Patience swallowed a disgusted humph. Just her luck-if she and Gerrard had to meet a Cynster, why did it have to be the most elegant one? Fate was playing games with her. She'd accepted Minnie's invitation to join her household for the autumn and winter and then to go to London for the Season, sure that fate was smiling benevolently, intervening to smooth her path. There was no doubt she'd needed help.

She was no fool. She'd seen months ago that, although she'd been nursemaid, surrogate mother, and guardian to Gerrard all his life, she could not provide the final direction he needed to cross the last threshold into adulthood.

She couldn't be his mentor.

Nowhere in his life had there been a suitable gentleman on whose behaviour and standards Gerrard could base his own. The chances of discovering such a gentleman in deepest Derbyshire were slight. When Minnie's invitation had arrived, informing her that there were gentlemen staying at Bellamy Hall, it had seemed like fate's hand at work. She'd accepted the invitation with alacrity, organized for the Grange to run without her, and headed south with Gerrard.

She'd spent the journey formulating a description of the man she would accept as Gerrard's mentor-the one she would trust with her brother's tender youth. By the time they reached Bellamy Hall, she had her criteria firmly fixed.

By the end of their first evening, she'd concluded that none of the gentlemen present met her stringent requirements. While each possessed qualities of which she approved, none was free of traits of which she disapproved. Most especially, none commanded her respect, complete and absolute, which criterion she'd flagged as the most crucial.

Philosophically, she'd shrugged and accepted fate's decree, and set her sights on London. Potential aspirants to the position of Gerrard's mentor would clearly be more numerous there. Comfortable and secure, she and Gerrard had settled into Minnie's household.

Now comfort and security were things of the past-and would remain so until Vane Cynster left.

At that instant, the drawing-room door opened; together with Mrs. Chadwick and Angela, Patience turned to watch the gentlemen stroll in. They were led by Whitticombe Colby, looking insufferably superior as usual; he made for the chaise on which Minnie and Timms sat, with Alice in a chair beside them. Edgar and the General followed Whitticombe through the door; by mutual consent, they headed for the fireplace, beside which Edith Swithins, vaguely smiling, sat tatting industriously.

Her gaze glued to the door, Patience waited-and saw Edmond and Henry amble in. Beneath her breath, she swore, then coughed to disguise the indiscretion. Damn Vane Cynster.

On the thought, he strolled in, Gerrard by his side.

Patience's mental imprecations reached new heights. Mrs. Chadwick had not lied-Vane Cynster was the very epitome of an elegant gentleman. His hair, burnished chestnut several shades darker than her own, glowed softly in the candlelight, wave upon elegant wave sitting perfectly about his head. Even across the room, the strength of his features registered; clear-cut, hard-edged, forehead, nose, jaw, and cheeks appeared sculpted out of rock. Only his lips, long and thin with just a hint of humor to relieve their austerity, and the innate intelligence and, yes, wickedness, that lit his grey eyes, gave any hint of mere mortal personality-all else, including, Patience grudgingly acknowledged, his long, lean body, belonged to a god.

She didn't want to see how well his grey coat of Bath superfine hugged his broad shoulders, how its excellent cut emphasized his broad chest and much narrower hips. She didn't want to notice how precise, how wondrously elegant his white cravat, tied in a simple "Ballroom," appeared. And as for his legs, long muscles flexing as he moved, she definitely didn't need to notice them.

He paused just inside the door; Gerrard stopped beside him. As she watched, Vane made some smiling comment, illustrating with a gesture so graceful it set her teeth on edge. Gerrard, face alight, eyes glowing, laughed and responded eagerly.

Vane turned his head; across the room, his eyes met hers.

Patience could have sworn someone had punched her in the stomach; she simply couldn't breathe. Holding her gaze, Vane lifted one brow-challenge flashed between them, subtle yet deliberate, quite impossible to mistake.

Patience stiffened. She dragged in a desperate breath and turned. And plastered a brittle smile on her lips as Edmond and Henry reached them.

"Isn't Mr. Cynster going to join us?" Angela, oblivious of her mother's sharp frown, leaned around to stare past Henry to where Vane and Gerrard still stood talking by the door. "I'm sure he'd be much more entertained talking to us than to Gerrard."

Patience bit her lip; she did not agree with Angela, but she fervently hoped Angela would get her wish. For an instant, it seemed she might; Vane's lips curved as he made some comment to Gerrard, then he turned-and strolled to Minnie's side.

It was Gerrard who joined them.

Hiding her relief, Patience welcomed him with a serene smile-and kept her gaze well away from the chaise. Gerrard and Edmond immediately fell to plotting the next scene in Edmond's melodrama-a common diversion for them. Henry, one eye on Patience, made a too-obvious effort to indulgently encourage them; his attitude, and the too-warm look in his eye, irked Patience, as it always did.

Angela, of course, pouted, not an especially pretty sight. Mrs. Chadwick, inured to her daughter's witlessness, sighed and surrendered; she and Angela, now beaming with delight, crossed to join the group about the chaise.

Patience was content to remain where she was, even if that meant withstanding Henry's ardent gaze.

Fifteen minutes later, the tea trolley arrived. Minnie poured, chatting all the while. From the corner of her eye, Patience noted Vane Cynster discoursing amiably with Mrs. Chadwick; Angela, largely ignored, was threatening to pout again. Timms looked up and offered some comment which made everyone laugh; Patience saw her aunt's wise companion smile affectionately up at Vane. Of all the ladies about the chaise, only Alice Colby appeared unimpressed-not, however, unaffected. To Patience's eyes, Alice was even more tense than usual, as if holding back her disapproval by sheer force of will. The object of her ire, however, seemed to find her invisible.

Inwardly humphing, Patience tuned her ears to her brother's conversation, currently revolving about the "light" in the ruins. Undoubtedly a safer topic than whatever glib sally caused the next wave of laughter from the group about the chaise.

"Henry!"

Mrs. Chadwick's call had Henry turning, then he smiled and nodded to Patience. "If you'll excuse me, my dear, I'll return in a moment." He glanced at Gerrard. "Don't want to miss any of these scintillating plans."

Knowing full well Henry had no real interest in Gerrard or in Edmond's drama, Patience simply smiled back.

"I'd actually favor doing that scene with the arch in the background." Gerrard frowned, clearly picturing it. "The proportions are better."

"No, no," Edmond returned. "It has to be in the cloister." Looking up, he grinned-at a point past Patience. "Hello-are we summoned?"

"Indeed."

The single word, uttered in a voice so deep it literally rumbled, rang in Patience's ears like a knell. She swung around.

A teacup in each hand, Vane, his gaze on Edmond and Gerrard, nodded toward the tea trolley. "Your presence is requested."

"Right-ho!" With a cheery smile, Edmond took himself off; without hesitation, Gerrard followed.

Leaving Patience alone, stranded on an island of privacy in the corner of the drawing room with the one gentleman in the entire company she heartily wished at the devil.