to return to the Hall without the rest of the household was odds on to be the Spectre, and said Spectre was almost certainly the villain who’d coshed Gerrard in the ruins—even stripped to the bare bones, still raised everyone’s hackles.

  “Colby! Well!” Henry straightened, and eased his full weight onto his wrenched ankle. “First, he coshes young Gerrard, then he makes out Gerrard’s the thief, and then he gloats so . . . so . . . superiorly.” He tugged his coat straight. “You may count me in—I certainly want to see Whitticombe get his just desserts.”

  “Blissful thought!” Edmond grinned. “I’ll come, too.”

  “And me.” The General glowered. “Colby must have known his sister was the thief—or perhaps it was him, and he used his sister’s room as a store. Whatever, the bounder talked me into sending for the Runners—wouldn’t have entered my head but for him. He should be strung up!”

  Vane drew a deep breath. “There’s really no need—”

  “I’m coming, too.” Agatha Chadwick lifted her head high. “Whoever was the thief, whoever has so grievously wronged Gerrard, I want to see justice done!”

  “Indeed!” Edith Swithins nodded determinedly. “I even had my tatting bag searched, all because of this thief. I’ll certainly want to hear his—or her—explanation.”

  It was at that point Vane gave up arguing. By the time he’d crossed the room to Minnie’s side, the whole household, bar only Masters and Mrs. Henderson, had resolved to follow Whitticombe and Alice back to the Hall.

  Bending over Minnie, Vane spoke through his teeth. “I’m taking Patience—I’ll pick Gerrard up on the way. As far as I’m concerned, the rest of you would do well to remain in London. If you want to hie across the counties with the weather closing in, you’ll have to organize it yourselves. However!”—he let his exasperation show—“whatever you do, for God’s sake remember to come up the back track, not the main drive, and don’t come closer to the house than the second barn.”

  He glared at Minnie, who glared belligerently back. Then tipped her nose in the air. “We’ll wait for you there.”

  Swallowing
a curse, Vane grabbed Patience’s hand and strode for the door. In the corridor, he glanced at Patience’s gown. “You’ll need your pelisse. There’s snow on the way.”

  Patience nodded. “I’ll meet you outside.”

  She hurried down the steps minutes later, rugged up against the deepening chill. Vane handed her into the curricle, then climbed up beside her. And sprang his horses for Grosvenor Square.

  “Well, the drought’s broken.” Looking up as Vane walked through his library door, Devil grinned. “Who is it?”

  “Colby.” Vane nodded to Gerrard, perched on the arm of a chair beside Devil, who was sprawled on the rug before the hearth.

  Following Vane in, Patience noted that last with surprise, until, moving closer, she saw the small being rolling on the soft rug, fists and feet waving madly, protected from any chance of a flying cinder by Devil’s large body.

  Following the direction of her gaze, Devil grinned. “Allow me to present Sebastian, Marquess of Earith.” He looked down. “My heir.”

  The last words were infused with such deep and abiding love, Patience found herself smiling mistily. Devil scratched the baby’s tummy; Sebastian cooed and gurgled and batted clumsily at his father’s finger. Blinking rapidly, Patience glanced at Vane. He was smiling easily—he clearly found nothing odd in the sight of his powerful, domineering cousin playing nursemaid.

  She looked at Gerrard; he laughed as Sebastian latched on to Devil’s finger and wrestled.

  “Vane?” All turned as Honoria swept into the room. “Ah—Patience.” As if they were already related, Honoria enveloped Patience in a scented embrace and touched cheeks. “What’s happened?”

  Vane brought them up-to-date. Honoria sank onto the chaise beside Devil. Patience noted that, after a quick glance to check, Honoria left Sebastian in Devil’s care. Until, recognizing her voice as she questioned Vane, Sebastian lost interest in Devil’s finger and, with a cry, waved his arms for his mother. Devil passed his heir over, then glanced at Vane.

  “Is Colby likely to prove dangerous?”