A Rake's Vow

The hand at her belly didn’t shift, but simply held her steady so she could receive him, could feel, again and again, his possession, the slow repetitive penetration impinging on her mind as well as her body, on her emotions as well as her senses.

  She was his and she knew it. She gave herself gladly, received him joyfully, obediently struggled to hold back her moans as he shifted and sank deeper.

  Tucking her bottom firmly against his hips, he moved more forcefully within her, thrusting more deeply, more powerfully.

  The tension—within him, within her, holding them so tightly—grew, swelled, coiled. Patience swallowed a gasp— and clung to sanity. And prayed for release while dazedly wondering if this time she really would lose her mind.

  Again and again he filled her. The golden glimmer she now knew and desired glowed on her horizon. She tried to reach for it—to draw it nearer—tried to tighten about him and urge him on.

  And suddenly realized that, in this position, her options were limited.

  She was at his mercy and could do nothing to change it. With a gasp, she lowered her head, her fingers tightening on the bowl’s rim. Pleasure, relentless, passionate, rolled through her in waves, rearing every time he sank into her and stretched her. Completed her.

  Patience felt a scream building—and bit her lip—hard.

  Vane sank into her again and felt her quiver. He remained sunk in her heat for a fraction longer, then smoothly withdrew. And sank into her again.

  He was in no hurry. Savoring the slick, scalding softness that welcomed him, the velvet glove that fitted him so well, glorying in all the heady signs of her body’s acceptance of him—the natural, abandoned way the hemispheres of her bottom, glowing ivory in the moonlight, met his body, the slick wetness that made his staff gleam, the total absence of all restraint, the completeness of her surrender—he took time to appreciate it all.

  Before him, she tightened, and tensed, and helplessly squirmed.

  He held her steady. And slowly filled her again. She was close to frantic. He withdrew from her, nudged her legs wider, and filled her even more deeply.

  A muted squeal escaped her.

  Vane narrowed his eyes, and took firm hold of his reins. “What brought you here? To the conservatory?”

  After a fractured minute, Patience gasped, “I told you—the amenities.”

  “Not because you saw me come in here with a lovely young lady?”

  “No!” The answer came back too quickly. “Well,” Patience breathlessly temporized, “she was your cousin.”

  With his free hand, Vane reached around her, filling his palm with the swollen fullness of her breast. He searched and found the tight bud of her nipple—and rolled it gently between thumb and finger, before squeezing firmly. “You didn’t know that until I told you.”

  Patience valiantly swallowed her scream. “The music’s stopped—they must all be at supper.” She was so breathless, she could barely speak. “We’ll miss it all if you don’t hurry.”

  She’d die if he didn’t hurry.

  Hard lips caressed her nape. “The lobster patties can wait. I’d rather have you.”

  To Patience’s relief, he tightened his grip on her, held her even more rigidly, as he stroked more powerfully. The flames within her roared, then fused and coalesced; the bright sun of release drew steadily nearer. Grew steadily brighter. Then he paused.

  “You seem to be missing something here.”

  Patience knew what she was missing. The bright sun stopped, three heartbeats away. She gritted her teeth—a scream welled in her throat—

  “I told you—you’re mine. I want you—and you alone.”

  The words, uttered softly, with rocklike conviction, drove all other thoughts from Patience’s head. Opening her eyes, she stared unseeing at the marble maiden, shimmering softly in the moonlight.

  “There’s no other woman I want to be inside—no other woman I crave.” She felt his body tense, gather—then he thrust deep. “Only you.”

  The sun crashed down on her.

  Hot pleasure washed through her like a tidal wave, sweeping all before it. Her vision clouded; she was unaware that she screamed.

  Shifting his hand to her lips, Vane muffled the worst of her ecstatic cry—the sound still shredded his control. His chest swelled; grimly, he struggled to contain the desire raging through him, pounding his senses, liquid fire in his loins.

  He succeeded—until the ripples of her release caressed him. He felt the power gather, felt it swell, grow and build within him. And in that final moment, as the cosmos crashed about him, he surrendered.

  And did as she’d once asked, let go—and poured himself into her.

  The instant Minnie’s carriage door closed, cloaking her in the safe dark, Patience slumped against the squabs. And prayed she’d be able to master her limbs sufficiently to leave the carriage and walk to her bed when they arrived in Aldford Street.

  Her body no longer felt like hers. Vane had taken possession and left her limp. Wrung out. The half hour between their return to the ballroom and Minnie’s departure had been a near-run thing. Only his surreptitious support, his careful maneuvering, had concealed her state. Her deeply sated state.

  At least she’d been able to speak. Reasonably coherently. And think. In some ways, that had made things worse. Because all she could think about was what he’d said, whispered against her temple, when she’d finally stirred in his arms.

  “Have you changed your mind yet?”

  She’d had to search for the strength to say “No.”

  “Stubborn woman,” in the tone of a soft curse, had been his reply.

  He hadn’t pressed her further, but he hadn’t given up.

  His question replayed in her mind. His tone—one of understated but unswerving determination—bothered her. His strength ran deep, not just a physical characteristic; overcoming it—convincing him she wouldn’t acquiesce and be his wife—was proving a far harder battle than she’d foreseen. The unwelcome possibility that, unintentionally, she’d pricked his pride, taunted his conqueror’s soul, and would now have to contend with the full force of that side of his character, too, wasn’t a cheering thought.

  Worst of all was the fact that she’d hesitated before saying “No.”

  Temptation, unheralded, had slunk in and slipped under her guard. After all she’d seen, all she’d observed, of the Cynsters, their wives, and their firmly stated and rigidly applied attitudes on the subject of family, it was impossible to escape the fact that Vane’s offer was the best she’d ever get. Family—the one thing that was most important to her—was critically important to him.

  Given all his other attributes—his wealth, his status, his handsomeness—what more could she possibly want?

  The problem was, she knew the answer to that question.

  That was why she had said “No.” Why she would keep saying “No.”

  The Cynster attitude to family was possessive and protective. They were a warrior clan—the open commitment she’d initially found so surprising was, viewed in that light, perfectly understandable. Warriors defended what was theirs. Cynsters, it seemed, regarded their family as a possession, to be defended at all costs and in all arenas. Their feelings sprang from their conquerors’ instincts—the instinct to hold on to whatever they’d won.

  Perfectly understandable.

  But it wasn’t enough.

  Not for her.

  Her answer still remained—had to remain—“No.”

  Chapter 19

  Sligo opened the front door of Number 22 at nine the next morning.

  Vane nodded curtly and strode in. “Where’s Her Ladyship?” He cast a quick glance about the hall; it was mercifully untenanted. Bar Sligo, who was gaping.

  Vane frowned.

  Sligo blinked.”Should think Her Ladyship would still be abed, sir. Should I send up—”

  “No.” Vane looked up the stairs. “Which room is hers?”

  “Last on the right.”

  Vane star
ted up. “You haven’t seen me. I’m not here.”

  “Aye, sir.” Sligo watched Vane ascend, then shook his head. And headed back to his porridge.

  Locating what he fervently prayed was Minnie’s door, Vane rapped lightly on the panels. An instant later, Minnie bade him enter. He did—quickly—silently shutting the door behind him.

  Propped against her pillows, a steaming cup of cocoa in her hands, Minnie stared at him. “Great heavens! It’s been years since I’ve seen you up at cockcrow.”

  Vane advanced on the bed. “I need some sage advice, and you’re the only one who can help me.”

  Minnie beamed. “Well then—what’s afoot?”

  “Nothing.” Incapable of sitting, Vane paced beside the bed. “That’s the problem. What should be afoot is a wedding.” He glanced sharply at Minnie. “Mine.”

  “Ah-hah!” Triumph glowed in Minnie’s eyes. “Sits the wind in that quarter, heh?”

  “As you well know,” Vane stated, his accents clipped, “the wind’s been in that quarter since I first set eyes on your niece.”

  “Perfectly proper—as it should be. So what’s the rub?”

  “She won’t have me.”

  Minnie blinked. Her smug expression faded. “Won’t have you?”

  Total bewilderment rang in her tone; Vane struggled not to gnash his teeth. “Precisely. For some ungodly reason, I’m not suitable.”

  Minnie said nothing; her expression said it all.

  Vane grimaced. “It’s not me, specifically, but men, or marriage in general, she’s set her mind against.” He sent a saber-edged glance Minnie’s way. “You know what that means. She’s inherited your stubborness with interest.”

  Minnie sniffed, and set aside her cocoa. “A very clear-headed girl, Patience. But if she harbors reservations about marriage, I would have thought you, of all men, would have been up to the challenge of changing her mind.”

  “Don’t think I haven’t tried.” Exasperation rang in Vane’s words.

  “You must have made a muddle of it. When did you offer for her? In the conservatory last night?”

  Vane tried not to remember the conservatory last night. Vivid memories had kept him awake until dawn. “I first offered for her—twice—at Bellamy Hall. And I’ve repeated the offer several times since.” He swung on his heel and stalked down the rug. “With increasing persuasiveness.”

  “Hmm.” Minnie frowned. “This sounds serious.”

  “I think—” Vane halted; hands on hips, he looked up at the ceiling. “No—I know she initially confused me with her father. Expected me to behave as he had.” He swung about and stalked back. “She first expected me to have no interest in marriage, and when I proved to think otherwise, she assumed I had no real interest in family. She thought I was offering for purely superficial reasons—because she might suit, in effect.”

  “A Cynster not caring about family?” Minnie humphed. “Now she’s met so many of you, she can’t still be blind.”

  “No, she can’t. Which is precisely my point.” Vane stopped beside the bed. “Even after the family’s attitudes were paraded before her, she still wouldn’t change her mind. Which means there’s something more—something deeper. I felt there was from the first. Some fundamental reason she’d set her mind against marriage.” He met Minnie’s eyes. “And I think it derives from her parents’ marriage, which is why I’m here, asking you.”

  Minnie held his gaze, then her expression grew distant. Slowly, she nodded. “You could be right.” She refocused on Vane. “You want to know about Constance and Reggie?”

  Vane nodded. Minnie sighed. “It was not a happy story.”

  “Meaning?”

  “Constance loved Reggie. By that, I do not mean the usual affection found in many marriages, nor yet some warmer degree of affection. I mean love—selfless, complete and unswerving. For Constance, the world revolved about Reggie. Oh, she loved her children, but they were Reggie’s and so within her purlieu. To give Reggie his due, he tried to cope, but, of course, from his point of view, the discovery that his wife loved him to distraction was more an embarrassment than a joy.” Minnie snorted. “He was a true gentleman of his time. He hadn’t married for any notion as outrageous as love. It was considered a good match on all sides—not his fault, really, that matters developed in such an unlooked-for direction.”

  Minnie shook her head. “He tried to let Constance down lightly, but her feelings were cast in stone, never to be rewritten. In the end, Reggie did the gentlemanly thing and kept away. He lost all touch with his children. He couldn’t visit them without seeing Constance, which led to situations he couldn’t countenance.”

  His frown deepening, Vane resumed his pacing. “What, for want of a better word, lesson, would Patience have drawn from that?”

  Minnie watched him pace, then her gaze sharpened. “You say it’s this deep reason that’s keeping her from accepting your offer—I presume you’re therefore certain she would otherwise agree to your suit?”

  Vane shot her a glance. “Perfectly certain.”

  “Humph!” Minnie narrowed her eyes at his back. “If that’s the case,” she declared, her tone tending censorious, “then, as far as I can see, the matter’s perfectly obvious.”

  “Obvious?” Vane bit the word off as he rounded on the bed. “Would you care to share your insight with me?”

  “Well”—Minnie gestured—“it stands to reason. If Patience is willing to accept you at that level, then the odds are that she’s in love with you.”

  Vane didn’t blink. “So?”

  “So she watched her mother endure a life of misery through marrying a man she loved but who didn’t love her, a man who cared nothing for her love.”

  Vane frowned and looked down. He continued to pace.

  Eyes widening, Minnie raised her brows. “If you want to change Patience’s mind, you’ll have to convince her her love is safe with you—that you value it, rather than see it as a millstone ’round your neck.” She caught Vane’s eye. “You’ll have to convince her to trust you with her love.”

  Vane scowled. “There’s no reason she can’t trust me with her love. I wouldn’t behave like her father.”

  “I know that and you know that. But how does Patience know that?”

  Vane’s scowl turned black. He paced more aggressively.

  After a moment, Minnie shrugged and folded her hands. “Funny thing, trust. People with reasons not to trust can be very defensive. The best way to encourage them to give their trust is if the same trust—the complementary trust—is freely given to them.”

  Vane shot her a far from complimentary glance; Minnie raised her brows back. “If you trust her, then she’ll trust you. That’s what it comes down to.”

  Vane glowered—mutinously.

  Minnie nodded. Decisively. “You’ll have to trust her as you want her to trust you, if you’re going to win her to wife.” She eyed him measuringly. “Think you’re up to it?”

  * * *

  He honestly didn’t know.

  While he struggled with the answer to Minnie’s question, Vane hadn’t forgotten his other obligations. Half an hour after leaving Minnie, he was shown into the snug parlor of the house in Ryder Street shared by his uncle Martin’s sons. Gabriel, so Vane had been informed, was still abed. Lucifer, seated at the table, engaged in devouring a plate of roast beef, looked up as he entered.

  “Well!” Lucifer looked impressed. He glanced at the mantelpiece clock. “To what do we owe this unlooked-for—nothing less than startling—visit?” He waggled his brows. “News of an impending fixture?”

  “Contain your transports.” With an acid glance, Vane dropped into a chair and reached for the coffeepot. “The answer to your question is Minnie’s pearls.”

  Like shedding a skin, Lucifer dropped his inanity. “Minnie’s pearls?” His gaze grew distant. “Double strand, thirty inches if not more, exceptionally well-matched.” His frown deepened. “Drop earrings, too, weren’t there?”

&n
bsp; “There were.” Vane met his arrested gaze. “They’re all gone.”

  Lucifer blinked. “Gone—as in stolen?”

  “So we believe.”

  “When? And how?”

  Briefly, Vane explained. Lucifer listened intently. Each member of the Bar Cynster had some special area of interest; Lucifer’s specialty was gems and jewelry. “I came to ask,” Vane concluded, “if you could sound out the cognescenti. If the pearls have slipped through our net and been passed on, I assume they’ll pass through London?”

  Lucifer nodded. “I’d say so. Any fence worth his salt would try to interest the denizens of Hatton Garden.”

  “All of whom you know.”

  Lucifer smiled; the gesture was not humorous. “As you say. Leave it with me. I’ll report back as soon as I hear anything to the point.”

  Vane drained his coffee mug, then pushed back his chair. “Let me know the instant you hear.”

  * * *

  An hour later, Vane was back in Aldford Street. Collecting a still sleepy Patience, he installed her in his curricle and made straight for the park.

  “Any developments?” he asked as he headed his greys down one of the quieter avenues.

  Yawning, Patience shook her head. “The only change, if change it be, is that Alice has turned even more prudishly odd.” She glanced at Vane. “Alice declined Honoria’s invitation. When Minnie asked why, Alice glared, and declared you were all devils.”

  Vane’s lips twitched. “Strange to tell, she isn’t the first to have labeled us that.”

  Patience grinned. “But to answer your next question, I spoke with Sligo—despite being left all alone, Alice did nothing more exciting than repair early to her chamber, where she remained for the whole evening.”

  “Praying for deliverance from devils, no doubt. Did Whitticombe attend the ball?”

  “Indeed, yes. Whitticombe’s not affected by any puritanical streak. While not jovial, he was at least willing to be entertained. According to Gerrard, Whitticombe spent most of his time chatting with various senior Cynsters. Gerrard thought he was sounding out possible patrons, although for what project remained unclear. Of course, Gerrard’s not the most unbiased observer, not when it comes to Whitticombe.”