Home for the Holidays (7 page)

Not that she would ever ask him any of that. Not that she really cared, was only mildly curious. It was perfectly natural to wonder about the man who had evicted her from her home, then offered temporary lodgings in his own—and caused her so many unusual feelings.

He stirred. She thought his eyes might even have opened, though it was hard to tell. But her heart was suddenly slamming in her chest again. She ducked down behind the bed and crouched there for what seemed an eternity. Even so, she pretty much crawled out of there on all fours, to keep from his immediate view. Her cheeks were flaming. Common sense had returned. She knew she had done a stupid, stupid thing and wasn’t taking any more chances.

I
T WAS A MUFFLED THUD, COMING FROM BEYOND TWO
closed doors, but it was enough to wake Larissa. She didn’t find out what the noise had been, though, until she wandered, blurry eyed, into the bathroom, and found one of the household footmen kneeling on the floor there in front of the door that connected to the baron’s room.

The man’s presence startled her to full wakefulness. Wide-eyed now, she just managed to cut off a shriek of surprise, in fact.

But a thorough glance revealed his tools and that he
had been installing locks on the doors. It was the doorknob on the one he was working on, accidentally falling to the marble floor, that had made the noise that woke her.

This he apologized for profusely while he explained in embarrassment that he was supposed to have been finished with his task before she arose, so he wouldn’t disturb her. Walking in and finding a man in her bathroom was indeed disturbing, though not nearly so much as it would have been if the man had been the baron instead.

The housekeeper was there as well, supervising, though on the other side of the door in the baron’s room. She made her own presence known by dragging the footman out of there for the time being.

Her parting remark cleared up any remaining confusion, or it should have. “He’ll finish up, miss, when you go down for lunch. The baron wasn’t aware that these doors were without locks. Didn’t think of it myself, either. Nothing wrong with that, of course, if a wife were installed, but with a guest, well, you understand …”

Larissa understood perfectly, the
need
for a lock on each of the two bathroom doors. What she didn’t understand was why they were being installed now, after the fact, as it were. And at the baron’s request, obviously.

The lack of locks was most likely why she had been unable to get to sleep last night to begin with. She realized
that now. She’d tried to lock the doors as soon as she had retired to her room last night. That she couldn’t must have added to her unease at being in a strange house—with very good reason as it turned out.

But with the baron installing locks, she had to wonder what really happened last night. She had assumed it was he who had entered her room, but she hadn’t opened her eyes, not once, to make sure. And then it occurred to her, who else it could have been.

One of those new servants that hadn’t proven themselves yet. The baron had been worried enough about them to have her lock up her jewelry. One of them could well have been trying to rob her last night, but didn’t leave in time when she showed up for bed. The thieving maid could have hid in the dressing room until she was asleep, then tried to sneak out.

Fear could have frozen the thief in her room—or she realized Larissa wasn’t asleep. She hadn’t moved, after all, not once, in her pretense. The maid could have been waiting in an agony of fear for Larissa to make some kind of sleep sound to assure her she wasn’t awake, yet she never did. And opening the outer door to the hall would have brought in some light. Had she been awake, she most certainly would have started screaming, or so the thief could have thought.

It was a perfectly viable explanation, much more realistic,
really, than that the baron had stood there for hours by her bed, watching her sleep as she had thought. And the thief had finally given up with that sigh she had heard and gone back into the dressing room to hide the rest of the night, because Larissa never did stir enough to let her think she could escape without her notice.

Yet she had given the thief her escape when she had, soon after that, entered the bathroom to listen at the baron’s door. The maid could have slipped out of her room with ease then. Larissa wouldn’t have heard her. She was listening for sounds on the other side of the door, not behind her.

Good God, the baron must have seen her in his room last night, and
that
was why locks were going on the doors this morning. And he’d been there all along in his room. She was the one who had intruded, without reason, or without reason from his perspective.

Larissa groaned and buried her face in her hands. She was never leaving that room. No, she couldn’t stay there, it wasn’t really her room. But she was never going to face the baron again. Couldn’t. Such embarrassment went beyond anything of her experience.

She’d leave his house. She had to. He was kind enough not to insist on it himself, had ordered locks instead. But she simply couldn’t stay there now and risk seeing him again. What he must be thinking—how utterly mortifying.

And then she groaned again. To leave, she
had
to see him. He had her jewels in his safe. He also had the address where the rest of their possessions had been taken. She couldn’t get either without speaking to him. And if she had to speak to him, she was going to have to explain to him what had happened last night.

Had she ever dreaded anything so much? She didn’t think so. But prevaricating had put her in this mess to begin with. If she had sold the jewels sooner, or started selling off the furnishings, she would have had a bit of money on hand to take them to a hotel until she could figure out what to do, instead of coming here.

Having inquired of the first servant she passed the baron’s whereabouts, she was taken to his study downstairs. She was told he could be found there most mornings after he returned from his daily ride, though not often in the afternoons, when he made social and business calls elsewhere. Today was an exception.

She wasn’t really listening to the servant’s chatter as she was led there. Her cheeks were already flaming in anticipation of seeing Lord Everett. She had to force one foot in front of the other to walk into his presence.

It was a nice-looking office, accommodating, the chairs about the room designed for comfort rather than just utility, so anyone who joined him there would feel at ease—at least anyone but her. Several lamps had been lit, since
the day had turned out quite dark and dreary, with snow still falling in short bursts. The rose-colored lamp domes went quite well with the ruby drapes. She was trying to look at anything but him, but that didn’t last long.

He sat behind a large desk. He was reading a newspaper. He didn’t glance up. It was probably no more than a reflection from the lamp on the desk beside him, with its rose shade, that made his cheeks look as pink as hers must be. Wishful thinking, to hope he was embarrassed, too.

“Someone was in my room last night. I thought it was you, but you were sleeping.”

She blurted it out—and realized, too late, that she was
admitting
to having entered his room in the middle of the night. How else could she have known he was sleeping? Had he not known of her intrusion, he certainly did now.

“It could have been me.”

It took several long moments before that statement broke through her embarrassment, and then she blinked in confusion. “Excuse me? ‘Could have’ implies you don’t know. How is that possible?”

“I’ve never awakened to find myself walking about, yet I’ve been assured that I do just that on occasion, take strolls while I’m asleep. Not often. And I don’t go far, apparently. If I did, I would have to consider having myself locked in at night, which I would rather not do. But it did occur to me that I might wander into your room during
one of these strange occurrences, which is why I ordered the locks, to prevent any chance of that happening.”

He was taking the blame on himself, even if he wasn’t at fault. She was relieved by his explanation. Her embarrassment even subsided. He hadn’t seen her. And she had the means to secure the room on all sides now, whether she was in it or not, so she wouldn’t have to worry about thieves either. He had removed her reason to leave.

She should still leave. There was something just not right about her feelings for the baron. She should despise him and nothing more, yet there was more.

She almost said as much, that she would begin immediately looking for other accommodations. But then she remembered her brother, and the new physician who had examined him yesterday, assuring her that he should be up and about in no more than a week—if he continued his present convalescence. And he had stressed, repeatedly, just as their own doctor had, that Thomas was to avoid drafts at all costs, which might cause him a relapse.

She had forgotten all that in the misery of her embarrassment, which was still another reason why they should leave the baron’s house. He simply filled her mind too much, to the exclusion of all else.

She could wait at least another week, though, for her brother’s full recovery. But in the meantime, she could find an auction house that would assist her in disposing of
the more valuable furnishings, and a jeweler who would offer her a fair price for her mother’s pearls. She could no longer depend on her father coming home to make everything right again for them, when she had finally admitted to herself that he might never be coming home.

She was also going to have to obtain employment to support herself and Thomas. Their father’s numerous assets were going to be denied them until he was officially declared … She couldn’t say it, even in thought. But she had no idea how long that would take.

A quick glance out the window reminded her that it was rather late to get started on all of that today, nor was it a pleasant day to be walking about London, when the snow that had begun to fall last night continued to appear periodically. The last thing she needed was to catch a cold and end up confined to a bed herself. In the morning, then—if she could manage a normal night’s sleep.

She made haste now to leave the baron’s presence. “I’m sorry to have bothered you. I’ll leave you to your reading now. And thank you for thinking of the locks.”

“Don’t go.”

I
T WAS JOLTING, HEARING THAT
“D
ON’T GO” FROM
L
ORD
Everett, particularly since Larissa had just been thinking about leaving his house. It took a moment to realize he meant for her not to leave his study, rather than his house. It still had sounded plaintive, his tone, almost desperate, which was why it had been so jarring to her.

He
was
lonely. She was sure of that now. It shouldn’t bother her, though. He was nothing to her, after all; no, worse, he was a despicable, evicting landlord. Unfortunately, her heart, soft as it was, ignored that. It did bother her that he was lonely; it went right to the core of her compassionate nature.

She glanced back at him, raised a questioning brow to force him to elaborate. That seemed to confound him. He needed a reason to keep her there, but apparently didn’t have one handy. His request had been impulsive, and had revealed too much of himself. She took pity and moved toward the window, giving him more time to find his “reason.”

She expected to hear something trite, but in the end he surprised her, even made her rethink her conclusion that he was lonely, for which she was quite glad. She didn’t
want
to feel any sympathy for him, after all.

It was a subject that he no doubt intended to cover with her, and it could merely have slipped his mind for a moment, which had given her the wrong impression. But he knew he had something to bring up, had asked her to stay so he could, then couldn’t recall what it was.

Perfectly logical; it happened to everyone on occasion. For her to have surmised that he was lonely, merely because a subject eluded him for a moment, was rather far-fetched on her part. Wishful thinking again? Absurd. She merely needed to stop making assumptions about him.