Chillingworth blinked. He glanced swiftly at Vane, then his gaze dropped fleetingly to where Vane's hand covered Patience's fingers, resting on his sleeve. He raised his brows and smiled suavely at Patience. "I'm almost tempted to explain, my dear, that our apparent dismissal of the morning hours is, in fact, a natural consequence of our activities in the later hours. Then again…" He slanted a glance at Vane. "Perhaps I had better leave such explanations to Cynster, here."

"Perhaps you had." There was no mistaking the steel in Vane's tone.

Fleetingly, Chillingworth grinned, but when he looked back at Patience, he was calmly serious once more. "You know, it's really quite odd." He smiled. "While I rarely find myself in agreement with Cynsters, one has to admit their taste in one respect resonates remarkably with mine."

"Indeed?" Patience acknowledged the veiled compliment with an assured smile. Having dealt with Vane for three weeks, the earl, charming and undeniably handsome though he was, had no chance of ruffling her feathers.

"Indeed." Chillingworth turned to quiz Vane. "Don't you find that remarkable, Cynster?"

"Not at all," Vane replied. "Some things are so blatantly obvious even you should appreciate them." Chillingworth's eyes sparked. Vane smoothly continued, "However, given your admittedly similar tastes, you might reflect on where following such tastes might land you." He nodded across the room.

Both Chillingworth and Patience followed his direction, and saw Devil and Honoria by the side of the ballroom, clearly engaged in some pointed discussion. As they watched, Honoria clasped her hands about Devil's arm and pushed to turn him down the room. The look Devil cast the ceiling, the long-suffering look he cast his wife as he acquiesced, made it clear who had won the round.

Chillingworth shook his head sadly. "Ah, how the mighty have fallen."

"You'd best be on your guard," Vane advised, "given that your tastes so parallel the Cynsters', that you don't find yourself in a situation you're constitutionally unprepared to handle."

Chillingworth grinned. "Ah, but I don't suffer from the Achilles' heel with which fate has hobbled the Cynsters." Still grinning, he bowed to Patience. "Your servant, Miss Debbington. Cynster." With a last nod, he went on his way, ignoring Vane's narrow-eyed glare.

Patience looked up into Vane's face. "What Achilles' heel?"

Vane stirred. "Nothing. It's just his notion of a joke."

If it was a joke, it had had an odd effect. "Who is he?" Palienee asked. "Is he a Cynster connection of sorts?"

"He's not related-at least not by blood." After a moment, Vane added, "I suppose, these days, he's an honorary Cynster." He glanced at Patience. "We elected him for services rendered to the dukedom."

"Oh?" Patience let her eyes ask her question.

"He and Devil have a history. Ask Honoria about it sometime."

The musicians started up again. Before Patience could blink, Lucifer was bowing before her. Vane let her go, somewhat reluctantly, she thought. But as she whirled down the floor, she saw him whirling, too, a striking brunnette in his arms.

Abruptly, Patience looked away, and gave her attention to the dance, and to dealing with Lucifer's glib tongue. And ignoring her sinking heart.

The end of the measure saw them well down the room, Lucifer introduced her to a group of ladies and gentlemen, all chatting easily. Patience tried to concentrate, tried to follow the conversation.

She literally jumped when hard fingers closed about hers, lifted her hand from Lucifer's sleeve and placed it, firmly, on a familiar arm.

"Upstart," Vane growled. And deftly insinuated himself between Lucifer and Patience.

Lucifer grinned engagingly. "You need to work for it, coz. You know none of us appreciates that which comes too readily."

Vane slayed him with a look, then turneti to Patience. "Come, let's stroll. Before he puts misguided notions into your head."

Intrigued, Patience allowed herself to be escorted on an amble up the room. "What misguided notions?"

"Never mind. Good God-there's Lady Osbaldestone! She's hated me ever since I stuck a marble up the end of her cane. She couldn't understand why it kept sliding away from her. Let's go the other way."

They tacked back and forth through the crowd, chatting here, exchanging introductions there. Yet when the music resumed, another Cynster appeared before her like magic.

Demon Harry, Vane's brother, stole her away; Vane stole her back the instant the music ceased. The voluptuous blonde he'd whirled around the room was nowhere in sight.

The next waltz brought Devil to bow, ineffably elegant before her. As he swung her into the first turn, he read the question in her eyes and grinned. "We always share."

His grin deepened as her eyes, beyond her control, widened. Only the wicked laughter in his eyes assured Patience he was teasing.

And so it went on, through waltz after waltz. After every one, Vane reappeared by her side. Patience tried to tell herself it meant nothing, that it could simply be that he'd found nothing more scintillating, no lady more enticing, with whom to spend his time.

She shouldn't make too much of it-yet her heart leapt one notch, one giddy rung higher on the ladder of irrational hope, every time he reclaimed her hand, and his position by her side.

"These balls of Honoria's are such a good idea." Louise Cynster, one of Vane's aunts, leaned on her husband, Lord Arthur Cynster's arm, and smiled at Patience. "Despite the fact we all move in the same circles, the family's so large, we can often go for weeks without meeting each other, at least not long enough to exchange our news."

"What my dearest wife means," Lord Arthur smoothly said, "is that, although the ladies of the family meet often, they miss the opportunity of seeing how the other half of the family's comporting itself, and these little gatherings of Honoria's guarantee we'll all turn out on parade." His eyes twinkled. "To be inspected, as it were."

"Bosh!" Louise tapped him smartly on the arm with her fan. "As if you men ever need any excuse to turn out on parade. And as for being inspected! There's not a lady in the ton who won't tell you that Cynsters are past masters at 'inspecting' themselves."

The comment brought chuckles and grins all around. The group dissolved as the music resumed. Gabriel materialized to bow before Patience. "My turn, I believe?"

Patience wondered if Cynsters had a monopoly on wolfish smiles. They also all had quick and ready tongues: During every dance, she'd found her attention firmly held by the brisk repartee that seemed their hallmark.

A minor ruckus ensued as they started to whirl. Passing close by its epicenter, Patience discovered Honoria grappling with Devil.

"We've already danced once. You should dance with one of our guests."

"But I want to dance with you."

The look that went with that was uncompromising. Despite her status, Honoria was clearly not immune. "Oh, very well." The next instant, she was whirling, masterfully captured, then Devil bent his head to hers.

As she and Gabriel swirled past, Patience heard Honoria's ripple of laughter, saw the glow in her face as she looked up at her husband, then closed her eyes and let him whirl her away.

The sight caught at Patience's heart.

This time, when the music finally slowed and died, she'd lost sight of Vane. Assuming he'd soon reappear, she chatted easily with Gabriel. Demon joined them, as did a Mr. Aubrey-Wells, a dapper, very precise gentleman. His interest was the theater. Not having seen any of the current productions, Patience listened attentively.

Then, through a gap in the crowd, she saw Vane, talking to a young beauty. The girl was exquisite, with a wealth of blond hair. Her understated gown of pale blue silk positively screamed "outrageously expensive."

"I think you'll find the production at the Theatre Royal worth a visit," Mr. Aubrey-Wells intoned.

Patience, her gaze locked on the tableau on the other side of the room, nodded absently.

The beauty glanced about, then put her hand on Vane's arm. He looked behind them, then took her hand in his. Swiftly, he conducted her to a double door in the wall. Opening it, he handed her through and followed her in.

And shut the door.

Patience stiffened; the blood drained from her face. Abruptly, she looked back at Mr. Aubrey-Wells. "The Theatre Royal?"

Mr. Aubrey-Wells nodded-and continued his lecture.

"Hmm." Beside Patience, Gabriel nodded to Demon, then inclined his head toward the fateful door. "Looks serious."

Patience's heart plummeted.

Demon shrugged. "Daresay we'll hear later."

With that, they both turned attentively to Patience. Who kept her gaze fixed on Mr. Aubrey-Wells, parroting his remarks as if the theater filled her mind. In reality, her mind was full of the Cynsters, several and singular.

Elegant gentlemen, one and all. All and one.

She should never have forgotten it, should never have let her senses shut her eyes to the reality.

But she hadn't lost anything, given anything she hadn't wanted to give. She'd expected this from the first. With an effort, she suppressed a racking shiver. She'd felt surrounded by warmth and laughter; now bleak disappointment pierced her bones and froze her marrow. As for her heart, that was so cold she was sure that, at any moment, it would fracture. Shatter into frozen shards.

Her face felt the same way.

She let Mr. Aubrey-Wells's discourse flow past her, and wondered what she should do. As if in answer, Gerrard's face swam into her restricted vision.