They made it to the front hall without mishap, and set her carefully on her feet on the tiles. By then Patience was having second thoughts-or rather, she would have entertained second thoughts, if she hadn't been so exercised by the news that Vane had taken Angela to Northampton.

That Angela had enjoyed the drive-would even now be enjoying the drive-she herself had fantasized over, but had, for the greater good, not sought to claim.

She was not in a very good mood.

"The back parlor," she declared. Leaning on both Henry's and Edmond's arms, she hobbled along between them, trying not to wince. Penwick rattled on, recounting the number of bushels "their little patch" had produced, his matrimonial assumptions waving like flags in his words. Patience gritted her teeth. Once they gained the back parlor, she would dismiss them all-and then, very carefully, massage her knee.

No one would look for her in the back parlor.

"You're not supposed to be on your feet."

The statement, uttered in a flat tone, filled the sudden gap where Penwick's babble had been.

Patience looked up, then had to tip her chin higher-Vane was standing directly in front of her. He was wearing his caped greatcoat; the wind had ruffled his hair. Behind him, the side door stood open. Light streamed into the dim corridor, but didn't reach her. He blocked it-a very large, very male figure, made even larger by the capes of his greatcoat, spread wide by his broad shoulders. She couldn't see the expression on his face, in his eyes-she didn't need to. She knew his face was hard, his eyes steel grey, his lips thin.

Irritation poured from him in waves; in the confines of the corridor, it was a tangible force. "I did warn you," he said, his tones clipped, "what would happen."

Patience opened her lips; all she uttered was a gasp.

She was no longer on her feet, she was in his arms.

"Just a minute!"

"I say-!"

"Wait-!"

The ineffectual exclamations died behind them. Vane's swift strides had them back in the front hall before Penwick, Edmond, and Henry could do more than collectively blink.

Catching her breath, Patience glared. "Put me down!"

Vane glanced, very briefly, into her face. "No." He started up the stairs.

Patience drew in a breath-two maids were coming down the stairs. She smiled as they passed. And then they were in the gallery. It had taken the others ten full minutes to get her downstairs; Vane had accomplished the reverse in under a minute. "The other gentlemen," she acidly informed him, "were helping me to the back parlor."

"Sapskulls."

Patience's breasts swelled. "I wanted to be in the back parlor!"

"Why?"

Why? Because then, if he came looking for her after his fine day out at Northampton with Angela, he wouldn't have known where she was and might have been worried? "Because," Patience tartly replied, folding her arms defensively across her breasts, "I've grown sick of the upstairs parlor." The parlor he'd arranged for her. "I'm bored there."

Vane glanced at her as he juggled her to open the door. "Bored?"

Patience looked into his eyes and wished she'd used some other word. Bored was, apparently, a red rag to a rake. "It's not long to dinner, perhaps you should just take me to my room."

The door swung wide. Vane stepped through, then kicked it shut behind them. And smiled. "There's more than an hour before you need change. I'll carry you to your room-later."

His eyes had narrowed, silvery with intent. His voice had changed to his dangerous purr. Patience wondered if any of the other three would have the courage to follow-she couldn't believe they would. Ever since Vane had so coldly annihilated their senseless accusations of Gerrard, both Edmond and Henry treated him with respect-the sort of respect accorded dangerous carnivores. And Penwick knew Vane disliked him-intensely.

Vane advanced on the daybed. Patience eyed it with increasing misgiving. "What do you think you're doing?"

"Tying you to the daybed."

She tried to humph, tried to ignore the premonition tickling her spine. "Don't be silly-you just said that as a threat." Would it be wise to wind her arms about his neck?

He reached the back of the bed, and stopped. "I never issue threats." His words floated down to her as she stared at the cushions. "Only warnings."

With that, he swung her over the wrought-iron back and set her down with her spine against it. Patience immediately squirmed, trying to twist around. One large palm, splayed across her midriff, kept her firmly in place.

"And then," Vane continued, in the same, dangerous tone, "we'll have to see what we can do to… distract you."

"Distract me?" Patience stopped her futile wriggling.

"Hmm." His words feathered her ear. "To alleviate your boredom."

There was enough sensual weight in the words to temporarily freeze her wits-capture them and hold them in fascinated speculation-just long enough for him to grab a scarf from the pile of mending left in the basket by the daybed, thread it through the holes in the swirls of the ornate back and cinch it tight about her waist.

"What…?" Patience looked down as his hand disappeared and the scarf drew tight. Then she glared. "This is ridiculous." She tugged at the scarf and tried to shift forward, but he'd already secured the knot. The silk gave just so far, then held. Vane strolled around to face her; Patience shot him a dagger glance-she didn't want to know about the smile on his lips. Compressing her own, she lifted her arms and reached over the back of the bed. The ornately worked railing reached halfway up her back-while she could lift her arms over it, she couldn't reach very far down. She couldn't touch his knot, let alone untie it.

Eyes narrowed, Patience looked up; Vane was watching her, a cool smile of ineffable male superiority etched on his too-fascinating lips. She narrowed her eyes to slits. "You will never live this down."

The curve of his lips deepened. "You're not uncomfortable. Just sit still for the next hour." His gaze sharpened. "It'll do your knee good."

Patience gritted her teeth. "I'm not some infant who needs to be restrained!"

"On the contrary it's clear you need someone to exercise some control over you. You heard Mrs. Henderson-four full days. Your four days is up tomorrow."

Astounded, Patience stared at him. "And just who appointed you my keeper?"

She caught his gaze, held the contact defiantly-and waited. His eyes narrowed. "I feel guilty. I should have sent you back to the house as soon as I found you in the ruins."

All expression drained from Patience's face. "You wish you'd sent me back to the house?"

Vane frowned. "I feel guilty because you were following me when you got hurt."

Patience humphed and crossed her arms beneath her breasts. "You told me it was my fault for not staying where you'd told me to stay. Anyway, if Gerrard at seventeen is old enough to be responsible for his own actions, why would it be otherwise with me?"

Vane looked down at her; Patience felt sure she'd won her point. Then he raised an arrogant brow. "You're the one with the wrenched knee. And the twisted ankle."

Patience refused to surrender. "My ankle's fine." She put her nose in the air. "And my knee's just a bit stiff. If I could test it-"

"You can test it tomorrow. Who knows?" Vane's expression hardened. "You might need an extra day or two's rest after today's excitement."

Patience narrowed her eyes. "Don't," she advised, "even suggest it."

Vane raised both brows, then, turning away, prowled to the window. Patience watched him, and tried to locate the anger she felt sure she should feel. It simply wasn't to be found. Stifling a disaffected humph, she settled more comfortably. "So what did you discover in Northampton?"