He set her, very gently, on the end of her bed. Frowning, he stood back. Hands on hips, he watched as Mrs. Henderson and Ada fussed with a mustard bath for her ankle and the makings of a poultice for her knee.

Apparently satisfied, Vane turned and trapped Patience's gaze. His eyes were hard. "For God's sake, do as you're told." With that, he strode for the door.

Utterly dumbfounded, Patience stared after him. She couldn't think of anything halfway suitable to hurl at him before he disappeared. The door clicked shut. She snapped her mouth shut, let herself fall back on the bed, and relieved her feelings with a teeth-gritted groan.

Ada fluttered over. "It'll be all right, dear." She patted Patience's hand. "We'll make it all better in a moment."

Patience set her teeth-and glared at the ceiling.

Mrs. Henderson came to wake her the next morning. Patience, lying on her back in the middle of her bed, was surprised to see the motherly housekeeper; she'd expected one of the maids.

Mrs. Henderson smiled as she drew the curtains wide. "I'll need to remove that poultice and bind up your knee."

Patience grimaced. She'd hoped to escape a bandage. She glanced idly at her clock, then stared. "It's only seven o'clock."

"Aye. We doubted you'd sleep all that well, what with the awkwardness."

"I couldn't turn over." Patience struggled to sit up.

"It won't be so bad tonight. Just a bandage should be enough from now on."

With the housekeeper's help, Patience got up. She sat patiently while Mrs. Henderson removed the poultice, clucked over her knee, then bound it up in a fresh bandage.

"I can't walk," Patience protested, the instant Mrs. Henderson helped her to her feet.

"Of course not. You must stay off your feet for a few days if that knee's to heal."

Patience closed her eyes and stifled a groan.

Mrs. Henderson helped her to wash and dress, then let her prop against the bed. "Now, would you like a tray up here, or would you rather go downstairs?"

To think of spending the entire day closeted in her room was bad enough; to be forced to do so would be torture. And if she was to go down the stairs, it had best be now, before anyone else was about. "Downstairs," Patience replied decisively.

"Right then."

To her amazement, Mrs. Henderson left her and headed for the door. Opening it, she put her head out, said something, then stood back, holding the door wide.

Vane walked in.

Patience stared.

"Good morning." His expression impassive, he crossed the room. Before she could formulate her thoughts, let alone the words to express them, he stooped and scooped her into his arms.

Patience swallowed her gasp. Just like last night-with one highly pertinent alteration.

Last night, she'd been wearing her cloak; its thick folds had muted his touch sufficiently to render it undisturbing. Now, clad in a morning gown of fine twill, even through her petticoats she could feel every one of his fingers, one set gripping her lower thigh, the others firm beneath her arm, close by the swell of her breast.

As he angled her through the door, then straightened and headed for the gallery, Patience tried to steady her breathing, and prayed her blush wasn't as vivid as it felt. Vane's gaze touched her face, then he looked ahead and started down the stairs.

Patience risked a glance at his face-the hard planes were still set, locked and stony, as they had been last night. His fascinating lips were a straight line.

She narrowed her eyes. "I'm not actually incapacitated, you know."

The glance he sent her was unreadable. He studied her eyes for an instant, then looked ahead once more. "Mrs. Henderson says you must keep off your feet. If I find you on them, I'll tie you to a daybed."

Patience's jaw dropped. She stared at him, but, reaching the bottom of the stairs, he didn't look her way. His boots rang on the hall tiles. Patience drew a deep breath, intending to make her views on his high-handedness plain, only to have to swallow her words; Vane swept into the breakfast parlor-Masters was there. He hurried to pull out the chair next to Vane's, angling it so it faced the head of the table. Gently, Vane deposited her in it. Masters rolled an ottoman into position; Vane set her injured ankle upon it.

"Would you like a cushion, miss?" Masters inquired.

What could she do? Patience conjured a grateful smile. "No, thank you, Masters." Her gaze shifted to Vane, standing in front of her. "You've been more than kind."

"Not at all, miss. Now, what would you like for breakfast?"

Between them, Vane and Masters saw her supplied with suitable nourishment-then watched over her as she ate. Patience bore with their male version of fussing as stocially as she could. And waited.

Vane's shoulders were coated with fine droplets of mist.

His hair was darker than usual, an occasional droplet glittering amid the thick locks. He also broke his fast, working steadily through a plate piled with various meats. Patience inwardly sniffed-he was obviously a carnivore.

Eventually, Masters returned to the kitchen, to fetch chafing dishes to keep the fare warm.

As his footsteps faded, Patience pounced. "You've been out investigating."

Vane looked up, then nodded and reached for his coffee cup.

"Well?" Patience prompted, when he simply sipped.

Lips compressing, he studied her face, then grudgingly informed her: "I thought there might be a footprint or two-a track I could follow." He grimaced. "The ground was wet enough, but the ruins are all either flags, rocks, or matted grass. Nothing to hold any impression."

"Hmm." Patience frowned.

Masters returned. He set down his tray, then crossed to Vane's side. "Grisham and Duggan are waiting in the kitchen, sir."

Vane nodded and drained his coffee cup. He set it down and pushed back his chair.

Patience caught his eye and held it. She clung to the contact; her unspoken question hung in the air.

Vane's face hardened. His lips thinned.

Patience narrowed her eyes. "If you don't tell me, I'll go to the ruins myself."

Vane narrowed his eyes back. He flicked a glance at Masters, then, somewhat grimly, looked back at Patience. "We're going to check for any sign that the Spectre came from outside. Hoofprints, anything to suggest he didn't come from the Hall itself."

Her expression relaxing, Patience nodded. "It's been so wet, you should find something."

"Precisely." Vane stood. "If there's anything to find."

Masters left the parlor, on a return trip to the kitchens. From the direction of the stairs came an airy voice, "Good morning, Masters. Is anyone about yet?"

Angela. They heard Masters's low-voiced answer; Vane looked down and met Patience's wide eyes.

"That's obviously my cue to depart."

Patience grinned. "Coward," she whispered, as he passed her chair.

A heartbeat later, he'd swung about and bent over her, his breath feathering the side of her neck. His strength flowed around her, surrounded her.

"Incidentally," he murmured, in his deepest purr, "I meant what I said about the daybed." He paused. "So, if you have the slightest inkling of self-preservation, you won't move from this chair." Cool, hard lips brushed her ear, then slid lower, to lightly caress, with just the barest touch, the sensitive skin beneath her jaw. Patience lost the fight and shivered; her lids lowered.

Vane tipped her chin up; his lips touched hers in a fleeting, achingly incomplete kiss. "I'll be back before breakfast is over."

Angela's footsteps sounded in the hall.

Patience opened her eyes to see Vane striding out of the parlor. She heard Angela's delighted greeting, then Vane's answering rumble, dying away as he continued striding. A second later, Angela appeared. She was pouting.