Home for the Holidays (9 page)

“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, if he was still living. He’d said their closeness had only been brief. And that left him no one. He 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—”

“I’ll 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.”

V
INCENT FOUND OUT ONLY AFTER
L
ARISSA 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 comforting, 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 rightness before.

Her 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 gender.

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, when 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.

So he became annoyed that she wasn’t available that morning. Yet when several hours passed and she hadn’t returned, he began to worry.

It could not have been a simple walk she was doing. That wouldn’t have taken this long. She must have some purpose. Yet she had gone out alone, without escort. London was no place for a young woman, and especially one as beautiful as she was, to walk about alone.

He finally sent people out to look for her. When that produced no results, he went out himself to try to find her. He questioned the neighbors at her old address. He went to the docks to her father’s company office, which was nearly deserted now, with only a single clerk remaining. He even went by the warehouse where he had stored her possessions, even though he knew that was pointless, since he hadn’t given her the address of it yet, but he’d run out of options.

By the time he returned home, only to be informed she
still
hadn’t shown up yet, he acknowledged that his worry was getting out of hand. He went straightaway to her brother’s room, which he should have done sooner. If anyone would know where she had gone or why, the boy would.

He found the child abed, propped up with pillows and reading a hefty volume of Greek mythology, of all things,
surely not by choice, though no one was with him at the moment to insist. Took his studies seriously, did he? Or perhaps he was simply so intelligent that he craved knowledge constantly, of any sort.

These were vague thoughts that didn’t last more than a second due to Vincent’s own craving for knowledge—about Larissa. “Where is your sister?”

He should have at least introduced himself first, realized that with the blank stare he was getting and started to correct the oversight. “I’m—”

“I’m sure I know who you would be, Lord Everett,” Thomas interrupted without the least change of expression. “My question is what is it that you require of my sister that has you so impatient to see her?”

“I am not the least bit impatient.”

The book was set aside. The boy even crossed his arms in a manner that indicated he would wait until he heard the correct answer. And his direct gaze was actually disconcerting. For a moment Vincent felt as if he were in the presence of the girl’s grandfather, rather than her ten-year-old brother. A brief moment.

In a tone gone stiff, Vincent explained, “While you both reside in my house, you are afforded my protection, which makes you more or less my responsibility for the time being. Yet I can’t assure her safety if she intends to traipse about London by herself.”

“Does she know you are accepting responsibility for her?” Thomas asked.

“I assume—”

The boy interrupted again with the offering, “You can’t assume where Rissa is concerned.”

“Regardless, she has been missing since early this morning. Is that a normal habit of hers, to go about town without an escort?”

“No indeed, she rarely goes about town at all. She’s been quite the recluse, my sister, since we moved to London. Wasn’t always the case, least not in Portsmouth. Think this city intimidates her.”

“Then why the devil would she go out in it alone?” That question merely gained a shrug from the boy, prompting Vincent to clarify, “You have no idea, then, where she might have gone today?”

“Possibly to collect our Christmas decorations? I’m afraid I have been nagging her—”

Vincent interrupted impatiently this time. “No, I told her I would have them fetched.”

“Then to my father’s office?”

“No, the clerk there said she hadn’t been by,” Vincent replied.

“You’ve already been searching for her?” This was asked with a raised brow that looked quite odd on a ten-year-old face. Yet the implication was still there
that the boy had just drawn conclusions from that information that were no doubt wrong, yet drawn nonetheless.

“Did I mention responsibility?” Vincent almost growled. “I thought so. Of
course
I would find it necessary to look for her, when she’s bloody well been gone for half the day.”

“Do you realize how upset you sound, Lord Everett? Do you take all of your responsibilities this seriously? Or just my sister?”

Vincent sighed and got out of there. He wasn’t used to dealing with children, and he certainly wasn’t used to dealing with little adults in child form. Silly boy, to try and credit Vincent with emotions, of any sort.

L
ARISSA WAS WALKING IN THE HOUSE JUST AS
V
INCENT CAME
downstairs again. She looked cold. She looked tired. She was windblown and damp from snow drizzles that she’d probably been caught in more than once. She was infinitely beautiful even with wind-chapped cheeks.

The anger came immediately to replace the worry he’d undergone, now that he could see she was unharmed, and he blasted her with it the second he reached her. “Don’t
ever
leave this house again without taking one of the footmen with you! Do you have no sense at all, to not realize what could happen to you out on those bloody streets?”

She stared at him, and stared. She was probably too tired to muster any expression. Finally she said simply, “They aren’t my footmen to command.”

“Then consider them henceforth at your beck and call—!” he growled, only to be cut off.

“Nor did I have a choice in the matter. I had to go out… so I went.”

He gritted his teeth. “There is no ‘had to’ involved. The only rational choice would have been to stay indoors on a day like this.”

“That wouldn’t have found me a jeweler willing to pay a fair price for my pearls, nor an auction house interested in the paintings and other objects of art I mean to dispose of,” she told him.

Vincent almost panicked. He’d already assured her that she didn’t need to sell anything. There had to be a reason that she’d subjected herself to horrid weather and risked her own personal safety. He was either frightening her away, or she was running from things she didn’t understand.