Everyone looked again. The Runner upended the sack, then peered into it. He shook his head. "Nothing here. And there wasn't any goods left lying in the drawer."

"Which drawer?" Patience asked.

The Runner glanced over his shoulder-to where his comrades had taken up position one on either side of Gerrard's chair. "The drawer of the bureau ih what I 'ave been told is Mister Gerrard Debbington's bedchamber. Which bedchamber he has on his own, not sharing with anyone else."

The Runner made that last sound like a crime in itself. Her heart constricted, sunk to her slippers, Patience looked at Gerrard. And she saw he was struggling not to laugh.

Patience stiffened; Vane pinched her fingers.

"You'll a-have to come along of us, young gent." The Runner advanced on Gerrard. "There's some serious questions the magistrate'll have for you. You come along nice and quiet, and we won't have no fuss."

"Oh, indeed. No fuss."

Patience heard the suppressed laughter in Gerrard's voice as he obligingly stood-how could he be so flippant? She wanted to shake him.

Vane shook her-her hand, at any rate. She glanced at him; he frowned at her and shook his head fractionally.

"Trust me."

The words reached her on a whisper, a mere thread of sound.

Patience looked into his eyes, calmly grey-then she looked at Gerrard, her young brother, light of her life. Drawing in a steadying breath, she glanced back at Vane and almost imperceptibly nodded. If Gerrard could trust Vane, and play out his alloted role, how much more reason had she to place her trust in him.

"What's the charge?" Vane asked, as the Runners formed up around Gerrard.

"No charge as yet," the senior Runner replied. "That's up to the magistrate, that is. We just lay the evidence before him and see what he thinks."

Vane nodded. Patience saw the glance he exchanged with Gerrard.

"Right then." Gerrard grinned. "Which round house is it to be? Or do we go directly to Bow Street?"

Bow Street it was. Patience had to bite her lip to stop herself from intervening, or begging to go, too. Sligo, she noticed, at a nod from Vane, slid out in the Runners' wake. All the rest of the household remained in the dining room until the front door clanged shut behind the Runners and their charge.

For one instant, the tension held, then a sigh ran through the room.

Patience stiffened. Vane turned to her.

"I said it again and again, but you would pay no heed, Miss Debbington." Righteously patronizing, Whitticombe shook his head. "And now it's come to this. Perhaps, in future, you will take more note of those with more years in their cup than yourself."

"Hear, hear," came from the General. "Said it from the first. Boys' tricks." He frowned at Patience.

Emboldened, Whitticombe gestured at Minnie. "And just think of the sore distress you and your brother have so heedlessly caused our dear hostess."

Color high, Minnie thumped her cane. "I'll thank you not to get your causes muddled. I'm certainly distressed, but my distress, as far as I can see, has been occasioned by whoever called the Runners down on our heads." She glared at Whitticombe, then at the General.

Whitticombe sighed. "My dear cousin, you really must see the light."

"Actually." Vane's drawl, laced with an undercurrent of sharpened steel, sliced through Whitticombe's sugary tones. "Minnie needs do nothing. A charge is not a conviction-indeed, a charge has yet to be made." Vane held Whitticombe's gaze. "I rather think that, in this case, time will reveal who is at fault, and who needs adjust their thinking. It seems somewhat premature to make sweeping conclusions just yet."

Whitticombe tried to look down his nose contemptuously; as Vane was a half head taller, he didn't succeed.

Which irritated him even more. Face setting, he eyed Vane, then, deliberately, let his gaze slide to Patience. "I rather think you're in no position to act as defender of the righteous, Cynster."

Vane tensed; Patience locked her hand about his.

"Oh?"

At Vane's quiet prompt, Whitticombe's lips curled. Patience inwardly groaned and shifted her hold to Vane's arm. Everyone else in the room stilled, holding then' collective breaths.

"Indeed," Whitticombe smiled spitefully. "My sister had some very interesting-quite riveting-insights to offer this morning. On you and Miss Debbington."

"Is that so?"

Deaf to anything but his own voice, Whitticombe failed to hear the warning in Vane's lethally flat tone. "Bad blood," he pronounced. "Must run in the family. One a bald-faced thief, the other-"

Belatedly, Whitticombe focused on Vane's face-and froze.

Patience felt the aggression lance through Vane; under her hands, the muscles of his arm locked, rock-hard. She clung, literally, and hissed a furious, "No!"

For one instant, she thought he might shake free and then Whitticome might just be dead. But she'd set her sights on living in Kent, not in exile on the Continent.

"Colby, I suggest you retire-now." Vane's tone promised instant retribution should he decline.

Stiffly, not daring to take his gaze from Vane's face, Whitticombe nodded to Minnie. "I'll be in the library." He backed to the door, then paused. "The righteous will be rewarded."

"Indeed," Vane replied. "I'm counting on it."

With a contemptuous glance, Whitticombe left. The tension gripping the room drained. Edmond slumped into a chair. "Gad, if I could only capture that on stage."

The comment sent a ripple of uneasy laughter through the others. Timms waved to Patience. "After that excitement, Minnie should rest."

"Indeed." Patience helped Timms gather Minnie's myriad shawls.

"Shall I carry you?" Vane asked.

"No!" Minnie waved him away. "You've other things on your plate just now-more urgent things. Why are you still here?"

"There's time."

Despite Minnie's shooing, Vane insisted on helping her up the stairs and seeing her installed in her room. Only then did he consent to leave. Patience followed him into the corridor, pulling the door shut behind her.

Vane pulled her to him and kissed her-hard and quick.

"Don't worry," he said the instant he raised his head. "We had a plan in case something like this happened. I'll go and make sure all's fallen into place."

"Do." Patience met his eyes, searched them briefly, then nodded and stepped back. "We'll hold the line here."

Swiftly, Vane raised her hands and kissed them, then stepped back. "I'll keep Gerrard safe."

"I know." Patience clutched his hand. "Come to me later."

The invitation was deliberate; she acknowledged it with her eyes.

Vane's chest swelled; his face was a conqueror's mask, hard and unyielding. His eyes held hers, then he nodded. "Later."

With that, he left her.

Chapter 21

Come to me later, she'd said.

Vane returned to Aldford Street just after ten o'clock.

The house was quiet when Masters let him in. His expression implacable, Vane handed Masters his cane, hat, and gloves. "I'll go up to Her Ladyship and Miss Debbington. You needn't wait up-I'll show myself out."

"As you wish, sir."

As he climbed the stairs, Vane recalled Chillingworth's words: How the mighty have fallen. The steely determination that had taken possession of him wound a notch tighter. He wasn't sure how deep the changes within him had gone, but as of this afternoon, he'd sworn off all attempts to hide his connection with Patience Debbington. The lady who would be his wife.

There was no doubt of that fact, no possibility of error, no room for maneuver-and absolutely none for negotiation. He was finished with excuses, with playing the game according to society's rules. Conquerors wrote their own rules. That was something Patience would have to come to terms with-he intended shortly to inform her of the fact.