“Well, yes, one would think . . .”
“Whatever you do, do be careful,” Beryl said. “I would hate to see him hurt you again.”
“As would I,” Camille snapped.
“I saw him hurt you once, and I think that's why I had been so unwilling to allow myself to fall in love. It very nearly ruined my life.”
“Good Lord, Beryl, what utter nonsense. My broken heart did not ruin your life.”
“I thought it sounded rather plausible.” Beryl picked up a morsel of biscuit and popped it into her mouth.
“This is not about you!” Camille's voice rose.
“No, it's not, but it's left to the rest of us to pick up the pieces, isn't it?” Beryl glared. “This charade of yours is a perfect example. You've gotten us all into this mess and now it's up to us to make certain we do not come out of it as the laughingstock of England!”
“Well, at least she doesn't have a tart playing you,” Delilah said sharply. “I don't know what you were thinking, Camille. That actress, and I use the term loosely, doesn't behave at all like me.”
Camille stared. “If you weren't quite so stuffyâ”
“But then you don't think, do you?” Delilah glared.
“Come now, Delilah,” Mother said. “The woman playing you is at least close to your age, whereas Mrs. Montgomery-Wells is positively elderly.” She leveled a hard look at Camille. “I'm not at all pleased to have a woman who cannot remember her own name pretending to be me.”
“Perhaps if I had a mother who didn't fill the house with every lost European exile who came along, not to mention a parade of lovers,” Camille said sharply, “someone whose behavior was more fitting of her position, then I wouldn't have had to hire a proper family in the first place!”
Mother huffed. “They're scarcely an improvement. Why, your Mr. Henderson made a most improper suggestionâ”
“When you were being Juliet to his Romeo, no doubt.” Camille sniffed. “What do you expect?”
Mother continued as if Camille hadn't said a word. “And if Miss Murdock is sleeping alone at night, it's not by choice.”
“This is not Mother's fault, Camille.” Beryl rose to her feet. “You've done what you always do. You've jumped into something without due consideration. I told you it was absurd!”
“Yes, yes, you told me, and God knows, you will never let me forgetâ”
“It's Brighton all over again,” Delilah muttered.
“It's not the least bit like Brighton,” Camille snapped. “And you needn't keep throwing that in my face!”
“Perhaps,
dear
”âMother stoodâ“if you learned from your past mistakesâ”
“Brighton!”
Beryl fairly shot the word.
“Stop that!” Camille cast an angry look at her family. “All of you! What I don't need at the moment is recriminations and accusations. It does no good, whatsoever.” She drew a calming breath. “I am well aware that acting without due consideration has on occasionâ”
“ âOn occasion'?” Delilah scoffed.
“Proven to be a problem,” Camille finished.
Mother snorted.
“The irony of all this”âBeryl's narrowed gaze met her twin'sâ“is that the one time in your entire life when you should have thrown caution to the wind, you should have acted without thinking, you should have surrendered to impulse, and you didn't, is when Grayson told you he loved you!”
Camille gasped. “So everything that has gone wrong in the past eleven years is my fault?”
“Don't be absurd,” Mother said sharply. “That's not what she said!”
“But this . . . this Christmas pageant of yours, which we are trapped in, the specter of scandal now hanging over our heads”âDelilah's voice roseâ“is indeed your fault!”
Camille clenched her fists. She couldn't remember ever having been this angry with her family. Indeed, she couldn't remember ever having been truly angry with them at all. Certainly, they had disagreements and even quarrels on occasion, but they were usually such a congenial group.
Not today.
“If you will excuse me, there are matters I need to attend to before dinner.” She nodded and swept out of the parlor.
The last thing she needed or wanted was to have her entire family angry with her. Admittedly, for the most part, they hadn't said anything that wasn't true. But her ideas always seemed so brilliant when they first occurred to her, and hadn't hiring a family for Christmas seemed nothing short of inspired? And, indeed, wouldn't it all have gone rather uneventfully, had it not been for the unexpected? Her mother and sister returning home, and . . .
And Grayson!
Why, if Grayson hadn't appeared dragging the past along with him, wouldn't she still want marriage to Nikolai? Although, possibly, she might have come to her senses about him even without Grayson's interference. Still, he had made this farce of hers much more complicated and confusing. She didn't know what she wanted now. Nor did she know what he wanted.
What was he up to? Why hadn't he told her he had money? What did he really want?
Past time to find out.
Twenty
“C
amille.” Nikolai took her elbow and steered her into the hall. The others were moving from the dining room into the parlor. “I must speak with you alone.”
“Very well.” She cast him her brightest smile, knowing full well Grayson lingered a bit behind the rest of the group. While he was subtle, he was definitely watching them both. But then she had noticed she was never out of his sight or Beryl's. One might think they were conspirators of some sort, which was nothing more than the oddest of notions. Beryl would willingly cut her arm off before she cooperated with Grayson in anything.
While the food at dinner had been excellent, the same could not be said of the company. Thank God, her actors had done their part. Between Mrs. Montgomery-Wells's reminiscences of who knew what, and Mr. Henderson's endless anecdotes, and Miss Murdock's relentless flirtationâequally divided between Nikolai and Graysonâit was easy to overlook the fact that neither she nor her mother and sisters said much of anything beyond an occasional overly polite comment. The tension in the air seemed to her thick enough to cut with a knife. Hopefully, Nikolai did not notice; although Grayson obviously did, given the way she caught his speculative gaze on her every time she happened to look at him.
“What is it, Nikolai?” She smiled up at the prince.
His brow furrowed in obvious displeasure. “All is not going as I had hoped.”
“Oh?”
“Between your family and the preparations for Christmas, I have scarcely had any time alone with you at all.”
“I know and I do regret that.” She heaved a heartfelt sigh. “But you must understand, with the entire family in residence, well . . .” She shrugged apologetically.
“Someone is always with us.” He huffed in frustration.
“It does seem that way.” She chanced a quick look into the dining room; Grayson had at last gone into the parlor.
“It is most annoying.”
She shook her head. “There is nothing to be done about it, I'm afraid.”
“Meet me tonight.” Urgency sounded in his voice. “Come to my room. We have much to talk about and to settle between us. There are questions that need to be asked, the future to be decided.”
“I quite agree, but I can't come to your room.” She adopted a note of regret. “It would be scandalous, and with all these people . . .”
“You do not trust them?” He frowned. “This family of yours?”
“Oh, of course I trust my family,” she said quickly. “But the servants, well, they do tend to gossip.”
“Yes, of course. I . . .” He hesitated.
“Yes?”
“I did not wish to worry you with such things, as I did not want to spoil Christmas. But before I arrived, I had word from my country.” He shook his head. “There are events unfolding that require me to return sooner than expected.”
“Oh, dear.” How convenient. “Perhaps it would be best if you were to return at once.”
“I am not overly concerned as of yet. Besides, Christmas is the day after tomorrow.” His gaze met hers. “I wish to have matters settled between us by then. Possibly even an announcement?”
A heavy weight settled in her stomach, but she forced a light laugh. “Possibly.”
“I warned you, I am not a patient man.” A hard note sounded in his voice. “And what little patience I have is growing thin.”
“Perhaps . . .” She chose her words with care. “It might be wiser, given how crowded the house is, and all that I have to see to, Christmas and everything that goes along with it, if we wait until the new year to make any decisionsâ”
“No. That will not do. Especially now. I know what I want, Camille, and I think you know as well.” He grabbed her and pulled her into his arms.
“Goodness, Nikolai, this is neither the time nor the place.” She pushed against him. Good Lord, it was tiring to walk this fine line between flirtation and avoidance.
“Perhaps this is not the time.” He chuckled and glanced upward. Her gaze followed his. Mistletoe! Of course. It was all over the house. She'd noticed it on her way to dinner. Grayson's doing, no doubt, although this was obviously not what he'd had in mind. “But it is most certainly the place.”
“Even so . . .”
“But is it not tradition?”
“Well, yes, but . . .” She caught sight of Grayson out of the corner of her eye. He stood in the dining room once more, just outside the doors to the parlor; far enough away to be discreet, yet close enough to watch her every move. Very well, then. She smiled up at Nikolai. “As it is tradition. . .”
Without another word, he pressed his lips to hers, gathering her closer. As kisses went, it was quite nicely done. Indeed, it was an excellent kiss. “Practiced” was the word that came to mind. He certainly knew what he was doing. Still, it brought no rush of desire, no aching need, no longing for more. In many ways, it was a great pity that the only thing it evoked was the momentary thought that it was entirely too long.
He raised his head and gazed down at her. “That was just the beginning, my dear Camille.” He released her and stepped back, then took her hand. “But for the moment, it shall have to do.”
She smiled up at him. “I'm afraid so.”
“I believe I shall retire for the night. It must be your country air. I find I am quite ready for bed.” He cast her a pointed look.
She ignored it. “Good evening, Nikolai.”
“Good evening.” He nodded, turned and strode off toward the stairs.
She breathed a sigh of relief. That was that, then. Any reservations she might have had about not marrying Nikolai vanished with the first touch of his lips to hers. She knew this decision was the right one.
“What was that?” Grayson said behind her.
She stepped away from the mistletoe and turned to face him. “Goodness, Grayson, surely you have seen a kiss before.”
His eyes narrowed. “That was a very long kiss.”
“Was it?” She shrugged. “It didn't seem long to me at all. But then, it was an excellent kiss.”
“It didn't look like an excellent kiss. It looked
rehearsed.
”
“Perhaps from where you were standing.” She started toward the stairs. “But from where I was standing, it was excellent.”
“Where are you going?”
“To my room. I am not in the mood to play parlor games tonight. Besides, as Nikolai has retired for the night, so shall I.”
“Oh no, you're not.” He grabbed her arm and steered her into the parlor. He fairly shoved her into the room; then closed the doors behind her.
“What are you doing?” She glanced around. “Where is everyone?”
“The general consensus was that it had been a long day and they were all ready for bed. Your mother and sisters all claimed to have aching headsâ”
“Probably something in the air.”
“Perhaps you didn't notice, but Mrs. Montgomery-Wells had a touch too much wine at dinner and could scarcely keep her eyes open. Mr. Henderson gallantly offered to escort her to her room. And Miss Murdock said she had a good book she was dying to get back to.”
“No doubt.”
“And Pruzinsky has gone as well?”
She nodded.
“Good, then we are alone.” He strode across the room, filled two glasses with brandy and returned. He handed her a glass. “Here. We have a great deal to talk about.”
“Lord save me from men who have a great deal to talk about.” This might not be the best time. She was still out-of-sorts from the argument with her family. Or perhaps this was the perfect time. She took a deep swallow. “But you're right, we do need to talk.”
“About the past.” He nodded.
“Oh, my. Yes, let's start with the past, shall we?”
He drew a deep breath. “I'm not sure where to begin.”
“At the beginning?”
“Of course.” He thought for a long moment.
Impatience washed through her. “Well? What are you waiting for? Go on. This is what you've wanted. This is what you've gone on and on about since you first walked in the door. Good Lord, Grayson, get on with it.” She tossed back her brandy, then crossed the floor to the decanter and refilled her glass.
He raised a brow. “Another brandy might not be wise, Camille.”
“No one has ever accused me of being wise.”
“Still, it's not like youâ”
“How dare you presume to know what is like me and what is not like me?” The anger she'd felt for him since he'd walked out of her lifeâanger that she'd thought had abated in recent daysânow rushed back full force. “You have not been here! You have not been in my life for eleven years!”
“I am well aware of that.”
“I am so glad you're aware of it. That makes it all so much better.” He was right, although she would never admit it to him. She did not drink excessive amounts of brandy. Fortunately, she had a few glasses left until she reached excessive. And she would need every one of them. “Go on, then. Talk.”
“Very well.” His forehead furrowed in thought. “Eleven years ago . . . when I . . . well . . . that is . . .”
“You seem to be having a great deal of trouble deciding exactly what you wish to say.”
“It's not easy.” His jaw tightened. “The right words are eluding me, and this is too important not to find the right words. I'm not exactly sure how to say what I want to say.”
“Really? I find that most amusing.”
“ âAmusing'?” He stared. “How is that
amusing
?”
“Because I have known what I wished to say to you for eleven years,” she snapped. “Exactly what I wished to say.”
“Then perhaps you should begin.” Caution sounded in his voice.
“Perhaps I should.” She took another swallow of the brandy, then smacked the glass down on a table. “Eleven years ago, when out of nowhere you said you loved me, I didn't know what to say, so everything I did say was wrong. But after you left, I thought, âHe'll come back. Any minute now, he'll walk through that door and then I'll tell him that I love him as well.' I thought, âI'll tell him I never dreamed there could be anything between us beyond friendship. ' After all, there were expectations as to whom I should wed and how I should live my life. I never imagined he thought of me as anything other than a friend or a sister, but I have always loved him.”
He stared in shocked silence.
“But the hours passed and I thought, âSurely, he'll be back tonight. Surely, a man truly in love would fight for the woman he wants. Surely, he couldn't be so cruel as to announce his love and then go on with his life as if nothing had happened. And then I'll tell him that I love him and I always have.' But the night wore on and morning came, and my wedding drew near and he didn't come.” She picked up her glass, took another quick swallow, then set it back down. “And even as I walked down the aisle, I thought, âWhen he comes, because surely a man who claims to love a woman would stop her wedding, and then,
then,
I'll tell him that I love him as well.
Then
I'll tell him that I always have.' But, of course, he didn't come, or rather you didn't come.” She struggled to remain calm. “And then I realized it was too late, this man who claimed to love me had not done anything to prove that love, had not fought for that love. Indeed, had he even meant his words? Had he regretted them the moment they were out of his mouth? Was it nothing more than a rash statement uttered in impulse?”
“I meant everyâ”
“Not that it mattered anymore, because I was married to Harold, who was a very nice man and did not deserve to be hurt the way I had been hurt. And I vowed he never would be. So I stopped thinking about what I would say to you. I stopped thinking about you at all, insofar as that was possible. I avoided your cousin. I forbid Beryl to speak of you. I was a very good wife to Harold and I did love him, although not in the way I had loved you.
“And the years passed. And on rare occasions when there would be some reminder of you, I would indeed think about what I would say if I were to see you again. I thought I would be polite, cordial in an impersonal sort of way, as though seeing you again meant nothing. Or perhaps I would be hard-pressed to recall your name at all, should we come face-to-face.”
“Camilleâ”
“No, Grayson, you wanted to talk about the past. Well, this is my past!” Fury pulsed in her veins. “Then Harold died, and in spite of having pushed you out of my head and my heart, I thought, âIf he had really meant what he had said, if he really loved me, surely he will come now.' Perhaps, all those years ago, he had thought it was better for me to marry the sort of man I was expected to marry. Or perhaps he had thought it was somewhat dishonorable to ruin another man's wedding.” She met his gaze directly. “Oh, I had all sorts of reasons why you did nothing after you made your grand declaration because as much as I wanted to believe you meant what you said, I wanted to forgive you.”