Read What Happens At Christmas Online
Authors: Victoria Alexander
What Happens At Christmas (13 page)
“I had no idea she read,” Mrs. Montgomery-Wells said in an aside to Henderson. “She doesn't seem the sort, does she?”
Miss Murdock flashed the older woman a sharp look. “I like nothing better than going to bed with a good book.” She returned her attention to Gray. “Don't you?” The look Miss Murdock directed toward him belied her words. It was obvious that there were other things she liked even better than a good book in her bed.
Fortesque cleared his throat. “We still have work to do, Edwina.”
“Yes, indeed, one can never be too prepared and we don't wish to incur Lady Lydingham's wrath. Good evening.” Gray nodded and hurried out of the parlor. He was grateful for the older man's reminder of the need to practice their parts, and grateful, as well, for Camille's insistence they do so. Edwina Murdock was a dangerous creature and he vowed to keep his distance.
He started for his room, then paused and changed direction. Miss Murdock's suggestion about the library had more merit than she intended. If he recalled correctly, the Millworth Manor library was stocked not only with classic literature and current offerings but with all manner of referential material as well. Camille's father had been something of an amateur scholar. Perhaps there was a book in the library that could help him discover more about Pruzinsky and whether or not he was legitimate.
He pushed open the door, surprised to find a lamp already lit. And surprised as well to find Pruzinsky standing in the shadows near the desk, replacing a book on the shelf.
“I beg your pardon. I didn't realize anyone was in here.”
Pruzinsky studied the shelves in front of him. “I found I was entirely too restless to sleep and thought perhaps a book might help.”
“Miss Murdock suggested the very same thing a few minutes ago.” Gray nodded at the shelves. “It's been some time since I've been in the manor's library, but it doesn't look as though much of anything has changed. Perhaps I could help you find something suitable.”
He glanced around the shadow-filled room. Even in the dim light from the single lamp on the desk, the room looked exactly as he remembered. Shelves flanked either side of a massive fireplace, reaching from the floor to a wide plaster frieze beneath ornate carved molding and a coffered ceiling. The room was longer than it was wide, with one end dominated by a bowed window, covered at night with heavy drapes. What walls didn't host shelves had portraits of ancestors dating back generations. To the right of the door hung a portrait of Camille as a girl, together with her sisters and mother, exactly where it had always hung.
“That would be most kind of you,” Pruzinsky said in a polite manner.
Gray moved to his side and perused the shelves. This section primarily held books of history, records of ancient civilizations, discourses in philosophy, treatises on economics. There was, as well, a large set of encyclopedias and several rows of nothing but various years of Debrett's and Burke's guides to the aristocracy.
“Are you looking for anything in particular? I know there's quite a bit of Shakespeare on the other wall, as well as Dickens, Thackeray, Trollope, Ruskin. What are you in the mood for?”
“Something that isn't the least bit interesting, I should think. As the purpose is to put me to sleep.” He smiled coolly. “Something quite dull should do nicely.”
“I suppose dull is as much in the eye of the beholder as beauty. Personally, I have always found works of a philosophical nature to be most efficient at inducing sleep.”
Pruzinsky nodded. “Philosophy it is, then.”
They studied the shelves for a few moments in silence.
“You don't like me, do you?” Pruzinsky said at last.
“I wouldn't say that.”
“You don't trust me with your cousin.”
“I would not trust anyone with my cousin.” Gray shrugged. “She has a significant fortune and a tendency toward impulse. Which is not to say she is not intelligent. She has simply always allowed her emotions to rule her head.”
“Then we have much in common.” He paused. “You do realize I intend to marry her.”
And I intend to stop you.
“I suspect that depends on whether she wishes to marry you.”
“I suspect that depends on whether she wishes to marry you.”
“Oh, she does.” He smiled in an overly smug manner.
“But you have not yet proposed?” Gray held his breath.
“A minor detail.” Pruzinsky waved off the question.
“Well, then, allow me to be the first to congratulate you.”
“As her soon-to-be fiancé, I must say I do not like the way you look at her.”
Grayson started. “How do I look at her?”
“Not like a cousin, no matter how distant.”
“Camille and I have always been close,” he said slowly.
“And yet you didn't see her for”âPruzinsky glanced at himâ“eleven years, was it?”
“I was abroad and engaged in enterprises that fully occupied my time and thought.” Even to himself, he sounded somewhat defensive. “Surely, you understand how the demands of business supersede all else?”
Pruzinsky cast him a condescending smile. “I know nothing about business, nor do I imagine I will ever be engaged in such.”
Gray clenched his jaw, but kept his tone level. “Nonetheless, I would think there are any number of demands put upon you by the very nature of your position. Being the heir to the throne and all.”
“It is a position I was born to,” he said in a lofty manner. “But admittedly, the responsibilities of state can indeed be most demanding. However, at the moment, as I am far from home and traveling on my own, my time is free to do with as I please.”
“Ah yes, you disdain the accoutrements of royalty when you travel.”
“I find travel without accompaniment to be both exhilarating and enlightening.”
“Still, you can't travel forever. You must return to your country eventually. To assume the throne, if for no other reason.”
“My father is in excellent health, and, God willing, it will be many years before I take his place as ruler. However, I intend to return to my country soon in the new year.” He met Gray's gaze. “With my new wife.”
“I see.”
“I am a man used to getting precisely what he wants, Mr. Elliott. I want Camille. I am fairly certain she wants me as well.” His eyes narrowed. “You would do well to remember that.”
Gray forced a light note to his voice. “I could scarcely forget it.”
“See that you don't.” Pruzinsky nodded. “Good evening.” He started for the door.
“Count Pruzinsky, I believe you have forgotten something.”
Pruzinsky turned toward him. “Oh?”
“Your book.” Gray pulled a book off the shelves and offered it to him. “Samuel Bailey's
Letters on the Philosophy of the Human Mind
should induce sleep rather quickly, I would think.”
Letters on the Philosophy of the Human Mind
should induce sleep rather quickly, I would think.”
“Ah yes, this will do.” Pruzinsky accepted the book. “Once again, I bid you a good evening, Mr. Elliott.”
“Count.” Gray watched him take his leave. Even if he didn't have all the facts yet, regardless of Win and Beryl's caution in the matter, there wasn't a doubt in his mind that Pruzinsky was a fraud. Why, the man talked about assuming the throne of a country that no longer existed. Still, Beryl was right. Solid proof was needed.
He turned toward the shelves, then thought better of it. If Miss Murdock noticed he had gone to the library, after all, she might well follow him. No, he could return to the library in the morning for this.
A few minutes later, he was in his roomâa room with a distinct lack of frills and fripperies obviously designed for a male inhabitant. A spacious four-poster bed dominated the space, accompanied by a large wardrobe, matching dresser and comfortable chairs positioned before the fireplace. It was directly across the hall from Camille's room and well worth the money he had paid to a footman. After all, if he was going to help Camille, it would be wise to stay as close to her as possible.
His bag was sitting untouched on the bed. In a fully staffed household, it would have been unpacked and his clothing attended to, although someone had seen to the fire and he was grateful for that. He smiled and opened his bag. Fending for himself was a small price to pay for being at Millworth Manor. In truth, he hadn't had a valet since he had left Fairborough Hall. But if he was to remain in England, a valet would be expected for a man in his position. As would an appropriate house in the country and a respectable place in town and . . .
When had he decided to stay in England? The thought pulled him up short. He had told his uncle he wasn't sure if he had returned home for good. Indeed, he even had passage back to America. Now he had apparently decided. He unpacked his bag, including a copy of
The Innocents Abroad
, so appropriate for travel, and considered the matter. Why not stay? England was home and today he had realized how much he had missed it. Still, he was not a man used to making impulsive decisions.
The Innocents Abroad
, so appropriate for travel, and considered the matter. Why not stay? England was home and today he had realized how much he had missed it. Still, he was not a man used to making impulsive decisions.
But hadn't Win said that his letters in recent years indicated he would at last be returning home? Perhaps this was a decision he had been coming to for some time. The more he thought about it, the more it seemed right.
He put his clothes away in the wardrobe and dresser and removed his jacket. For a man who prided himself on not acting on impulse, he had introduced himself as Camille's cousin without a second thought. That, too, now seemed right.
He may not be a prince, but as her friend, he had her best interests at heart. And the best way to protect her was to spend Christmas, and every night until then, in her house.
Try as he might, he couldn't get Beryl's charge out of his head. How had he broken Camille's heart? She had been the one to reject him. He was the one whose hopes and dreams had been crushed. He was the one with a broken heart. How could anyone think otherwise? How could she?
Camille refused to talk about the past. However, Beryl's charge, coupled with Win's reassessment of what had passed between him and Camille years ago, as well as the discovery that she was still angry at himâwell, there was definitely much unfinished between them. There were things he needed to know, and no doubt things she needed to know as well, although she was probably too stubborn to admit it. It was past time they cleared the air between them. And perhaps when they did, he could finally put her out of his head once and for all. If indeed that was what he still wanted.
He stepped to his door, yanked it open and froze.
“Good evening,
Cousin.
”
Cousin.
”
Ten
“F
inished so soon?” he said in a casual manner.
inished so soon?” he said in a casual manner.
“Oh, I know my part, Cousin.” Miss Murdock smiled up at him in a wicked manner. “And I know yours.”
He stepped into the hall and closed the door behind him. Even if he was mistaken as to her intentions, it was far wiser to deal with her in the relative safety of the still-lit public corridor rather than his private bedroom. He didn't know if the actors/servants had forgotten to extinguish the sconces or had not yet gotten around to it. Regardless, he was grateful. “I am nothing more than a distant cousin come for Christmas.”
“Very distant.”
There was no mistaking the look in her eyes. He was right: She was dangerous. Not that under other circumstances, he wouldn't be tempted. There was much to be said for dangerous women.
“And yet . . .” She reached out a finger and ran it down the middle of his shirt. “Such an important role and you play it so well. I thought perhaps we could rehearse. Together. I'm certain we could both benefit.”
“Be that as it may.” He caught her hand against his chest and grinned down at her. She scarcely came up to his chin. “I don't need rehearsal, remember?”
“Then perhaps you have a good book I might borrow.” She pressed closer against him, trapping their hands between them. “I do so love a good book before bed.”
“Yes, you mentioned that earlier. I am sorry.” He shook his head regretfully. “I doubt that I have a book that would interest you.”
“Certainly, you have something of interest in there. We needn't read, you know. We could, oh, talk.”
“Miss Murdockâ”
“Edwina.” She raised up on her toes and brushed her lips across his. “You should call me Edwina.”
“Ah, Miss Murdock, as flattered as I am, that wouldn't be at all proper, now would it?”
“But we are family, aren't we, Cousin Grayson?”
He chuckled. “Very well, then, Edwina.”
“I knew it when I first saw you. Even as handsome as you are, you're not an actor, are you?”
“I am through Christmas.”
“And then?”
“Then I go back to being Mr. Grayson Elliott, who is not an actor.”
“What are you, then?”
“Nothing more than a man of business.”
Her eyes widened. “You're one of those captains of industry, aren't you?”
He chuckled. “I wouldn't say that.”
“You're obviously a gentleman of quality.”
“Yes, well, I suppose one could say that.” He gazed down at her. “While it is most delightful to have you pressed against me like this, it might be best if we didn't stand quite so close together.”
“Why?”
“Yes, Grayson, do tell, why?”
He raised his head. Camille stood in her doorway, arms folded over her chest, leaning against the doorjamb. She was obviously ready for bed, wearing a robe that, while eminently practical, was, nonetheless, surprisingly tantalizing. Beneath it, her nightwear buttoned nearly to her chin. In the back of his mind, he noted how the glorious redhead pressed against him triggered little more than amusement, but the sight of Camille in sensible nightwear sped up his heart.
Edwina heaved a frustrated sigh and stepped back. “Well, that's that, then.”
On one hand, he would prefer not to be caught by Camille in what appeared to be a compromising position; on the other hand, it wouldn't hurt to have her realize not every woman found him annoying. He smiled down at Edwina. “I'm afraid so.”
“Oh, don't let me stop you,” Camille said dryly.
“Frankly, Camille, if there was something to stop, we would be in my room rather than here. As we aren't”âhe smiledâ“there's nothing to stop.”
“Pity,” Edwina said under her breath.
“It's none of my concern, really.” Camille shrugged. “I simply thought I heard something in the corridor, that's all.”
“The prince, perhaps?”
Camille's eyes narrowed. “That would be none of
your
concern.”
your
concern.”
Edwina's gaze slid from Gray to Camille and back. Even the young actress could no doubt sense the tension, which now hung in the air. “Well, if you don't have a book to loan me, after all, Mr. Elliott, I believe I shall go to my room. Good evening.” She nodded a bow to Camille and hurried off down the hall.
“I do hope I didn't ruin your evening.” Camille's gaze followed Edwina.
“As I said, there was nothing to ruin.”
“Am I to assume that was by your choice? It's obvious that was not what Miss Murdock had in mind.”
“You may assume whatever you wish. You will, anyway.” He chuckled. “But I have no interest in Miss Murdock.”
She stared for a moment, then laughed. “Oh, come now, Grayson. Miss Murdock is not only attractive, but she is extraordinarily willing as well. Why, she practically exudes willingness around her like a fog of cheap perfume. That is not a combination most men can easily resist.”
“I didn't say it was easy.”
“No doubt.” She paused. “She's very pretty, isn't she?”
“If you like red-haired vixens with the figures of goddesses, flawless skin and long lashes.”
“And do you?”
“A man would have to be dead not to.”
“I see. Not that it's any of my business,” she added quickly. “Not really.”
He studied her curiously. She was not nearly as unconcerned as she would like him to think. “I believe you mentioned that.”
“I simply want to make certain you understand. You may certainly do as you wish regarding Miss Murdock. Or any woman, for that matter.”
“Thank you for granting me permission.”
She drew her brows together. “You are being deliberately annoying now, aren't you?”
“Not deliberately.”
“Then it's a natural gift of yours?”
He chuckled. “Apparently.”
“I know you find this all so amusing.”
“It's hard not to.” He grinned. “Surely, even you can admit some of it has been most amusing.”
“Not in the least,” she said in a lofty manner.
“Come now, Camille.” He stepped closer. “You can't tell me Mrs. Montgomery-Wells not being able to remember your mother's given name isn't amusing.”
“Not at all.”
“Or that Henderson's unending and, for the most part, fabricated stories aren't cause for at least a bit of a smile?”
“No. In fact, I find Mr. Henderson's ability to completely dominate the conversation to be of great benefit,” she said firmly, but the corners of her lips twitched as if she were indeed holding back a smile.
“And certainly Miss Murdock's unrelenting charmâ”
“There is nothing about Miss Murdock I find the tiniest bit amusing.”
“Not even wondering how appalled the real and eminently proper Delilah would be at the actress's version of her? At least according to the comments Win has written about her. Unless, of course, your younger sister has changed in that respect.”
“No, if anything, she is even more stuffy than she used to be. And, yes, admittedly, that thought is cause for a modicum of amusement.” Camille bit her lip, but laughter danced in her eyes. “Good God, Grayson, she would be apoplectic if she knew of Miss Murdock's portrayal. I gave all the actors detailed information on the parts they were to play, you know. I can't imagine how she came to the conclusion that Delilah is something of a tart.”
The tiniest twinge of guilt stabbed him. He ignored it and shook his head. “You know actors. They are a mysterious lot.”
“Yes, I suppose.” She paused. “In spite of the fact that you and Miss Murdockâ”
“There is no me and Miss Murdock.”
“Regardless.” She waved off his comment. “While it is none of my concern, I would be most appreciative if you would refrain from any dalliances with her while you are here. It's very important to me to have this family look as proper and respectable as possible.”
“Because you wish to marry the prince?”
She hesitated for no more than a fraction of a second, but it was enough. She nodded. “Yes, of course, that's exactly what I want.”
“Then I shall do everything I can to assist you,” he said in as gallant a manner as he could muster.
She studied him for a moment. “You do realize that I still don't trust you?”
“It's completely understandable.” He nodded. “But I shall endeavor to earn your trust.”
“Thank you.” She paused. “I fear I owe you something of an apology as well.”
“Oh?”
“I have, perhaps, not been as gracious to you as I should have been. Your arrival took me by surprise. Well, it was a shock really.” She twisted her hands together in a nervous fashion. “I must confess you were the last person I expected. . . .”
“To be in your parlor?”
“To ever see again. There were things I had planned to say, and, well, I had thought . . . It scarcely matters now what I had thought.” She shrugged. “But we were friends once and I should have at least been polite.”
“No apology is necessary.” He smiled and took her hand. “I hope we still are . . . friends, that is.”
She met his gaze directly, but didn't pull her hand from his. “Shall I be perfectly honest?”
“Aren't you always?”
She grimaced. “Apparently not, as I am trying to pass off a house filled with less than accomplished actors as my family.” She drew a deep breath. “I don't know if we can be friends again, but perhaps we could try. I have, on rare occasions, missed being your friend.”
“Excellent.” It was a beginning and he couldn't ask for more than that. Could he? “I have a confession to make as well.”
“Go on, then.”
“This afternoon, when you asked if I intended to kiss you . . .”
She started to pull her hand away, but he held firm.
“And I said no, it was the truth.”
“That's scarcely much of a confession.”
“Now, however”âhe stared into her blue eyesâ“I do.”
“You do what?” Caution rang in her voice.
“Intend to kiss you.”
Her eyes narrowed. “Now?”
He nodded. “Now would be a good time, yes.”
“Why?”
“Because everyone is abed and we are alone.”
“No.” She huffed. “Why do you intend to kiss me?”
“Do I need a reason?”
“Yes.”
“What man wouldn't want to kiss you? You are more desirable and lovelier now than you were eleven years ago.”
“Flattery, Grayson, will not get you what you want.”
He smiled slowly. “What will?”
“Honesty, perhaps.” She studied him. “If I recall, we always had honesty between us. Or almost always.”
“Very well, then.” He pulled her into his arms and gazed down at her. “I kissed you once, and I should like to kiss you again, because I wish to know if a second kiss can live up to the memory of the first. I remember a great deal about that kiss.”
Her brows drew together. “And you wish to see if it's the same?”
“Something like that.”
“That's absurd.” She shrugged as best she could in his arms.
“You kissed me back.”
“Not that I recall,” she said coolly.
“Oh, but I remember. Quite clearly. I remember the softness of your lips beneath mine.” He brushed his lips across hers.
“I don't recall that either.”
“Then perhaps you remember how your body melted against mine.” He pulled her tighter against him.
“No.” A vague breathlessness in her voice belied her words. “Not at all.”
“What a pity. Well, I know you won't remember what else I can recall, because it is my memory and mine alone.” He shifted his head and kissed a spot on her neck right below her ear. She shivered and he smiled against her skin.
“I do remember you didn't do that,” she said with a slight gasp.
“Unfortunately not,” he murmured against her skin. “I remember you tasted faintly of cinnamon and you smelled of violets. Did you know you taste of cinnamon?”
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