Home for the Holidays (11 page)

Vincent stiffened. “She isn’t for sale.”

“Nonsense, everyone has a price.”

Trust Jonathan to think so. Vincent had known the viscount long before Jon came to him to find
La Nymph
for him. It was common knowledge among the
ton
that Hale was obscenely rich, which had heretofore made it a simple matter for him to be able to obtain anything his heart desired.

He was used to naming a price and getting what he wanted. That he’d finally found something that he couldn’t have was not a matter of the item being unavailable; it had merely not been found as yet. Which was why he had approached Vincent and offered him a ridiculous sum of money merely to locate the painting for him. Jonathan would then negotiate with the current owner himself to buy it.

It was one of the harder commissions that Vincent had accepted. He was more in the habit of barter, of give and get, of finding out what was needed to obtain something, and supplying it. But what he was doing for Jonathan Hale was more or less searching for a rumor.

The actual existence of a painting called
La Nymph
was confirmed, but not the notoriety about it. It was reputed to be of a beautiful young woman so erotically depicted that it had an aphrodisiac effect on anyone gazing upon it, male or female. It was reputed to have kept one of its previous owners, an earl in his seventies, in a constant state of sexual readiness. It had caused marriages to be ruined.
It had caused one man to go insane. It had sent another to the poorhouse.

Hearing of all this, Jonathan had decided he
had
to have it in his collection. Whether the painting did what it was reputed to do erotically didn’t matter to him, he wanted it because it was so notorious.

Some said
La Nymph
had been commissioned by one of the kings by the name of Henry, that it was of his favorite mistress, but with so many kings of that name, no one had ever figured out which one. Some said it had been created in revenge by the artist, that the young woman in the painting had been his love and had spurned him. Most people who heard about the painting simply didn’t believe in its existence. It was a joke. A hoax. Titillating dinner conversation.

Vincent would have been inclined to believe the latter if his search hadn’t produced some valid information about the last known owner of the painting. He had been a gambler by the name of Peter Markson who had won a painting called
La Nymph
in a card game several years ago. A lucky stroke for him, since he was apparently not very good at gambling, and in fact had had to leave the country to escape debtor’s prison. He’d used the painting to pay for his passage, then was taken ill at sea and died aboard ship.

The captain of that vessel held possession of it next, his name unconfirmed. He didn’t keep it long, though,
turned it over to the owner of his ship, because after he took it home with him, his wife then threatened to leave him if he didn’t get it out of her house.

This was information picked up on the docks, so not really dependable. It made a good tale for seamen to pass about once they heard of the erotic nature of the painting, but was suspect because the names of the ship, its captain, and its owner were never the same twice. Apparently each old salt who wanted to tell the tale made sure it was about a captain or ship he knew or had sailed on.

Yet it was the closest Vincent had come to finding out anything about
La Nymph.
And Peter Markson really did leave the country in disgrace, having lost everything he owned on the turn of a card. That was the only fact that Vincent was inclined to depend on.

As for Jonathan’s sudden keen interest in Larissa, that was understandable. She’d had the same effect on Vincent when he’d first seen her, of wanting her at any cost. But with Jonathan, he couldn’t take it seriously, because he knew the man’s preferences where women were concerned.

So he gave him a thoughtful look and said, “I suppose her price would be marriage.”

He had thought that would put Jonathan off, since he was a confirmed bachelor who preferred not to dabble with innocents, when there were so many well-experienced
ladies more than willing to entertain him for a pretty bauble or two. And Jon didn’t look too happy with the “price.”

“Hmmm, hadn’t planned to marry” Jonathan complained. “What need when I’ve all the women I could ask for, and a few carts full of bastards as well to pick an heir from? Marriage never struck me as being a fun thing to do. But I suppose it wouldn’t hurt to try it.”

That gave Vincent pause. “You aren’t serious.”

“Why not?”

“For the very reasons you’ve stated. You’ve become accustomed to variety in your women. A wife doesn’t provide that.”

“Mistresses do.”

“Then why marry?”

“To have her.”

“Then why have mistresses?”

Jonathan frowned. “For the variety—and why are you trying to talk me out of it?”

“Because you merely want to possess her. You have no intention of devoting yourself fully to her. Having come to know her since she has been staying here, I think she deserves better than that in a marriage.”

“Or you planned to marry her yourself,” Jonathan all but accused.

“No.”

Jonathan raised a skeptical brow. “Then you can’t object to my courting her. I’ll even make my intentions clear, if you insist, that I have no desire to give up my present way of life, merely want to add her to it. All up and up. The truth. Sounds challenging, don’t it?”

“You think to sway her with your wealth?”

Jonathan grinned. “Of course.”

It was amazing, how strong the urge was to wipe that smile from the viscount’s lips with his fist. Emotion again. It was sneaking up on Vincent too much lately, and in fact his emotional outburst today in the hall when Larissa had returned from her errands had quite shocked him later when he had time to reflect on it.

He should have made love to her this afternoon. She’d been willing—at least, she hadn’t been objecting. Then this conversation with Hale wouldn’t have bothered him very much. He would have been done with her himself, would have accomplished his goal. What matter, then, if Hale courted her or even married her?

The thought still didn’t sit well with him. Before, after, it made no difference, he did
not
like the thought of her marrying Jonathan and being merely another acquisition in his vast collection. And she was vulnerable right now. Thinking her father wasn’t coming back, that she and her brother were soon going to be without an income, the few valuables she meant to sell unable to support them indefinitely,
she just might jump at the chance to marry one of the most wealthy men in the realm, no matter the reasons offered. Vincent had intended to use that same vulnerability to get her into his own bed.

This bloody revenge thing was turning him into someone he didn’t much like. A cad, no doubt about it. At least Hale’s intentions toward the girl were honorable, if unsavory, while Vincent’s were just the opposite.

In a moment of conscience, he said, “Court her by all means, and good luck.”

He actually meant it, was thinking only of Larissa’s best interests in that moment. He even hoped that she’d had enough time to realize how foolhardy it would be to leave her door unlocked to him tonight, because conscience or not, that was one temptation he knew damn well he wouldn’t be able to resist, wouldn’t even try.

L
ORD
H
ALE KEPT HIM LONGER THAN EXPECTED, CHATTING
about inconsequential things that nearly brought Vincent to rudely show him the door. He restrained himself, just barely, and only because Jonathan was a client. But when Vincent finally got to his room, he was in a state of frustrated impatience that he couldn’t seem to control.

He dismissed his valet, tore off his clothes, and donned a robe. Then did nothing. He stood in the middle of his room and stared at the bathroom door, and didn’t take a single step toward it.

It was going to be locked, he knew it was, and he
didn’t want to find that out for certain. And if it was, he knew he’d be up all night, trying it again and again, in hope that she just hadn’t got around to opening it yet, when if it wasn’t open by now, it probably wasn’t going to get opened at all. Either way, it was going to be a long night.

Everything in him insisted he open that door immediately, yet he was so loath to face the disappointment of it being locked that it was an actual fear. Another emotion she was making him feel …

How in the bloody hell had this become so important to him? She was just a lovely conquest, wasn’t she? She would be an hour or two of pleasure, no more. She would also be another notch in his campaign of revenge, though that was a point that didn’t seem to matter much now, was no more than a sop for his conscience.

He didn’t like this hold she had on him, when he didn’t understand what it was. The seducer had become the seduced. He wanted her now at any cost and that frightened him. He should leave her be. He should get her out of his house even, put her back in her own if necessary, anything to get her beyond his manipulation. With her here and so accessible, she actually had more control over him than he did her. That had been proven today when she had held his emotions, his every thought, his body, all at her whim. Thank God she was too innocent to know how to use that against him.

Larissa stood there in the bathroom for nearly an hour, staring at the lock on the connecting door. She wasn’t going to turn it. Rational thought had prevailed, even though it was making her miserable. She’d marry Vincent, yes, but she must have his proposal first. That was the proper order to go about these things.

But the promised “pleasure unimagined” wouldn’t leave her thoughts either, which was why she was still standing there, abject over her decision, and unaware that she was trying to find a way to get around it. Her pulse was racing as she imaginined him on the other side of that door, waiting.

Surely he had realized himself by now that a proposal was required before they indulge in any more pleasure of any sort, let alone the kind she was sure he had in mind. He could have intended to ask her tonight, though. She could be denying them both for no good reason.

She unlocked the door. Vincent proved that he’d been waiting for the sound of it when it opened only seconds later. They stared at each other. Like liquid gold, his eyes were so hot they seared, melting away any last trace of indecision she’d been feeling.

He shrugged out of his robe, left it on the floor there. She was still fully dressed, now uncomfortably so. Yet she was so mesmerized by his golden eyes that she didn’t even think to look at him, at
all
of him, nor was the option
there for long, when his hand slipped behind her neck and drew her close to his body.

Their lips met and melded. It was a ravenous kiss, echoing hunger long denied in them both. Her knees buckled, they became so weak, but there was no danger of falling, she was held so tightly to him.

She was so new to this sort of sensual kissing—this was only her second experience of it—yet he was so skillful at it himself, guiding her, prompting when needed, that her inexperience wasn’t given any opportunity to interfere. Not that any hesitancy or inadequacies stood a chance of being noticed amidst the pleasure of tasting each other so fully, they became lost in that kiss.

A groan finally broke it—his. She barely noticed, she was so enthralled by what she was feeling. And swiftly she was carried to his bed. Not hers. She didn’t notice that yet either. But it wasn’t long before she was noticing something quite extraordinary …

Had she really thought all pleasure would derive merely from being held and kissed by him, just because it was so nice by itself? But then how could she have known otherwise? His “pleasure unimagined” had been unassociated with anything specific in her mind, because she had no specifics to draw from other than loose generalities. But it became very associated with his hand on her breast.

Spontaneous reactions went off in numerous parts of
her body from that simple placement of his palm. Goose-flesh, butterflies, wet heat, and that was only the beginning. He continued to kiss her and catch each little gasp of pleasure that escaped her, and many did as he began the next lesson in sensual touching.