The sun crashed down on her.

Hot pleasure washed through her like a tidal wave, sweeping all before it. Her vision clouded; she was unaware that she screamed.

Shifting his hand to her lips, Vane muffled the worst of her ecstatic cry-the sound still shredded his control. His chest swelled; grimly, he struggled to contain the desire raging through him, pounding his senses, liquid fire in his loins.

He succeeded-until the ripples of her release caressed him. He felt the power gather, felt it swell, grow and build within him. And in that final moment, as the cosmos crashed about him, he surrendered.

And did as she'd once asked, let go-and poured himself into her.

The instant Minnie's carriage door closed, cloaking her in the safe dark, Patience slumped against the squabs. And prayed she'd be able to master her limbs sufficiently to leave the carriage and walk to her bed when they arrived in Aldford Street.

Her body no longer felt like hers. Vane had taken possession and left her limp. Wrung out. The half hour between their return to the ballroom and Minnie's departure had been a near-run thing. Only his surreptitious support, his careful maneuvering, had concealed her state. Her deeply sated state.

At least she'd been able to speak. Reasonably coherently. And think. In some ways, that had made things worse. Because all she could think about was what he'd said, whispered against her temple, when she'd finally stirred in his arms.

"Have you changed your mind yet?"

She'd had to search for the strength to say "No."

"Stubborn woman," in the tone of a soft curse, had been his reply.

He hadn't pressed her further, but he hadn't given up.

His question replayed in her mind. His tone-one of understated but unswerving determination-bothered her. His strength ran deep, not just a physical characteristic; overcoming it-convincing him she wouldn't acquiesce and be his wife-was proving a far harder battle than she'd foreseen. The unwelcome possibility that, unintentionally, she'd pricked his pride, taunted his conqueror's soul, and would now have to contend with the full force of that side of his character, too, wasn't a cheering thought.

Worst of all was the fact that she'd hesitated before saying "No."

Temptation, unheralded, had slunk in and slipped under her guard. After all she'd seen, all she'd observed, of the Cynsters, their wives, and their firmly stated and rigidly applied attitudes on the subject of family, it was impossible to escape the fact that Vane's offer was the best she'd ever get. Family-the one thing that was most important to her-was critically important to him.

Given all his other attributes-his wealth, his status, his handsomeness-what more could she possibly want?

The problem was, she knew the answer to that question.

That was why she had said "No." Why she would keep saying "No."

The Cynster attitude to family was possessive and protective. They were a warrior clan-the open commitment she'd initially found so surprising was, viewed in that light, perfectly understandable. Warriors defended what was theirs. Cynsters, it seemed, regarded their family as a possession, to be defended at all costs and in all arenas. Their feelings sprang from their conquerors' instincts-the instinct to hold on to whatever they'd won.

Perfectly understandable.

But it wasn't enough.

Not for her.

Her answer still remained-had to remain-"No."

Chapter 19.

Sligo opened the front door of Number 22 at nine the next morning.

Vane nodded curtly and strode in. "Where's Her Ladyship?" He cast a quick glance about the hall; it was mercifully untenanted. Bar Sligo, who was gaping.

Vane frowned.

Sligo blinked."Should think Her Ladyship would still be abed, sir. Should I send up-"

"No." Vane looked up the stairs. "Which room is hers?"

"Last on the right."

Vane started up. "You haven't seen me. I'm not here."

"Aye, sir." Sligo watched Vane ascend, then shook his head. And headed back to his porridge.

Locating what he fervently prayed was Minnie's door, Vane rapped lightly on the panels. An instant later, Minnie bade him enter. He did-quickly-silently shutting the door behind him.

Propped against her pillows, a steaming cup of cocoa in her hands, Minnie stared at him. "Great heavens! It's been years since I've seen you up at cockcrow."

Vane advanced on the bed. "I need some sage advice, and you're the only one who can help me."

Minnie beamed. "Well then-what's afoot?"

"Nothing." Incapable of sitting, Vane paced beside the bed. "That's the problem. What should be afoot is a wedding." He glanced sharply at Minnie. "Mine."

"Ah-hah!" Triumph glowed in Minnie's eyes. "Sits the wind in that quarter, heh?"

"As you well know," Vane stated, his accents clipped, "the wind's been in that quarter since I first set eyes on your niece."

"Perfectly proper-as it should be. So what's the rub?"

"She won't have me."

Minnie blinked. Her smug expression faded. "Won't have you?"

Total bewilderment rang in her tone; Vane struggled not to gnash his teeth. "Precisely. For some ungodly reason, I'm not suitable."

Minnie said nothing; her expression said it all.

Vane grimaced. "It's not me, specifically, but men, or marriage in general, she's set her mind against." He sent a saber-edged glance Minnie's way. "You know what that means. She's inherited your stubborness with interest."

Minnie sniffed, and set aside her cocoa. "A very clearheaded girl, Patience. But if she harbors reservations about marriage, I would have thought you, of all men, would have been up to the challenge of changing her mind."

"Don't think I haven't tried." Exasperation rang in Vane's words.

"You must have made a muddle of it. When did you offer for her? In the conservatory last night?"

Vane tried not to remember the conservatory last night. Vivid memories had kept him awake until dawn. "I first offered for her-twice-at Bellamy Hall. And I've repeated the offer several times since." He swung on his heel and stalked down the rug. "With increasing persuasiveness."

"Hmm." Minnie frowned. "This sounds serious."