All he had to do was convince her of that fact. Find out what hurdle was preventing her from marrying him and overcome it. Regardless of whether in order to do so he had to act in the teeth of her trenchant opposition.

As the roofs of Northampton rose before them, Vane smiled grimly. He'd always thrived on challenges.

Two hours later, as he stood on the lawn of Bellamy Hall and looked up at the dark window of Patience's bedchamber, he reminded himself of that fact.

It was after one o'clock; the house lay in darkness. Duggan had decided to sleep in the stables; Vane was damned if he'd do the same. But he'd personally checked all the locks throughout the Hall; there was no way inside other than by plying the front knocker-guaranteed to wake not only Masters, but the entire household.

Grimly, Vane studied Patience's third-floor window and the ancient ivy that grew past it. It was, after all, her fault that he was out here.

By the time he was halfway up, he'd run out of curses. He was too old for this. Thankfully, the thick central stem of the ivy passed close by Patience's window. As he neared the stone ledge, he suddenly realized he didn't know if she was a sound or a light sleeper. How hard could he knock on the pane while clinging to the ivy? And how much noise could he make without alerting Minnie or Timms, whose rooms lay farther along the wing?

To his relief, he didn't need to find out. He was almost up to the sill when he saw a grey shape behind the glass. The next instant, the shape shifted and stretched-Myst, he realized, reaching for the latch. He heard a scrape, then the window obligingly popped open.

Myst nudged it further with her head, and peered down.

"Meew!"

Uttering a heartfelt prayer to the god of cats, Vane climbed up. Pushing the window wide, he hooked an arm over the top of it and managed to get one leg over the sill. The rest was easy.

Safe on solid timber, he bent down and ran his fingers along Myst's spine, then rubbed between her ears. She purred furiously, then, tail held high, the tip twitching, stalked off toward the fire. Vane straightened, and heard rustling from the direction of the huge four-poster bed. He was dusting leaves and twigs from his shoulders and the skirts of his greatcoat when Patience appeared out of the shadows. Her hair lay, a rippling bronze veil, over her shoulders; she clutched a shawl around her, over her fine lawn nightgown.

Her eyes were bigger than saucers. "What are you doing here?"

Vane raised his brows, and considered the way her nightgown clung to the long limbs beneath. Slowly, he let his gaze travel upward, until his eyes reached her face. "I've come to take you up on your offer."

If he'd had any doubt over his reading of her, the utter blankness that swamped her expression would have dispelled it.

"Ah-" Eyes still wide, she blinked at him. "Which offer is that?"

Vane decided it was wiser not to answer. He shrugged off his greatcoat and dropped it on the window seat. His coat followed. Patience watched with increasing agitation; Vane pretended not to notice. He crossed to the hearth and crouched to tend the fire.

Hovering behind him, Patience literally wrung her hands-something she'd never done in her life before-and frantically wondered which tack to take now. Then she realized Vane was building up the fire. She frowned. "I don't need a roaring blaze now."

"You'll be glad of it soon enough."

She would? Patience stared at Vane's broad back, and tried not to notice the play of his muscles beneath the fine linen. Tried not to think of what he might mean, what he might be planning. Then she remembered his greatcoat. Frowning, she drifted back to the window seat, stepping lightly, her feet cold on the bare boards. She ran a hand over the capes of the greatcoat-they were damp. She looked out of the window; the river mist was rolling in.

"Where have you been?" Had he been searching for the Spectre?

"To Bedford and back."

"Bedford?" Patience noticed the open window. She swung around to face him. "How did you get in here?" When she'd woken and seen him, he'd been standing in the moonlight looking down at Myst.

Vane glanced back at her. "Through the window."

He turned back to the fire; Patience turned back to the window. "Through the…?" She looked out-and down. "Good Lord-you might have been killed!"

"I wasn't."

"How did you get in? I'm sure I locked this window."

"Myst opened it."

Patience turned to stare at her cat, curled in her favorite position atop a small table to one side of the fire. Myst was observing Vane with feline approval-he was, after all, creating a nice blaze.

He was also creating utter confusion.

"What's going on?" Patience arrived back before the hearth just as Vane rose. He turned to her, and reached for her, helping her the last step into his arms.

Muted by nothing more than fine lawn, his touch seared her. Patience gasped. She looked up. "What-"

Vane sealed her lips with his, and drew her fully against him. Her lips parted instantly; inwardly Patience cursed. His tongue, his lips, his hands, all started to weave their magic. She made a wild mental grab-for shock, surprise, anger, even witless distraction-anything that would give her the strength to distance herself from… this.

From the drugging wonder of his kiss, the immediate yearning that swelled within her. She knew precisely what was happening, knew precisely where he was leading her. And was powerless to prevent it. Not while all of her body-and all of her heart-was madly in alt at the prospect.

When not even hauteur would come to her aid, she gave up all resistance and kissed him back. Hungrily. Had it only been this morning she'd had her last taste of him? If so, she was addicted. Beyond recall.

Her hands slid up, over his shoulders; her fingers found their way into his thick hair. Breasts swelling, nipples sensitive against the hard wall of his chest, Patience abruptly drew back, desperate for air.

She gasped as his lips slid down her throat, then fastened hotly over the spot where her pulse thundered. She shuddered and closed her eyes. "Why are you here?"

Her words were a thread of silver in the moonlight. His answer was deep as the deepest shadows.

"You offered to be my inamorata, remember?"

It was as she'd thought; he wasn't going to let her go yet. He hadn't finished with her, had not yet had his fill of her. Eyes closed tight, Patience knew she should fight. Instead, her willful heart sang. "Why did you go to Bedford?" Had he gone in search of information, or because…

"Because I lost my senses. I found them and came back."

Patience was very glad he, busy branding her throat with his lips, couldn't see the smile that curved hers-soft, gentle-utterly besotted. His words confirmed her reading of his character, his reactions; he had indeed been hurt and angry-furious enough to leave her. She would have thought a great deal less of him if, after all she'd said in the conservatory, he hadn't felt that way. As for the need that had brought him back to her-the desire and passion she sensed flowing so hotly in his veins-that, she could only be grateful for.

He raised his head, his lips returned to hers. One hand caressing his lean cheek, Patience welcomed him back. The kiss deepened; desire and passion blended and swelled. When next he lifted his head, they were both heated through-both very aware of what it was that shimmered hotly about them.

Their gazes locked. They were both breathing rapidly, both totally focused.

Feeling the touch of cooler air below her throat, Patience looked down. And saw Vane's fingers quickly, deliberately, slipping free the tiny buttons down the front of her nightgown. She studied the sight for an instant, aware of the throbbing in her blood, of the beat that seemed to vibrate about them. As his fingers passed the point between her breasts, and moved lower, she drew in a shuddering breath.