Rakes Vow c-2

by Stephanie Laurens

  "She wore them to dinner two nights ago," Timms put in.

  "Indeed," Minnie nodded. "That was the last she saw of them-when she took them out that night and placed them in her box on her dressing table. When she went to get them last night, they were gone."

  Patience frowned. "I thought she seemed a bit distracted last night."

  "Agitated." Timms nodded grimly.

  "She searched everywhere later," Minnie said, "but she's now quite sure they've vanished."

  "Not vanished," Patience corrected. "They're with the thief. We'll find them when we catch him."

  The door opened at that moment; Vane, followed by Gerrard, strolled in.

  "Good morning, ladies." Vane nodded to Minnie and Timms, then turned his smile on Patience. His eyes, teasing grey, met hers; the quality of his smile, the expression at the back of his eyes, altered. Patience felt the warmth of his gaze as it slid lazily over her, over her cheeks, her throat, the swell of her upper breasts revealed by the scooped neckline of her morning gown. Her skin tingled; her nipples tightened.

  She suppressed a warning scowl. "Did you enjoy your ride?" Her tone was as guilelessly innocent as his; both yesterday and today had been gloriously fine-while she'd been stuck inside, metaphorically tied to the daybed, he and Gerrard had enjoyed themselves on horseback, cantering about the county.

  "Actually," Vane drawled, gracefully settling in a chair facing the daybed, "I've been introducing Gerrard to all the hedge-taverns within reach.",

  Patience's head jerked up; aghast, she stared at him.

  "We've been checking if any of the others have been there," Gerrard eagerly explained. "Perhaps selling small things to tinkers or travelers."

  From beneath her lashes, Patience threw Vane a darkling glance. He smiled, far too sweetly. His halo continued to glow. Patience sniffed and looked down at her work.

  "And?" Minnie prompted.

  "Nothing," Vane replied. "No one from the Hall-not even one of the grooms-has visited any of the local dives recently. No one's heard any whispers of anyone selling small items to tinkers and the like. So we still have no clue as to why the thief is stealing things, nor what he's doing with his ill-gotten gains."

  "Speaking of which." Briefly, Minnie described the loss of Timms's bracelet and Mrs. Chadwick's earrings.

  "So," Vane said, his expression hardening, "whoever it is has not been dissuaded by our pursuit of the Spectre."

  "So what now?" Timms asked.

  "We'll need to check Kettering and Northampton. It's possible the thief has a connection there."

  The mantel clock chimed the half hour-twelve-thirty. Minnie gathered her shawls. "I'm due to see Mrs. Henderson about the menus."

  "I'll leave the rest of this'til later." Timms folded the shawl they'd been fringing.

  Vane rose and offered Minnie his arm, but she waved him away. "No, I'm all right. You stay and keep Patience company." Minnie grinned at Patience. "Such a trying thing-to be tied to a daybed."

  Suppressing her reaction to those innocent words, Patience smiled graciously, accepting Minnie's "gift"; once Minnie had passed on her way to the door, Patience lifted her embroidery, fixed her gaze upon it, and grasped the needle firmly.

  Gerrard held the door open for Minnie and Timms. They passed through; he looked back at Vane. And grinned engagingly. "Duggan mentioned he'd be exercising your greys about now. I might just nip down and see if I can catch him."

  Patience whipped her head around, just in time to catch Gerrard's brotherly wave as he went out of the door. It shut behind him. In disbelief, she stared at the polished panels.

  What were they all thinking of-leaving her alone with a wolf? She might be twenty-six-but she was an inexperienced twenty-six. Worse, she had a strong notion Vane viewed her age, let alone her inexperience, more as a positive than a negative.

  Looking back at her work, she recalled his earlier jibe. Her temper rose, a helpful shield. Lifting her head, she studied him, standing before the daybed some four feet away. Her gaze was coolly measuring. "I do hope you don't intend to drag Gerrard into every inn-every 'dive'- in Kettering and Northampton."

  His gaze, already fixed on her, didn't waver; a slow, untrustworthy smile curved his lips. "No inns or taverns-not even dives." His smile deepened. "In the towns, we'll need to visit the jewelers, and the moneylenders. They often advance cash against goods." He paused, then grimaced. "My one problem is that I can't see what anyone at the Hall would want with extra cash. There's nowhere about to wager or game."

  Lowering her embroidery to her lap, Patience frowned. "Perhaps they need the money for something else."

  "I can't see the General or Edgar-much less Whitticombe-paying upkeep for some village maid and her brat."

  Patience shook her head. "Henry would be shocked at the notion-he's stolidly conservative."

  "Indeed-and, somehow, the notion doesn't ring true for Edmond." Vane paused. Patience looked up-he trapped her gaze. "As far as I can see," he said, his voice lowering to a purr,"Edmond seems more inclined to planning, rather than performance."

  The implication, so strong Patience couldn't doubt she'd read it aright, was that he placed more emphasis on the latter. Ignoring the vise slowly choking off her breathing, she raised a haughty brow. "Indeed? I would have thought planning was always to be recommended." Greatly daring, she added, "In any enterprise.",

  Vane's slow smile curved his lips. Two prowling strides brought him to the daybed's side. "You misunderstand me-good planning's essential to any successful campaign." Trapping Patience's gaze, he reached for the embroidery lying forgotten in her lap.

  Patience blinked free of his hold as the linen slipped from her lax grasp. "I daresay." She frowned-just what were they talking about? She followed the embroidery as Vane lifted it-and met his eyes over the top of the hoop.

  He smiled-all wolf-and tossed her work-linen, hoop and needle-into the basket beside the daybed. Leaving her without protection.

  Patience felt her eyes grow round. Vane's smile deepened-a dangerous glint gleamed in his grey eyes. Languidly, he lifted a hand and, long fingers sliding beneath her chin, gripped it gently. Deliberately, he brushed his thumb-gently-over her lips.

  They throbbed; Patience wished she had the strength to pull free of his light hold, to wrench free of his gaze.

  "What I meant," he said, his voice very deep, "was that planning without the subsequent performance is worthless."

  He meant she should have hung on to her embroidery. Too late, Patience caught his drift. He'd seen through her plan to use her work as a shield. Breath bated, she waited for her temper to come to her aid, to rise in response to being read so effortlessly, to being affected so readily.

  Nothing happened. No searing fury erupted.

  The only thought in her head as she studied his grey eyes was what he was planning to do next.

  Because she was watching, was so deep in the grey, she caught the change, the subtle shift, the flash of what looked suspiciously like satisfaction that glowed, briefly, in his eyes. His hand fell; lids lowering, he turned away.

  "Tell me what you know of the Chadwicks."

  Patience stared at him-at his back as he returned to his chair. By the time he sat and faced her, she'd managed to school her features, although they felt curiously blank.

  "Well"-she moistened her lips-"Mr. Chadwick died about two years ago-missing at sea."

  With the help of Vane's prompts, she recounted, stiltedly, all she knew of the Chadwicks. As she reached the end of her knowledge, the gong sounded.

  His rake's smile returning, Vane stood and strolled toward her. "Speaking of performance, would you like me to carry you to lunch?"

  She wouldn't-narrowing her eyes at him, Patience would have given half her fortune to avoid the sensation of being scooped so easily into his arms, and carried away so effortlessly. His touch was unnerving, distracting; it made her think of things she really should not. And as for the sensation of being helpless in his arms, trappe
d, at his mercy, a pawn to his whim-that was even worse.

  Unfortunately, she had no choice. Coolly, inwardly girding her loins, she inclined her head. "If you would."

  He grinned-and did.

  The next day-the fourth and, Patience vowed, the very last day of her incarceration-she once more found herself committed to the daybed in her quiet parlor. After their usual early breakfast, Vane had carried her upstairs-he and Gerrard were to spend the day checking Northampton for any sign of items stolen from the Hall. The day was fine. The idea of a long drive, the wind whipping her hair as she sat on his box seat, behind the greys she'd already heard far too much about, had seemed like heaven. She'd been sorely tempted to ask that they put off the excursion-just for a day or so-until her knee improved sufficiently to allow her to sit in a carriage for a few hours, but, in the end, she'd held her tongue. They needed to discover who the thief was as soon as possible, and the weather, while fine today, could not be guaranteed.

  Minnie and Timms had sat with her through the morning; as she couldn't go downstairs, they'd taken lunch on trays. Then Minnie had retired for her nap. Timms had helped Minnie to her room, but hadn't returned.

  She'd finished the cloths for the drawing room. Idly examining designs, Patience wondered what project she should attempt next. Perhaps a delicate tray-piece for Minnie's dresser?

  A knock on the door had her looking up in surprise. Neither Minnie nor Timms usually knocked.

  "Come in."

  The door opened tentatively; Henry's head appeared around its edge. "Am I disturbing you?"

  Patience inwardly sighed, and waved to a chair. "By all means." She was, after all, bored.

  Henry's puppy grin split his face. Straightening his shoulders, he entered, one hand held rather obviously behind his back. He advanced on the daybed, then halted-and, like a magician, produced his gift-a collection of late roses and autumn border blooms, greenery provided by Queen Anne's lace.

  Primed, Patience widened her eyes in feigned surprise and delight. The delight waned as she focused on the ragged stems and the dangling remnants of roots. He'd ripped the flowers from the bushes and borders, not caring of the damage he did. "How-" She forced a smile to her lips. "How lovely." She took the poor flowers from him. "Why don't you ring for a maid so I can ask for a vase?"

  Smiling proudly, Henry crossed to the bellpull and yanked it vigorously. Then, clasping his hands behind his back, he rocked on his toes. "Wonderful day outside."

  "Is it?" Patience tried not to sound wistful.

  The maid arrived and returned quickly with a vase and a pair of garden shears. While Henry prattled on about the weather, Patience tended the flowers, loping off the ragged ends and roots and setting them in the vase. Finished, she set the shears aside and turned the small side table she'd worked on toward Henry. "There." With a gracious wave, she sat back. "I do thank you for your kindness."

  Henry beamed. He opened his lips-a knock cut off his words.

  Brows rising, Patience turned to the door. "Come in."

  As she'd half expected, it was Edmond. He'd brought his latest stanza. He beamed an ingenuous grin at both Patience and Henry. "Tell me what you think."

  It wasn't just one stanza-to Patience, trying to follow the intricacies of his phrasing, it seemed more like half a canto.

  Henry shifted and shuffled, his earlier brightness fading into petulance. Patience fought to stifle a yawn. Edmond prosed on.

  And on.

  When the next knock sounded, Patience turned eagerly, hoping for Masters or even a maid.

  It was Penwick.

  Patience gritted her teeth-and forced her lips to curve over them. Resigned, she held out her hand. "Good morning, sir. I trust you are well?"

  "Indeed, my dear." Penwick bowed low-too low, he nearly hit his head on the side of the daybed. Pulling back just in time, he frowned-then banished the expression to smile, far too intently, into Patience's eyes. "I've been waiting to fill you in on the latest developments-the figures on production after we instituted the new rotation scheme. I know," he said, smiling fondly down at her, "how interested you are in 'our little patch.'"

  "Ah-yes." What could she say? She'd always used agriculture, and having run the Grange for so long she had a more than passing knowledge of the subject, to distract Penwick. "Perhaps-?" She glanced hopefully at Henry. Tight-lipped, his gaze was fixed, not amiably, on Penwick. "Henry was just telling me how fine the weather's been these last few days."

  Henry obligingly followed her lead. "Should stay fine for the foreseeable future. I was talking to Grisham only this morning-"

  Unfortunately, despite considerable effort, Patience could not get Henry to switch to the effect of the weather on the crops, nor could she get Penwick to, as he usually did, distract Henry and himself with such matters.

  To crown all, Edmond kept taking snippets from both Henry's and Penwick's words and fashioning them into verse, then, across whoever was speaking, trying to engage her in a discussion of how such verses might fit with the development of his drama.

  Within five minutes, the conversation descended into a three-way tug-of-war for her attention-Patience was ready to throttle whichever foolish servant it was who'd divulged her up-until-then-secret location.

  At the end of ten minutes, she was ready to throttle Henry, Edmond and Penwick as well. Henry held his position and pontificated on the elements; Edmond, nothing loath, was now talking of including mythological gods as commentators on his main characters' actions. Penwick, losing out to the chorus, puffed out his chest and portentously asked: "Where's Debbington? Surprised he isn't here, bearing you company."

  "Oh, he tagged along with Cynster," Henry offhandedly informed him. "They escorted Angela and Mama to Northampton."

  Finding Patience's gaze riveted on his face, Henry beamed at her. "Deal of sunshine, today-shouldn't wonder if Angela doesn't claim a turn in Cynster's curricle."

  Patience's brows rose. "Indeed?"

  There was a note in her voice which successfully halted all conversation; the three gentlemen, suddenly wary, glanced sidelong at each other.

  "I think," Patience declared, "that I have rested long enough." Tossing aside the rug that had lain across her lap, she pushed herself to the edge of the daybed, and carefully let down her good leg, then the damaged one. "If you would be so good as to give me your arm…?"

  They all rushed to help. In the end, it wasn't as easy as she'd thought-her knee was still tender, and very stiff. Taking her full weight on that leg was out of the question.

  Which made the stairs impossible. Edmond and Henry made a chair of their arms; Patience sat and held their shoulders for balance. Puffed with importance, Penwick led the way down, talking all the while. Henry and Edmond couldn't talk-they were concentrating too much on balancing her weight down the steep stairs.

  They made it to the front hall without mishap, and set her carefully on her feet on the tiles. By then Patience was having second thoughts-or rather, she would have entertained second thoughts, if she hadn't been so exercised by the news that Vane had taken Angela to Northampton.

  That Angela had enjoyed the drive-would even now be enjoying the drive-she herself had fantasized over, but had, for the greater good, not sought to claim.

  She was not in a very good mood.

  "The back parlor," she declared. Leaning on both Henry's and Edmond's arms, she hobbled along between them, trying not to wince. Penwick rattled on, recounting the number of bushels "their little patch" had produced, his matrimonial assumptions waving like flags in his words. Patience gritted her teeth. Once they gained the back parlor, she would dismiss them all-and then, very carefully, massage her knee.

  No one would look for her in the back parlor.

  "You're not supposed to be on your feet."

  The statement, uttered in a flat tone, filled the sudden gap where Penwick's babble had been.

  Patience looked up, then had to tip her chin higher-Vane was standing directly in front of
her. He was wearing his caped greatcoat; the wind had ruffled his hair. Behind him, the side door stood open. Light streamed into the dim corridor, but didn't reach her. He blocked it-a very large, very male figure, made even larger by the capes of his greatcoat, spread wide by his broad shoulders. She couldn't see the expression on his face, in his eyes-she didn't need to. She knew his face was hard, his eyes steel grey, his lips thin.

  Irritation poured from him in waves; in the confines of the corridor, it was a tangible force. "I did warn you," he said, his tones clipped, "what would happen."

  Patience opened her lips; all she uttered was a gasp.

  She was no longer on her feet, she was in his arms.

  "Just a minute!"

  "I say-!"

  "Wait-!"

  The ineffectual exclamations died behind them. Vane's swift strides had them back in the front hall before Penwick, Edmond, and Henry could do more than collectively blink.

  Catching her breath, Patience glared. "Put me down!"

  Vane glanced, very briefly, into her face. "No." He started up the stairs.

  Patience drew in a breath-two maids were coming down the stairs. She smiled as they passed. And then they were in the gallery. It had taken the others ten full minutes to get her downstairs; Vane had accomplished the reverse in under a minute. "The other gentlemen," she acidly informed him, "were helping me to the back parlor."

  "Sapskulls."

  Patience's breasts swelled. "I wanted to be in the back parlor!"

  "Why?"

  Why? Because then, if he came looking for her after his fine day out at Northampton with Angela, he wouldn't have known where she was and might have been worried? "Because," Patience tartly replied, folding her arms defensively across her breasts, "I've grown sick of the upstairs parlor." The parlor he'd arranged for her. "I'm bored there."

  Vane glanced at her as he juggled her to open the door. "Bored?"

  Patience looked into his eyes and wished she'd used some other word. Bored was, apparently, a red rag to a rake. "It's not long to dinner, perhaps you should just take me to my room."

  The door swung wide. Vane stepped through, then kicked it shut behind them. And smiled. "There's more than an hour before you need change. I'll carry you to your room-later."