A Rake's Vow (49 page)

“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?”

Vane shook his head. “Not in our terms.”

Patience didn’t need to ask what their terms were. Devil got to his feet, and the room shrank. It was clear that, if Vane had said there’d be danger, Devil would have accompanied them. Instead, he grinned at Vane. “We’re going back to the Place tomorrow. Head our way once you’ve finished tidying up for Minnie.”

“Indeed.” Honoria seconded her husband’s edict. “We’ll need to discuss the arrangements.”

Patience stared at her. Honoria smiled, openly affectionate. Both Devil and Vane shot Honoria, then Patience, identical, unreadable, masculine looks, then exchanged a long-suffering glance.

“I’ll see you out.” Devil gestured to the hall.

Honoria came, too, Sebastian at her shoulder. While they stood chatting, waiting for Gerrard to fetch his coat, the baby, bored, fell to tugging Honoria’s earring. Noticing his wife’s difficulty, without pausing in his discussion with Vane, Devil reached out, scooped his heir out of Honoria’s arms, and settled Sebastian against his chest, so the diamond pin anchoring his cravat was level with the baby’s eyes.

Sebastian cooed, and happily grasped the winking pin in a chubby fist—and proceeded to destroy what had been a perfectly tied
Trone d’Amour
. Patience blinked, but neither Devil, Vane, nor Honoria seemed to find anything remarkable in the sight.

An hour later, as London fell behind and Vane whipped up his horses, Patience was still mulling over Devil, his wife, and his son. And the atmosphere that hung, a warm, welcoming glow, throughout their elegant house. Family—family feeling, family affection—of the sort the Cynsters took for granted, was something she’d never known.

Having a family like that was her dearest, deepest, wildest dream.

She glanced at Vane, beside her, his eyes fixed on the road, his face a mask of concentration as he drove his horses into the lowering night. Patience smiled softly. With him, her dream would come true; she’d made her decision—she knew it was right. To see him with their son, lounging by the fire like Devil, caring without even stopping to think—that was her new aim.

It was his aim, too—she knew without asking. He was a Cynster—that was their code. Family. The most important thing in their lives.

Vane glanced down. “Are you warm enough?”

Wedged between him and Gerrard, with, at his insistence, two rugs tucked firmly around her, she was in no danger of taking a chill. “I’m fine.” She smiled, and snuggled closer. “Just drive.”

He grunted, and did.

About them, an eerie twilight fell; thick, swirling clouds, pale grey, hung low. The air was bitter, the wind laced with ice.

Vane’s powerful greys drew the curricle on, wheels rolling smoothly over the macadam. They raced through the evening, into the night.

On toward Bellamy Hall, to the last act in the long drama, to the final curtain call for the Spectre and their mysterious thief. So they could bring the curtain down, send the players on their way—and then get on with living their lives.

Creating their dream.

I
t was full dark when Vane eased his horses off the road onto the back track leading to the Bellamy Hall stables. The night had turned icy, crisply chill; the horses’s breaths steamed in the still air.

“The fog will be heavy tonight,” Vane whispered.

Beside him, pressed close, Patience nodded.

The back barn, second of two, loomed ahead; Vane uttered a silent prayer. It went unanswered. As he rolled the curricle to a halt just inside the barn, he saw Minnie’s menagerie milling at the other entrance, peering toward the main barn, the stables, and the house beyond. They were all there, even, he noted, glimpsing a grey shadow darting about, Myst. He jumped to the ground, then lifted Patience down. The others came hurrying up, Myst in the lead.

Leaving Patience to deal with Minnie and the rest, Vane helped Duggan and Gerrard stable the greys. Then, grim-faced, he returned to the whispering group thronging the barn’s center.

Minnie immediately stated, “If you’re entertaining the notion of ordering us to wait in this drafty barn, you may save your breath.”

Her belligerence was reflected in her stance and was echoed by the usually practical Timms, who nodded direfully. Every member of Minnie’s ill-assorted ménage was likewise imbued with decisive determination.

The General summed up their mood. “Blighter’s kinged it over us all—need to see him exposed, don’t y’know.”

Vane scanned their faces, his features set. “Very well.” He spoke through clenched teeth. “But if any of you makes the
slightest
sound, or are so witless as to alert Colby or Alice to our presence
before
we’ve gained sufficient details to prove beyond doubt who the Spectre and the thief are . . .”—he let the moment stretch as he scanned their faces—“they’ll answer to me. Is that understood?”

A flurry of nodding heads replied.

“You’ll need to do exactly as I say.” He looked pointedly at Edmond and Henry. “No bright ideas, no sudden elaborations to the plan.”

Edmond nodded. “Right.”

“Indubitably,” Henry swore.

Vane glanced around again. They all looked back, meek and earnest. He gritted his teeth and grabbed Patience’s hand. “Come on, then. And
no
talking.”

He strode for the main barn. Halfway there, shielded from the house by the bulk of the stables, he halted, and, rigidly impatient, waited for the others to catch up.

“Don’t walk on the gravel or on the paths,” he instructed. “Keep to the grass. It’s foggy; sound travels well in fog. We can’t assume they’re snug in the parlor—they might be in the kitchen, or even outside.”

He turned and strode on, blocking out all thoughts of how Minnie was coping. She wouldn’t thank him, and, at the moment, he needed to concentrate on other things.

Like where Grisham was.

Leading Patience, with Gerrard close behind, he reached the stables. Grisham’s quarters gave off it. “Wait here,” Vane whispered, his lips close by Patience’s ear. “Stop the others here. I’ll return in a moment.”

With that, he slid into the shadows. The last thing he wanted was Grisham imagining they were intruders and sounding the alarm.

But Grisham’s room was empty; Vane rejoined his ill-assorted hunting party at the rear of the dark stables. Duggan had checked the grooms’ rooms. He shook his head and mouthed, “No one here.” Vane nodded. Minnie had mentioned she’d given most of the staff leave.

“We’ll try the side door.” They could force the window of the back parlor—that wing was farthest from the library, Whitticombe’s favorite bolt-hole. “Follow me, not too close together. And remember—
no sound
.”

They all nodded mutely.

Swallowing a futile curse, Vane made for the shrubbery. The high hedges and grassed paths eased his mind of one worry, but as he and Patience, Duggan and Gerrard at their backs, neared the place where the hedges gave way to open lawn, a light flashed across their path.

They froze. The light disappeared.

“Wait here.” On the whisper, Vane edged forward until he could look across the lawn. Beyond lay the house, the side door closed. But a light was bobbing up from the ruins—the Spectre was walking tonight.