A Rake's Vow (42 page)

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.”

S
ligo 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 started 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?”

“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?”