“Yes, of course.” He released her hand and stepped back. “Forgive me. I lost my head for a moment.” He smiled. “Not an uncommon occurrence when I am with you, I fear.”
“You are a most charming devil, Nikolai.” She adopted a teasing smile.
“I cannot help myself, it seems, with you. I am allowing my heart to lead my head. Too quickly, perhaps.” He sighed. “But then I am a man who knows what he wants when he sees it. And I always get what I want.”
“One of the privileges of being a prince, no doubt.”
“I should warn you, Camille, I am a most impatient man.”
“Ah, but patience is a virtue, Nikolai.”
“Alas, one I have never cultivated.” He shook his head in a mournful manner. “You will, no doubt, be a good influence on me in that respect.”
“One can only hope.”
“I daresay, my nature is not easily changed.” He laughed. “But who knows what changes might be wrought with the right woman by my side.”
“Who knows, indeed?”
“Do you realize I have not yet kissed you?” His gaze drifted from her eyes to her lips and back. “Were I to pull you into my arms and kiss you quite thoroughly here and now, would your family object?”
“My family would be thoroughly shocked.” She smiled weakly. “As would I.”
“Ah, well. Then that, too, shall have to wait.” He considered her for a moment. “Not forever, I hope.”
“One never knows.” She laughed and he joined her.
“Now, then, tell me,” he said. “What manner of Christmas frivolity do you have in store for us tomorrow?”
“Oh, I thought perhaps tomorrow you would enjoy a walk around the grounds. The estate is quite extensive, and, of course, there's the pond, and if the . . .”
Camille rattled off the plans she'd made to occupy Nikolai and the others, but her mind was anywhere but on the next day's activities.
Whatever had come over her? She had exactly what she wanted within her grasp, and it no longer seemed to be what she wanted at all. And the blame could be laid squarely at Grayson's feet. Perhaps not entirely, but most of it. Had he not appeared, she would have dashed aside any minor doubts she might have had and at this very moment, no doubt, be betrothed to her prince. She'd been certain that she wished to marry Nikolaiâand certain, as well, that it was the hand of fate throwing them together. Grayson's presence had managed to take those minor, little doubtsâ scarcely worth mentioning, reallyâand magnify them out of all proportion.
Still, if one believed in fate, how did one explain Grayson's untimely reappearance after eleven years? Unless that, too, was fate.
Blast it all. She needed to give this entire matter further consideration asâit was now apparentâshe had failed to do before plunging into her Christmas deception.
Certainly, Nikolai didn't make her shiver when he kissed her hand, but it was only her hand, after all. When they shared a proper kiss, it would be an entirely different matter. Nikolai was exactly what she had always wanted, exactly what she wanted now.
Wasn't he?
Nine
“Y
ou don't trust him, do you?” Beryl said in a quiet voice by Gray's side.
“No.” He glanced at her. “Do you?”
“I want to. He is extremely charming.” She watched the couple outside the doorway. “But although I have heard of royals traveling incognito, I have never yet to meet one who doesn't have so much as a valet. At least not one who allegedly has a castle and kingdom and fortune.”
“So you don't think he is who he says he is?” Gray held his breath. He and Beryl had never been especially friendly, but she might well prove to be an unexpected ally.
“I have no reason to believe otherwise. I simply find his behavior odd.” She shrugged. “But then, nobility is often odd.”
Gray's gaze returned to Camille and her prince. “What do you think she sees in him?”
“My God, Grayson, have you looked at the man?” Beryl studied the prince. “He might well be the most attractive creature I have ever met. Why, I swear, when he smiles, the sun flashes off his teeth.”
“His perfect teeth,” Gray said under his breath.
Beryl laughed. “Besides that, he is a prince, and Camille has always wanted a prince.” She paused. “You probably don't remember, but Camille read far more than I did as a girl. Usually, it was stories involving handsome princes who rescued maidens from wicked trolls or evil stepmothers. Stories of true love and all that.”
“I remember,” he said quietly.
“She married who she was expected to marry and, don't mistake my words, she cared a great deal for her husband, but he was not the love of her life. Now, even though she denies it, I suspect she is looking for that fairy-story true love.”
“She says she's not in love with him.”
“But she intends to be. She's quite adamant about it.” Beryl sighed. “She doesn't understand that it doesn't really happen that way. You don't fall in love because you wish it or you should.”
Gray's throat tightened. “No, of course not.”
Beryl studied the couple for a moment. “I gather your cousin has kept you well informed through the years?”
Gray nodded. In the corridor, Pruzinsky drew Camille's hand to his lips.
“Then I imagine you know I was not especially, oh, celibate during my widowhood.”
He chuckled. “And from the gossip Win related, not especially faithful once you remarried.”
“That's all water under the bridge.” Beryl waved off the comment. “I have reformed, mended my wicked ways, as it were, as has Lionel. We are both more than happy with each other now. It's quite lovely, really.”
He drew his brows together. “Why are you telling me this?”
“Because I think you might wish to know, while Camille and I may look exactly alike, in many ways that's where the resemblance ends.” She hesitated, as if determining how much she wished to confide. “While Camille has certainly seen gentlemen since Harold died, to my knowledge, and she would certainly tell me something of that nature, she has not had any, well, affairs. She's not opposed to them,” she added quickly, “I just think she's never found someone worth the, oh, effort. And I think she wants more.”
“Then she and the prince?”
“Goodness, Grayson.” She huffed. “Don't make me say it.”
“I see.” And wasn't that interesting?
“I don't want to see her hurt.” She returned her attention to her sister and Pruzinsky. “She's much more romantic than I am. Although one would think that after growing up in this household with Mother's constant procession of usurped dukes and overthrown monarchs, she would be a better judge of character. Still, Nikolai might be exactly who and what Camille thinks he is, but I wish to be certain. To that end, I initiated an inquiry before I left London.”
He turned toward her. “Have you learned anything?”
“Not yet.” She shook her head. “But the moment I do, when I have proof, I will inform Camille. I truly hope he is what she thinks he is. And yet . . .”
“You don't trust him.”
“No, I don't. But then”âshe met his gaze directlyâ“I don't trust you either.”
He stared. “Why don't you trust me?”
Beryl's eyes narrowed. “Because you broke her heart.”
He gasped. “I did what?”
“You heard me. You know full wellâ”
“What are you two talking about?” Camille joined them. “You both appear entirely too intense, as though you are discussing something of great consequence.”
“It's been an intense sort of evening.” Beryl raised the back of her hand to her forehead in a dramatic manner. “The stress and strain of a performance is quite exhausting, you know.”
“Actually, we were saying how well the evening went,” Grayson said quickly. “Singing carols was a brilliant idea, Beryl.”
“Oh, I am full of brilliant ideas.” Beryl smirked.
“No doubt,” he murmured.
“Any more brilliance shall have to wait. There's a great deal to accomplish and time is fleeting.” Camille ticked the points off on her fingers. “There's the decorating to oversee.” She glanced at her sister. “We shall have to foray into the attic and find the ornaments for the tree. There are any number of other Christmas details to attend to as well. I must speak to Mrs. Fortesque about Christmas dinner. I have already ordered a turkey.”
“Turkey?” Beryl frowned. “But Mother always has goose for Christmas.”
“Mother is not here,” Camille pointed out. “And since Mr. Scrooge procured a prize turkey for the Cratchit family, turkey is what Nikolai expects, and turkey is what he shall have.”
“I like turkey,” Gray said in a helpful manner.
“No one cares what you like. You were not invited.” Camille pinned Gray with a firm look. “However, I do expect you to make yourself useful tomorrow. And you may do so by engaging Nikolai in some sort of manly, out-of-doors pursuit.”
“I could take him out and shoot him,” Gray said under his breath.
Beryl choked back a laugh.
“I was not going to suggest shooting, as you will more than likely have Mr. Henderson with you and I'm not at all sure you wish to give him a gun.” Camille glared. “Do you?”
He chuckled. “Perhaps not.”
“I thought not. But you once knew this estate as well as your own family's property. Perhaps you can take exercise together. A lengthy walk should do nicely and occupy most of the morning.”
“It's rather cold for a long walk.”
“Then you shall have to walk briskly. It will do you good.”
“We could look for a tree,” Gray offered.
“Not necessary.” Camille waved off his suggestion. “Before I sent the gardener off on holiday, he selected a tree and arranged for a boy from the village to cut it and deliver it on the day before Christmas. Decorating it should take much of the day and then we shall gracefully slide into Christmas Eve. After that is Christmas Day, which shall take care of itself, followed by Boxing Day, which will be interrupted by news of a monetary crisis.”
“You've thought of everything, haven't you?” Admiration sounded in Gray's voice. He was right; she was not the same girl he once knew.
“Nearly everything.” Camille raised a brow. “Surprised?”
He grinned. “Shocked.”
She ignored him. “I suggest your walk tomorrow takes you down to the pond. If it's frozen, we could skate in the afternoon. I'm sure Nikolai would adore that and it would nicely fill the rest of the day.” She nodded. “And tomorrow night after dinner, we shall play games. Cards perhaps or charades, something along those lines.”
“I do so love organized activities,” Beryl said wryly.
Camille scoffed. “You always have.”
“Is that it, then?” Miss Murdock called from across the room. “Are we done for tonight?” Her gaze flicked to Gray. “I know I am ready to retire.”
“Not yet.” Camille crossed the room and tugged at the bell pull. Fortesque appeared almost at once. The man had probably been listening at the door. Camille directed him a firm look. “Your troupe, Fortesque, needs further rehearsal.”
“I thought we did quite well,” Mrs. Montgomery-Wells said in an aside to Gray. “She's very fussy, isn't she?”
“You have no idea,” Beryl said.
“You.” Camille pinned the older woman with a hard look. “Need to remember your name.”
“I know my name.” Mrs. Montgomery-Wells picked at invisible threads on the arm of her chair.
Camille's eyes narrowed. “Then what is it?”
The actress considered the question thoughtfully. “Let me think.”
“Regina,” Henderson prompted in a less than effective stage whisper.
Miss Murdock glanced at the others. “I thought it was Florence.”
Camille looked at her sister. “And do you have any suggestions to offer?”
“Absolutely not.” Beryl shook her head. “I know my name.”
“As well you should.” Camille turned her gaze toward Fortesque. “You will resolve this?”
He nodded. “Without fail, my lady.”
“Excellent.” Camille addressed Miss Murdock. “You need to restrain what is obviously a natural desire to flirt. I gave you all dossiers on my family, and nowhere do I recall saying my youngest sister was a tart.”
The actress again glanced at Gray. He couldn't resist a slight nod of the head. Miss Murdock raised her chin. “I am playing this part as I see it. And doing a fine job of it as well. Don't you think so, Mr. Elliott?”
“I've never seen Delilah in better form,” he said.
“Thank you.” Miss Murdock smiled smugly. “The prince seemed to like me.”
“What man wouldn't?” Beryl said with a pleasant smile.
“And Mr. Henderson.” Camille turned to the older man. He smiled pleasantly, but it was obvious he had had one brandy too many. Or perhaps four. “While, all in all, I think you did a splendid job of it, perhaps you need to make your anecdotes a touch more realistic.”
“I am an actor, my lady,” he said gruffly. “I make them sound real.”
“Come now, Mr. Henderson,” Camille said gently. “Some of your stories were distinctly Shakespearean in tone. Honestly, being shipwreckedâ”
“Entirely possible.” He huffed.
“And misplacing your twin sister?” she continued.
“I understood Uncle Basil is a twin,” Henderson said staunchly. “I studied my role quite thoroughly, my lady, and I am certain he has a twin.”
“A twin
brother,
Mr. Henderson.” Camille sighed. “My father.”
“Oh.” Henderson winced. “Must have missed that.”
“I assure you, Lady Lydingham,” Fortesque said quickly, “we shall thoroughly go over our roles before we retire for the night.”
“See that you do.” Camille nodded in a weary manner, started toward the door, then stopped. “Oh, and do tell Mrs. Fortesque that dinner was excellent. I couldn't be more pleased.”
“Thank you, my lady.”
“Good evening, then.” Camille smiled shortly and took her leave.
Now that Camille was gone, Gray could continue his conversation with Beryl, but she, too, bid the others a good night and left the parlor. He had no intentions of letting her get away that easily. What did she mean: He had broken Camille's heart? What utter absurdity. He started after her.
“You're leaving as well, Mr. . . .” Mrs. Montgomery-Wells frowned in confusion and glanced at Fortesque. “Who is he playing?”
“He is Cousin Grayson. A very distant cousin.” Miss Murdock's gaze caught Gray's. “Isn't that right, Mr. Elliott?”
He nodded. “It is, indeed. And as Lady Lydingham had no criticism of my performance, I believe I, too, shall make my exit and retire for the evening.”
“But it's not at all late.” Miss Murdock pouted. “And now that Lady Lydingham is goneâshe's rather a nervous sort, isn't she?”
Mrs. Montgomery-Wells snorted.
“She can be,” Gray said.
“As I was saying, now that she has retired for the night, I thought we might get to know one another better. I was hoping to convince you to show me the library and perhaps help me select a good book. You can learn so much about a person by the type of books they read.”
“We shall have to save the library for another night, then, perhaps,” Gray said smoothly.