"Often as a child. My cousin and I spent a few weeks here most summers."

Patience humphed. "I'm surprised Minnie survived."

"On the contrary-she thrived on our visits. She always delighted in our exploits and adventures."

When she returned no further comment, Vane softly said, "Incidentally, Minnie mentioned the odd thefts that have occurred at the Hall." Patience looked up; he trapped her gaze. "Is that what you were looking for in the flower bed? Something that disappeared?"

Patience hesitated, searching his eyes, then nodded. "I told myself Myst must have knocked it out of the window, but I hunted high and low, in the room and in the flower bed. I couldn't find it anywhere."

"What was 'it'?"

"A small silver vase." She sketched the shape of a bud vase. "About four inches high. I've had it for years-I don't suppose it's particularly valuable, but..."

"You'd rather have it than not. Why were you so keen not to mention it last night?"

Her face setting, Patience met Vane's eyes. "You aren't going to tell me the gentlemen of the household didn't happen to mention over the breakfast table this morning that they think Gerrard is behind all these odd occurrences-the Spectre, as they call it, and the thefts as well?"

"They did, as it happens, but we-Gerrard, myself, and, surprisingly enough, Edmond-pointed out that that notion has no real foundation."

The unladylike sound Patience made was eloquent-of irritation, frustration, and overstretched tolerance.

"Indeed," Vane concurred, "so you have yet another reason to feel grateful to me." As Patience swung his way, he frowned. "And Edmond, unfortunately."

Despite herself, Patience's lips quirked. "Edmond would gainsay the elders simply for a joke-he doesn't take anything seriously, other than his muse."

"I'll take your word for it."

Instead of being distracted, Patience continued to study his face. Vane raised one brow. "I did tell you," he murmured, holding her gaze, "that I'm determined to put you in my debt. You needn't concern yourself over the gentlemen's attitude to Gerrard while I'm about." He didn't think her pride would allow her to accept an outright offer of a broad shoulder to deflect the slings and arrows of the present Hall society; presenting his aid in the guise of a rake's machinations, would, he hoped, permit her to let the matter go with a shrug and a tart comment.

What he got was a frown. "Well, I do thank you if you tried to set them straight." Patience glanced up to where Gerrard was still communing with the horizon. "But you can see why I didn't want to make a fuss over my vase-they'd only blame Gerrard."

Vane raised his brows noncommittally. "Whatever. If anything more disappears, tell me, or Minnie, or Timms."

Patience looked at him and frowned. "What-"

"Who's this?" Vane nodded at a horseman cantering toward them.

Patience looked, then sighed. "Hartley Penwick." Although her expression remained bland, her tone grimaced. "He's the son of one of Minnie's neighbors."

"Well met, my dear Miss Debbington!" Pen wick, a well-set gentleman attired in tweed jacket and corduroy breeches, and astride a heavy roan, swept Patience a bow more wide than it was elegant. "I trust I find you well?"

"Indeed, sir." Patience gestured to Vane. "Allow me to make you known to Lady Bellamy's gbdson." Briefly, she introduced Vane, adding the information that he had stopped to take shelter from last night's storm.

"Ah." Penwick shook Vane's hand. "So your visit's in the nature of a forced halt. Daresay you'll be on your way soon. The sun's drying the roads nicely, and there's nothing in this backwater to compare with tonnish pursuits."

If Penwick had declared that he wanted him gone, he could not have been more explicit. Vane smiled, a gesture full of teeth. "Oh, I'm in no especial hurry."

Penwick's brows rose; his eyes, watchful from the instant he had beheld Vane, grew harder. "Ah-on a repairing lease, I take it?"

"No." Vane's gaze grew chilly, his diction more precise. "I'm merely in the way of pleasing myself."

That information did not please Penwick. Patience was about to step into the breach, to protect Penwick from likely annihilation, when Penwick, searching for the person to match the third horse, glanced up.

"Great heavens! Get down from there, you scallywag!"

Vane blinked and glanced up. Eyes glued to the horizon, the scallywag feigned deafness. Turning back, Vane heard Patience haughtily state: "It's perfectly all right, sir. He's looking at the views."

"Views!" Penwick snorted. "The sides of that mound are steep and slippery-what if he should fall?" He looked at Vane. "I'm surprised, Cynster, that you permitted young Debbington to embark on a mad scheme guaranteed to overturn his sister's sensiblities."

Patience, suddenly no longer sure of Gerrard's safety, looked at Vane.

His gaze on Penwick, Vane slowly raised his brows. Then he turned his head and met Patience's potentially worried gaze. "I thought Gerrard was seventeen?"

She blinked. "He is."

"Well, then." Vane sat back, shoulders relaxing. "Seventeen is more than old enough to be responsible for his own safety. If he breaks a leg on his way down, it will be entirely his own fault."

Patience stared at him-and wondered why her lips insisted on twitching upward. Vane's eyes met hers; the calm, rocklike confidence she saw in the grey steadied her-and steadied her confidence in Gerrard.

The unsuccessfully muffled laugh that drifted over their heads forced her to straighten her lips and turn to Penwick. "I'm sure Gerrard is more than capable of managing."

Penwick came close to scowling.

"Here's Edmond." Patience looked past Penwick as Edmond urged his mount up the rise. "I thought you were trapped by your muse?"

"Fought free of it," Edmond informed her with a grin. He nodded at Penwick, then turned back to Patience. "Thought you might be glad of more company."

While Edmond's expression remained ingenuous, Patience was left with little doubt as to his thinking. She fought an urge to glance at Vane, to see if he, too, had picked up the implication; she was quite sure he would have-the man was certainly not slow.

That last was borne out by the purring murmur that slid past her right ear. "We've just been admiring the views."

On the instant, before she'd even turned to him, that tingling sensation washed over her again, more intense, more wickedly evocative than before. Patience caught her breath and refused to meet his eyes. She allowed her gaze to rise only as far as his lips. They quirked, then eased into a teasing smile.

"And here's Chadwick."

Patience swallowed a groan. She turned and confirmed that Henry was, indeed, trotting up to join them. Her lips set; she'd only come on the ride because none of them had been interested in riding-and now here they all were, with even Penwick thrown in, riding to her rescue!

She didn't need rescuing! Or protecting! She wasn't in the slightest danger of succumbing to any "elegant gentleman's" rakish lures. Not, she had to concede, that Vane had thrown any her way. He might be considering it, but his subtlety left the others looking like floundering puppies, yapping in their earnest haste.

"Such a fine day-couldn't resist the thought of a brisk ride." Henry beamed engagingly at her; the image of a panting puppy, tongue lolling in a hopeful* canine grin, impinged forcefully on Patience's mind.

"Now we're all gathered," Vane drawled, "perhaps we should ride on?"

"Indeed," Patience agreed. Anything to cut short this farcical gathering.

"Gerrard, come down-your horse has forgotten why it's out here." Vane's command, delivered in world-weary tones, elicited nothing more than a chuckle from Gerrard.

He stood, stretched, nodded to Patience, then disappeared around the other side of the mound. Within minutes, he reappeared at ground level, dusting his hands. He grinned at Vane, nodded to Edmond and Henry, and ignored Pen-wick. Accepting his reins, he flashed Patience a smile, then swung up to the saddle. "Shall we?"