Home for the Holidays (3 page)

“Declined?” he supplied with interest when she failed to finish. “Would you really?”

She blushed profusely. “I would have liked to.”

“Ah.” He smiled at her. “But we can’t always do as we like.”

No indeed, or he would carry her straight away to his bed. She was even more beautiful than he recalled, or perhaps it was merely the bright daylight in the hall that revealed
more of her perfection. Petite, narrow of waist, finely garbed in a fur-trimmed coat over mauve velvet skirts. A small, narrow nose. Dark gold brows, more a slash than an arch. Unblemished skin except for a small mole on the corner of her chin. Tiny earlobes with teardrop pearls hanging from them. She was every inch a lady, merely lacking a title that said so.

The Ascots had not been poor, likely were still well off. They were gentry. There was even an earl somewhere in their ancestry. They were quite socially acceptable to the
ton,
even though George had gone into business, which was not so frowned upon these days as it used to be. Albert had tried to do the same …

The only reason that Vincent had found it so easy to ruin Ascot’s financial reputation was that he was not in the country at the moment to put an end to the rumors that had spread about his dire straits. His prolonged absence had set his creditors to panic.

She came with an entourage, two women in their late fifties who looked nearly identical, and a pile of blankets that his coachman had carried in for them.

“We have bedding,” Vincent thought to point out.

Larissa was still blushing over being there. Her blush brightened more as she explained, “That’s my brother, Thomas. He has a dreadful cold. He wanted to walk, but the illness has sapped his strength.”

The blankets wiggled. The son was sick? Why had none of the reports he had on the family mentioned that? Vincent was pricked by his elusive conscience, but only for a moment. He nodded at his housekeeper, who had been apprised of the impending guests. She in turn nodded at the coachman to follow her. The two elderly servants did as well.

They were alone for the moment, there in the wide entry hall. Vincent wasn’t sure how to proceed. He was used to dealing with women in a straightforward manner. His title and wealth had always opened more doors for him than not, and the “nots” simply weren’t worth the effort. So he had never actually resorted to a planned seduction before. And the few that had been planned against him all seemed to include food in the agenda for some reason beyond his comprehension, as if women naturally assumed that a man without a wife must be starving, when any man of his position would have a perfectly good cook on staff, which he did.

However, the thought of food reminded him, “You are in time for luncheon.”

“No, thank you, Lord Everett, I couldn’t possible intrude,” she replied.

“Intrude on what?”

“Your family.”

“I have no family. I live alone here.”

It was a simple statement of fact, not meant to elicit
sympathy from her. Yet he didn’t mistake the brief show of it that crossed her face before she recollected that she was in the enemy’s camp, so to speak.

Her attitude was understandable. She was not bubbling over with gratitude for his assistance, just the opposite. Her stiffness, her reticence, both spoke volumes. She no doubt saw him as the enemy, whether she was really aware that he was one or not. He’d put her out of her home. That alone would bring dislike, possibly even hate. Which was why the show of sympathy was so interesting. She had to have quite a compassionate nature to feel sympathy, however brief, for someone she likely despised at the moment.

She had given a paltry excuse to decline eating with him, and having disposed of it, he wasn’t going to give her another opportunity to refuse a simple meal, especially when it was such a perfect opportunity for them to become better acquainted. He took her arm and led her to the dining room, sat her down and moved away from her to put her at ease. He’d noticed her nervousness as well as her shyness, or rather, her disinclination to look at him directly, and in his experience, there was only one reason for that…

It was fairly obvious that despite any resentment toward him that she might be harboring, she was still attracted to him.

It was not unexpected. Women of all ages were drawn
not only to his looks, but to the challenge he represented. They wanted to crack his shell. They couldn’t grasp the fact that cracking it would gain them nothing, since he had nothing inside it to offer.

As for Larissa, he would have to take full advantage of her attraction to him, to get around her present dislike. And perhaps use her sympathy to his advantage as well. Actually, he decided that anything would be permissible in this seduction. He would be absolutely ruthless about it if he had to. For once, having a lack of emotion and conscience was going to be quite beneficial.

He took the seat across from her and gave a nod to the waiting servants to begin the meal. It wasn’t until the first course was over that she noticed that he was staring at her in a sensual manner. Her blush was immediate when she did notice. He did not stop.

Vincent had been told on numerous occasions, in numerous ways, that his eyes revealed his emotions. Which was quite amusing to him since these occasions were usually during sexual interludes and his passions were tepid at best. It was the color of his eyes that gave the impression, he supposed, of more desire than was actually present. Amber jewels, molten gold, devilishly wicked, sexy, he’d heard it all and discounted it all. His eyes were merely a very light shade of brown with a few gold flecks, nothing extraordinary, in his opinion. Of course, living
with them for twenty-nine years made them quite ordinary to him.

But if Larissa imagined heated desire in them when he was only admiring her beauty over the entrée, well, that was to his good. He would much prefer to not have to spell it out, this seduction, if she was too dense to realize he was seducing her. And it wasn’t as if she could run off and hide from it, when she had nowhere to run to. He needed only assure her that the choice would be hers to make, and he would do that at an appropriate time. Less than an hour after her arrival was definitely too soon.

Still—he didn’t stop staring. He knew he should. He simply couldn’t.

He found it incredible that Ascot had managed to hide this exquisite daughter of his from the
ton,
to keep her under wraps, as it were. This was their third year in London. Surely someone of note would have discovered her by now, particularly since the family had lived in one of the more desirable neighborhoods, well populated with titles. Yet she wasn’t engaged nor being courted, and her name had never reached the gossip mills. This would have been her come-out Season—if her father had been home to “bring her out.”

He decided to ask, “Why is it you’re unknown to society here?”

“Perhaps because I’ve made no effort to be known,” she replied with a light shrug. “Why not?”

“I didn’t want to move to London. I grew up in Portsmouth, was perfectly happy there. I hated my father for bringing us to London. And for the first year we were here, I behaved like the foolish child I was and tried every way I could to make my father regret the move. I was an utter brat. I spent the next year trying to make it up to him, to make our home here a real home. Meeting my neighbors wasn’t part of either agenda … My God, why did I just tell you all of that?”

Vincent burst out laughing, wondering the same thing. And she looked so surprised—at herself. That was what he found most amusing, that he disturbed her enough to cause her to forgot standard protocol.

“Nervous chatter, I would imagine,” he supplied helpfully, still smiling.

“I’m not nervous,” she denied, but she looked down as she said it, still shying away from his direct stares, which he had no intention of stopping.

“It’s normal to be nervous. We are not well acquainted—yet.”

“Well acquainted” implied many things, and she apparently objected to all of them. “Nor will we ever be,” she retorted stiffly, then thought to add, “I know why I am here.”

“You do?” he asked with interest.

“Certainly. It was the only way that you could be assured another meeting with my father when he returns, to straighten out this mysterious misunderstanding of yours—which you refuse to explain.”

A pointed reminder that he was not being completely truthful with her, which he in turn pointedly ignored, since he had no intention of revealing his real motives. Revenge worked best when it struck in surprise, after all. But he did want to know just how much of an upper hand he held at the moment, where she was concerned, since she was now a prime piece in the equation.

He had made assumptions, when she had confessed she didn’t know where her family would be moving to. He had pictured her destitute and living on the streets. But those earbobs she was wearing said otherwise. Yet he wanted her to have no other recourse than to remain right where she was. The last thing he wanted was for her to be able to up and leave his house once she realized he was going to make every effort to get her into his bed.

It made the difference between a speedy, straightforward campaign for him, and a long, tedious one during which he would have to be careful of every word he said to her. And time
was
of the essence, since her father could return at any moment to rescue her from ruination.

It wouldn’t be too difficult, however, to assure that she
was destitute, or at least to have her think so, and to that end he said, “If you have any valuable jewelry, you can lock it in my safe while you are here. My servants are trustworthy, or most of them are, but we have a couple new maids that haven’t proven themselves yet.”

“I do have a few nice pieces, from my mother. They would have been sold only as a last resort. There are paintings, however, that I should have sold already. I prevaricated too long, thinking my father would return sooner. I should see to their disposal tomorrow.”

“Nonsense. You’ve no need to sell off your belongings now. You can wait here for your father. He will rectify everything when he returns, I’m sure.”

“I’m sure as well, but I don’t like being without any money whatsoever, and I really did go through the last of our funds for Thomas’s medicine. He will also need more …”

“Your furniture is being stored as we speak. I repeat, there is no reason for you to dispose of it. My personal physician is also due this week, to examine my staff—something I arrange for each year at this time—so feel free to use his services for your brother while he is here. But how is it possible that you are completely without funds? Is George Ascot that inconsiderate that—”

“Certainly not!” she cut in indignantly. “But our creditors heard some ridiculous rumor that he wouldn’t be returning
and demanded I clear their accounts. And not just one, but all of them showed up at our door. They wouldn’t believe me that he would soon be home. I was forced to deplete my household funds to satisfy them. And then Thomas caught that horrid cold that got worse and worse until I feared …”

She broke off, overcome with emotion. Strangely, Vincent found himself wanting to put his arms around her to comfort her. Good God, what an absurd thought—for him. He shoved the inclination aside. He was making progress, in getting her to talk. He wasn’t going to muck that up with some silly urge to fix everything for her, when her plight was all his doing in the first place.

“And then I added to your woes.” He managed to feign a convincing sigh.

She nodded, in complete agreement. She was also back to not looking at him. No matter. He
had
made progress. She had opened up, and easily. But then she seemed to have a wide range of easily pricked emotions, and it was not difficult at all to manipulate emotions if you knew which cords to yank on. He was learning hers.

“I still don’t understand why you bought our house, or how you bought it for that matter, when it was already sold to us,” she remarked.

“Simple business, Miss Ascot. I acquired the deed from the possessor of the deed. It’s what I do, buy and sell, invest,
supply what is in demand at opportune times to reap huge profits. Be it a certain style of architecture, a piece of art, or whatever, when I hear that someone is looking for something in particular, I make an effort to supply it, if it’s within my means and inclination to do so.”

“You’re saying you have a buyer for our house already, that that’s why you purchased it out from under us?”

“My dear girl, your father was given the opportunity to pay the remainder of his debt to complete his own purchase. Had he done so, the deed would have been his.”

“But then you would have purchased the house for nothing, would have seen no profit on it.”

“True, but that is a chance I take in what I do. I either reap excessive rewards, or I break even. Occasionally I even take a loss, but not enough for it to have kept me from becoming quite rich in my endeavors.”

“That implies you have made your own fortune,” she concluded.

“Indeed.”

“No grand inheritance, then, when you gained your title?” she asked next.

It was easy to see that she was trying to discomfit him, and perhaps catch him in a lie. She wasn’t very adept at table-turning, though.

He was amused by the effort. He didn’t even mind sharing a few particulars of his life with her. Actually, he
supposed he was a prime candidate for extreme sympathy, if all the facts of his life were taken into account. Not that he would ever reveal all those facts, but a few to work on her sympathies certainly wouldn’t hurt.

“My title came with the entailed family estate in Lincolnshire, which I refuse to ever step foot on again, since it holds nothing but bad memories for me. The rest of the family wealth, mediocre as it was, was left to my favored younger brother, now deceased.”

He said it without inflection, yet the frown lines came immediately to her brow. She really was too compassionate for her own good. It was going to be her downfall—where he was concerned.

Uncomfortably she announced, “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to pry.”