She was at his mercy and could do nothing to change it.
With a gasp, she lowered her head, her fingers tightening on the bowl's rim. Pleasure, relentless, passionate, rolled through her in waves, rearing every time he sank into her and stretched her. Completed her.
Patience felt a scream building-and bit her lip-hard.
Vane sank into her again and felt her quiver. He remained sunk in her heat for a fraction longer, then smoothly withdrew. And sank into her again.
He was in no hurry. Savoring the slick, scalding softness that welcomed him, the velvet glove that fitted him so well, glorying in all the heady signs of her body's acceptance of him-the natural, abandoned way the hemispheres of her bottom, glowing ivory in the moonlight, met his body, the slick wetness that made his staff gleam, the total absence of all restraint, the completeness of her surrender-he took time to appreciate it all.
Before him, she tightened, and tensed, and helplessly squirmed.
He held her steady. And slowly filled her again. She was close to frantic. He withdrew from her, nudged her legs wider, and filled her even more deeply.
A muted squeal escaped her.
Vane narrowed his eyes, and took firm hold of his reins. "What brought you here? To the conservatory?"
After a fractured minute, Patience gasped, "I told you-the amenities."
"Not because you saw me come in here with a lovely young lady?"
"No!" The answer came back too quickly. "Well," Patience breathlessly temporized, "she was your cousin."
With his free hand, Vane reached around her, filling his palm with the swollen fullness of her breast. He searched and found the tight bud of her nipple-and rolled it gently between thumb and finger, before squeezing firmly. "You didn't know that until I told you."
Patience valiantly swallowed her scream. "The music's stopped-they must all be at supper." She was so breathless, she could barely speak. "We'll miss it all if you don't hurry."
She'd die if he didn't hurry.
Hard lips caressed her nape. "The lobster patties can wait. I'd rather have you."
To Patience's relief, he tightened his grip on her, held her even more rigidly, as he stroked more powerfully. The flames within her roared, then fused and coalesced; the bright sun of release drew steadily nearer. Grew steadily brighter. Then he paused.
"You seem to be missing something here."
Patience knew what she was missing. The bright sun stopped, three heartbeats away. She gritted her teeth-a scream welled in her throat-
"I told you-you're mine. I want you-and you alone."
The words, uttered softly, with rocklike conviction, drove all other thoughts from Patience's head. Opening her eyes, she stared unseeing at the marble maiden, shimmering softly in the moonlight.
"There's no other woman I want to be inside-no other woman I crave." She felt his body tense, gather-then he thrust deep. "Only you."
The sun crashed down on her.
Hot pleasure washed through her like a tidal wave, sweeping all before it. Her vision clouded; she was unaware that she screamed.
Shifting his hand to her lips, Vane muffled the worst of her ecstatic cry-the sound still shredded his control. His chest swelled; grimly, he struggled to contain the desire raging through him, pounding his senses, liquid fire in his loins.
He succeeded-until the ripples of her release caressed him. He felt the power gather, felt it swell, grow and build within him. And in that final moment, as the cosmos crashed about him, he surrendered.
And did as she'd once asked, let go-and poured himself into her.
The instant Minnie's carriage door closed, cloaking her in the safe dark, Patience slumped against the squabs. And prayed she'd be able to master her limbs sufficiently to leave the carriage and walk to her bed when they arrived in Aldford Street.
Her body no longer felt like hers. Vane had taken possession and left her limp. Wrung out. The half hour between their return to the ballroom and Minnie's departure had been a near-run thing. Only his surreptitious support, his careful maneuvering, had concealed her state. Her deeply sated state.
At least she'd been able to speak. Reasonably coherently. And think. In some ways, that had made things worse. Because all she could think about was what he'd said, whispered against her temple, when she'd finally stirred in his arms.