Home for the Holidays (2 page)

Vincent had bought the deed and sent a demand for the balance from Ascot to be paid immediately. He was well aware that Ascot wasn’t in the country to receive the demand or arrange to borrow elsewhere to pay it, thus he would lose the house and everything he had put into it—and only find out about it upon his return, when it was too late to salvage his investment.

It had been a well-aimed blow at Ascot’s finances, as well as his reputation, since it wouldn’t go over well with
his creditors that he had been evicted from his residence. Vincent certainly hadn’t expected to lose his valuable secretary over the matter, though.

A pretty girl, eh? She must be the daughter. No other female in that house would be so affected by the eviction, to wear a “stricken” look, since Ascot only had one female in his family, a daughter who had just reached marriageable age. His wife had passed on years ago. There was also a young son.

Vincent found himself approaching the door to the house, just out of curiosity, he assured himself. But after knocking and waiting several long minutes, with snow continuing to collect on the shoulders of his greatcoat, he concluded that curiosity was a silly thing by all accounts, and his own didn’t need to be satisfied.

He turned to leave. The door opened. Pretty? The girl standing there haloed in the soft light behind her took his breath away. This was who he had evicted into the snow-covered streets? This exquisitely beautiful, forlorn creature? Bloody hell.

L
ARISSA
A
SCOT STOOD IN THE OPEN DOORWAY STARING AT
the large form before her, but she wasn’t really seeing anything. Snow was blowing in her face, but she didn’t really notice that either, or even feel the cold.

It was too much, all at once, much too much to deal with on top of everything else that had been visited upon her in the last few weeks. The butcher, as well as the baker, both denying her further credit until the current accounts were settled. Her brother, Thomas, sickening and needing constant attendance. Her father’s banker apologizing, but patiently explaining why she couldn’t have access to her
father’s funds without his permission. Watching the household funds, which had been ample and should have lasted nearly a year for incidentals, dwindle down to nothing because she had been forced not only to settle with those nasty merchants who had shown up at her door demanding immediate payment on outstanding debts, but also to pay cash just to put a bit of food on the table.

Most of her servants had already been let go, an event that had made her literally sick to her stomach in the doing. Many of those servants had been with her family for years, had made the move with them from Portsmouth to London three years ago when her father had expanded his business and relocated there. It had been horrible for them to lose their jobs during the holiday season, but just as traumatic for her to have to be the one to tell them. But she had been unable to pay them this month, and with her father already a month late in returning, she could no longer assure them that he would be home soon to settle with them.

And now this … this eviction. Unexpected, completely without warning. The little man had said a demand had been sent by the new owner through the posts, that there had been ample warning, but she didn’t read her father’s mail, so she hadn’t seen it. New owner? How could Mr. Adams, whom they had bought the house from, sell it out from under them? Was that legal? When there was
only a few thousand pounds remaining before the house was completely theirs?

She couldn’t comprehend why all this was happening, why merchants they had dealt with for several years now no longer trusted her family to settle with them at the end of the year as was their custom, why they had lost their home. One day to leave. They were to vacate by tomorrow, pack up everything and be gone. How? She didn’t have any money left to hire wagons to move them. And to where? Their old home in Portsmouth had been sold. They had no other relatives. The old family estate near Kent was merely a property, uninhabitable, and besides, the doctor had warned that if Thomas didn’t remain in bed and out of drafts, he wouldn’t recover, could even take a turn for the worse.

“Are you all right, miss?”

The body standing before her slowly took shape, a tall man in a greatcoat that was deceiving of form; skinny, fat, it was hard to tell in one of those coats, not that it mattered. Larissa was merely trying to focus on
something
that might draw her out of the mire her mind was still in. Somewhat handsome, though that was hard to really discern when his cheeks and long nose were covered with snow. Not too young, perhaps nearing thirty …

“Miss?”

The question? Ah, was she all right? If she began to laugh hysterically, would he still wonder?

“No, I don’t believe so,” she said honestly, though she realized she’d just opened the door on further conversation that she didn’t want, so she added quickly, “If you’re here to see my father, he isn’t home.”

“I know.” At her frown, he continued, “I’m Vincent Everett, Baron Everett of Windsmoor.”

“Baron of—You’re the new owner?”

Incredible. Such gall, for him to show up after his devastating blow had already been delivered. Was he there to gloat, then? Or merely to make sure that they would comply with the eviction so he wouldn’t have to send round the magistrate to physically oust them? Which was going to be the case anyway. There was simply no way that she could get everything they owned out of the house by tomorrow, even if she had someplace to move to.

She supposed the furnishings could be stored at her father’s office on the docks. She and Thomas might even have been able to sleep there temporarily—if her brother weren’t so sick. But that office was drafty even in the summer. To subject Thomas to the cold that floated up from the Thames was unthinkable. Yet what other choice did she have? There was no money left for lodgings, no money left for food. She had put off selling their possessions, hoping with each day’s passing that that would be the day her father would return and make everything right again. But she’d put it off too long. Now there was no time left …

Her instinct was to close the door on the baron. He might own the house now, but she was still in possession of it—for one more day. But he hadn’t said why he was there yet. And just because her world was falling apart didn’t mean she had to abandon common courtesies. She could give him at least five more seconds to state his business,
then
she would close the door on him.

“Why are you here, Lord Everett?”

“My secretary was rather upset.”

“The man here before you?”

“Yes. And from what he said, I’m beginning to think a—misunderstanding may have occurred.”

“Misunderstanding? I have a letter of eviction. It’s quite clear, actually, and if it weren’t, your secretary read it aloud so I couldn’t possibly—misunderstand.”

She heard the bitterness in her tone, found it appalling that she could so reveal herself to a complete stranger, but couldn’t manage to contain such overwhelming emotion. Better a bit of anger, though, than tears. The tears would come, would have arrived already if she hadn’t been so dazed by this last and worst shock, but hopefully she could hold them back until she was alone.

“I did not say ‘mistake,’ miss,” he corrected her. “I was referring to something else, which cannot be cleared up until your father’s return. So I will need an address where you can be reached after tomorrow.”

The fight went out of her, leaving her shoulders drooping. Had she really thought, just for the barest moment, that his “misunderstanding” might mean they wouldn’t lose the house after all?

“I don’t have an address to give you,” she replied in a near whisper. “I truly have no idea where we will be after tomorrow.”

“A quite unacceptable answer,” he said with some impatience in his tone. He then reached into a coat pocket and handed her a card. “You may stay at this address until your father makes other arrangements for you. I will send my coach in the morning to assist you.”

“Can we not just … stay here … until this matter you’ve mentioned is settled?”

There was the barest hesitation before he replied succinctly and emphatically, “No.”

She’d had to force that last question out of her. It went completely against the grain for her to have to ask, beg as it were, for anything, and in particular, from a stranger. But if he was going to supply lodging as his card indicated, why could he not supply this lodging? had been her desperate thought. But a foolish thought, obviously.

And his “no” was the catalyst that sent him on his way, a dark shadow quickly fading to nothing in the swirling snow.

It was another moment or so before Larissa thought to
close the door and did so. She even managed to take herself upstairs to check on Thomas. He was sleeping fitfully, the fever that visited him each night still lingering.

Mara sat beside his bed, sleeping in the comfortable chair drawn there. Mara Sims had been Thomas’s nanny, and Larissa’s as well. In fact, she had been with them as long as Larissa could remember. She had refused to abandon them just because her wage was a bit tardy, as she put it. Her sister, Mary, had likewise refused to leave.

Mary used to be their housekeeper, but when they’d lost their cook back in Portsmouth, she’d admitted that she much preferred the kitchen domain and had taken a downgrade in position to do what she loved best. The haughty housekeeper who had replaced her had been the first to quit right after the creditors began showing up at the door. Amazing how the news of their financial difficulty had spread through the neighborhood so fast.

They would have a roof over their heads …

Larissa should have been experiencing some relief about the new lodgings, the biggest worry out of the way, temporarily at least. But as she went to her room and began the miserable chore of packing her personal belongings, she couldn’t quite grasp the relief she should be feeling.

Nor had any gratitude shown up yet where the baron was concerned. His offer of alternate lodging had been for
his convenience, not theirs. It wasn’t help in the traditional sense, was simply that
he
wanted to keep track of them for his own purpose, whatever that was. The “misunderstanding” apparently wasn’t anything drastic that might alter their changed circumstances.

She was probably still too dazed by it all to feel much of anything just yet. Which was just as well. At least she wouldn’t be crying all night long while she packed. And the tears actually held off until the wee hours, when she went to sleep with them on her cheeks.

V
INCENT STOOD BEFORE THE FIREPLACE IN HIS BEDROOM, A
snifter of warmed brandy in hand. He was staring at the dancing flames as if mesmerized, yet he wasn’t actually seeing the fire. It was a piquant face that he saw, framed with burnished gold locks and eyes that were neither green or blue, but a light blending of both colors in a unique shade of turquoise he’d never seen before.

He never should have gone to have a look at Larissa Ascot. He never should have got anywhere near her. She should have remained faceless, merely “Ascot’s daughter,” an indirect casualty in his small war. But having seen her,
the decision to seduce her had been the easiest decision yet in his campaign against the Ascots. Ruin her for marriage, another blow against the family’s good name. That had been his thought when he had handed her his card. On reflection, though, he knew it was just an excuse, and a paltry one at that.

It had been a long time since he had wanted something, really wanted something, for himself. He wanted her. Revenge gave him all the excuse he needed to have her, would ease his conscience—if he had one. He wasn’t sure if he had one or not. The lack of emotion in his life included guilt, so it was hard to tell.

The next day he was in the entry hall to greet her when she arrived at his home. Her surprise was evident.

“I thought the address you gave me would be for another property of yours that you let out, one that was presently vacant. If I had known you were offering the hospitality of your own home, I would have…”