Poised on the threshold, Vane watched her retreat through narrowed eyes. He'd sensed the awareness that had flared at his touch, the quiver of consciousness she hadn't been able to hide. For gentlemen such as he, that was proof enough of what might be.
His gaze fell on the small grey cat which had hugged Patience Debbington's skirts; it now sat on the runner, considering him. As he watched, it rose, turned, and, tail high, started up the corridor-then stopped. Turning its head, it looked back at him. "Meeow/"
From its imperious tone, Vane deduced it was female.
Behind him, lightning flashed. He looked back at the darkened day. Thunder rolled-a second later, the heavens opened. Rain pelted down, sheets of heavy drops obliterating the landscape.
Fate's message couldn't have been clearer: escape was impossible.
His features grim, Vane closed the door-and followed the cat.
"Nothing could be more fortuitous!" Araminta, Lady Bellamy, beamed delightedly at Vane. "Of course you must stay. But the second gong will go any minute, so cut line. How is everyone?"
Propping his shoulders against the mantelpiece, Vane smiled. Wrapped in expensive shawls, her rotund figure encased in silk and lace, a frilled widow's cap atop sprightly white curls, Minnie watched him through eyes bright with intelligence, set in a soft, lined face. She sat enthroned in her chair before the fire in her bedchamber; in its mate sat Timms, a gentlewoman of indeterminate years, Minnie's devoted companion. "Everyone," Vane knew, meant the Cynsters. "The youngsters are thriving-Simon's starring at Eton. Amelia and Amanda are cutting a swath through the ton, scattering hearts right and left. The elders are all well and busy in town, but Devil and Honoria are still at the Place."
"Too taken with admiring his heir, I'll wager. Daresay that wife of his will keep him in line." Minnie grinned, then sobered. "Still no word of Charles?"
Vane's face hardened. "No. His disappearance remains a mystery."
Minnie shook her head. "Poor Arthur."
"Indeed."
Minnie sighed, then slanted an assessing glance at Vane. "And what about you and those cousins of yours? Still keeping the ton's ladies on their toes?"
Her tone was all innocence; head bowed over her knitting, Timms snorted. "More like on their backs."
Vane smiled, suavely charming. "We do our poor best." Minnie's eyes twinkled. Still smiling, Vane looked down and smoothed his sleeve. "I'd better go and change, but tell me-who do you have staying at present?"
"A whole parcel of odds and ends," Timms offered.
Minnie chuckled and drew her hands free of her shawl. "Let's see." She counted on her fingers. "There's Edith Swithins-she's a distant Bellamy connection. Utterly vague, but quite harmless. Just don't express any interest in her tatting unless you've an hour to spare. Then there's Agatha Chadwick-she was married to that unfortunate character who insisted he could cross the Irish Sea in a coracle. He couldn't, of course. So Agatha and her son and daughter are with us."
"Daughter?"
Minnie's gaze lifted to Vane's face. "Angela. She's sixteen and already a confirmed wilter. She'll swoon away in your arms if you give her half a chance."
Vane grimaced. "Thank you for the warning."
"Henry Chadwick must be about your age," Minnie mused, "but not at all in the same mold." Her gaze ran appreciatively over Vane's elegant figure, long muscular legs displayed to advantage in tight buckskins and top boots, his superbly tailored coat of Bath superfine doing justice to his broad shoulders. "Just setting eyes on you should do him some good."
Vane merely raised his brows.
"Now, who else?" Minnie frowned at her fingers. "Edmond Montrose is our resident poet and dramatist. Needless to say, he fancies himself the next Byron. Then there's the General and Edgar, who you must remember."
Vane nodded. The General, a brusque, ex-military man, had lived at Bellamy Hall for years; his title was not a formal one, but a nickname earned by his emphatically regimental air. Edgar Polinbrooke, too, had been Minnie's pensioner for years-Vane placed Edgar in his fifties, a mild tippler who fancied himself a gamester, but who was, in reality, a simple and harmless soul.
"Don't forget Whitticombe," Timms put in.
"How could I forget Whitticombe?" Minnie sighed. "Or Alice."
Vane raised a questioning brow.
"Mr. Whitticombe Colby and his sister, Alice," Minnie supplied. "They're distant cousins of Humphrey's. Whitticombe trained as a deacon and has conceived the notion of compiling the History of Coldchurch Abbey." Cold-church was the abbey on whose ruins the Hall stood.
"As for Alice-well, she's just Alice." Minnie grimaced. "She must be over forty and, though I hate to say it of one of my own sex, a colder, more intolerant, judgmental being it has never been my misfortune to meet."
Vane's brows rose high. "I suspect it would be wise if I steered clear of her."
"Do." Minnie nodded feelingly. "Get too close, and she'll probably have the vapors." She glanced at Vane. "Then again, she might just have hysterics anyway, the instant she sets eyes on you."
Vane cast her a jaundiced look.
"I think that's it. Oh, no-I forgot Patience and Gerrard." Minnie looked up. "My niece and nephew."
Studying Minnie's radiant face, Vane didn't need to ask if she was fond of her young relatives. "Patience and Gerrard?" He kept the question mild.
"My younger sister's children. They're orphans now. Gerrard's seventeen-he inherited the Grange, a nice little property in Derbyshire, from his father, Sir Reginald Debbington." Minnie frowned at Vane. "You might be too young to remember him. Reggie died eleven years ago."
Vane sifted through his memories. "Was he the one who broke his neck while out with the Cottesmore?"
Minnie nodded. "That's the one. Constance, m'sister, died two years ago. Patience has been holding the fort for Gerrard pretty much since Reggie died." Minnie smiled. "Patience is my project for the coming year."
Vane studied that smile. "Oh?"
"Thinks she's on the shelf and couldn't care less. Says she'll think about marrying after Gerrard's settled."
Timms snorted. "Too single-minded for her own good."
Minnie folded her hands in her lap. "I've decided to take Patience and Gerrard to London for the Season next year. She thinks we're going to give Gerrard a little town bronze."
Vane raised a cynical brow. "While in reality, you plan to play matchmaker."
"Precisely." Minnie beamed at him. "Patience has a tidy fortune invested in the Funds. As for the rest, you must give me your opinion once you've seen her. Tell me how high you think she can reach."
Vane inclined his head noncommittally.
A gong boomed in the distance.
"Damn!" Minnie clutched her slipping shawls. "They'll be waiting in the drawing room, wondering what on earth's going on." She waved Vane away. "Go pretty yourself up. You don't stop by that often. Now you're here, I want the full benefit of your company."
"Your wish is my command." Vane swept her an elegant bow; straightening, he slanted her an arrogantly rakish smile. "Cynsters never leave ladies unsatisfied."
Timms snorted so hard she choked.
Vane left the room to chortles, chuckles, and gleeful, anticipatory whispers.
Chapter 2
Something odd was afoot. Vane knew it within minutes of entering the drawing room. The household was gathered in groups about the large room; the instant he appeared, all heads swung his way.
The expressions displayed ranged from Minnie's and Timms's benevolent welcomes, through Edgar's approving appraisal and a similar response from a young sprig, who Vane assumed was Gerrard, to wary calculation to outright chilly disapproval-this last from three-a gentleman Vane tagged as Whitticombe Colby, a pinch-faced, poker-rigid spinster, presumably Alice Colby, and, of course, Patience Debbington.