He brought her hand to his lips. "No, I don't suppose we will."

CHAPTER 28.

Oh. . . . oh, my."

That didn't quite express Larissa's degree of surprise, it was more indicative of her speechlessness when she finally noticed the large painting hanging on the wall at the head of Vincent's bed.

They had been married that morning, just a small gathering of family and friends. Viscount Hale had wanted to throw them the biggest party London had ever seen, but Vincent had adamantly refused, mentioning something about theaters and what had happened the last time the ton got a look at Larissa, and that he'd like to keep her to himself for a while more as they settled into marriage.

Jonathan understood perfectly, if Larissa didn't. She had enjoyed the theater, but she wasn't sure she would enjoy a huge London bash, so she was rather glad her husband had declined the offer.

Her father had welcomed Vincent to the family with open arms, as she had predicted. Her brother hadn't. Having witnessed the turmoil of her emotions while she was falling in love, and blaming many of those tears on Vincent, Thomas had taken a "wait and see" att.i.tude. For him, Vincent was going to have to prove that he could make Larissa happy. She was sure it wouldn't take long, though, when she was already happier than she could ever have thought possible.

"Oh, my," she said yet again, causing Vincent to chuckle this time as he came to stand behind her next to the bed.

She was staring at an exquisitely beautiful, naked young maiden cavorting with four satyrs in a woodland glade. That was the modest description of La Nymph. The depicted scene was actually much more lurid, and anyone with any degree of imagination could make whatever he or she wanted to out of it.

"Our wedding gift from Jonathan," Vincent explained, his hands resting on her shoulders.

"We don't have to keep it, do we?"

He laughed. "No indeed, and in fact, it's only on loan to us. He expects it back, though I don't doubt he's glad to be rid of it for a while. He was somewhat amazed to find the notorious effect of the painting quite true, at least for him." He explained to her, briefly, the history of La Nymph, ending with, "The day he brought it home, after purchasing it from your father, he ended up visiting four of his mistresses, quite an exhausting experience, I would imagine."

She turned around, stared at him wide-eyed. "He had that many-lady friends?"

His hands began to caress her neck. "More than that, but he only managed to get around to that many that day."

She huffed a bit indignantly. "And there I thought he was interested in me for marriage; at least that is the impression he gave."

"Oh, he was." He grinned. "He did indeed want to marry you."

"When he kept company with so many other women?" she all but snorted.

"What he would have offered you in a marriage was more money than you could ever imagine. He wasn't offering faithfulness. He would have been up front about it, though, explaining to you that variety is the spice of his life. It would have been entirely up to you if you wanted that sort of marriage." "He actually thought I could be . . . ? Well, bought is the word that comes to mind."

Vincent smiled, his thumbs beginning to circle her cheeks, then her earlobes. "He had hoped so. You became his newest goal for a while. But he began to see where your true interest was-and mine as well-and bowed out of the running with no hard feelings. Actually, now that he considers me his best friend, he's quite delighted that you've married me instead."

"A friend, yet he can give you something like that?" she said, nodding at the painting again.

"A joke, sweetheart, in poor taste in that it has nothing to do with love, everything to do with s.e.x, but he meant no harm by it. But then it doesn't have quite the same effect on me as it does on him."

"No?"

"Some people are stimulated by what they see, as in the case of the painting. For others, visual makes no difference; touch is their only stimulation; it must be what they can feel. And for still others, there is emotional stimulation; the heart must be involved."

"You fall into the third category?"

"I'm not sure which might have been the case before I met you, but I'm quite sure which is the case now. Love makes the difference for me. You are my only stimulation."

She hadn't been immune to the caresses she had been receiving, but his words thrilled her beyond measure. "I believe we just might have all three categories covered tonight," she said breathlessly. "Though the latter two are preferred."

"I'll get rid of the first," he offered.

He went to the head of the bed to flip the painting around to the wall. Neither of them was expecting there to be another painting on the back of it, of the exact same scene, just rendered from behind.

They both laughed. "Now, that is too funny," Larissa allowed. "Even the artist realized that not everyone would appreciate his work. Quite determined, wasn't he, that it not be hidden from view?"

Vincent grinned, grabbed a sheet from the bed, and draped it over the painting. "And I'm quite determined that your wedding night be perfect in every way."

He came back to stand before her, cupped her cheeks in his hands. The golden glow was in his eyes, though his expression was intensely serious for a moment.

"I love you so much, I'm not sure how to express it, Rissa. You've brought light into what was darkness. I existed, but I wasn't living. Can you understand what I mean? You filled a void in my life I didn t know I had."

"Don't make me cry.' she said, moisture gathering in her turquoise eyes.

He smiled gently just before he hugged her close. "I don't mind your sympathy tears. They show me how much you love me."

"I'd rather show you in other ways."

"You do. You show me in so many ways, but I'll never get enough. I'm so glad that you're my wife, Rissa. And I promise to make you glad of it also, every day, for the rest of your life."

She wiped the tears from her eyes, gave him a brilliant smile. "You've already begun."

end.