Home for the Holidays (12 page)

Even the removal of her clothes was an erotic experience, he did it so slowly, with such thorough caressing of each limb and curve exposed. Amazing that if she touched the underside of her knee, she’d feel nothing, yet his fingers there made her shiver. That it was Vincent touching her made all the difference, and such a difference, such a wealth of new sensations to marvel at.

He had her mind and body so consumed with him and the pleasure he was introducing her to that she wasn’t sure what made her realize she’d reached the point of no return without hearing what she needed to hear from him. Not that she had the will, or, certainly, the desire, to stop what was happening either way. It would make her pleasure complete, though, to have confirmed what she already took for granted.

The words came out between the gasps, and not very coherently at that. “I thought… Shouldn’t you … There is the question of…”

He must have understood what she was trying to say, because he replied, “This isn’t the time for important questions that could tie up the tongue.”

So misleading, that remark, and yet so reassuring. She assumed that he was talking of asking her to marry him. And she had to agree, after her own garbled speech, that it was rather impossible to put two thoughts together at the moment. Besides, there was no opportunity to say more, when he was distracting her with his kisses again.

His large body covered her gradually, carefully, so as not to alarm her. She was beyond that, comforted instead by his weight, even as the pressure heightened her arousal. He grasped her hands, held on either side of her head. He kissed her deeply as he took possession of her. The pain was so swift, it was there and gone before she really felt it or had time to stiffen against it, and was as soon forgotten in the onslaught of pure sensual delight that followed, of feeling him buried deep within her.

Briefly she thought that was the end of it, that nothing could be better. How naive. Even his “pleasure unimagined” didn’t do justice to the incredible bliss that steadily grew as he began moving in her, then burst and spread through her body in unrelenting waves.

In those few moments of utter ecstasy, nothing else mattered. They would work out the marriage arrangements later, she was sure. For now, she savored the knowledge that Vincent Everett belonged to her.

T
HE PROPOSAL OF MARRIAGE DIDN’T COME AFTER THE LOVEMAKING
as expected. Not surprising, though, when Vincent removed his weight from Larissa, pulled her close to his side, and promptly fell asleep. And she lay there too, long savoring the whole experience, the happiness she was feeling, and the unexpected comfort of being held by him even in sleep to consider waking him now when she finally realized that part of the evening’s agenda hadn’t been finished.

She wasn’t worried about it, though. Taking things for granted had a way of removing doubts and leaving room
only for positive thoughts. She knew she couldn’t stay there in his room to sleep the night with him, much as she would have liked to, but had that to look forward to when they married. And before the comfort of his closeness put her to sleep as well, she carefully got out of bed, gathered up her clothes so she’d leave no trace of herself there for any servants to find, and tiptoed back to her room.

She didn’t lock the doors between their rooms, didn’t even think to. Nor was there a need to now. Making love with Vincent changed so many things, not just her outlook or her future, which was now secure.
She
was changed, and she felt confident in the intimate knowledge she had gained. And she eventually fell asleep with a smile on her lips.

It annoyed Vincent that Larissa wasn’t in his bed when he awoke the next morning. He knew it shouldn’t, knew she’d been right to leave, would have taken her back to her room himself if he hadn’t fallen asleep. Thus his annoyance made no bloody sense in his mind.

And his mood only got worse. Every little thing annoyed him that morning as he dealt with his secretary and his staff. He found himself snapping at the lot of them, and for no good reason.

Unfortunately, that mood didn’t leave him before luncheon, and when he joined Larissa in the dining room, he ended up snapping at her as well, before he could stop
himself. “My cook is threatening to quit if
your
cook does not stay out of his kitchen!”

He’d all but shouted it, and managed to shock them both. That was certainly not how he’d meant to greet her, and definitely not how he
should
have greeted her, when this was the first time he was seeing her after stealing her virginity last night. It didn’t matter that one thing after another this morning had conspired to cause him boundless frustration—and that was just another excuse.

He knew why he was a fuse already lit, he just hadn’t owned up to it yet. And he was furious with himself for cowardly refusing to examine the root of his annoyance, and instead taking it out on others—even her.

He was feeling an incredible amount of guilt over what he’d done last night. He’d never in his life enjoyed anything so much, yet now was overcome with regret for it. Because he had no intention of marrying her, when he knew that was what she was expecting from him now.

The original motive of revenge wasn’t helping to ease his conscience at all in the matter of his becoming her lover, when he had counted on it doing so. The only thing that might help now was to not let it ruin her reputation as he’d planned to. As long as it didn’t become public knowledge, she could still find a good marriage.

He didn’t doubt that Hale would marry her either way. He was smitten by her beauty, could care less
whether she was a virgin. But could he stomach watching another man pursue her, when just speaking of it last night, he’d wanted to punch the man in the face?

Larissa recovered first from his outburst, explained calmly, “I’m sorry. When I told Mary this morning that we would be living here permanently now, she no doubt decided she could make herself more at home here, and she feels most at home in a kitchen.”

Vincent flushed. And he couldn’t correct her about living there permanently—not yet. His silence on the matter would confirm it in her mind, but that couldn’t be helped. He still expected her father to show up, even if she didn’t. And when Ascot did, then Vincent could be done with this bloody business of revenge, deliver the final blow to the man, and then get on with his own life.

He mumbled something about their both keeping their servants in line, and hoped she’d leave it go at that. She did. She even smiled at him, which had the effect of making it worse. He couldn’t leave it go himself now. She was such a sweet, gullible chit, and he’d been an absolute bastard in his dealings with her from the start—and was still going to be. The least he could do was make her happy in the meantime, and keep his foul moods to himself.

He moved around the table to her side. He would have kissed her if they were alone, but there were servants entering
and leaving, so he merely bent down and whispered to her, “Forgive me for that boorish greeting. And thank you for the most wonderful gift I’ve ever received.”

“What gift?”

“You.”

He could feel the heat of her blush, though he was standing behind her and couldn’t see it. Her cheeks were still pink when he took his seat across from her and gazed at her. But he detected the barest trace of a smile, proving it wasn’t embarrassment making her cheeks glow.

The meal progressed. She chatted aimlessly merely to fill the silence, nothing of import, merely relaxed conversation that he found himself enjoying. She could be amusing when she wasn’t nervous, and she wasn’t the least bit nervous with him at the moment.

But then she mentioned the Christmas decorations again. He’d already had them fetched. He could just tell her that and nothing more. But this was too ideal an opportunity to mention that the rest of her stored valuables were gone, not when she was requesting them, but while she assumed she wouldn’t have to sell them now, so the loss wouldn’t hit her so hard. They’d be “found,” of course, after her father returned. Vincent had no intention of stealing anything from the Ascots, other than their good reputation.

He didn’t consider dispensing with the theft story.
He’d already seduced her, yes, but now he had to worry that she would ask him directly about marriage, and if she did, he wasn’t going to lie about it. Which would put her back to thinking she had to leave, which he still wasn’t willing to let her do. When her father returned would be soon enough to give her up. So having her think she had no means to leave would still be beneficial—for him.

To that end, he managed a suitably grave expression before saying, “Speaking of those Christmas decorations, they arrived here this morning, but I’m afraid some bad news was delivered with them.”

“They’ve been damaged?” she asked in alarm.

“Not that I’m aware of,” he quickly assured her. “But apparently there was a robbery late last night at the warehouse where your belongings were stored. The report from the attendant who keeps a watch on the place was that it was a selective robbery, which isn’t uncommon, since it can be accomplished in the least amount of time.”

“I’ve been robbed?” she said incredulously.

“We
have been robbed,” he clarified. “I had a few valuables stored there myself. But most of your possessions are still there. As I said, the thieves were selective. They took only what they considered valuable and easily movable, paintings, vases, and other small pieces of art. They were in
and gone in under ten minutes, which was the amount of time the attendant was indisposed.”

“I had plans for those paintings,” she said in a forlorn whisper.

He hadn’t counted on her stricken look. He now knew exactly how his secretary had felt that night when she’d turned this look on him. Vincent didn’t have the luxury of resigning from what he’d started, however, without admitting he was a despicable liar.

He could, however, lessen the blow, and assured her, “I’m not writing this off, Larissa. The robbery has been reported to the authorities, but I’ve already assigned my own people to track down these culprits. What was taken
will
be recovered. If your portion isn’t found by the beginning of the New Year, I will replace the value myself.”

“You … don’t have to do that,” she replied. “It’s not your fault—”

He didn’t let her finish. “I disagree. It was my warehouse, after all, and I should have had it protected better. I’m afraid I’m not used to owning it yet, and frankly, I wasn’t planning to keep it, just haven’t got around to disposing of it yet.”

“Then why did you buy it?”

He relaxed. Her expression was merely curious now, the horror gone from it. He’d managed to ease her mind
and accomplish his goal, and all because she didn’t have a suspicious bone in her pretty little body.

“I didn’t buy it. It came into my possession a few months ago, was the last asset from my brother’s business that didn’t succumb to his creditors when he died.”

“Oh, I’m so sorry.”

Bloody hell, there it was again, sympathy for him pouring out of her. She’d just been delivered a devastating blow, yet had room to feel compassion for him as she realized what he’d said meant his brother had only recently died.

He quickly made light of it in offering her a shrug and a slight change of subject. “Have you no other assets at all, aside from your jewels?”

“There is a piece of land in Kent that’s been in my family’s possession longer than anyone can remember. There is a ruined castle on it, believed to have belonged to one of our ancestors, an ancient one. But that rumor has never been confirmed. Unfortunately, it only takes one generation to go by, uninterested in preserving family history, for that history to be lost.”

“The land is valuable, though?”

“I suppose it is, but I can’t sell it. My father hasn’t been declared dead yet, for me to be able to. The same goes for his company, his ships, any stored cargoes or valuables he has locked in the small storeroom at the company, none of
which I can dispose of yet. And his personal belongings, jewelry and the like, sailed with him.”

Vincent stiffened. Talk of ships in relation to her father brought a very unacceptable—to him—thought.

It hadn’t occurred to him, until that moment, that Larissa’s father fit the description of the current possessor of
La Nymph,
and that she had paintings she meant to sell … No, that would be too easy, too convenient—and make her family incredibly rich. But just in case it wasn’t a coincidence, he would visit the warehouse after luncheon to examine those paintings himself that had been moved to the secured storeroom in the back of the building. And he hoped, he really did, that he wouldn’t find
La Nymph
there.