Vane carried her to the daybed and carefully lowered her onto it. He plumped the pillows, arranging them supportively about her.

Patience lay back, watching as he settled a tapestry-covered cushion under her sore ankle. "Just what are your intentions over the Spectre?"

Vane met her gaze, then, raising one brow, strolled back to the door-and turned the key in the lock. Returning with the same long-strided prowl, he sat on the bed, beside her hip, bracing one hand on the daybed's iron back. "The Spectre now knows that he was followed last night-that, but for your untimely accident, he might well have been caught."

Patience had the grace to blush.

"All the household," Vane continued, his eyes locking on hers, "the Spectre included, are coming to the realization that I know the Hall well, possibly better than they do. I'm a real threat to the Spectre-I think he'll lie low and wait for me to depart before making another appearance."

Patience made an effort to live up to her name; she pressed her lips tightly together.

Vane smiled understandingly. "Consequently, if we're to lure the Spectre to reveal himself, I suspect it would be wise to let it appear that I'm still willing to entertain the notion that Gerrard-the obvious candidate-is to blame."

Patience frowned. She studied the cool grey of his eyes, then opened her lips.

"I would suggest," Vane said, before she could speak, "that it's not going to hurt Gerrard to let the household think what they like, at least for the immediate future."

Patience's frown deepened. "You didn't hear what they said." She crossed her arms beneath her breasts. "The General called him a boy."

Vane's brows rose. "Highly insensitive, I agree-but I think you're underestimating Gerrard. Once he knows all the people he cares about know he's innocent, he won't worry over what the others think. I suspect he'll view it as an exciting game-a conspiracy to catch the Spectre."

Patience narrowed her eyes. "You mean that's how you'll present it to him."

Vane grinned. "I'll suggest he responds to any aspersions cast his way with scornful boredom." He raised his brows. "Perhaps he can cultivate a superior sneer?"

Patience tried to eye him with disapproval. She was sure that, as Gerrard's guardian, she shouldn't approve of such plans. Yet she did; she could see Vane's plan was the fastest way to resuscitate Gerrard's confidence, and that, above all, was her primary concern. "You're rather good at this, aren't you?" And she didn't just mean his reading of Gerrard.

Vane's grin converted to a rakish smile. "I'm rather good at lots of things."

His voice had lowered to a rumbling purr. He leaned closer.

Patience tried, very hard, to ignore the vise slowly closing about her chest. She kept her eyes on his, drawing ever nearer, determined that she wouldn't-absolutely would not-allow her gaze to drop to his lips. As her heartbeat deepened, she raised one brow challengingly. "Such as?"

Kissing-he was very, very good at kissing.

By the time Patience reached that conclusion, she was utterly breathless-and utterly enthralled by the heady feelings slowly spiraling through her. Vane's confident possession of her lips, her mouth, left her giddy-pleasurably so. His hard lips moved on hers, and she softened, not just her lips, but every muscle, every limb. Slow heat washed through her, a tide of simple delight that seemed to have no greater meaning, no deeper import. It was all pleasure, simple pleasure.

With a mental sigh, she lifted her arms and draped them over his shoulders. He shifted closer. Patience thrilled to the slow surge of his tongue against hers. Boldly, she returned the caress; the muscles beneath her hands tensed. Emboldened, she let her lips firm against his, and reveled in his immediate response. Hard transmuted to harder; lips, muscles, all became more definite, more sharply defined.

It was fascinating-she became softer-he became harder.

And behind his hardness came heat-a heat they both shared. It rose like a fever, turning the swirling pleasure hot. Beyond the caress of his lips, he hadn't touched her, yet every nerve in her body was heating, simmering with sensation. The warm tide spread, swelled; the temperature increased.

And she was flushed, restless-wanting.

The slide of hard fingers over her breasts made her gasp-not in panic but pure shock. Shock at the shaft of sheer delight that speared through her, the sharp tingling that spread over her skin. The fingers firmed, possessively cupping her soft, oddly swollen flesh-which immediately swelled more. His hand closed, fingers kneading; her heated flesh firmed, tingling and tight.

The hot tangling of their tongues and the heat of his hand proved utterly distracting. When he stroked the peak of her breast, Patience gasped again. With something akin to amazement, her senses acutely focused on his fingertips, she marveled at her response to his touch, at the flaring heat that seared her, at the tight niching of her nipples.

She'd never imagined such sensations existed; she could barely believe they were real. Yet the caresses continued, thrilling her, heating her-she had to wonder what else she didn't know.

What else she had yet to experience.

With every ounce of expertise at his command, Vane deliberately drew her deeper. Her total lack of resistance would have made him wonder, if he hadn't earlier seen the curiousity, the calm calculated intention in her eyes. She was willing, even eager-the knowledge stirred his passions powerfully. He held them in check, aware that she was no wanton, that she'd never been down this road before-and that, despite her guileless confidence, her openness-her implicit trust was a fragile thing which could all too easily be shattered by overly aggressive loving.

She was naive, innocent-she needed to be loved tenderly, coaxed to passion gently, savored slowly.

As he was savoring her now, the softness of her mouth his to enjoy, her breast firm under his fondling hand. Her innocence was refreshing-heady, addictive, entrancing.

Angling his head, Vane deepened the kiss for an instant, then drew back, releasing her lips. But not her breast.

He waited, fingers stroking the swollen mounds, first one, then the other, waiting… until he saw her eyes glint beneath her lashes. He caught her gaze, then slowly, deliberately, lifted his fingers to the top button of her bodice.

Patience's eyes widened under her heavy lids; her breasts swelled as she drew in a shocked breath. The sudden release of the top button was almost a relief. Her senses reeled as his fingers moved down-to the next button; she felt every slow beat of her heart, pulsing under her skin, as, one after another, the tiny pearl rounds slipped their moorings.

And her bodice slowly opened.

For one fraught instant, she wasn't sure what she wanted-whether she even wanted to know what came next. The hesitation lasted only a second-the second it took for Vane to slowly brush aside the soft fabric of her bodice, for his fingers to slide knowingly in.

One gentle tug, and her chemise slid down. Then came the first tantalizing touch of his fingertips on her skin; Patience's senses whirled. Aghast, agape, utterly enthralled, her every nerve tingled to his touch, to the caress of his palm, to those long, hard fingers as they closed about her breast.

Vane watched her reaction from under heavy lids, watched flaring passion light her eyes. Sparks of pure gold flashed in the hazel depths as he gently kneaded, then sent his fingers gliding over her silken skin. He knew he should kiss her, distract her, from what came next-but the compulsion to witness, to know her reaction as she learned what he would do, as he filled his senses with her, waxed strong.

Deliberately, he shifted his hand; his fingers closed confidently about one tightly budded nipple.