What he got was a frown. "Well, I do thank you if you tried to set them straight." Patience glanced up to where Gerrard was still communing with the horizon. "But you can see why I didn't want to make a fuss over my vase-they'd only blame Gerrard."

Vane raised his brows noncommittally. "Whatever. If anything more disappears, tell me, or Minnie, or Timms."

Patience looked at him and frowned. "What-"

"Who's this?" Vane nodded at a horseman cantering toward them.

Patience looked, then sighed. "Hartley Penwick." Although her expression remained bland, her tone grimaced. "He's the son of one of Minnie's neighbors."

"Well met, my dear Miss Debbington!" Pen wick, a well-set gentleman attired in tweed jacket and corduroy breeches, and astride a heavy roan, swept Patience a bow more wide than it was elegant. "I trust I find you well?"

"Indeed, sir." Patience gestured to Vane. "Allow me to make you known to Lady Bellamy's gbdson." Briefly, she introduced Vane, adding the information that he had stopped to take shelter from last night's storm.

"Ah." Penwick shook Vane's hand. "So your visit's in the nature of a forced halt. Daresay you'll be on your way soon. The sun's drying the roads nicely, and there's nothing in this backwater to compare with tonnish pursuits."

If Penwick had declared that he wanted him gone, he could not have been more explicit. Vane smiled, a gesture full of teeth. "Oh, I'm in no especial hurry."

Penwick's brows rose; his eyes, watchful from the instant he had beheld Vane, grew harder. "Ah-on a repairing lease, I take it?"

"No." Vane's gaze grew chilly, his diction more precise. "I'm merely in the way of pleasing myself."

That information did not please Penwick. Patience was about to step into the breach, to protect Penwick from likely annihilation, when Penwick, searching for the person to match the third horse, glanced up.

"Great heavens! Get down from there, you scallywag!"

Vane blinked and glanced up. Eyes glued to the horizon, the scallywag feigned deafness. Turning back, Vane heard Patience haughtily state: "It's perfectly all right, sir. He's looking at the views."

"Views!" Penwick snorted. "The sides of that mound are steep and slippery-what if he should fall?" He looked at Vane. "I'm surprised, Cynster, that you permitted young Debbington to embark on a mad scheme guaranteed to overturn his sister's sensiblities."

Patience, suddenly no longer sure of Gerrard's safety, looked at Vane.

His gaze on Penwick, Vane slowly raised his brows. Then he turned his head and met Patience's potentially worried gaze. "I thought Gerrard was seventeen?"

She blinked. "He is."

"Well, then." Vane sat back, shoulders relaxing. "Seventeen is more than old enough to be responsible for his own safety. If he breaks a leg on his way down, it will be entirely his own fault."

Patience stared at him-and wondered why her lips insisted on twitching upward. Vane's eyes met hers; the calm, rocklike confidence she saw in the grey steadied her-and steadied her confidence in Gerrard.

The unsuccessfully muffled laugh that drifted over their heads forced her to straighten her lips and turn to Penwick. "I'm sure Gerrard is more than capable of managing."

Penwick came close to scowling.

"Here's Edmond." Patience looked past Penwick as Edmond urged his mount up the rise. "I thought you were trapped by your muse?"

"Fought free of it," Edmond informed her with a grin. He nodded at Penwick, then turned back to Patience. "Thought you might be glad of more company."

While Edmond's expression remained ingenuous, Patience was left with little doubt as to his thinking. She fought an urge to glance at Vane, to see if he, too, had picked up the implication; she was quite sure he would have-the man was certainly not slow.

That last was borne out by the purring murmur that slid past her right ear. "We've just been admiring the views."

On the instant, before she'd even turned to him, that tingling sensation washed over her again, more intense, more wickedly evocative than before. Patience caught her breath and refused to meet his eyes. She allowed her gaze to rise only as far as his lips. They quirked, then eased into a teasing smile.

"And here's Chadwick."

Patience swallowed a groan. She turned and confirmed that Henry was, indeed, trotting up to join them. Her lips set; she'd only come on the ride because none of them had been interested in riding-and now here they all were, with even Penwick thrown in, riding to her rescue!

She didn't need rescuing! Or protecting! She wasn't in the slightest danger of succumbing to any "elegant gentleman's" rakish lures. Not, she had to concede, that Vane had thrown any her way. He might be considering it, but his subtlety left the others looking like floundering puppies, yapping in their earnest haste.

"Such a fine day-couldn't resist the thought of a brisk ride." Henry beamed engagingly at her; the image of a panting puppy, tongue lolling in a hopeful* canine grin, impinged forcefully on Patience's mind.

"Now we're all gathered," Vane drawled, "perhaps we should ride on?"

"Indeed," Patience agreed. Anything to cut short this farcical gathering.

"Gerrard, come down-your horse has forgotten why it's out here." Vane's command, delivered in world-weary tones, elicited nothing more than a chuckle from Gerrard.

He stood, stretched, nodded to Patience, then disappeared around the other side of the mound. Within minutes, he reappeared at ground level, dusting his hands. He grinned at Vane, nodded to Edmond and Henry, and ignored Pen-wick. Accepting his reins, he flashed Patience a smile, then swung up to the saddle. "Shall we?"

A lift of one brow and a brief wave accompanied the question. Patience stiffened-she stared. She knew precisely where Gerrard had picked up both those little mannerisms.

"How were the views?" Edmond paired his horse with Gerrard's. They led the way down the rise, Gerrard responding readily, describing various vistas and expounding on the interplay of light, cloud, and haze.

Her gaze fixed on Gerrard, Patience set her horse to follow his. Consternation ensued. With Vane holding steady on her right, Penwick and Henry jostled for the position on her left. By dint of defter management, Penwick secured the prize, leaving Henry sulking in the rear. Inwardly, Patience sighed, and made a mental note to be kind to Henry later.

Within three minutes, she would gladly have strangled Penwick.

"I flatter myself, Miss Debbington, that you are clearsighted enough to comprehend that I have your best interests at heart." That was Penwick's beginning. From there he progressed to: "I cannot but be convinced it does your sisterly sensitivities, those softer emotions with which gentlewomen are so well endowed, no good at all to be constantly abraded by the youthful but sadly inconsiderate exploits of your brother."

Patience kept her gaze on the fields and let Penwick's dissertation pass her by. She knew he wouldn't notice her abstraction. Other men always brought out the worst in Penwick-in his case, the worst was an unassailable belief in his own judgment, combined with an unshakable certainty that she not only shared his views, but was well on the way to being Mrs. Penwick. How he'd arrived at such a conclusion Patience was at a loss to understand; she'd never given him the slightest encouragement.

His portentous pronouncements flowed past her as they ambled on. Henry fidgeted, then coughed, then butted in with: "Do you think we'll get more rain?"

Patience fell on the witless question with relief and used it to distract Penwick, whose other obsession, beyond the sound of his own voice, was his fields. By dint of a few artless inquiries, she set Henry and Penwick to arguing over the effect of the recent rain on the crops.

Throughout, Vane said nothing. He didn't have to. Patience was quite sure of his thoughts-as cynical as her own. His silence was more eloquent, more powerful, more successful in impinging on her senses, than Penwick's pedantic statements or Henry's garrulous chatter.

To her right lay a sense of security, a front she did not, for the moment, need to defend. His silent presence gave her that; Patience inwardly sniffed. Yet another thing, she supposed, for which she should be grateful to him. He was proving adept at that cool, arrogant, subtle yet unrelenting maneuvering she associated with "elegant gentlemen." She was not surprised. From the first, she'd identified him as an expert practitioner.

Focusing on Gerrard, Patience heard him laugh. Over his shoulder, Edmond threw her a smiling glance, then reap-plied himself to Gerrard. Then Gerrard made some comment, underscoring his point with the same indolent wave he'd used before.

Patience set her teeth. There was nothing wrong, per se, with the gesture, although Vane did it better. At seventeen, Gerrard's artist's hands, although well made, had yet to gain the strength and mature form Vane Cynster's hands possessed. When he performed that gesture, it reeked of a masculine power Gerrard had yet to attain.

But copying gestures was one thing-Patience worried that Gerrard's emulation would not stop there. Still, she reasoned, glancing swiftly at Vane riding quietly beside her, it was only a mannerism or two. Despite Penwick's beliefs, she was not a female overburdened with nonsensical sen-sivities. She was, perhaps, more acutely conscious of Vane Cynster and his propensities, more watchful than she would be with other men. But there seemed no real reason to intervene. Yet.