Home for the Holidays (5 page)

L
ARISSA WASN’T SURE HOW SHE FOUND THE BEDROOM THAT
she had been given, when she could barely see through her tears, and no one had answered any of the knocking she had done on all the doors between hers and Thomas’s, so she’d had to peek into each room. But she finally did spot her trunks piled at the foot of the bed in one of the last two rooms at the very end of the hall, a much longer distance from her brother than she cared for.

Had she thought Thomas’s room was immense compared to his old one? The one she had been given was even grander. There was even a separate dressing room attached
to it, with a large bathroom off of that, and another connecting door led to still another bedroom, which, to her shock, she realized was the baron’s bedroom. She’d been put in the lady’s half of the master bedroom suites. Good heavens, why? Surely a house this size had other rooms for guests, and hadn’t she just passed at least a half dozen in the hall?

This wouldn’t do, must be a mistake, and she would have to tell the housekeeper—just as soon as she could manage to stop crying. To accomplish that, she sat down on the edge of the bed and gave in to all the emotions that were crowding in on her. Oddly enough, a few of those emotions were new to her and took over, drying up the well.

She had let Thomas distract her, purposely, since she knew he could. It was why she had raced to his room. But she was alone now, her thoughts once again disturbed by that strange luncheon she had shared with the baron.

She didn’t know what to make of him, but he had flustered her beyond anything she had ever experienced. It wasn’t that he was so very handsome that he had taken her breath away for a moment, when she’d had her first good look at him there in the bright hall. At least it wasn’t
just
that.

Tall and broad of shoulder, Vincent Everett had one of those athletic-type bodies that could, if the man didn’t
have a meticulous tailor, make him look stuffed into the current fashions. The baron’s tailor was obviously of the meticulous sort, though, since he cut a fine, dashing figure instead, despite his excess in muscular limbs.

So much, the snow and his greatcoat had concealed from her last night. Black hair, not just black, but darkest pitch, angular cheeks, a strong, decisive chin, a narrow nose, features that fit together so perfectly, it was amazing just how handsome he was.

Still, that was only a small part of what had so rattled her. What had been most disturbing was those golden eyes of his that seemed to talk to her. Unfortunately, everything they said was naughty—Good God, how fanciful. He really had disturbed her beyond rational sense—yet his eyes did seem to be expressing things that weren’t proper. A mere trick of the light, no doubt. Certainly not intentional. He probably didn’t even know the impression his stare gave others. And it was probably her own heightened emotions that caused her to imagine more than what was really there.

What had been merely a simple business deal for him, just another boring financial transaction, had been a calamity for her in the loss of her home. She couldn’t help the antipathy she felt toward him for that. But that strong emotion was probably why everything else he made her feel was much more exaggerated.

As she’d eaten, she had had trouble swallowing each bite. There had been so much churning going on in the region of her belly that she had feared she was going to heave right back up what little food she got down. And yet he had continued to stare. Most rude. Most nerve-racking. Yet because he had done so nearly the entire time she was with him, she had to conclude it wasn’t deliberate, wasn’t meant to discompose her, was probably just a normal, if rude, habit. Perhaps even a business tactic he had perfected and now unconsciously used in every aspect of his life.

She had seen one merchant try such a tactic on her father once, staring pointedly at him in an effort to cause enough doubt that the price they were negotiating might be raised before verbal commitment was made. It hadn’t worked on her father, but it had been amusing to watch.

It took several knocks before the sound broke through Larissa’s troubled thoughts and she rose to open the door. Vincent Everett stood there. She had just been hoping that she might be able to avoid any more encounters with him while she was here, yet there he was. And standing so close that she could smell the musky scent of him, feel the heat that he radiated—or was that the heat of her own embarrassment?

She thought to step back, would have run to the far side of the room if it wouldn’t point out clearly to him
how much he disturbed her. The little space she did gain made no difference, though, because he was doing it again, staring. And such heat in those amber eyes! She had the impression of being completely stripped for his perusal. And the embarrassment was the same as if she really were standing there naked before him.

“Your jewels.”

She wondered briefly if he’d just said it, or was repeating himself. She wouldn’t be the least surprised.

“Excuse me?”

“I was afraid you might forget.” And the look he gave her now said he’d been right, she was a complete scatter-brain. “But I don’t want to be indirectly responsible for causing you any more distress, which would be the case if your jewels turn up missing.”

That jogged her memory. “Oh, yes, the new servants that haven’t proven themselves yet. Just a moment.”

She moved quickly to her three large trunks, which had been stacked neatly like a pyramid at the foot of the bed. Rummaging through the one on top didn’t reveal her jewel box, but unfortunately, it was the heaviest trunk, since it contained her personal books. This would have been no problem if she had time to unpack it first. But with the baron waiting at the door, it was necessary to move it out of the way to get into the two trunks below it.

She knew very well she couldn’t lift the thing herself, but she could drag it off the top with a little effort, and started to do so. But the baron’s arms were suddenly on both sides of her, reaching for the handles on the ends of the trunk to move it for her.

He should have said he would do it. He should have let her move out of the way first. Her heart slammed in her chest. She was trapped between him and the trunks, could feel his chest against her back, his breath on her neck. She was going to faint, she knew it, knew it, was going to expire right there on the spot.

“Sorry,” he said after an unbearably long moment, and he moved one arm to let her out of his trap.

Again her instinct was to bolt to the other side of the room, far, far away from him. She desperately wanted to, but she refused to let him think she was afraid of him, which was what he would surely think. He was the enemy, after all. And she wasn’t afraid, not really. What she felt was far more disturbing than fear.

He set the heavy upper trunk aside, probably could have done so with one hand, it seemed so effortless to him. And he didn’t move back to the doorway as would have been proper. They were alone, after all, completely alone,
in a bloody bedroom no less,
which went beyond improper, was in the realm of compromising. So she dove into the next trunk as soon as it was cleared, the sooner to
get him out of there, and thankfully came up with the narrow, wooden jewel box this time.

“There are only these few pieces that were my mother’s, and her mother’s before her,” she said as she thrust the box at him. “They are valuable, but the value is more sentimental to me than anything—”

She gasped instead of finishing. He had placed his hand over hers on the box to take it from her, probably because he hadn’t taken his eyes off of her long enough to glance down at what he was reaching for. It was a shock to her, staring into his eyes as his warm palm slid over the top of hers, slowly, too slowly, before he finally took the box from her. She was totally undone again, blood racing so fast she really did think she would faint this time.

That touch they had just shared, which had completely shattered her composure, meant absolutely nothing to him. He glanced down as he flipped open the box to look inside at the long strand of pearls and the pearl and ruby butterfly pin therein.

“I understand,” he said tonelessly before looking up at her again with gold eyes that seemed even hotter, though it was probably just the light again that made them seem so. “And these?”

Before she realized what he was referring to, or going to do, he flicked one of the earrings she was wearing with
his finger. His other fingers brushed against her neck as he did so, an accident surely, yet she felt the shiver clear down to her toes. She swayed as her knees started to buckle. She forgot how to breathe. In a desperate effort to regain control of her senses, she closed her eyes—and heard a groan. His? Surely not.

She focused on the subject, or what she thought was the subject. It took several long moments to dredge it up. The slamming of the lid on the jewel box helped, startled her enough to open her eyes again too.

“The earrings are always with me, either worn or resting beside my bed when I sleep.”

“I’m not taking any chances where you are concerned. Give them to me.”

It was a harsh order or seemed to be, since his voice had gone quite raspy. Did he mean the earrings? She wasn’t sure. She couldn’t think clearly again. But just in case, she yanked them off and thrust them at him, then nervously let them drop before his hand actually got close enough, too afraid that she might end up touching him again. It was too soon, though, and he wasn’t quite quick enough to catch them before they fell to the floor.

Embarrassed that her nervousness was so very obvious, she thoughtlessly dropped to one knee to pick the earrings up, overlooking the fact that he might do the same. They butted heads on the way down. She lost her balance,
ended up sitting on the floor. And before she could recover on her own, he was helping her up.

This was truly her undoing. She was rendered speechless by the shock of it. Instead of offering his hand, which she most certainly wouldn’t have taken—he must have known that—he lifted her up, grasping her beneath her armpits, as one would a very small child. It should have been impossible, at least from the floor. But he used his own chest for leverage. And in those brief seconds she felt his palms near the sides of her breasts, felt those breasts pressed firmly to his chest before he let her go. Mere seconds. Yet the impressions would last her an eternity.

The pearls hadn’t been picked up yet. He did that now, as well as retrieving the jewel box he’d set down while assisting her. The earrings he closed tightly in his fist rather than put them in the box. For once, he seemed as agitated as she, but it was only a brief display, gone so swiftly, she figured she must have imagined it. He did turn toward the door, however, his errand complete, eager to be gone.

She wouldn’t have stopped him. It was crucial that he leave before she fell completely apart. But her mind simply wasn’t in its proper working order, and with the trunks still in her view, she recalled …

“Oh! I was going to find your housekeeper … I seem
to have been put in the wrong room. I should be closer to my brother—”

She would have said more, but he interrupted her. “You were situated correctly. I usually have guests over the holidays, and these particular guests can’t be made to think they are being given special treatment, you understand, when they are business associates. And rather than move you—if you are still here at that time—it was much easier to just place you here now. Is there a problem with the room?”

“Well, no, but—”

“Good, then think nothing of it.”

He continued out the door before she could argue further. The second the door closed, she collapsed on the bed. She was visibly trembling. Her nerves were so frayed she felt like screaming. Her heart was still beating erratically. Good God, what had that man just done to her?

V
INCENT CLOSED HIMSELF IN HIS STUDY, WHERE HE COULD
be assured of no interruptions. His staff was well trained, knew not to bother him with incidentals when his door was closed, his secretary being the sole exception. His bedroom would have guaranteed no interruptions at all, but his bedroom was too close to her.

Never in his life had he gotten drunk in the afternoon. Today just might prove an exception. Not that the brandy he had poured for himself seemed to be helping. He had hoped that it would calm him, or at least get his mind off of Larissa Ascot long enough for his body to settle down. It was doing neither.

Just as he shouldn’t have gone to her door last night, he most certainly shouldn’t have sought her out in her room today. And the jewelry had merely been an excuse for him to do so. He had simply wanted to be in her presence again, had been so stimulated by her during lunch that he was loath to stay away from her when she was nearby.

But that had been a mistake. Seeing her with a bed near to hand had brought The Seduction to mind. It was a perfect setting, after all, to begin it. And he’d thought he could handle it, was even progressing nicely—until he got caught in it himself.