Patience kept her gaze on the fields and let Penwick's dissertation pass her by. She knew he wouldn't notice her abstraction. Other men always brought out the worst in Penwick-in his case, the worst was an unassailable belief in his own judgment, combined with an unshakable certainty that she not only shared his views, but was well on the way to being Mrs. Penwick. How he'd arrived at such a conclusion Patience was at a loss to understand; she'd never given him the slightest encouragement.

His portentous pronouncements flowed past her as they ambled on. Henry fidgeted, then coughed, then butted in with: "Do you think we'll get more rain?"

Patience fell on the witless question with relief and used it to distract Penwick, whose other obsession, beyond the sound of his own voice, was his fields. By dint of a few artless inquiries, she set Henry and Penwick to arguing over the effect of the recent rain on the crops.

Throughout, Vane said nothing. He didn't have to. Patience was quite sure of his thoughts-as cynical as her own. His silence was more eloquent, more powerful, more successful in impinging on her senses, than Penwick's pedantic statements or Henry's garrulous chatter.

To her right lay a sense of security, a front she did not, for the moment, need to defend. His silent presence gave her that; Patience inwardly sniffed. Yet another thing, she supposed, for which she should be grateful to him. He was proving adept at that cool, arrogant, subtle yet unrelenting maneuvering she associated with "elegant gentlemen." She was not surprised. From the first, she'd identified him as an expert practitioner.

Focusing on Gerrard, Patience heard him laugh. Over his shoulder, Edmond threw her a smiling glance, then reap-plied himself to Gerrard. Then Gerrard made some comment, underscoring his point with the same indolent wave he'd used before.

Patience set her teeth. There was nothing wrong, per se, with the gesture, although Vane did it better. At seventeen, Gerrard's artist's hands, although well made, had yet to gain the strength and mature form Vane Cynster's hands possessed. When he performed that gesture, it reeked of a masculine power Gerrard had yet to attain.

But copying gestures was one thing-Patience worried that Gerrard's emulation would not stop there. Still, she reasoned, glancing swiftly at Vane riding quietly beside her, it was only a mannerism or two. Despite Penwick's beliefs, she was not a female overburdened with nonsensical sen-sivities. She was, perhaps, more acutely conscious of Vane Cynster and his propensities, more watchful than she would be with other men. But there seemed no real reason to intervene. Yet.

With a laugh, Gerrard broke away from Edmond; wheeling his horse, he brought his chestnut alongside Vane's grey. "I've been meaning to ask"-Gerrard's eyes shone with enthusiasm as he looked into Vane's face-"about those greys of yours."

A disturbance on her other side forced Patience to glance that way, so she missed Vane's answer. His voice was so deep that, when he was facing away from her, she couldn't discern his words.

The disturbance proved to be Edmond, taking advantage of Penwick's distraction with Henry to insinuate his horse between Penwick's and Patience's. "There!" Edmond blithely ignored Penwick's outraged glare. "I've been waiting to ask your opinion of my latest verse. It's for the scene where the abbot addresses the wandering brothers."

He proceeded to declaim the recent fruits of his brain.

Patience gritted her teeth; she felt literally torn. Edmond would expect her to comment intelligently on his work, which he took with all the seriousness he failed to devote to more worldly matters. On the other hand, she desperately wanted to know what Vane was saying to Gerrard. While one part of her mind followed Edmond's rhymes, she strained her ears to pick up Gerrard's words.

"So their chests are important?" he asked.

Rumble, rumble, rumble.

"Oh." Gerrard paused. "Actually, I thought weight would give a fair indication."

A long series of rumbles answered that.

"I see. So if they do have good stamina…"

Patience glanced to her right-Gerrard was now closer to Vane. She couldn't even hear his half of the conversation.

"So!" Edmond drew in a breath. "What do you think?"

Head snapping back, Patience met his eyes. "It didn't hold my interest-perhaps it needs more polish?"

"Oh." Edmond was deflated, but not cast down. He frowned. "Actually, I think you might be right."

Patience ignored him, edging her mare nearer Vane's grey. Vane glanced her way; both eyes and lips appeared gently amused. Patience ignored that, too, and concentrated on his words.

"Assuming they're up to the weight, the next most important criterion is their knees."

Knees'? Patience blinked.

"High-steppers?" Gerrard suggested.

Patience stiffened.

"Not necessarily," Vane replied. "A good action, certainly, but there must be power behind the stride."

They were still talking about carriage horses; Patience almost sighed with relief. She continued to listen, but heard nothing more sinister. Just horses. Not even wagering or the racecourses.

Inwardly frowning, she settled back in her saddle. Her suspicions of Vane were well-founded, weren't they? Or was she overreacting?

"I'll take my leave of you here." Penwick's acid declaration cut across Patience's musing.

"Indeed, sir." She gave him her hand. "So kind of you to drop by. I'll mention to my aunt that we saw you."

Penwick blinked. "Oh, yes-that is, I trust you'll convey my regards to Lady Bellamy."

Patience smiled, coolly regal, and inclined her head. The gentlemen nodded; Vane's nod held an element of menace-how he managed it, Patience couldn't have said.

Penwick wheeled his horse and cantered off.

"Right then!" Free of Penwick's trenchantly disapproving presence, Gerrard grinned. "How about a race back to the stables?"

"You're on." Edmond gathered his reins. The lane to the stables lay on the other side of an open field. It was a straight run, with no fences or ditches to cause difficulty.

Henry chuckled indulgently and flicked Patience a smile. "I suppose I'll be in on it, too."

Gerrard looked at Vane.

Who smiled. "I'll give you a handicap-lead off."

Gerrard waited for no more. With a "Whoop!" he sprang his horse.

Edmond made to give chase, as did Henry, but, as Patience tapped her heels to her mare's sides, they moved off with her. Letting her mare have her head, Patience followed in her brother's wake; Gerrard was forging ahead, unchallenged. The three other men held their horses back, matching the mare's shorter strides.

Ridiculous! What possible benefit could any of them gain by keeping to her side over one short field? Patience fought to keep a straight face, to keep from grinning and shaking her head at the sheer silliness of men. As they neared the lane, she couldn't resist a brief glance at Vane.

Keeping station on her right, the grey held easily in check, he met her gaze-and raised one brow in weary self-deprecation.

Patience laughed-an answering gleam lit Vane's eyes. The lane drew near; he glanced forward. When he looked back, the light in his eyes had hardened, sharpened.

He edged his grey closer, crowding her mare. The mare reacted by lengthening her stride. Henry and Edmond fell behind, forced to hold back as the grey and the mare swept into the lane, only wide enough for two horses abreast.

Then they were clattering under the arch and into the yard. Pulling up, Patience dragged in a breath and looked back; Edmond and Henry were some way behind.

Gerrard, having won the race, laughed and set his chestnut prancing. Grisham and the grooms came running.

Patience looked at Vane and saw him dismount-by bringing his leg over the saddlebow and sliding to the ground, landing on his feet. She blinked, and he was by her side.