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.
&n
bsp; "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.
His hands closed about her waist.
She almost gasped when he lifted her from the saddle as if she weighed no more than a child. He didn't swing her down, but slowly lowered her to earth, setting her on her feet beside the mare. Less than a foot from him. He held her between his hands; she felt the long fingers flex about her, fingertips on either side of her spine, thumbs against her sensitive midriff. She felt… captured. Vulnerable. His face was a hard mask, his expression intent. Her eyes locked on his, Patience felt the cobbles beneath her feet, but her world continued to spin.