Mary used to be their housekeeper, but when they’d lost their cook back in Portsmouth, she’d admitted that she much preferred the kitchen domain and had taken a downgrade in position to do what she loved best. The haughty housekeeper who had replaced her had been the first to quit right after the creditors began showing up at the door. Amazing how the news of their financial difficulty had spread through the neighborhood so fast.

They would have a roof over their heads . . .

Larissa should have been experiencing some relief about the new lodgings, the biggest worry out of the way, temporarily at least. But as she went to her room and began the miserable chore of packing her personal belongings, she couldn’t quite grasp the relief she should be feeling.

Nor had any gratitude shown up yet where the baron was concerned. His offer of alternate lodging had been for his convenience, not theirs. It wasn’t help in the traditional sense, was simply that he wanted to keep track of them for his own purpose, whatever that was. The “misunderstanding” apparently wasn’t anything drastic that might alter their changed circumstances.

She was probably still too dazed by it all to feel much of anything just yet. Which was just as well. At least she wouldn’t be crying all night long while she packed. And the tears actually held off until the wee hours, when she went to sleep with them on her cheeks.

Chapter 3

Chapter 3

VINCENT STOOD BEFORE THE FIREPLACE IN HIS bedroom, a snifter of warmed brandy in hand. He was staring at the dancing flames as if mesmerized, yet he wasn’t actually seeing the fire. It was a piquant face that he saw, framed with burnished gold locks and eyes that were neither green nor blue, but a light blending of both colors in a unique shade of turquoise he’d never seen before.

He never should have gone to have a look at Larissa Ascot. He never should have got anywhere near her. She should have remained faceless, merely “Ascot’s daughter,” an indirect casualty in his small war. But having seen her, the decision to seduce her had been the easiest decision yet in his campaign against the Ascots. Ruin her for marriage, another blow against the family’s good name. That had been his thought when he had handed her his card. On reflection, though, he knew it was just an excuse, and a paltry one at that.

It had been a long time since he had wanted something, really wanted something, for himself. He wanted her. Revenge gave him all the excuse he needed to have her, would ease his conscience—if he had one. He wasn’t sure if he had one or not. The lack of emotion in his life included guilt, so it was hard to tell.