A white lie, perhaps, but a position more easily defended than the unvarnished truth. Marriage had never been high on her agenda-marriage to an elegant gentleman had never figured in her plans. Marriage to Vane was simply impossible-even more so after the last hour.

His voice, coolly precise, came from behind her. "Be that as it may, I would have thought itfe activities of the last hour would suggest that a rearrangement of your intentions was in order."

Tying the ribbons of her chemise, Patience pressed her lips together and shook her head. "I don't want to marry."

The sound he made as he sat up was derisive. "All young ladies want to marry."

"Not me. And I'm not that young." Patience finished pulling on her stockings. Swinging about, she grabbed her petticoats.

She heard Vane sigh. "Patience-"

"We'd better hurry-we've been out all morning." Standing, she hiked up her petticoats and cinched them at her waist. Behind her, she heard the hay rustle as he rose. "They'll worry if we don't return for lunch." Under cover of swiping up her skirt, she turned. Not daring to look directly at him-he was, after all, still naked-she could nevertheless see him from the corner of her eye, and prevent him from touching her. From catching hold of her.

If he did, her shaky, somewhat confused resolution might disintegrate-and the trap might slam shut on her. She could still feel his hands on her skin, sense the imprint of his body on hers. Feel the heat of him inside her.

She yanked her skirts up. "We can't afford to dally." In a state bordering on the frenzied, she scanned the floor for her jacket. It was lying beside his breeches. She hurried over.

Aware that he was standing, naked, hands on hips, frowning at her, she picked up her jacket, and flung his breeches at his head.

He caught them before they hit. His eyes narrowed even further.

"Do come on," she implored. "I'll get the horses." With that, she rushed to the ladder.

"Patience!"

That particular tone had been known to snap unruly, half-drunk soldiers to immediate attention; to Vane's disgust, it had no discernible affect on Patience. She disappeared down the ladder as if he hadn't spoken.

Leaving him disgusted-thoroughly and absolutely-with himself.

He'd muffed it. Completely and utterly. She was annoyed with him-piqued to her toes-and she had every right to feel so. His offer-well, he hadn't even made it; he'd tried instead to slide around it, to arrogantly push her into agreeing without having to ask.

He'd failed. And now she was in a royal snit.

Not for an instant did he believe that she didn't want to marry, that was merely the first excuse that had sprung to her mind-a weak excuse at that.

Swearing roundly-the only viable way he could relieve his temper-he hauled on his breeches, then reached for his shirt. He'd tried to avoid making the declaration he knew he had to make-and now it was going to be ten times worse.

Gritting his teeth, he stomped into his boots, swiped up his jacket, and stalked to the ladder.

Now he was going to have to beg.

Chapter 13

Begging did not come naturally.

That evening, Vane led the gentlemen back to the drawing room, feeling as if he was marching to his execution. He told himself proposing wouldn't really be that bad.

Keeping the lid on his temper all the way back to the Hall, and then through the long afternoon, had tried him sorely. But having accepted the inevitable-Patience's right to a formal, precisely correct proposal-he'd swallowed his ire and forced his conqueror's instincts, which she'd very effectively raised to his surface, into line.

How long they'd toe that line was a moot point, but he was determined it would be long enough for him to propose and for her to accept him.

Strolling through the drawing-room doors, he scanned the occupants, and inwardly smiled. Patience was not present. He'd grasped the moment as the ladies were rising from the table, when they'd been close as he'd drawn back her chair, to say, sotto voce: "We need to meet privately."

Her eyes, wide and golden, had flown to his.

"When and where?" he'd asked, struggling to keep all command from his tone.

She'd studied his eyes, his face, then looked down. She'd waited until the last minute, when she was about to turn and walk from him, to whisper, "The conservatory. I'll retire early."

Suppressing his impatience, he forced himself to stroll to the chaise, where Minnie, as usual, sat in shawled splendor. She looked up as he neared. He raised a languid brow. "I take it you are, indeed, improved?"

"Pish!" Minnie waved dismissively. "It was no more than a cold-there's been far too much bother made over a mere sniffle."

She glanced pointedly at Timms, who humphed. "At least Patience had the sense to go up early, to make sure she took no lasting harm from getting so damp. I suppose you should go up early, too."

"I didn't get that wet." Affectionately brushing his fingers over Minnie's hand, Vane nodded to both women. "If you need help getting upstairs, call me."

He knew they wouldn't; only when she was truly ill would Minnie accept being carried. Turning from them, he strolled to where Gerrard and Edmond were teasing Henry.

Henry pounced the instant he joined them. "Just the one we need! These two have been bending my ear with their melodrama while I'd much rather take them on at billiards. What say you to that return match?"

"Not tonight, I fear." Vane stifled a fictitious yawn. "After spending half the day riding, I'm for bed as soon as possible." He made the comment unblushingly, but his body reacted to the veiled reference to his morning's activities, and his hopes for the night.

The others, of course, thought he was exhausted.

"Oh, come on. You can't be that tired." Edmond chided. "Must be used to being up to all hours in London."

"Indeed," Vane laconically agreed. "But being up is usually followed by a suitably long time prone." Not, of course, necessarily asleep; the conversation was doing nothing for his comfort.

"One game wouldn't take that long," Gerrard pleaded. "Just an hour or so."

Vane had no difficulty squashing a craven impulse to agree-to put off saying the inevitable words yet again. If he didn't get it right this time, present Patience with the speech he'd spent all afternoon rehearsing, God only knew what hideous punishment fate would concoct for him. Like having to go down on bended knee. "No." His determination made the answer definite. "You'll have to make do without me tonight."

The tea trolley saved him from further remonstrance. Once the cups were replaced and Minnie, steadfastly refusing his aid, had gone upstairs, Vane found himself forced to follow, to take refuge in his room until the others reached the billiard room and settled to their game. The conservatory lay beyond the billiard room, and could be reached only by passing the billiard-room door.

Fifteen minutes of pacing his bedchamber did nothing to improve his temper, but he had it well in hand when, having strolled silently past the billiard room, he opened the conservatory door. It opened and closed noiselessly, failing to alert Patience. Vane saw her instantly, peering out of one of the side windows through a bank of palms.

Puzzled, he drew closer. Only when he stood directly behind her did he see what she was so intently watching-the billiard game currently in progress.

Henry was leaning far over the table, his back to them, lining up one of his favorite shots. As they watched, he made his play, his elbow wobbling, the cue jerking.

Vane snorted. "How the devil did he beat me?"

With a gasp, Patience whirled. Eyes wider than wide, one hand pressed to her breast, she struggled to draw breath.

"Get back!" she hissed. She prodded him, then flapped her hands at him. "You're taller than the palms-they might see you!"

Vane obligingly backed, but stopped the instant they were beyond the line of the billiard room. And let Patience, fussing and fuming, ran into him.

The impact, mild though it was, knocked what breath she'd managed to catch out of Patience. Mentally cursing, she fell back, flashing Vane a furious look as she fought to regain her composure. To calm her wretchedly leaping heart, to quell the impulse to step forward and let his arms steady her, to lift her face and let his kiss claim her.

He'd always affected her physically. Now that she'd lain naked in his arms, the effect was ten times worse.

Inwardly gritting her teeth, she infused impassivity into her features and drew herself up. Defensively. Clasping her hands before her, she lifted her head, and tried to find the right level. Not challenge, but assurance.

Her nerves had been frazzled before he'd appeared-the jolt he'd just given her had scrambled them further. And worse was yet to come. She had to hear him out. There was no alternative. If he wished to offer for her, then it was only right she allow him to do so, so she could formally and definitively decline.

He stood directly before her, a large, lean, somewhat menacing figure. She'd held him silent with her eyes. Drawing a deep breath, she raised one brow. "You wished to speak with me?"

Vane's instincts had been screaming that all was not as he'd thought; the tone of her question confirmed it. He studied her eyes, shadowed in the dimness. The conservatory was lit only by moonlight pouring through the glassed roof; he wished, now, that he'd insisted on some more illuminated meeting place. His eyes narrowed. "I think you know what it is I wish to say to you." He waited for no acknowledgment, but went on, "I wish to ask for your hand in marriage. We're well suited, in all ways. I can offer you a home, a future, a station in keeping with your expectations. As my wife, you would have an assured place in the ton, should you wish to claim it. For my part, I would be content to live mostly in the country, but that would be as you wish."