Home for the Holidays (14 page)

“Her father could be dead?”

Trust Jonathan to surmise that and be already thinking how to put that information to good use in his campaign to win her. “Highly unlikely.”

“But possible?”

“Anything is possible, of course. But it’s more likely that he will show up within the week, that whatever has detained him, he will make an effort to finish up. He will want to be home for Christmas, after all, to spend it with his family. Larissa, unfortunately, has it set in her mind that something has gone terribly wrong, and once a fear sets in, it’s hard to shake. I’ve tried to convince her otherwise, with little luck. So I tried a distraction instead.”

Jonathan frowned. “She hides it very well, that she’s worried. How did you find out?”

“Having her burst into tears in front of me when we had been speaking of her father was a very good clue,” Vincent said dryly.

“I would be quite happy to take over the matter of distracting her. No reason for you to be bothered, when she means nothing to you. And you’ve already done quite enough in allowing the girl and her brother to stay here until their father returns. Which reminds me, why
did
you evict them from their home?”

Jonathan was overstepping the bounds of their relationship in asking questions that were none of his business. He knew that, of course. His slight blush said as much. Yet he wasn’t going to retract the question, because his interest in Larissa naturally included all information he could gather about her, and he no doubt hoped Vincent would realize that and supply some of it.

Vincent sighed. It wasn’t his habit to lie, yet he seemed to be doing a great deal of it since he’d met Larissa. And having assured Jonathan that he had no interest in the girl himself, he couldn’t very well tell the viscount that she’d been brought into his home so he could seduce her, nor that his goal was to ruin her family’s good name. That would be information Hale would relish sharing with Larissa, if for no other reason than he’d expect her to be grateful.

So he found himself continuing the lie he’d already begun with her. “It was a business decision carried out before I was aware that George Ascot wasn’t in the country and so unavailable to move his family elsewhere. When it did come to my attention that his children would be left homeless and without guidance, I brought them here to await his return.”

“Ah, well, glad to hear you aren’t completely heartless,” Jonathan replied.

Vincent frowned, remarking, “Not to say I admit to having a heart in that context, but just what was heartless about my actions?”

“Evicting them during the holidays,” Jonathan clarified. “Rather harsh, that.”

“Bah, just what do the holidays have to do with conducting business as usual?”

Jonathan blinked. “Well, actually, nothing, now you
mention it. It’s just that this particular holiday is synonymous with generosity and goodwill.”

“Sorry, but unlike you, I have no sentimentality toward this holiday, nor any preconceived notions about it. For me it’s just another day.”

“Now, that’s sad, Vincent.”

“Why?”

“Because you’ve obviously never experienced the joy and cheer that go along with the generosity and goodwill. Quite uplifting, if I do say so myself. Enemies call truce. Neighbors remember they have neighbors. You find good cheer and well-wishes everywhere you look. You can’t say you’ve never experienced any of that.”

Vincent shrugged. “Not that I recall.”

“Bloody hell, I thought you were English,” Jonathan grumbled, which caused Vincent to burst out laughing and the viscount to demand, “What’s so funny?”

“Just that Larissa assumed the same thing, when I mentioned I’d never had a Christmas tree before.”

“So this one here that
you
helped to decorate is just for her?” Jonathan snorted before he got an answer. “For someone who’s never experienced the generosity of the season, you’re being damned generous where that chit is concerned. A word of advice, then. You might want to tone that down a bit, or
she
might get the idea that you’re interested in her, when, as you say, you aren’t.”

A
SSUMPTIONS HAD A WAY OF EASING DOUBTS, BUT THEY ALSO
crumbled when subjected to too much time and scrutiny. Such was the case for Larissa. And after a bit more than a week had gone by since the night she had succumbed to temptation, she finally had to conclude that if Vincent was going to ask her to marry him, he would have done so by now. Which meant he wasn’t going to.

Oddly enough, she wasn’t devastated by that conclusion. But then he hadn’t broken any promise to her. He hadn’t deceived her in any way. She had done that to herself with her silly assumptions.

He had been as much a victim as she of the powerful attraction between them. The end results just didn’t equal the same thing for them both. She had naturally thought marriage, being a romantic at heart, while he apparently simply took his pleasure where he found it. She couldn’t blame him for that. She figured it was as natural for him to do as it was for her to have expected more.

She supposed it might have hit her much worse, that he didn’t want to make their relationship permanent, if she weren’t already grieving over her father and what his absence meant. Ironically, she knew she had Vincent to thank for keeping her mind off of that grief.

Night after night he had come to her room. It had been addicting, his lovemaking. She had waited in breathless anticipation for his touch each night. All of which had added benefits for her that he certainly wasn’t aware of, because when she was with him, she thought only of him, but when she wasn’t, her grief would set in again.

She had no longer been able to hide that grief from her astute brother either. Which was why Thomas no longer asked her when their father was coming home. And she had caught Thomas crying the day he finally realized that their father wasn’t coming home. But by silent agreement, they weren’t going to speak of it—not yet.

So she had much to be grateful to Vincent for, not just for giving them a home for the holiday, but for his many
and varied distractions when she might otherwise have wallowed in complete despair.

She still locked her door again that night, the night before Christmas. She might be grateful to Vincent, but she couldn’t continue to have an intimate relationship with him, now that she knew that was all he wanted from her.

It wasn’t easy, though. It should have been. She was rather numb, after all, over the new conclusions she’d drawn. But he came as usual, softly called her name from the other side of the locked door. She didn’t answer. And she knew she had tried to deceive herself again, because it was hurting more than she’d thought, that he didn’t care about her as much as she’d hoped.

The tears that soaked her pillow that night were for what might have been …

For Thomas’s sake, Larissa wore a bright, cheerful expression as she woke him and dragged him down to the parlor to open his presents, which she had bought and had hidden away many months ago. He had tucked a few under the tree for her as well, when she wasn’t looking, carvings he had made himself, and some for Mara and Mary, who joined them for the fun of present opening.

Of course, it wasn’t a normal Christmas for them. It wasn’t their house, wasn’t even their tree that they’d put presents under. But that had nothing to do with giving.
Christmas wasn’t about a place, after all; for them it was about family, and sharing, and love. And that was where it wasn’t normal, since they weren’t a complete family this Christmas and were sore missing that completeness on such a traditional day of gathering together.

Mara and Mary helped them to forget, ohing and ahing over Thomas’s whittling skill, which was improving each year, and over the little trinkets Larissa gave them, which, fortunately, she had bought before the money ran out. Mary didn’t stay long, though, anxious to get to the kitchen, which was Larissa’s real gift to her, having talked Vincent’s cook into letting Mary cook the Christmas goose for dinner, which she did so well.

She didn’t worry about Thomas getting overexcited either, as he tended to do on Christmas, though she would have a week ago. But he was recovered from his sickness finally, thank God, not quite as full of energy yet, but much more his usual buoyant self.

“May I have a word alone with your sister?”

Vincent stood in the open doorway. He looked a bit hesitant to enter the room.

Thomas, to whom the question had been addressed, didn’t glance his way, nor was there any inflection in his voice when he replied, “Not if you’re going to make her cry again.”

“Excuse me?” Stiffness now.

“Her eyes are all red—”

“Thomas, hush!” Larissa cut in, thoroughly embarrassed by now. “That has nothing to do with him,” she added, and blushed a bit more for the lie. “Please, take your new soldiers and go upstairs. I’ll join you shortly.”

Thomas gave her a disgusted look that indicated he knew very well she was lying. But Mara, much more tactful, helped him gather his new wooden soldiers and books, and half prodded, half dragged him out of the room.

Vincent wasn’t nearly as astute, or deliberately chose not to be, because as soon as they were alone, he said, “You were crying over your father again?”

“No.”

He blushed now. Well, if he hadn’t wanted the truth, he shouldn’t have asked a question that would lead to it. And she didn’t take pity on him. It was time for plain speaking between them. He had repeatedly avoided or evaded her questions when they were alone at night, and in the day there was never the opportunity to speak of anything personal with so many servants always near to hand. But for once they were alone, and he wasn’t kissing her to distraction or cutting her off with silly remarks until he
could
kiss her to distraction. In fact, for once, he was the one with burning questions.

“Why wouldn’t you answer me last night?”

“Probably for the same reason you never answer me,” she replied.

“What are you talking about?”

She gave him a sad smile. “Come now, Vincent, obtuseness doesn’t become you. Anytime I ever begin to mention marriage in your presence, you pounce on another subject so swiftly, I don’t even have time to blink. Very well, so marriage is a subject we will never discuss. And now that I’ve come to realize that, it is rather obvious, isn’t it, why my door will henceforth remain locked?”

He frowned. He also started to approach her. She quickly held up a hand, even took several steps back.

Letting him touch her was out of the question, not because it was out in the open now, that he had no intention of marrying her, but because she was too malleable in his arms. But oh God, why didn’t the knowledge she now possessed stop her from wanting him? She should despise him—again. She shouldn’t be wishing fervently that he would deny it and assure her that yes, of course they would marry.

“You don’t really want to do this to us, Larissa, do you?”

His tactics were on the rise, and he had many that he knew would work, including that husky tone he’d just used. How was she going to survive this?

“I don’t, but you do. Whether we continue as we were, or we say good-bye today, is entirely up to you. I can only follow my heart.”

“Your heart isn’t telling you to shut me out.”

No, it wasn’t. She hadn’t realized she had fallen so deeply in love with him. She had begun this only thinking it would be nice to marry him. She hadn’t thought why it would be so nice. But all the little things she knew about him had gotten to her, first to her compassion, then into her heart. The overwhelming attraction she felt for him was merely a side benefit—or a curse.

She tried to point out what he seemed to be missing. “Temptation is a lure of the forbidden. By all that’s right, you are forbidden to me. Preference has no bearing. If it were just me, if I had no others that I am responsible for, then it might not matter so much. But I have a young brother to raise now—on my own. And he will be taught by example, just as my father would have taught him, the correct path.”

“Your father wouldn’t have been a good—Never mind.” He cut himself off.

He raked a hand through his black mane. His frustration was evident and mounting. Or was it anger? It was hard to tell with him, when he so rarely showed any emotion—other than passion.

She didn’t doubt for a minute that he liked their current relationship and wanted it to continue. The emotion he was displaying was because he didn’t want her to end it. But she had no choice. He might care for her, but not
enough to want to make her a permanent part of his life. And what did that leave her? What exactly had he envisioned for her? Being his mistress, when her upbringing simply wouldn’t allow it? Or had he envisioned no more than a brief love affair that was ending sooner than he’d expected?

She was starting to feel some frustration herself, which was welcome, really. Anything to distract her from the pain squeezing at her heart.

“Vincent, I don’t know what you want from me. Do you even know?”

“I know I don’t want you to leave me.”

“Only marriage would assure that.”