Abruptly, Vane raised his head. "Remember what I said."
"Of course I will." Amanda threw him a disgusted frown. "I'm going to tie him in knots, and then hoist him from his…" She gestured, then, with a swish of her skirts, stalked into the crowd.
Patience reflected that Amanda Cynster sounded like a beauty who would never need rescuing.
She, however, might.
Vane returned his attention to her. "What are you doing here?"
She blinked, and glanced around again-then hauled in a breath, difficult with her breasts pressed to his chest. She gestured to the room. "Someone mentioned it was a conservatory. I've been thinking of suggesting that Gerrard install one at the Grange. I thought I'd look in." She peered into the leafy gloom. "Study the amenities."
"Indeed?" Vane smiled, the merest lifting of his long lips, and released her. "By all means." With one hand, he pushed the door shut; with the other, he gestured to the room. "I'll be only too pleased to demonstrate some of the benefits of a conservatory."
Patience cast him a swift glance and quickly stepped forward, out of his reach. She gazed at the arches forming the ceiling. "Was this room always part of the house, or was it added on?"
Behind her, Vane slid the bolt on the doors; it engaged noiselessly. "It was, I believe, originally a loggia." Strolling unhurriedly, he followed Patience down the main pathway, into the palm-shrouded depths.
"Hmm, interesting." Patience eyed a palm towering above the path, handlike leaves poised as if to seize the unwary. "Where does Honoria get such plants?" Passing beneath the palm, she trailed her fingers through delicate fern fronds surrounding the palm's base-and threw a quick glance behind her. "Do the gardeners propagate them?"
Pacing steadily in her wake, Vane caught her gaze. His brows rose fractionally. "I've no idea."
Patience looked ahead-and quickened her pace. "I wonder what other plants do well in such a setting. Palms like these might be a bit hard to come by in Derbyshire."
"Indeed."
"Ivies, I daresay, would do well. And cacti, of course."
"Of course."
Flitting along the path, absentmindedly touching this plant or that, Patience stared ahead-and tried to spot the way out. The path wound randomly about; she was no longer entirely sure of her bearings. "Perhaps, for the Grange, an orangery might be more sensible."
"My mother has one."
The words came from just behind her. "She has?" A swift glance behind revealed Vane almost at her shoulder. Gulping in a quick breath, Patience mentally acknowledged the skittering excitement that had cinched tight about her lungs, that had started, very effectively, to draw her nerves taut. Expectation, anticipation, shivered in the moonlit dark. Breathless, wide-eyed, she lengthened her stride. "I must remember to ask Lady Horatia-oh!"
She broke off. For one moment, she stood stock-still, drinking in the simple beauty of the marble fountain, the base of its pedestal wreathed in delicate fronds, that stood, glowing lambently in the soft white light, in the center of a small, secluded, fern-shrouded clearing. Water poured steadily from the pitcher of the partially clad maiden frozen forever in her task of filling the wide, scroll-lipped basin.
The area had clearly been designed to provide the lady of the house with a private, refreshing, calming retreat in which to embroider, or simply rest and gather her thoughts. In the moonlit night, surrounded by mysterious shadow and steeped in a silence rendered only more intense by the distant sighing of music and the silvery tinkle of the water, it was a hauntingly magical place.
For three heartbeats, the magic held Patience immobile.
Then, through the fine silk of her gown, she felt the heat of Vane's body. He did not touch her, but that heat, and the flaring awareness that raced through her, had her quickly stepping forward. Hauling in a desperate breath, she gestured to the fountain. "It's lovely."
"Hmm," came from close behind.
Too close behind. Patience found herself heading for a stone bench, shaded by a canopy of palms. Stifling a gasp, she veered away, toward the fountain.
The fountain's pedestal was set on a stone disc; she stepped onto the single, foot-wide step. Beneath her soles, she felt the change from tiles to marble. One hand on the rim of the basin, she glanced down, then, nerves flickering wildly, forced herself to bend and study the plants nestling at the pedestal's base. "These look rather exotic."
Behind her, Vane studied the way her gown had pulled tight over the curves of her bottom-and didn't argue. Lips lifting in anticipation, he moved in-to spring his trap.
Her heart racing, tripping in double time, Patience straightened, and went to slide around the fountain, to place it between herself and the wolf she was trapped in the conservatory with. Instead, she ran into an arm.
She blinked at it. One faultless grey sleeve enclosing solid bone well covered with steely muscle, large fist locked over the scrolled rim of the basin, it stated very clearly that she wasn't going anywhere.
Patience whirled-and found her retreat similarly blocked. Swinging farther, she met Vane's gaze; standing on the tiled floor, one step below her, arms braced on the rim, his eyes were nearly level with hers. She studied them, read his intent in the silvered grey, in the hardening lines of his face, the brutally sensual line of those uncompromising lips.
She couldn't believe her eyes.
"Here?" The word, weak though it was, accurately reflected her disbelief.
"Right here. Right now."
Her heart thudded wildly. Prickling awareness raced over her skin. The certainty in his voice, in the deepening tones, riveted her. The thought of what he was suggesting made her mind seize.
She swallowed, and moistened her lips, not daring to take her eyes from his. "But… someone might come in."
His gaze dropped from hers, his lids veiling his eyes. "I locked the door."
"You did?" Wildly, Patience glanced back toward the door; a tug at her bodice hauled her back, refocused her scattered wits. On the top button of her bodice, now undone. She stared at the gold-and-tortoiseshell whorl. "I thought they were just for show."
"So did I." Vane popped the second of the big buttons free. His fingers moved to the third and final button, below her breasts. "I must remember to commend Celestine on her farsighted design."
The final button slid free-his long fingers slid beneath the silk. Patience sucked in a desperate breath; he had very quick fingers-with locks, and other things. On the thought, she felt the ribbons of her chemise give; the fine silk slid down.
His hand, hot and hard, closed over her breast.
Patience gasped. She swayed-and grabbed his shoulders to keep herself upright. The next second, his lips were on hers; they shifted, then settled, hard and demanding. For one instant, she stood firm, savoring the heady taste of his desire-his need of her-then she yielded, opening to him, inviting him in, brazenly delighting in his conquest.
The kiss deepened, not by degrees, but in leaps and bounds, in a blind, breathless downhill rush, a giddy pursuit of sensual delights, carnal pleasures.
Parched for air, Patience drew back on a gasp. Head back, she breathed deeply. Her breasts rose dramatically; Vane bent his head to pay homage.
She felt his hand at her waist, burning through her thin gown as he held her steady before him; she felt his lips, hot as brands, tease and tug at her nipples. Then he took the engorged flesh into the wet heat of his mouth. She tensed. He suckled-her strangled cry shivered in the moonlight.
"Ah." His eyes glinted wickedly as he lifted his head and transferred his attention to her other breast. "You'll have to remember. This time, no screaming."
No screaming? Patience clung to him, clung desperately to her wits as he feasted. His mouth, his touch, drew and fragmented her attention, stoked and fed the desire already flaring hotly within her.