"Just that Larissa a.s.sumed the same thing, when I mentioned I'd never had a Christmas tree before."

"So this one here that you helped to decorate is just for her?" Jonathan snorted before he got an answer. "For someone who's never experienced the generosity of the season, you're being d.a.m.ned generous where that chit is concerned. A word of advice, then. You might want to tone that down a bit, or she might get the idea that you're interested in her, when, as you say, you aren't."

CHAPTER 19.

a.s.sumptions had a way of easing doubts, but they also crumbled when subjected to too much time and scrutiny. Such was the case for Larissa. And after a bit more than a week had gone by since the night she had succ.u.mbed to temptation, she finally had to conclude that if Vincent was going to ask her to marry him, he would have done so by now. Which meant he wasn't going to.

Oddly enough, she wasn't devastated by that conclusion. But then he hadn't broken any promise to her. He hadn't deceived her in any way. She had done that to herself with her silly a.s.sumptions.

He had been as much a victim as she of the powerful attraction between them. The end results just didn't equal the same thing for them both. She had naturally thought marriage, being a romantic at heart, while he apparently simply took his pleasure where he found it. She couldn't blame him for that. She figured it was as natural for him to do as it was for her to have expected more.

She supposed it might have hit her much worse, that he didn't want to make their relationship permanent, if she weren't already grieving over her father and what his absence meant. Ironically, she knew she had Vincent to thank for keeping her mind off of that grief.

Night after night he had come to her room. It had been addicting, his lovemaking. She had waited in breathless antic.i.p.ation for his touch each night. All of which had added benefits for her that he certainly wasn't aware of because when she was with him, she thought only of him, but when she wasn't, her grief would set in again.

She had no longer been able to hide that grief from her astute brother either. Which was why Thomas no longer asked her when their father was coming home. And she had caught Thomas crying the day he finally realized that their father wasn't coming home. But by silent agreement, they weren't going to speak of it-not yet.

So she had much to be grateful to Vincent for, not just for giving them a home for the holiday, but for his many and varied distractions when she might otherwise have wallowed in complete despair.

She still locked her door again that night, the night before Christmas. She might be grateful to Vincent, but she couldn't continue to have an intimate relationship with him, now that she knew that was all he wanted from her.

It wasn't easy, though. It should have been. She was rather numb, after all, over the new conclusions she'd drawn. But he came as usual, softly called her name from the other side of the locked door. She didn't answer. And she knew she had tried to deceive herself again, because it was hurting more than she'd thought, that he didn't care about her as much as she'd hoped.

The tears that soaked her pillow that night were for what might have been . . .

For Thomas's sake, Larissa wore a bright, cheerful expression as she woke him and dragged him down to the parlor to open his presents, which she had bought and had hidden away many months ago. He had tucked a few under the tree for her as well, when she wasn't looking, carvings he had made himself, and some for Mara and Mary, who joined them for the fun of present opening.

Of course, it wasn't a normal Christmas for them. It wasn't their house, wasn't even their tree that they'd put presents under. But that had nothing to do with giving. Christmas wasn't about a place, after all; for them it was about family, and sharing, and love. And that was where it wasn't normal, since they weren't a complete family this Christmas and were sore missing that completeness on such a traditional day of gathering together.

Mara and Mary helped them to forget, ohing and ahing over Thomas's whittling skill, which was improving each year, and over the little trinkets Larissa gave them, which, fortunately, she had bought before the money ran out. Mary didn't stay long, though, anxious to get to the kitchen, which was Larissa's real gift to her, having talked Vincent's cook into letting Mary cook the Christmas goose for dinner, which she did so well.

She didn't worry about Thomas getting overexcited either, as he tended to do on Christmas, though she would have a week ago. But he was recovered from his sickness finally, thank G.o.d, not quite as full of energy yet, but much more his usual buoyant self.

"May I have a word alone with your sister?"

Vincent stood in the open doorway. He looked a bit hesitant to enter the room.

Thomas, to whom the question had been addressed, didn't glance his way, nor was there any inflection in his voice when he replied, "Not if you're going to make her cry again."

"Excuse me?" Stiffness now.

"Her eyes are all red-"

"Thomas, hush!" Larissa cut in, thoroughly embarra.s.sed by now. "That has nothing to do with him," she added, and blushed a bit more for the lie. "Please, take your new soldiers and go upstairs. I'll join you shortly."

Thomas gave her a disgusted look that indicated he knew very well she was lying. But Mara, much more tactful, helped him gather his new wooden soldiers and books, and half prodded, half dragged him out of the room.

Vincent wasn't nearly as astute, or deliberately chose nut to be, because as soon as they were alone, he said, "You were crying over your father again?"

"No."

He blushed now. Well., if he hadn't wanted the truth, he shouldn't have asked a question that would lead to it. And she didn't take pity on him. It was time for plain speaking between them. He had repeatedly avoided or evaded her questions when they were alone at night, and in the day there was never the opportunity to speak of anything personal with so many servants always near to hand. But for once they were alone, and he wasn't kissing her to distraction or cutting her off with silly remarks until he could kiss her to distraction. In fact, for once, he was the one with burning questions.

"Why wouldn't you answer me last night?"

"Probably for the same reason you never answer me," she replied.

"What are you talking about?"

She gave him a sad smile. "Come now, Vincent, obtuseness doesn't become you. Anytime I ever begin to mention marriage in your presence, you pounce on another subject so swiftly, I don't even have time to blink. Very well, so marriage is a subject we will never discuss. And now that I've come to realize that, it is rather obvious, isn't it, why my door will henceforth remain locked?"

He frowned. He also started to approach her. She quickly held up a hand, even took several steps back.

Letting him touch her was out of the question, not because it was out in the open now, that he had no intention of marrying her, but because she was too malleable in his arms. But oh G.o.d, why didn't the knowledge she now possessed stop her from wanting him? She should despise him- again. She shouldn't be wishing fervently that he would deny it and a.s.sure her that yes, of course they would marry.

"You don't really want to do this to us, Larissa, do you?"

His tactics were on the rise, and he had many that he knew would work, including that husky tone he'd just used. How was she going to survive this?

"I don't, but you do. Whether we continue as we were, or we say good-bye today, is entirely up to you. I can only follow my heart."

"Your heart isn't telling you to shut me out."

No, it wasn't. She hadn't realized she had fallen so deeply in love with him. She had begun this only thinking it would be nice to marry him. She hadn't thought why it would be so nice. But all the little things she knew about him had gotten to her, first to her compa.s.sion, then into her heart. The overwhelming attraction she felt for him was merely a side benefit-or a curse.

She tried to point out what he seemed to be missing. "Temptation is a lure of the forbidden. By all that's right, you are forbidden to me. Preference has no bearing. If it were just me, if I had no others that I am responsible for, then it might not matter so much. But I have a young brother to raise now-on my own. And he will be taught by example, just as my father would have taught him, the correct path."

"Your father wouldn't have been a good- Never mind." He cut himself off.

He raked a hand through his black mane. His frustration was evident and mounting. Or was it anger? It was hard to tell with him, when he so rarely showed any emotion-other than pa.s.sion.

She didn't doubt for a minute that he liked their current relationship and wanted it to continue.

The emotion he was displaying was because he didn't want her to end it. But she had no choice. He might care for her, but not enough to want to make her a permanent part of his life. And what did that leave her? What exactly had he envisioned for her? Being his mistress, when her upbringing simply wouldn't allow it? Or had he envisioned no more than a brief love affair that was ending sooner than he'd expected?

She was starting to feel some frustration herself, which was welcome, really. Anything to distract her from the pain squeezing at her heart.

"Vincent, I don't know what you want from me. Do you even know?"

"I know I don't want you to leave me."

"Only marriage would a.s.sure that."

"Blast it," he exploded. "I can't marry you."

She frowned. "Why not?"

"Because of your father."

Confusion filled her, and with it, alarm. "What about him?"

"There are things you don't know."

"Then tell me!"

"You revere him, Larissa," he replied. "It's better if you don't know.''

She paled, drawing her own conclusions yet again. "He is dead, isn't he? And you've known all along. You've received proof-"

''No." He pounced this time, before she could step back again, but only to grab her shoulders. He shook her once. "No, it's nothing like that. Ah, b.l.o.o.d.y h.e.l.l, it's not worth it anymore. You're more important. But your father is only detained. There's no reason to a.s.sume the worst. In fact, I wouldn't be surprised if he showed up today at my door-"

The knock at the front door was too loud to miss hearing, and too prophetic not to strongly affect Larissa. She went utterly still. She held her breath in hopeful antic.i.p.ation. But it was too much antic.i.p.ation to wait. She broke out of Vincent's hold, heard him sigh, but ignored it. She ran to the open doorway of the parlor, stared as his butler rushed to deal with the loud visitor.

"I didn't mean he would literally show up this minute, Larissa," Vincent said behind her in a voice that was already starting to reveal sympathy.

She ignored him again, wouldn't listen to denials anymore. This was her last hope. Dear G.o.d, let it be her father. She'd never ask for another thing, never . . .

It wasn't her father. It was a big, burly man standing there, asking if this was where the Baron of Windsmoor lived. She didn't hear any more after that. A ringing began in her ears. Her vision blurred. She grasped the fact that she was fainting and almost laughed, because she was made of sterner stuff than that. Wasn't she? She had probably just held her breath too long . . .

Vincent caught her before her legs completely buckled. She heard him calling her name, trying to keep her there when her mind was insisting on the oblivion of nothingness. He sounded like her father. Stupid mind playing tricks on her now. He demanded she open her eyes. No, she didn't want to. No more disappointments. She'd had too many.

"Rissa, please, just look at me."

Vincent had never called her Rissa. She opened her eyes, then forgot to breathe again.

"Papa?" she whispered. "Is that really you?"

For an answer, she was pulled into an old, familiar embrace, one of warmth, comfort and love, and everything-will-be-fine-now, an embrace she had grown up depending on. It was he. Oh, G.o.d, it was he, alive, and home, and alive, alive . . .

Great, racking sobs of emotion overcame her. She couldn't help it. Her prayers had been answered. The season of miracles had given her one.

CHAPTER 20.

Why are my children here?"

It was the first thing George Ascot said to Vincent once they were alone. He was a big, heavyset man in his middle years. His light brown hair had a bit of gray at the temples; the trimmed beard had much more. His eyes were disconcertingly the exact shade of blue-green as Larissa's, with that same warmth indicative of a compa.s.sionate nature, falsely so in his case, of course.

Vincent had stood there silently and watched the tearful reunion, witnessed the love and tenderness pouring out of the father for the daughter, which had somewhat surprised him. But what had he expected? Just because the man dealt viciously with his compet.i.tors didn't mean he couldn't love his family. Even a devil could love his children if he had any and be no less evil, he supposed.

Larissa shouldn't have left them alone. She had finished her crying, and finally her laughing, and had run upstairs to fetch her brother to give him the good news. She hadn't even asked yet what had detained her father. That wasn't very important to her apparently, now that he was safe and sound-and home.

Vincent could have offered the man excuses. He could have made amends as well. If she hadn't left them alone, he might have, for he'd already decided that his revenge wasn't worth losing her. An amazing discovery which she had only just forced him to realize. But as he stood there alone in the hall with the man responsible for his brother's death, the feelings returned that started it all. And unfortunately, those feelings governed his response.

"You left them without guidance or wherewithal; they had nowhere else to go," Vincent said.

George would have had to be deaf to miss the disgust in Vincent's tone, and although he didn't understand it yet, he still took offense, replying stiffly, "Rissa had ample household funds."

"When there were panicked creditors hounding her to settle accounts?"

"Panicked? What could possibly-?"

"Rumors that your underhanded business practices led you to financial ruin perhaps?"

"Preposterous!"

Vincent shrugged, unimpressed with the man's florid-faced indignation. "You weren't here to prove otherwise, were you? In fact, your prolonged absence only confirmed and strengthened the suspicions that you weren't planning on returning to England at all."

"My family was still here! No one in their right mind would conclude that I would abandon them!"

"Someone without ethics wouldn't worry about throwing his family to the wolves. It happens all the time. Besides, how were your creditors to know that your family wasn't already making plans to abandon England as well?"

George became infused with even more indignant color. "You sound as if you believe those ridiculous rumors."

"Perhaps because I do."

"Why? You don't even know me."

"Don't I? Did you not learn my name before you sent your driver pounding on my door?"

George frowned at that point, explaining, "I come home to find my house empty of my family and all furnishings. My nearest neighbors inform me that I can find my family, at least, at Baron Windsmoor's residence and give me the address Rissa left with them. No, actually, I got no more than your t.i.tle before I hied it here in all haste. Is your name relevant? Just who are you, sir?"

"Vincent Everett."

"Good G.o.d, you aren't related to that blackguard Albert Everett, are you?"

Vincent stiffened now. "My brother, now referred to as deceased."

"He's dead?" George asked in surprise. "I'm sorry, I didn't know."

"Don't be a hypocrite, Ascot," Vincent said in disgust. "Sorrow from the man who drove him to his death just doesn't smack of sincerity."

"Drove him-!" George gasped. "What madness are you spouting now?"

"So now you would claim ignorance? Very well, let me refresh your memory, then. Albert used what little was left of his inheritance to start a business that would support him. Unfortunately, he picked your line of business, and you went out of your way to make sure that he knew the added compet.i.tion wasn't welcome."

"That isn't-"