to the head of the table, too. Vane sat relaxed, wide shoulders encased in a grey hacking jacket settled comfortably against the chair back, one hand resting on the chair’s arm, the other stretched on the table, long fingers crooked about the handle of a coffee cup.
In daylight, his features were as hard-edged as she’d thought them, his face every bit as strong. His heavy lids hid his eyes as, with lazy interest, he listened to Gerrard extol the equestrian virtues of the locality.
To her right, the General snorted, then pushed back his chair. Whitticombe rose, too. One after the other, they left the room. Frowning, Patience applied herself to her breakfast and tried to think of another subject with which to capture the conversation.
Vane saw her frown. The devil in him stirred and stretched, then settled to contemplate this latest challenge. She would, he felt sure, avoid him. Shifting his hooded gaze, he studied Gerrard. Vane smiled. Lazily. He waited until Patience took a bite of her toast.
“Actually,” he drawled, “I was thinking of filling in the morning with a ride. Anyone interested?”
Gerrard’s eager response was instantaneous; Patience’s response, though far less eager, was no less rapid. Vane stifled a grin at the sight of her stunned expression as, with her mouth inhibitingly full, she heard Gerrard accept his invitation with undisguised delight.
Patience looked out through the long parlor windows. The day was fine, a brisk breeze drying the puddles. She swallowed, and looked at Vane. “I thought you would be leaving.”
He smiled, a slow, devilish, fascinating smile. “I’ve decided to stay for a few days.”
Damn ! Patience bit back the word and looked across the table at Edmond.
Who shook his head. “Not for me. The muse calls—I must do her bidding.”
Patience inwardly cursed, and switched her gaze to Henry. He considered, then grimaced. “A good idea, but I should check on Mama first. I’ll catch up if I can.”
Vane inclined his head, and slanted a smiling glance at Gerrard. “Looks like it’s just the two of us, then.”
“No!” Patience coughed to disguise the abruptness of her answer; then took a sip of tea and looked up. “If you’ll wait while I change, I’ll come, too.”
She met Vane’s eyes, and saw the grey glint wickedly. But he smoothly, graciously, inclined his head, accepting her company, which was all she cared about. Setting down her teacup, she rose. “I’ll meet you at the stables.”
Rising with his customary grace, Vane watched as she left, then sank back, elegantly asprawl. He lifted his coffee cup, thus hiding his victorious smile. Gerrard, after all, wasn’t blind. “Ten minutes, do you think?” He lifted a brow at Gerrard.
“Oh, at least.” Gerrard grinned and reached for the coffeepot.
Chapter 4
B y the time she gained the stable yard, Patience had the bit firmly between her teeth. Vane Cynster was not a suitable mentor for Gerrard, but, given the evidence of her eyes, Gerrard was already well on the way to an unhealthy respect, which could all too easily lead to adulation. Hero worship. Dangerous emulation.
It was all very clear in her mind.
The train of her lavender-velvet riding habit over her arm, she strode into the yard, heels ringing on the cobbles. Her reading of the situation was instantly confirmed.
Vane sat a massive grey hunter with elegant ease, effortlessly controlling the restive beast. Beside him, on a chestnut gelding, Gerrard blithely chatted. He looked happier, more relaxed, than he had since they’d arrived. Patience noted it, but, halting in the shadows of the stable arch, her attention remained riveted on Vane Cynster.
Her mother had often remarked that “true gentlemen” looked uncommonly dashing on horseback. Quelling an inward sniff—her normal reaction to that observation, which had invariably alluded to her father—Patience reluctantly conceded she could now see her mother’s point: There was
In daylight, his features were as hard-edged as she’d thought them, his face every bit as strong. His heavy lids hid his eyes as, with lazy interest, he listened to Gerrard extol the equestrian virtues of the locality.
To her right, the General snorted, then pushed back his chair. Whitticombe rose, too. One after the other, they left the room. Frowning, Patience applied herself to her breakfast and tried to think of another subject with which to capture the conversation.
Vane saw her frown. The devil in him stirred and stretched, then settled to contemplate this latest challenge. She would, he felt sure, avoid him. Shifting his hooded gaze, he studied Gerrard. Vane smiled. Lazily. He waited until Patience took a bite of her toast.
“Actually,” he drawled, “I was thinking of filling in the morning with a ride. Anyone interested?”
Gerrard’s eager response was instantaneous; Patience’s response, though far less eager, was no less rapid. Vane stifled a grin at the sight of her stunned expression as, with her mouth inhibitingly full, she heard Gerrard accept his invitation with undisguised delight.
Patience looked out through the long parlor windows. The day was fine, a brisk breeze drying the puddles. She swallowed, and looked at Vane. “I thought you would be leaving.”
He smiled, a slow, devilish, fascinating smile. “I’ve decided to stay for a few days.”
Damn ! Patience bit back the word and looked across the table at Edmond.
Who shook his head. “Not for me. The muse calls—I must do her bidding.”
Patience inwardly cursed, and switched her gaze to Henry. He considered, then grimaced. “A good idea, but I should check on Mama first. I’ll catch up if I can.”
Vane inclined his head, and slanted a smiling glance at Gerrard. “Looks like it’s just the two of us, then.”
“No!” Patience coughed to disguise the abruptness of her answer; then took a sip of tea and looked up. “If you’ll wait while I change, I’ll come, too.”
She met Vane’s eyes, and saw the grey glint wickedly. But he smoothly, graciously, inclined his head, accepting her company, which was all she cared about. Setting down her teacup, she rose. “I’ll meet you at the stables.”
Rising with his customary grace, Vane watched as she left, then sank back, elegantly asprawl. He lifted his coffee cup, thus hiding his victorious smile. Gerrard, after all, wasn’t blind. “Ten minutes, do you think?” He lifted a brow at Gerrard.
“Oh, at least.” Gerrard grinned and reached for the coffeepot.
Chapter 4
B y the time she gained the stable yard, Patience had the bit firmly between her teeth. Vane Cynster was not a suitable mentor for Gerrard, but, given the evidence of her eyes, Gerrard was already well on the way to an unhealthy respect, which could all too easily lead to adulation. Hero worship. Dangerous emulation.
It was all very clear in her mind.
The train of her lavender-velvet riding habit over her arm, she strode into the yard, heels ringing on the cobbles. Her reading of the situation was instantly confirmed.
Vane sat a massive grey hunter with elegant ease, effortlessly controlling the restive beast. Beside him, on a chestnut gelding, Gerrard blithely chatted. He looked happier, more relaxed, than he had since they’d arrived. Patience noted it, but, halting in the shadows of the stable arch, her attention remained riveted on Vane Cynster.
Her mother had often remarked that “true gentlemen” looked uncommonly dashing on horseback. Quelling an inward sniff—her normal reaction to that observation, which had invariably alluded to her father—Patience reluctantly conceded she could now see her mother’s point: There was
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