“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 God, 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, God, 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 compassionate 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 competitors 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 title before I hied it here in all haste. Is your name relevant? Just who are you, sir?”
“Vincent Everett.”
“Good God, 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 competition wasn’t welcome.”
“That isn’t-“
“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 assumed 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 dow
n 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 bloody 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 damnedest 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.
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