A Rake's Vow Read Online Free Page A

the battle lost. He would stay the night, catch up with Minnie and Timms, deal with whatever was making Minnie uneasy, and then be on his way. The storm would probably blow itself out overnight; at the worst, he’d be held up only a day or so.
    Just because fate had shown him the water, didn’t mean he had to drink.
    Of course, before he shook the gravel of the Bellamy Hall drive from his boots, he’d deal with Patience Debbington, too. A salutary jolt or three should do it—just enough to let her know that he knew that her icy disapproval was, to him, a transparent facade.
    He was, of course, too wise to take things further.
    Glancing at his prey, Vane noted her clear complexion, soft, delicate, tinged with gentle color. As he watched, she swallowed a mouthful of trifle, then sent her tongue gliding over her lower lip, leaving the soft pink sheening.
    Abruptly, Vane looked down—into the big blue eyes of the small grey cat—the cat known as Myst. She came and went as she pleased, generally hugging Patience’s skirts; she was presently seated beside Patience’s chair, staring unblinkingly up at him.
    Arrogantly, Vane lifted a brow.
    With a silent mew, Myst stood, stretched, then padded forward to twine about his leg. Vane reached down and rubbed his fingers over the sleek head, then ran his nails down her spine. Myst arched, tail stiffening; the rumble of her purr reached Vane.
    It also reached Patience; she glanced down. “Myst!” she hissed. “Stop bothering Mr. Cynster.”
    “She’s not bothering me.” Capturing Patience’s gaze, Vane added: “I enjoy making females purr.”
    Patience stared at him, then blinked. Then, frowning slightly, she turned back to her plate. “Well, as long as she doesn’t bother you.”
    It took a moment before Vane could get his lips back to straight, then he turned to Edith Swithins.
    Not long after, they all rose; Minnie, with Timms beside her, led the ladies to the drawing room. Her gaze on Gerrard, Patience hesitated, her expression alternating between consternation and uncertainty. Gerrard didn’t notice. Vane watched Patience’s lips set; she almost glanced his way, then realized he was watching—waiting. She stiffened and kept her lids lowered. Reaching out, Vane drew her chair farther back. With a brief, excessively haughty inclination of her head, Patience turned and followed in Minnie’s wake.
    Her pace wouldn’t have won the Guineas.
    Dropping back into his chair at the head of the table, Vane smiled at Gerrard. With a lazy wave, he indicated the vacant chair to his right. “Why don’t you move up?”
    Gerrard’s grin was radiant; eagerly, he left his place for the one between Edgar and Vane.
    “Good idea. Then we can talk without shouting.” Edmond moved closer, taking Patience’s chair. With a genial grunt, the General moved up the table. Vane suspected Whitticombe would have kept his distance, but the insult would have been too obvious. His expression coldly severe, he moved to Edgar’s other side.
    Reaching for the decanter Masters had placed before him, Vane looked up—directly at Patience, still lingering, half-in and half-out of the door. Obviously torn. Vane’s eyes touched hers; coolly arrogant, he raised his brows.
    Patience’s expression blanked. She stiffened, then slipped out of the door. A footman closed it behind her.
    Vane smiled to himself; lifting the decanter, he poured himself a large glass.
    By the time the decanter had circulated once, they’d settled on the best tip for the Guineas. Edgar sighed. “We really don’t see much excitement here at the Hall.” He smiled self-consciously. “I spend most of my days in the library. Reading biographies, y’know.”
    Whitticombe sniffed contemptuously. “Dilettante.”
    His gaze on Vane, Edgar colored but gave no other sign of having heard the jibe. “The library’s quite extensive—it includes a number of journals and diaries of the family. Quite fascinating, in their way.” The