"Let me finish," Vincent interrupted. "You undermined his efforts at every turn, had your captains escalate the bids on the cargoes he was after, so he couldn't hope to make a profit on them. You made sure his business would fail, and so it did. You crushed my brother thoroughly, so much so that he killed himself rather than admit to me that he had lost everything. You didn't really think his family would let you get away with that, did you, Ascot?"

The indignation was gone. The older man was red-faced with fury now, though his voice managed to remain calm as he replied, "You have that a bit backwards, sir. If your brother's business failed, it was because he was buying cargoes-my cargoes, already contracted to me-at ridiculously high prices, so he was unable to sell them at even close to a return on the investment. I had a.s.sumed he had an unlimited supply of funds to do this, which is why I gave up trying to regain the markets he was stealing from me, and sailed west to find new markets. I hadn't heard that he failed, or I wouldn't have left."

"So you're saying that Albert tried to drive you to ruin, and ruined himself in the process?"

"Exactly"

"That's rather convenient, you'll agree, an easy claim to make against a man who can't step forward to deny it, because he's dead."

"The truth is not always easy to swallow, sir, though it can usually be verified. You have only to question my captains, or perhaps the merchants involved, who ignored valid contracts with me to reap quick profits from your brother. These cargoes weren't on the open market to be bid upon as you mentioned, they had set prices already agreed upon. Or perhaps question your brother's own captains, who can tell you that their orders were to obtain cargoes at any costs. Now, whether his captains acted on their own or under his direction, the results were the same. They followed my ships specifically, showing up in all the same ports."

"So now you would put the blame on his captains?" Vincent said.

George sighed. "Actually, I put the blame where it belongs, on your brother. I spoke to him before I left England, to try to find out why he was throwing away good money on underhanded tactics, rather than put a little effort into finding new markets for himself where he could have made easy profits. In all fairness, he struck me as a man who simply didn't know what he was doing, but was too proud to admit it. Ironically, his tactics would have worked if he had enough money to see it through. Obviously he didn't have enough, and instead, he ruined himself and nearly ruined me in the process."

Vincent shook his head. "Do you really think I would believe you over my brother? I know his faults, and he has never denied them, nor his mistakes. So why would he lie in this instance? He claimed that you, and you specifically, caused him to fail."

"I can't imagine why he singled me out for blame, and I suppose I will never know, since he's deceased. But I'm obviously wasting my breath professing my innocence to you, when you refuse to see beyond the few facts you have been told. So be it. But if you believe all that, why would you help my family?"

"What makes you think I've helped them?"

George stiffened. It was the tone that alarmed him. "What have you done?"

Vincent didn't answer. The moment was at hand, the moment he had worked for, when all he had to say was, "Paid you back in kind," and he couldn't say it. He couldn't go on with this. Not because he believed Ascot; he didn't. But he was himself as much to blame for Albert's death as Ascot was. He hadn't pulled the cords that led to Albert's decision, as Ascot had, but he had done nothing to influence that decision either.

He hadn't recognized it before, had merely seen this revenge thing as doing his duty, more or less. But there was guilt involved, his own, for failing to pay more attention to his brother, for failing to develop a relationship with him in which Albert wouldn't have hesitated to bring even this worst failure of his to Vincent's attention, rather than give up all hope and kill himself instead.

Their parents had spoiled and coddled Albert so much that he was unable to stand on his own after their deaths. He had needed constant bolstering. Having that cut off abruptly by their deaths had hurt him. Vincent could have helped, could have weaned him slowly from his dependence, or at least tried to instill some confidence. Instead he had viewed Albert's weaknesses with disgust, wink-doing nothing to help his brother overcome them.

"I repeat, what have you done.'"

"Nothing that can't be rec-"

"Having somehow managed to buy our home, you then kicked us out of it. So we would have no place else to go," Larissa said at the top of the stairs in dull voice. "Then brought us here so he could seduce me-with no intention ol marrving me---which he did quite easily. He took full advantage of my vulnerability in thinking you were dead, Father. He used my grief to aid him, because I needed a distraction from it. and he was that; indeed, he was quite the distraction."

She was staring down at Vincent without expression, as if all emotion had been sucked out of her-or she had no room left for any more. Her brother was standing next to her, staring daggers at Vincent as he slipped his hand into hers to offer comfort. The boy sensed she was in pain even if she wasn't showing it.

Had they heard everything? Yes, they must have for her to have drawn such an accurate conclusion.

But unlike him, they, of course, believed their father without question, that he had done no wrong. And Albert wasn't there to prove otherwise, never would be. Not that it mattered; they would still believe their father, despite the fact that it was Albert who had been ruined, not Ascot.

And if Ascot was telling the truth? No, it wasn't possible, and besides, if Albert had been in the wrong, then Vincent had also been in the wrong to seek revenge on his behalf. That thought didn't sit well with him at all-indeed, positively sickened him-yet it was no worse than what he was feeling now, looking up at Larissa. Such utter dread. He felt as if he had just lost the most valuable thing in his life, and so he had, her respect, her sympathy-her love.

He should continue with his revenge for his brother's sake, but he couldn't, because of her. Yet he was going to suffer the consequences either way. Even if he set everything to rights, it would not make a difference with her. He'd sought retribution against a man she saw as innocent, and used her to do it. She'd never forgive him for that. Not even if he managed to convince her that her father was the real culprit. Not that he could, when he only had Albert's letter as proof, and she could claim that was fake.

Yet he had to try. The fear washing over him that he had lost her was more than he could bear.

He said, "There is a letter that will at least explain my actions-"

"I don't doubt you had good reasons for doing what you did," she cut in. "Does that excuse harming the innocent to gain your goal?"

"No," he was forced to reply. "No, the goal became merely an excuse, once I met you."

She blushed. He knew she understood he was saying her seduction had been personal, had nothing really to do with the revenge. But as he'd known, it made no difference. Nor was he allowed to explain further. Her father had recovered by then from his shock in hearing that his daughter had been compromised. He was quite straightforward in his reaction. No demand for marriage, just a very furious fist that caught Vincent by surprise. The Ascots were gone by the time he regained his senses.

CHAPTER 21.

She didn't take her Christmas ornaments with her when she left? I wonder why, when they hold such great sentimental value for her."

Vincent didn't answer Jonathan Hale or acknowledge his presence. He didn't want the company, but hadn't thought to tell his butler that he wasn't receiving visitors today. He'd been sitting there in his parlor, alone, staring at Larissa's Christmas tree and recalling that day it was decorated, the enjoyment he'd had, the laughter . . .

He'd felt a part of something that day, rather than the outsider always looking in, as was usually the case for him. That was Larissa's doing. She shared with everyone, excluded no one. She'd made even his servants feel that her tree was their tree, got Jonathan involved in its decoration just because he happened to be there. For her it was an event that began the sharing of the season.

He didn't answer Jonathan, because he was afraid he wouldn't be able to get any words out without their sounding as choked as he felt. But the viscount either didn't notice his preoccupation or chose to overlook it.

Jonathan knew Larissa was gone, that her father had taken her away, and that, their whereabouts were presently unknown. He wasn't happy about that, and Vincent was surprised he hadn't asked, "Have you found her yet?" which was his usual first inquiry when he stopped by each day now, and had been for the last week. The painting, his reason for coming there, was rarely mentioned anymore. It had become quite secondary in importance to his pursuit of Larissa.

"Some of them had been made by her mother, you know," Jonathan continued. "A few were even made by her grandparents, and one, that she prized the most, a great-grandfather had whittled. Seems to be somewhat of a tradition in her family, the making of Christmas ornaments. Found that rather quaint myself. Even contemplated making an ornament and giving it to her as a Christmas present, but gave up that idea quick enough. Just ain't talented in that way."

Vincent sighed and finally glanced at his visitor. "There is no news to report," he said, hoping that would send Jonathan on his way.

"Didn't think there would be. I'm just in the habit of coming by daily now. Didn't think you'd mind, and I've decided to take it upon myself to cheer you up."

"I don't need cheering."

"Course you don't," Jonathan said dryly. "You aren't the least bit sick to your guts with missing her. It's too bad you didn't realize sooner that you'd been lying to yourself all along about her."

"Wouldn't have taken you for a man to jump to false conclusions, Jon."

Jonathan chuckled. "Still lying to yourself, or just to me?"

"Go home," Vincent mumbled.

"And let you wallow in all this misery by yourself?" Jonathan said as he dropped down on the sofa beside Vincent. "Now, here I thought the old adage was that misery loves company. I know I ain't enjoying wallowing in mine alone."

"You know b.l.o.o.d.y well that Larissa would only have been another acquisition for you. You didn't form any deep attachment to her."

"True, which is why my misery is quite mild compared to yours."

"I'm not miserable."

Jonathan snorted over that denial. "You're so deep in the doldrums you can no longer see daylight. 'Fess up, man, you were an utter fool not to get the gel engaged to you while you had the chance."

"You don't understand what was going on here," Vincent gritted out.

Jonathan raised a brow. "Apparently not," he allowed, but added, "Did you?"

"Excuse me?"

"Did you realize that she was in love with you? I saw it, though I tried my d.a.m.nedest to ignore it, of course. Didn't fit with my plans, after all, for her to get so attached elsewhere that my millions wouldn't tempt her. True love just don't come with a price tag, unfortunately."

"I really don't want to talk about this."

"Why not? Or don't you plan to do things right, if given a second chance?"

A second chance? Vincent hadn't thought that far ahead. He was making an effort to find Larissa. He did plan to lay the truth at her feet, all of it. But he wasn't very hopeful that it would do any good, other than to clear his conscience. And after nearly a week had gone by, he wasn't very hopeful that he'd ever see her again.

He didn't expect her to personally come back to collect what she'd left behind, but he had counted on at least someone, even if only a servant, showing up to do so. But she hadn't sent anyone by to claim her jewels from him. She still didn't even know where those furnishings of hers had been stored. Demanding one or the other would have given him someone to have followed to lead to her, but no one had come.

Hotels and inns had been searched. He had people scouring the whole town and watching Ascot's office around the clock. The ship George had returned in was still in the harbor waiting for permission to dock, so at least he was still in the country. But there was simply no due as to where he had taken his family off to.

Jonathan apparently got tired of waiting for an answer to his last question. With a sigh he said, "I have a confession to make."

Vincent winced mentally. "Don't. I'm not in the mood for confessions."

"Too bad," Jonathan grumbled. "Because this one is coming whether you listen or not. I came to you to find La Nymph for me, not just because I desire to own that painting. There are countless others I could have hired to find the painting, and for much less cost to me. I came to you in particular because I like you, Vincent, I like your style, like the fact that you've never tried to ingratiate yourself with me to get something out of me, as is the case with most people I know. I have no friends, you know, no real friends, that is."

"Nonsense, you don't go anywhere that people don't flock to your side-"

"Leeches, the lot of them," Jonathan cut in, disgust in his tone. "They don't care about me or what I'm feeling, they only care about how they can manage to get some of my money into their pockets. And that's always been the case, even when I was a child. I was born rich, after all."

"Why are you telling me this?" Vincent asked uncomfortably.

Jonathan's cheeks bloomed with a bit of color, but he still admitted, "Because I had great hopes that you would become the close friend I've never had. And since nothing else has worked to accomplish that thus far, I'm falling back on the old premise that confidences are a sound basis for developing lasting friendships. And besides, you don't seem to have any close friends yourself. Do you?"

Vincent saw no reason to deny it. "No."

"Well then-"

"You haven't gathered yet that I am rather reclusive?" Vincent pointed out.

"Course I have, which is one of the things I like about you. And just because I flit about here and there doesn't mean I enjoy doing so, just that I'm so b.l.o.o.d.y lonely, I crave companionship of any sort, even from sycophants, if that's all that's available."

Vincent was beginning to get embarra.s.sed over these "confidences," not so much because Jonathan felt a sudden need to pour out his guts, but because his confession was sounding much too familiar. He hadn't realized they had quite so much in common, neither of them willing to trust anyone enough to get close to them, neither of them willing to risk being hurt if anyone did.

"Are you feeling sorry for me yet?" Jonathan asked hopefully.

"No."

"b.l.o.o.d.y h.e.l.l . . ."

"But you're welcome to stay for dinner."

The viscount laughed.

CHAPTER 22.

Ironicaily, Larissa was sitting in front of a Christmas tree at the same time that Vincent was. She was also alone, also recalling the decoration of that other tree. This one wasn't hers and hadn't been preserved well, was mostly brown now, with pitifully broken branches and a pile of fallen needles beneath it that the servants couldn't manage to keep up with. It belonged to the Applebees, good friends of her father's who still lived in Portsmouth. He had taken her and Thomas straightaway there after they'd left Vincent's town house.

Despite Larissa's state of shock when they arrived there, it wasn't lost on her that she hadn't once considered the Applebees as an option when she had agonized over where to take her brother when they lost their home. She would have thought of them eventually, because they really were very old friends of her father's, and she had thought of them after she was already moved into Vincent's house, as well as her many childhood friends in Portsmouth, any one of whom would have opened his or her door to her. But by then she had conveniently ignored their existence for the simple fact that she had wanted to stay in the baron's home.

Of course, Thomas's illness had been the deciding factor; at least she had convinced herself of that at the time. It was better for him not to make that long trip to Portsmouth while he still had that lingering fever. But they could have managed it, could have sealed up a coach against drafts and got him there as quickly as possible if it had been necessary. Vincent's offered hospitality had made it unnecessary. And Larissa's desire to get to know Vincent better had kept her from considering those other options, even if she hadn't owned up to that at the time.

They had been staying with the Applebees now for nearly a week. It had taken that long for the shock to wear off completely for Larissa. The knowledge that she had been used in a plot for revenge had utterly crushed her. Everything she had supposed about Vincent Everett had been wrong. She had fallen in love with someone who wasn't real, who was a complete fake.

Her father had wanted to comfort her, but after her first outburst of tears when he tried, he had decided the best way to help her get over her heartache was to not discuss it at all, which meant not discussing Vincent. She was grateful for that. She really couldn't bear to talk about him yet, when just thinking about him could start the tears flooding again. But she had been in such a state of despair that she hadn't done much communicating with her father at all yet.

She still didn't even know what had kept him from returning to London for so long. If he had mentioned it, and she supposed he probably had, she hadn't been listening. When she was around, a lot of whispering tended to go on. The Applebees were kind, but if they had been told why she was mired in such misery, they no doubt pitied her.

They were a large family. William and Ethel's four children had married and had young families of their own, and all came to visit their parents at this special time of the year. The house was full. It was a large house, though, so there had been plenty of room for the Ascots, and Thomas had many youngsters to keep him quite occupied. A blessing that, because if her father might be kindly avoiding the subject of her unhappiness, her brother certainly wouldn't have if he could have found her alone. Fortunately, with so many people in the house, it was rare to find anyone alone- until today. The Applebees' four married children had all leit to go back to their respective homes that morning.

Because of that ma.s.s exodus, Larissa had had the parlor to herself for several hours now. No more pitying whispers. No more attempts to cheer her when she couldn't be cheered. But no more relief either, with the numbness of her shock finally fading. And much too much introspection now and mental browbeating-and anger.

The anger had sneaked up on her, not really unexpected, just all at once it was there and a lot of it, and now bitterly contained just below the surface. Having been used and deceived so easily marked her clearly as a naive fool. And Vincent had done it so easily. That was the quelling blow. She'd almost begged him to dupe her. Every tactic he'd used on her had worked, not because he was so adept at fooling people, but because she had wanted to believe that he cared about her.

Good G.o.d, he must have hated touching her, hated making love to her, despising her family as he did. And how he must have laughed at how easily she had succ.u.mbed to his seduction and his lies. Everything between them had been a lie, everything she had believed about him, a lie ...

"Do you want to stay here with Thomas while I return to London?"

The question came from her father, who had just entered the room. At least she heard him right off this time. She recalled a number of times in the last week when he'd had to wave his hand in front of her face and repeat himself to try and get her attention.

"When are you leaving?" she asked.

"In the morning."

He was going to find them a new home. She vaguely remembered that being discussed last evening during dinner. If he went alone, he'd stay at the London office. If she went with him, he'd need to get them rooms at a hotel. She saw no reason to incur the extra expense. She hadn't asked him about his finances. It wasn't her place to ask. In the few conversations that she'd managed to hear when she wasn't so deep in self-pity, she gathered that he'd found new markets in the Caribbean and was no longer worried on that front.

"I'll stay here," she replied.

"You're feeling better?"

There was a great deal of concern in his expression. There was also some hesitancy in his tone that wasn't like him. Her state of nearly deaf distraction since his return must have begun to seriously worry him. But she saw no reason to hedge about the subject now.

"Better, no. Fully cognizant again, yes."

He smiled gently. "A little absentmindedness never-"