He'd capped his question with a charming smile; to his surprise, it made Patience stiffen.
She drew herself up, clasped her hands before her, and fixed him with a censorious look. "In that case, I'm afraid I must insist that you refrain from encouraging Gerrard."
Inwardly, Vane stilled. He looked down, into her disapproving eyes. "What, exactly, do you mean by that?" Her chin rose. "You know very well what I mean."
"Spell it out for me."
Her eyes, like clear agates, searched his, then her lips compressed. "I would rather you spent as little time as possible with Gerrard. You're only showing an interest in him to win points with me."
Vane arched one brow. "You take a lot to yourself, my dear.",
Patience held his gaze. "Can you deny it?"
Vane felt his face set, his jaw lock. He couldn't refute her accusation; it was in large part true. "What I don't understand," he murmured, his eyes narrowing on hers, "is why my interaction with your brother should occasion the slightest concern. I would have thought you would be glad to have someone extend his horizons."
"I would be," Patience snapped. Her head was pounding. "But you're the very last person I would want to guide him."
"Why the devil not?"
The steel sliding beneath Vane's deep voice was a warning. Patience heard it. She was heading for thin ice, but, having come thus far, she was determined not to retreat. She set her teeth. "I don't want you guiding Gerrard, filling his head with ideas, because of the sort of gentleman you are."
"And what sort of gentleman am I-in your eyes?"
Rather than rising, his tone was becoming softer, more lethal. Patience quelled a shiver, and returned his edged glance with one equally sharp. "In this instance, your reputation is the opposite of a recommendation."
"How would you know of my reputation? You've been buried in Derbyshire all your life."
"It precedes you," Patience retorted, stung by his patronizing tone. "You only need walk into a room, and it rolls out like a red carpet before you."
Her sweeping gesture elicited a grunt. "You don't know what you're talking about."
Patience lost her temper. "What I'm talking about is your propensities with respect to wine, women, and wagering. And, believe me, they're obvious to the meanest intelligence! You may as well have a banner carried before you." With her hands, she sketched one in the air. "Gentleman rake!"
Vane shifted; he was suddenly closer. "I believe I warned you I was no gentleman."
Looking into his face, Patience swallowed, and wondered how she could possibly have forgotten. There was nothing remotely gentlemanly in the presence before her-his face was hard, his eyes pure steel. Even his austerely elegant attire now seemed more like armor. And his voice no longer purred. At all. Clenching her fists, she drew a tight breath. "I don't want Gerrard turning out like you. I don't want you to-" Despite her best efforts, innate caution took hold-it froze her tongue.
Almost shaking with the effort of restraining his temper, Vane heard himself suggest, his tone sibilantly smooth, "Corrupt him?"
Patience stiffened. She lifted her chin, her lids veiling her eyes. "I didn't say that."
"Don't fence with me, Miss Debbington, or you're liable to get pinked." Vane spoke slowly, softly, only just managing to get the words past his teeth. "Let's be sure I have this correctly. You believe I've stayed at Bellamy Hall purely to dally with you, that I've befriended your brother for no other reason than to further my cause with you, and that my character is such that you consider me unsuitable company for a minor. Have I forgotten anything?"
Poker-straight, Patience met his eyes. "I don't think so."
Vane felt his control quake, felt his reins slither from his grasp. He clenched his jaw, and both fists. Every muscle in his body locked, every mental sinew strained with the effort of holding on to his temper.
All Cynsters had one-a temper that normally lazed like a well-fed cat but could, if pricked, change to a snarling predator. For one instant, his vision clouded, then the beast responded to the rein and drew back, hissing. As his fury subsided, he blinked dazedly.
Hauling in a deep breath, he swung halfway around and, dragging his gaze from Patience, forced himself to scan the room. Slowly, he exhaled. "If you were a man, my dear, you wouldn't still be upright."
There was an instant's pause, then she said, "Not even you would strike a lady."
Her "not even" nearly set him off again. Jaw clenched
, Vane slowly turned his head, caught her wide hazel gaze-and raised his brows. His hand itched to make contact with her bottom. Positively burned. For one instant, he teetered on the brink-her widening gaze, as, frozen like prey, she read the intent in his eyes, was small comfort. But the thought of Minnie made him fight down the nearly overpowering compulsion to bring Miss Patience Debbington to an abrupt understanding of her temerity. Minnie, supportive though she was, was unlikely to prove that forgiving. Vane narrowed his eyes, and spoke very softly. "I have only one thing to say to you, Patience Debbington. You're wrong-on every count."
He turned on his heel and stalked off.