His hands closed about her waist.

She almost gasped when he lifted her from the saddle as if she weighed no more than a child. He didn't swing her down, but slowly lowered her to earth, setting her on her feet beside the mare. Less than a foot from him. He held her between his hands; she felt the long fingers flex about her, fingertips on either side of her spine, thumbs against her sensitive midriff. She felt… captured. Vulnerable. His face was a hard mask, his expression intent. Her eyes locked on his, Patience felt the cobbles beneath her feet, but her world continued to spin.

It was he-the source of those peculiar sensations. She'd thought it must be, but she'd never felt such sensations before-and those streaking through her now were far stronger than those she'd felt earlier. It was his touch that did it-the touch of his eyes, the touch of his hands. He didn't even need to contact bare skin to make every square inch she possessed react.

Patience dragged in a breath. A flicker at the edge of her vision made her shift her focus. To Gerrard. She saw him dismount, exactly as Vane had done. Grinning, brimming with prideful good humor, Gerrard crossed the cobbles toward them.

Vane turned, smoothly releasing her.

Patience dragged in another breath and fought to steady her giddy head. She plastered a bright smile on her lips for Gerrard's benefit-and continued to breathe deeply.

"A wily move, Cynster." Edmond, grinning good-naturedly, dismounted in the customary way. Patience noted it was a great deal slower than the way Vane had achieved the same end.

Henry also dismounted; Patience got the impression he hadn't liked seeing Vane lift her down. But he directed one of his hearty smiles at Gerrard. "Congratulations, my boy. You beat us fairly and squarely."

Which was laying it on a great deal too thick. Patience glanced swiftly at Gerrard, expecting some less than gracious response. Instead, her brother, standing beside Vane, merely raised one brow-and smiled cynically.

Patience gritted her teeth; her jaw set. Of one thing she was quite sure-she wasn't overreacting.

Vane Cynster was going too far, far too fast-at least with respect to Gerrard. As for the rest-his teasing of her senses-she suspected he was merely amusing himself without any serious intent. As she was not susceptible to seduction, there seemed no reason to call him to account for that.

Over Gerrard, however…

She mulled over the situation as the horses were led away. For a few moments, all four men stood together in the center of the yard; a little to one side, she studied them-and acknowledged she could hardly blame Gerrard for choosing Vane to emulate. He was the dominant male.

As if sensing her regard, he turned. One brow quirked, then, inherently graceful, he offered her his arm. Patience steeled herself and took it. As a group, they walked to the house; Edmond left them at the side door. They climbed the main stairs, then Gerrard and Henry turned aside, heading for their rooms. Still on Vane's arm, Patience strolled into the gallery. Her room was down the same corridor as Minnie's. Vane's was on the floor below.

There wasn't any point voicing her disapproval unless there was a real need. Patience paused in the archway leading from the gallery, from where they would go their separate ways. Drawing her hand from Vane's arm, she looked up, into his face. "Are you planning a long stay?"

He looked down at her. "That," he stated, his voice very low, "depends largely on you."

Patience looked into his grey eyes-and froze. Every muscle was paralyzed, all the way to her toes. The idea that he was amusing himself, without any real intent, died-slain by the look hi his eyes.

The intent in his eyes.

It couldn't have been clearer had he put it into words.

Bravely, drawing on an inner reserve she hadn't known she possessed, she lifted her chin. And forced her lips to curve, just enough for a cool smile. "I think you'll find you're mistaken."

She uttered the words softly, and saw his jaw lock. A premonition of intense danger swept her; she didn't dare say anything more. With her smile still in place, she haughtily inclined her head. Sweeping about, she passed through the arch and into the safety of the corridor beyond.

Narrow-eyed, Vane watched her go, watched her hips sway as she glided along. He remained in the archway until she reached her door. He heard it shut behind her.

Slowly, very slowly, his features eased, then a Cynster smile tugged at his lips. If he couldn't escape fate, then, ipso facto, neither could she. Which meant she would be his. The prospect grew more alluring by the minute.

It was time to act.

Later that evening, waiting in the drawing room for the gentlemen to reappear, Patience found it increasingly difficult to live up to her name; inside, she mentally paced. Beside her, Angela and Mrs. Chadwick, occupying a settee, were discussing the best trim for Angela's new morning gown. Nodding vaguely, Patience didn't even hear them. She had weightier matters on her mind.

A dull ache throbbed behind her temples; she hadn't slept well. Worries had consumed her-worry over the increasingly pointed accusations aimed at Gerrard, worry over Vane Cynster's influence on her impressionable brother.

Added to that, she now had to cope with the distraction occasioned by her odd reaction to Vane Cynster, "elegant gentleman." He'd affected her from the first; when she'd finally succumbed to sleep, he'd even followed her into her dreams.

Patience narrowed her eyes against the ache behind them.

"I think the cerise braid would be much more dashing." Angela threatened a pout. "Don't you think so, Patience?"

The gown they were discussing was palest yellow. "I think," Patience said, summoning up what she could of that virtue, "that the aquamarine ribbon your mother suggested would be much more the thing."

Angela's pout materialized; Mrs. Chadwick promptly warned her daughter of the unwisdom of courting wrinkles. The pout magically vanished.

Drumming her fingers on the arm of her chair, Patience frowned at the door and returned to her preoccupation-to rehearsing her warning to Vane Cynster. It was the first time she'd had to warn any male off-she would much rather she didn't have to start now, but she couldn't let things go on as they were. Quite aside from her promise to her mother, tendered on her deathbed, that she would always keep Gerrard safe, she simply couldn't countenance Gerrard getting hurt in such a way-by being used as a pawn to win her smiles.

Of course, they all did it to some degree. Penwick treated Gerrard as a child, playing to her protectiveness. Edmond used his art as a link to Gerrard, to demonstrate his affinity with her brother. Henry pretended an avuncular interest patently lacking in real emotion. Vane, however, went one better-he actually did things. Actively protected Gerrard, actively engaged her brother's interest, actively interacted-all with the avowed intention of making her grateful, of placing her in his debt.

She didn't like it. They were all using Gerrard, but the only one from whom Gerrard stood in danger of taking any hurt was Vane. Because the only one Gerrard liked, admired, potentially worshiped, was Vane.

Patience surreptitiously massaged her left temple. If they didn't finish with the port soon, she would have a raging migraine. She would probably have one anyway-after her disturbed night, followed by the surprises of the breakfast table, capped by the revelations of their ride, she'd spent most of the afternoon thinking of Vane. Which was enough to warp the strongest mind.

He distracted her on so many levels she'd given up trying to untangle her thoughts. There was, she felt sure, only one way to deal with him. Directly and decisively.