Home for the Holidays Read Online Free

to society here?”
    “Perhaps because I’ve made no effort to be known,” she replied with a light shrug. “Why not?”
    “I didn’t want to move to London. I grew up in Portsmouth, was perfectly happy there. I hated my father for bringing us to London. And for the first year we were here, I behaved like the foolish child I was and tried every way I could to make my father regret the move. I was an utter brat. I spent the next year trying to make it up to him, to make our home here a real home. Meeting my neighbors wasn’t part of either agenda … My God, why did I just tell you all of that?”
    Vincent burst out laughing, wondering the same thing. And she looked so surprised—at herself. That was what he found most amusing, that he disturbed her enough to cause her to forgot standard protocol.
    “Nervous chatter, I would imagine,” he supplied helpfully, still smiling.
    “I’m not nervous,” she denied, but she looked down as she said it, still shying away from his direct stares, which he had no intention of stopping.
    “It’s normal to be nervous. We are not well acquainted—yet.”
    “Well acquainted” implied many things, and she apparently objected to all of them. “Nor will we ever be,” she retorted stiffly, then thought to add, “I know why I am here.”
    “You do?” he asked with interest.
    “Certainly. It was the only way that you could be assured another meeting with my father when he returns, to straighten out this mysterious misunderstanding of yours—which you refuse to explain.”
    A pointed reminder that he was not being completely truthful with her, which he in turn pointedly ignored, since he had no intention of revealing his real motives. Revenge worked best when it struck in surprise, after all. But he did want to know just how much of an upper hand he held at the moment, where she was concerned, since she was now a prime piece in the equation.
    He had made assumptions, when she had confessed she didn’t know where her family would be moving to. He had pictured her destitute and living on the streets. But those earbobs she was wearing said otherwise. Yet he wanted her to have no other recourse than to remain right where she was. The last thing he wanted was for her to be able to up and leave his house once she realized he was going to make every effort to get her into his bed.
    It made the difference between a speedy, straightforward campaign for him, and a long, tedious one during which he would have to be careful of every word he said to her. And time
was
of the essence, since her father could return at any moment to rescue her from ruination.
    It wouldn’t be too difficult, however, to assure that shewas destitute, or at least to have her think so, and to that end he said, “If you have any valuable jewelry, you can lock it in my safe while you are here. My servants are trustworthy, or most of them are, but we have a couple new maids that haven’t proven themselves yet.”
    “I do have a few nice pieces, from my mother. They would have been sold only as a last resort. There are paintings, however, that I should have sold already. I prevaricated too long, thinking my father would return sooner. I should see to their disposal tomorrow.”
    “Nonsense. You’ve no need to sell off your belongings now. You can wait here for your father. He will rectify everything when he returns, I’m sure.”
    “I’m sure as well, but I don’t like being without any money whatsoever, and I really did go through the last of our funds for Thomas’s medicine. He will also need more …”
    “Your furniture is being stored as we speak. I repeat, there is no reason for you to dispose of it. My personal physician is also due this week, to examine my staff—something I arrange for each year at this time—so feel free to use his services for your brother while he is here. But how is it possible that you are completely without funds? Is George Ascot that inconsiderate that—”
    “Certainly