“I wasn’t,” he said with a shrug. “My parents died after I had reached twenty.”

Larissa stared at him. She also gave up. His family must have simply been—strange.

If he had a wife, the lady would insist on a tree. With that thought occurring, she asked him, “Why have you not married yet?”

It was the wine. She never would have asked such a personal question if she hadn’t gulped down her first glass of wine and was already working on the second, nor asked it so bluntly. She wished the footman with the wine bottle would go away. No, actually, she wished he were standing closer rather than so far across the room, he wasn’t even within hearing distance.

The baron didn’t take offense, though; he even answered her. “I have yet to find a compelling reason to marry.”

She should have apologized for the personal question, instead pointed out, “But you have a title to pass on.”

“My father’s title. I despised him, so why would I want to preserve his title?”

“That’s rather harsh,” she replied. “Surely you didn’t really.”

“You’re quite right. The hate didn’t last more than a few years. Indifference prevailed thereafter.”

“You’re serious, aren’t you? I’ve never known anyone to not love their parents.”

It was probably her surprise that made him chuckle. “You’ve led a sheltered life, Larissa. You’ve never known anyone to not have a Christmas tree either. Shall I tell you how easy it is for both to occur?”

She should have said no. Knowing more about him was not going to be good for her peace of mind, she was sure . . .

“Yes.”

He finished off his own wine before he began. “I grew up on the family estate in Lincolnshire, which I haven’t been back to since my parents died.”

“Why?”

“Because I have nothing but feelings of inadequacy there, and the memories that caused them.”

She changed her mind abruptly. “You don’t have to delve into those memories—”

“It’s quite all right,” he interrupted. “Believe me, those feelings are gone. In fact, I have no feelings remaining at all, where my parents are concerned. They were social butterflies. They did their duty in producing the required heir, myself, then proceeded to ignore me. I was turned over to servants to raise. Quite a normal occurrence, in the ton.”

That was true, she supposed, though not as frequent as his “normal” implied. Nor did it explain why he had hated his parents, but she didn’t need to point that out, because he continued.