Home for the Holidays

  She couldn’t finish, having touched on the probability again that her father wouldn’t be there

  in the future. Nor had she even thought yet what his continued absence was going to do to his business.

  The shipping company wouldn’t be turned over to her for disposal until he was officially declared dead, yet in the meantime it would fail, so there would be nothing left to turn over. She couldn’t run it herself, didn’t have the necessary knowledge to do so. Thomas was too young yet to take over. And the clerk who had been left in charge couldn’t continue indefinitely either, making decisions that were beyond his capabilities.

  “That was the plan?” the baron guessed, unwilling to leave the subject alone. “Before what?”

  “Before these rumors started, that my father isn’t going to return.”

  There was a moment of silence as her eyes glistened with unshed tears which he couldn’t help but notice. “You think he’s dead, don’t you?”

  “No!”

  Too much emphasis. Too much despair. An obvious lie which he ignored.

  “There are countless reasons that could have detained him, none of which include any dire circumstances,” he told her. “You have been inconvenienced by the delay, but there is no reason to think it is anything other than a delay.”

  The word he’d chosen, “inconvenienced,” almost brought forward a bitter laugh from her. Was that how he viewed an eviction, as no more than an inconvenience to the tenant? Yet she did realize that he was trying to bolster her hope, which she had finally abandoned. She just wished she could borrow some of his optimism, but it didn’t work. Her own had sustained her this long, but was now gone.

  She couldn’t talk to him anymore. The lump in her throat was all but choking her. But there was nothing more to say. She’d already answered his reason for detaining her, that and more.

  And then she looked at him. A mistake. She should have walked out while she still had some of her wits about her. She might have been able to manage a few words in parting at the door. But looking at him, she saw the concern in his golden eyes that he probably didn’t realize was there, and burst into tears. Impossible to stop. Impossible to control.

  It was too far from the window to the door. She didn’t make it before his hand was on her shoulder, stopping her, then his arms were gathering her close.

  It was what she had needed for several weeks now, a shoulder to cry on. That it was the shoulder of the very person responsible for some of those tears pouring out of her didn’t seem to matter much.

  He held her close, and tightly, as if he were overcome with emotion himself. He wasn’t, surely. He was just trying to comfort her and probably wasn’t sure how to go about it, was probably quite unaccustomed to women falling apart in front of him.

  It was comforting, having his arms around her, his solid chest to lean on, and so nice that she was loath to end it. But when the tears started to dry up, she started to become aware of him in a different way, in the way that so disturbed her and rattled her common sense.

  She stepped back quickly, breaking his warm embrace. “Thank you, I’m fine now.”

  She wasn’t, but it was the correct thing to say to him. Unfortunately, he was too perceptive, and blunt enough to remark on it.

  “You aren’t.”

  She really was, at least for the moment, in the matter that had needed comfort. It was something else altogether making her tremble now. And she was afraid to look at him directly, to see what was in his eyes this time. She suspected that it would be a terrible risk, to subject herself to that molten fire if it was there again. Her emotions were just too fragile at the moment to withstand it.

  So she turned away toward the open doorway and even passed through it before she said, “I will be.”

  Whether he heard her, or would have argued the point, was moot. She didn’t give him a chance to, practically ran all the way to her room.

  CHAPTER 10

  Larissa had been told last evening, when she had gone down to dinner and had eaten it alone, that the baron usually wasn’t at home in the evenings. Quite understandable for a member of the ton, particularly during one of the more prominent social Seasons, which was in full swing, to be attending one social gathering or another. So he rarely ate at home, which for her had been good news.

  It was why she went downstairs tonight. She wasn’t expecting to see him again that day. Besides, she had no reason to offer to take her meals in her room, so it would be quite rude to do so.

  He joined her.

  Having assumed he wouldn’t, it was quite disconcerting, watching him walk into the room, offer her a curt nod, and take his seat across from her. Her embarrassment returned over the outburst of tears he’d been witness to that afternoon. Horrid emotion, to be so uncontainable and embarrass her like that. But at the time she hadn’t thought of that, hadn’t thought of anything except the grief pouring out of her.

  He wasn’t going to remark on it, though, for which she was most grateful. He said a few words to the servant who poured his wine. She had declined wine herself, didn’t usually drink it with dinner, but she caught the servant’s eye now and indicated she’d changed her mind. She needed something, anything, to help her get through this meal, now that she wouldn’t be having it alone.

  The silence between them was embarrassing in itself. They ought to be talking to each other. It was the civilized thing to do. Surely she could manage some normal conversation that wouldn’t lead to a

  burst of emotion. And she had Thomas’s request still in mind.

  He’d asked her again today about adding their Christmas decorations to the baron’s tree. She didn’t plan to be here for Christmas, hoped to find other accommodations by then, though she didn’t tell Thomas that. And just in case she had trouble finding a suitable place in time, she really ought to cover the subject with the baron.

  It was a simple request, after all. Nor could she imagine why he might deny it. And it was conversation! Desperately needed, because the continued silence was beginning to heat her cheeks.

  She began, “I’ve noticed you haven’t brought in a tree yet for Christmas. When do you usually decorate one?”

  “I don’t,” he replied simply as he sat back with his wineglass in hand and gave her his full attention.

  She should have realized that. She simply couldn’t imagine him doing anything so festive. He no doubt left the task to his servants, then merely enjoyed their efforts.

  So she rephrased her question. “But when do you usually have one decorated?”

  “I don’t,” he replied yet again.

  She was so surprised she couldn’t hide it. “Are you saying you don’t have a tree put up-ever?”

  He raised a brow at her. “Why are you having trouble with that fact?”

  “Because-I’ve never not had a Christmas tree myself. I thought everyone … But how did you celebrate Christmas as a child?”

  “I didn’t.”

  She thought of her own many Christmas experiences as a child, the fun in decorating a tree, the excitement as presents gathered under it … That he had never experienced any of that, she simply couldn’t comprehend.

  “You are English, aren’t you?”

  He laughed. She saw nothing funny in the subject. Thomas was looking forward to decorating a tree with his own lovingly crafted ornaments. He would have a tree to do so if she had to go out and cut one down herself.

  “Quite English,” he answered after his laughter wound down to a smile. “I merely never had anyone to share the holiday with.”

  She blushed. “I’m sorry, I didn’t know you were orphaned that young.”

  “I wasn’t,” he said with a shrug. “My parents died after I had reached twenty.”

  Larissa stared at him. She also gave up. His family must have simply been-strange.

  If he had a wife, the lady would insist on a tree. With that thought occurring, she asked him, “Why have you not married yet?”

  It was the
wine. She never would have asked such a personal question if she hadn’t gulped down her first glass of wine and was already working on the second, nor asked it so bluntly. She wished the footman with the wine bottle would go away. No, actually, she wished he were standing closer rather than so far across the room, he wasn’t even within hearing distance.

  The baron didn’t take offense, though; he even answered her. “I have yet to find a compelling reason to marry.”

  She should have apologized for the personal question, instead pointed out, “But you have a title to pass on.”

  “My father’s title. I despised him, so why would I want to preserve his title?”

  “That’s rather harsh,” she replied. “Surely you didn’t really.”

  “You’re quite right. The hate didn’t last more than a few years. Indifference prevailed thereafter.”

  “You’re serious, aren’t you? I’ve never known anyone to not love their parents.”

  It was probably her surprise that made him chuckle. “You’ve led a sheltered life, Larissa. You’ve never known anyone to not have a Christmas tree either. Shall I tell you how easy it is for both to occur?”

  She should have said no. Knowing more about him was not going to be good for her peace of mind, she was sure …

  “Yes.”

  He finished off his own wine before he began. “I grew up on the family estate in Lincolnshire, which I haven’t been back to since my parents died.”

  “Why?”

  “Because I have nothing but feelings of inadequacy there, and the memories that caused them.”

  She changed her mind abruptly. “You don’t have to delve into those memories-“

  “It’s quite all right,” he interrupted. “Believe me, those feelings are gone. In fact, I have no feelings remaining at all, where my parents are concerned. They were social butterflies. They did their duty in producing the required heir, myself, then proceeded to ignore me. I was turned over to servants to raise. Quite a normal occurrence, in the ton”

  That was true, she supposed, though not as frequent as his “normal” implied. Nor did it explain why he had hated his parents, but she didn’t need to point that out, because he continued.

  “My brother, Albert, came along a few years after me, unplanned, unwanted really, and turned over to the servants as well. Consistent of them, so I didn’t realize yet that my parents simply didn’t like children, at least had no time to share with them. They were never at home, after all, so neither of us was actually ignored, it was more like we were- forgotten. I even became close to Albert briefly, before they took him away.”

  “Away?”

  “With them. You see, by his fourth year, he became the ‘court jester.’ It’s how I’ve always thought of him. He went out of his way to amuse people-and succeeded. He was quite good at it. While I, on the other hand, had no such qualities. I was too serious, too reserved. If I ever laughed as a child, I don’t remember it.

  “On one of my parents’ rare visits, they discovered this. They had brought home guests. Albert managed to make most of these guests laugh. He was entertaining. My parents suddenly found him of value in their socializing, and worth spending time with, so of course, he must travel with them.”

  “But not you,” she said in a quiet tone, not a question, an obvious summation.

  “No, certainly, I was the heir and already being tutored. And I wasn’t amusing. But they did finally bring Albert home, when he had to begin his own schooling. And they came to visit much more often, stayed for months at a time now. They missed Albert, after all. And when he wasn’t in school, they took him off again with them.”

  “On holidays,” she guessed, holidays like Christmas.

  “Yes.”

  Larissa felt like crying-for him. He had said it all matter-of-factly. It meant nothing to him now. But dear Lord, it must have bothered him as a child, when his brother was lavished with attention, and he was given none. Inadequate, he had mentioned. Yes, he would have felt that, would have felt left out, unloved, unwanted …

  She cried anyway, couldn’t stop it despite trying to, silent tears, at least, that she was able to quickly swipe away before he noticed-or he was pretending not to notice. He probably hadn’t liked having to offer comfort to her that afternoon, and didn’t want to have to do so again. He wouldn’t attribute her tears to anything to do with him, thankfully. Why would he, when they barely knew each other? He’d think she was thinking of her father again-if he even noticed the new tears.

  Stupid, stupid emotions, to have her crying like a ninny so frequently these days. But she felt so sorry for Lord Everett, to have had such a horrid childhood, such a cold and unloving family.

  He must hate his brother, too, il he was still living. He’d said their closeness had only been brief. And that left him no one. 1 le was so alone-so in need of someone to care about him.

  “So you see now why I have never celebrated Christmas,” he ended.

  She did indeed, and nearly cried again. She really was going to have to work on this emotional weakness of hers, as soon as she figured out how one became hard and indifferent-like the baron was. And her immediate problem hadn’t been solved either, so she mentioned it.

  “My brother has been raised in a more … traditional-manner.”

  He raised a brow at her. “You’re saying you intend to celebrate Christmas-here?”

  “Certainly, if we are still here.”

  “And that will require a tree?”

  She sighed. “Yes.”

  “By all means, then. I wouldn’t want the boy to not have what he’s accustomed to.”

  “Thank you. We’ll put it up in his room, if you’d rather not have it downstairs in the parlor.”

  “Nonsense, might as well do it right, if you’re going to do it.”

  “We’ll need our decorations. They were stored in the attic-“

  ‘Til have them fetched.”

  “You’re very kind.”

  He burst out laughing. “No, my dear Larissa, I can be called many things, but kind would certainly never be one of them.”

  CHAPTER 11

  Vincent found out only after Larissa had left his house that she was gone. Her brother was still there, as were her clothes, so he didn’t panic. She obviously meant to come back. He was still annoyed, since he had planned to advance his seduction that morning.

  Too much progress had been made yesterday for him not to take advantage of it, and before it became redundant. She had revealed how vulnerable she was in his study, that her father’s continued absence had become more than just a worry to her. Such grief made her ripe for com-

  forting, and comforting could come in many forms.

  He had offered the most basic form yesterday, no easy task for him, to hold her like that, feel her body trembling, and then let her go. She had felt so right in his arms. He’d never experienced that Tightness before.

  Hei tears and grief were real; he hadn’t doubted that for a moment. He just didn’t think they were necessary yet, so they hadn’t affected him much. She might doubt her father’s return, but he didn’t, which was why he was still under a time constraint, to get her seduced soonest, before Ascot came to collect her.

  If he thought otherwise … well, there would no longer be the need for any further revenge on his part. Seducing her was going to ultimately hurt the father. If the father was dead, it would only hurt her-a thought he shied away from. Not that she wouldn’t still find a husband eventually. She was too beautiful to remain unmarried for long- another thought he shied away from.

  It was really too bad that her father had to be such an underhanded bastard. And amazing that he had raised such a caring, compassionate daughter. Was the son the same, or was it only from the mother’s influence, which had been denied the boy? Vincent’s reports revealed that she had died with the second child’s birth. But Larissa would have had eight years in the mother’s care, long enough for her to have developed the softer qualities of her g
ender.

  Compassion had poured out of her last night. He had never thought how deplorable his childhood would seem to someone else. He had lived it, but had put it behind him. Even speaking of it wouldn’t bring up those old feelings of pain and loneliness that he had buried so deep in order to survive them. But she had envisioned it all and had cried-for him.

  What he had told her was the truth, but just a brief version of it. To no one would he ever admit how many nights he had cried himself to sleep as a child, or the anguish in thinking it was his fault that his parents didn’t love him, or the misery each time he stood alone at the window and watched them ride away with Albert, leaving him behind. To experience, every time they had had to deal with him, their impatience to have it done so they could continue with more interesting endeavors.

  To never have had a single hug or tender touch, even from his mother.

  It was nothing to Vincent now because he wouldn’t let it be. He had made of his heart a rock void of emotion-in self-defense. But that Larissa would cry for him, Vvrhen she had so many bitter feelings against him that should take precedent, still amazed him.

  He had done his best to ignore those tears, because he didn’t want her getting defensive about it. which would have ruined the effect it had had on her. But he did mean to take advantage before she had time to remember why she should spare him no sympathy at all.