"Ah."

Blessed silence reigned-for all of half a minute.

"Perhaps if..."

Hands clenched tight, Patience closed her eyes, closed her lips, and wished she could close her ears. The next second, she felt a definite pang behind her temples.

Denied the music, denied all natural justice, she fell back on imagining the reward she would claim in recompense for the destruction of her evening. When next she saw Vane. Later. Whenever that proved to be.

At least Edith Swithins and the Colbys had had the good sense to stay home.

At precisely that moment, in the hallowed half gloom of the cardroom of White's, Vane, his gaze on the General and Edgar, both seated at a table playing whist, took a slow sip of the club's excellent claret and reflected that Patience's evening would not be-could not be-more boring than his.

Hanging back in the shadows, cloaked in the quiet, restrained ambience, redolent with the masculine scents of fine leather, cigar smoke, and sandalwood, he'd been forced to decline numerous invitations, forced to explain, with a languidly raised brow, that he was bear-leading his godmother's nephew. That, in itself, had raised no eyebrows. The fact that he apparently believed bear-leading precluded sitting down to a game of cards had.

He could hardly explain his real aim.

Stifling a yawn, he scanned the room, easily picking out Gerrard, watching the play at the hazard table. The interest Gerrard showed was academic-he seemed to harbor no deep wish to join in the play.

Making a mental note to inform Patience that her brother showed little susceptibility to the lure that brought too many men low, Vane straightened, eased his shoulders, then returned to propping the wall.

Five totally uneventful minutes later, Gerrard joined him.

"Any action yet?" Gerrard nodded to the table at which Edgar and the General sat.

"Not unless you count the General getting clubs confused with spades."

Gerrard grinned, and glanced over the room. "This doesn't seem a likely place for someone to pass on stolen goods."

"It is, however, a very good venue in which to unexpectedly bump into an old friend. Neither of our two pigeons, however, is showing any signs of wanting to curtail their scintillating activity."

Gerrard's grin broadened. "At least it makes watching them easy enough." He glanced at Vane. "I can manage here if you'd like to join your friends. I'll fetch you if they move."

Vane shook his head. "I'm not in the mood." He gestured to the tables. "Seeing we're here, you may as well widen your horizons. Just don't accept any challenges."

Gerrard laughed. "Not my style." He moved off again to stroll between the tables, many surrounded by gentlemen vicariously enjoying the play.

Vane sank back into the shadows. He hadn't been tempted, even vaguely, to take Gerrard up on his offer. At present, he was in no good mood to join in the usual camaraderie over a pack of cards. At present, his mind was entirely consumed by one unanswered question, by one conundrum, by one glaring anomaly.

By Patience.

He desperately needed to talk to Minnie, alone. Patience's home life, her father, held the key-the key to his future.

This evening had been wasted: no headway had been made. On any level.

Tomorrow would be different. He'd see to it.

The next morning dawned bright and clear. Vane strode up the steps of Number 22 as early as he dared. In the far distance, a bell tolled-eleven deep bongs. Face set, Vane grasped the knocker. Today, he was determined to see progress.

Two minutes later, he strode back down the steps. Leaping into his curricle, he flicked the reins free, barely waiting for Duggan to scramble up behind before setting the greys clattering toward the park.

Minnie had hired a brougham.'

He knew the instant he spotted them that something momentous had occurred. They were-there was no other word for it-aflutter. They were all there, packed into the brougham-Patience, Minnie, Timms, Agatha Chadwick, Angela, Edith Swithins and, amazing though it seemed, Alice Colby. She was dressed in something so dark and drab it might have been widow's weeds; the others looked much more inviting. Patience, gowned in a stylish walking dress of fresh green, looked good enough to eat.

Drawing his curricle up behind the brougham, Vane reined in his appetites along with his horses, and languidly descended to the verge.

"You've just missed Honoria," Minnie informed him before he'd even reached the carriage. "She's holding one of her impromptu balls and has invited us all."

"Indeed?" Vane summoned his most innocent look.

"A real ball!" Angela jigged up and down on the seat. "It'll be simply wonderfull I'll have to get a new ball gown."

Agatha Chadwick nodded in greeting. "It was very kind of your cousin to invite us all."

"I haven't been to a ball since I don't know when." Edith Swithins beamed at Vane. "It'll almost be an adventure."

Vane couldn't help returning her smile. "When's it to be?"

"Hasn't Honoria told you?" Minnie frowned. "I thought she said you knew-it's next Tuesday."

"Tuesday." Vane nodded, as if committing the fact to memory. He looked at Patience.

"Giddy nonsense, balls." Alice Colby very nearly sniffed. "But as the lady's a duchess, I daresay Whitticombe will say we must go. At least it's sure to be a suitably refined and dignified affair." Alice made the comment to the world at large. Concluding, she shut her pinched lips and stared straight ahead.

Vane stared, po-faced, at her. So did Minnie and Timms. All of them had attended impromptu balls Honoria had given. With all the Cynsters gathered in one room, refined and dignified tended to be overwhelmed by robust and vigorous. Deciding it was time Alice learned how the other half lived, Vane merely raised a brow and returned his attention to Patience.

At precisely the same moment she looked at him. Their gazes met and held; inwardly, Vane cursed. He needed to talk to Minnie; he wanted to talk to Patience. With her sitting there, waiting for him to invite her for a stroll, he couldn't ask Minnie instead. Not without adding to his problems, without leaving Patience feeling that he had, after all, started to ease back in his affections.

His affections, which were currently ravenous. Starved. Slavering for attention. And her.

He raised a languid brow. "Would you care for a stroll, Miss Debbington?"

Patience saw the hunger in his eyes, briefly, fleetingly, but quite clearly enough to recognize. The vise already locked about her chest tightened. Inclining her head graciously, she held out one gloved hand-and struggled to suppress the thrill that raced through her when his fingers closed strongly about hers.

He opened the door and handed her down. She turned to the carriage. Mrs. Chadwick smiled; Angela pouted. Edith Swithins positively grinned. Minnie, however, fluffed up her shawls and exchanged a quick glance with Timms.

"Actually," Timms said, "I rather think we should be getting back. The breeze is a mite chilly."

It was an Indian summer's day. The sun shone brightly, the breeze was almost balmy.

"Humph! Perhaps you're right," Minnie grumbled gruffly. She shot a glance at Patience. "No reason you can't go for your stroll-Vane can bring you home in his curricule. I know how much you miss your rambles."

"Indeed. We'll see you back at the house later." Timms poked the coachman with the tip of her parasol. "Home, Cedric!"

Left on the verge staring bemusedly after the carriage, Patience shook her head. Vane's arm appeared beside her. Placing her fingers on his sleeve, she glanced up into his face. "What was all that about?"

His eyes met hers. His brows rose. "Minnie and Timms are inveterate matchmakers. Didn't you know?"