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 left to go back to their respective homes that morning.

Because of that mass 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 God, 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 succumbed 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.”