Free A Rake's Vow by Stephanie Laurens Page A

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.
    It was he—the source of those peculiar sensations. She’d thought it must be, but she’d never felt such sensations before—and those streaking through her now were far stronger than those she’d felt earlier. It was his touch that did it—the touch of his eyes, the touch of his hands. He didn’t even need to contact bare skin to make every square inch she possessed react.
    Patience dragged in a breath. A flicker at the edge of her vision made her shift her focus. To Gerrard. She saw him dismount, exactly as Vane had done. Grinning, brimming with prideful good humor, Gerrard crossed the cobbles toward them.
    Vane turned, smoothly releasing her.
    Patience dragged in another breath and fought to steady her giddy head. She plastered a bright smile on her lips for Gerrard’s benefit—and continued to breathe deeply.
    “A wily move, Cynster.” Edmond, grinning good-naturedly, dismounted in the customary way. Patience noted it was a great deal slower than the way Vane had achieved the same end.
    Henry also dismounted; Patience got the impression he hadn’t liked seeing Vane lift her down. But he directed one of his hearty smiles at Gerrard. “Congratulations, my boy. You beat us fairly and squarely.”
    Which was laying it on a great deal too thick. Patience glanced swiftly at Gerrard, expecting some less than gracious response. Instead, her brother, standing beside Vane, merely raised one brow—and smiled cynically.
    Patience gritted her teeth; her jaw set. Of one thing she was quite sure—she wasn’t overreacting.
    Vane Cynster was going too far, far too fast—at least with respect to Gerrard. As for the rest—his teasing of her senses—she suspected he was merely amusing himself without any serious intent. As she was not susceptible to seduction, there seemed no reason to call him to account for that.
    Over Gerrard, however . . .
    She mulled over the situation as the horses were led away. For a few moments, all four men stood together in the center of the yard; a little to one side, she studied them—and acknowledged