“Not if he had bothered to find out what sort of man you were,” she insisted. “And that you would never do anything so reprehensible-“
Another chuckle. “You needn’t get indignant on my account at this late stage, Rissa. It’s over. Our lot has actually improved because of it. The only casualty involved is you, but even that can be rectified.”
“By marrying him?” she snorted.
“Only you can decide your destiny at this point,” he replied, and headed toward the door. But he paused there long enough to add, “I read that first letter again and again, and then I played a little ‘what if I suggest you do the same. Read the first letter and imagine it’s from Thomas, grown up to manhood, of course. But imagine that he wrote that to you. Then ask yourself, what would you do about it?”
CHAPTER 27
Vincent wasn’t quite certain how it happened, but Jonathan Hale now considered him his best friend. Ironically, Jon wasn’t far wrong. Vincent did in fact welcome his company now. He supposed it could just be that he needed the distraction. But Jon was much more relaxed, in thinking them friends, which in turn made him more amusing, so his company really was enjoyed. However, it didn’t take much for Vincent to realize that without Jon’s visits and amusing chatter, he’d have no break at all from the painful moroseness that otherwise filled his mind from morning till night.
Failure was so alien to him. He succeeded at most all of his endeavors, except the one most important to him, the only one that mattered. And how arrogant, to think he could convince Larissa to give him another chance if he could just talk to her. She did still care for him. He had seen that in her eyes. But it wasn’t enough. Would anything be? Laying everything, every lie and little deceit, on the floor before her for a fresh start hadn’t helped.
He hoped he had merely tried too soon, that more time was needed for the biting edge of his deception to dull. But if she couldn’t find it in her heart to forgive him, or at least to understand why he had done what he had, then no amount of time was going to help.
Jonathan had at least benefited from Vincent’s brief visit to Portsmouth. The Ascots hadn’t taken advantage of him, knowing how much he would have paid for La Nymph. George had charged him only what he felt the value of the painting was, which was much less than what Jon had paid Vincent in commission. Ascot really was as good and honorable as Larissa had made him out to be. Which just made Vincent feel even more rotten.
And how did one get on with one’s life, when one refused to cut the cords to do so?
One of the cords Vincent wasn’t letting go of was the Christmas tree in his parlor. He wasn’t going to remove it. It could rot there, until nothing was left but dead bare branches, but it was staying there in his parlor until Larissa showed up for the ornaments on it.
Jonathan was right, they were valuable to her, and Vincent was counting on that, that she wouldn’t send just anyone by to fetch them for her, that she would come herself to collect them. And when she did, she wasn’t going to be handed a filled trunk that she could immediately leave with, she was going to have to spend a bit of time there removing the ornaments from the tree herself.
It was his last hope. A little time with her alone. And perhaps she might remember, as well, the fun they’d had decorating her tree. He was counting on that, counting on other memories associated with his house to remind her how wonderful their lives could be, if she would give him another chance.
He took precautions as well, going out only when he absolutely had to. She might think she
could come there without seeing him, but he had left strict orders that he was to be summoned if she showed up, and not let in at all if he wasn’t there, which would force her to return when he was. And so he waited.
She did come, and in the late morning when he was usually home, so she was making no effort to avoid him. He found her still in the hall where she’d been asked to wait. She appeared nervous. It was actually hard to discern, when her beauty overwhelmed him, but he did notice it, the chewing at her lower lip that she stopped when he appeared, her hands clenched tightly in front of her.
It was perhaps that nervousness, rather than her desire to leave soonest, that had her blurting out immediately, “I’ve come for our Christmas ornaments. I couldn’t bring myself to fetch them sooner.”
“I understand you’d rather not see me.”
“It wasn’t that. I just wanted you to have a normal Christmas tree for once. We made do, sharing the Applebees’ tree for the remainder of the season. But I knew you wouldn’t, that if we stripped your tree, you’d leave it that way.”
“Why?”
“Excuse me?”
“Why did it matter to you?” he asked.
“Because it was your first tree.”
“So? I’ve gone this long without having one. I could have gone the rest of my life without having one.”
“That’s why, because you don’t care. Because it saddens me that you don’t care.”
He smiled gently. “Rissa, a Christmas tree is nothing if you have no one to share it with. You said as much yourself. It symbolizes a season that is celebrated in sharing. Come. Let’s share this one for the last time.”
He moved to the parlor, HE didn’t wait for her, knew she would follow. He was rather proud of the condition of her tree, watched eagerly as she entered the room and saw it. She was amazed, clearly. He had hoped for a smile, though, instead of just surprise.
“You changed it, brought in a new tree. Why?”
“It’s the same tree,” he insisted. “I’ve been pampering it myself, watering it twice a day. It decided to survive a little longer.”
He was joking that the tree might have had any say-so in the matter, but she was too sentimental not to agree with him, and with the smile he’d hoped for, she said, “So it did, and quite beautifully, too. I don’t believe I’ve ever stripped a tree looking this healthy before. Are you sure you didn’t bring in a new one?”
“Did I forget to assure you that I’d never lie to you again?”
She blushed. There it was, standing between them again, everything he’d done, everything he regretted. And how utterly foolish, to let that subject come up so soon. He’d wanted her to relax first, to recall the fun they’d had in this room.
“Do you realize that saying it isn’t an assurance, when the assurance could be a lie as well?”
“Your doubt is tangible, Rissa, and understandable. But have you realized that most of the lies were to keep you here? I wanted you so much, I was committed to doing anything in my power to have you come willingly to me. I’m sorry for the deceptions having to do with your father. I made mistakes. I’m far from perfect. But I won’t apologize for wanting you, or for making love to you, or for anything I did to make you mine, if only for a little while, because saying I’m sorry for that would be a lie.”
Though her cheeks were a bit brighter from his bluntness, she didn’t reply. She even moved away
from him so she could stare at the tree without looking at him. Her expression had given him no clue, either, to how his statements had affected her, other than to embarrass her.
He tried again. “I was never going to marry. But then I was never going to fall in love either. It was an emotion I thought I was immune to. You’ve proven me wrong. I just wish I had realized it before Christmas day. Had I recognized it sooner, we would have been engaged before your father returned; hell, I might even have dragged you off to Gretna Green to make sure we were married before his return.’
He paused, waited hopefully, but she still just stared pensively at the tree. His last chance, and she was shooting it down with her silence. Of course, that was answer in itself She’d had enough time to harden her resolve. But he hadn’t anticipated indifference.
He moved behind her, started to put his hands on her shoulders, but stopped himself afraid she’d bolt if he touched her. “Rissa, say something.”
“I read your brother’s letters.”
“And?
”
“And I might have done the same thing you did “
He went still, held his breath. “You’re saying you forgive me?”
“I’m saying I love you and can’t find any way around that.”
He didn’t give her a chance to take it back or try to correct what she’d just said. He swung her around, gathered her close, kissed her deeply. That she yielded immediately was his answer and filled him with such relief, there was barely any room left to contain his joy. She was his again! And he wasn’t going to lose her this time.
“You came here with the intention of forgiving me?” he said.
“I thought it might be possible.”
Her grin was infectious. He returned it, hugged her tightly. “Elope with me.”
“No, we do this the proper way this time. You’ll have to speak to my father.”
He groaned. “He’s made his feelings clear. He doesn’t like me.”
“You’ll find he’s probably changed his mind about that,” she told him. “He knows I love you. He’s the one who made me see that I was being too hard on you. But if I’m wrong, then we can elope.”
“You really mean that, don’t you?” he asked her in amazement.
She cupped his cheeks in her hands so tenderly.
“I was letting my hurt overrule my heart, when I knew deep down that you were still the man I fell in love with. I’m sorry it took so long for my heart to take over again-“
“Shh, it doesn’t matter now. Nothing else matters, except that we’re together again. I’ll speak to your father immediately.”
“You’ll help me take down the Christmas tree first,” she said.
He chuckled. “I knew that tree was going to bring us together again.”
“It’s almost a shame to take it down, when it’s still so green.”
“Then don’t,” he suggested. “Or is that part of the ritual?”
“Well, it does sort of put Christmas to rest until the next year.”
“Who says it has to be put to rest? I rather liked your concept of ‘sharing.’
She smiled, reached for his hand to hold it. “We won’t need a tree for that.”
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” attitude. 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 sex,
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.”<
br />
“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.”
Johanna Lindsey, Home for the Holidays
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