Read What Happens At Christmas Online
Authors: Victoria Alexander
What Happens At Christmas (17 page)
“A curse?”
He smiled and started to hum the music.
“This is ridiculous,” she murmured but hummed along with him, nonetheless. Within moments they were flying over the rough wood floor of the attic. She wasn't sure if she hummed as much as she laughed, and wondered how long it had been since she'd been quite this silly. They danced well together, but then they had learned together. They whirled around the attic until they reached the music's crescendo, humming it in a manner no one the least bit familiar with the “Vienna Blood Waltz” would have recognized.
Grayson finished the waltz with a musical flourish, which was as theatrical as anything Fortesque might have come up with.
He grinned down at her. “Thank you for the dance, Miss Channing.”
She could scarcely catch her breath. “My pleasure, Mr. Elliott.”
He stared into her eyes for a long moment. Surely, he didn't intend to kiss her again? She had been quite serious when she'd threatened to slap him. Still, that didn't mean that she wouldn't kiss him back. She raised her head and leaned forward slightly.
“Well.” He released her without warning and stepped back. “I don't want to keep you any longer. I know how busy you are today. We should be getting back downstairs.”
Shock washed through her, as if she had indeed been slapped. Apparently, he had no intention of kissing her. Not that she wanted him to. Still, there were, well, procedures for this sort of thing. Steps that led logically from one point to another. Gazing into her eyes, not releasing her from his embrace and then . . . nothing?
Well, what could she expect from a man who declared his love, then abandoned her? Grayson never did know how to do things properly.
“Extremely busy.” She marched toward the stairs, a brusque note in her voice. “I haven't time for this sort of nonsense.” She turned on her heel and aimed a pointed finger at him. “Or for foolish memories.” She nodded, turned and continued for the stairs.
“My apologies,” he said softly.
“For what?” she snapped.
“Everything?”
“It's not that easy, Grayson.”
“I didn't think it would be.” He sighed.
No, it wasn't that easy to waltz back into her life. She would not allow it. Not allow him to pick up where he had left off. It wasn't easy at all.
For either of them.
Twelve
O
f all the things he remembered about Camille, Gray didn't remember her being quite so confusing. Certainly, she'd been obstinate as a girl, and she had all too often leapt headfirst long before she looked. She was, as well, unbecomingly competitive on occasionâalthough she rarely bested himâbut she was never especially confusing. No, if memory served him right, she had been as easy to read as an open book in those days.
f all the things he remembered about Camille, Gray didn't remember her being quite so confusing. Certainly, she'd been obstinate as a girl, and she had all too often leapt headfirst long before she looked. She was, as well, unbecomingly competitive on occasionâalthough she rarely bested himâbut she was never especially confusing. No, if memory served him right, she had been as easy to read as an open book in those days.
Gray paced the entry hall by the front door. He was to take the prince on a long walk, as per Camille's instructions. At least she trusted him to do that much, but that was the extent of it. It was obvious that he had lost the trust that once went hand in hand with their friendship.
Still, she could deny it as much as she wished, but there remained something between them. Some spark, minimal perhaps, but there nonetheless. When he had told her he loved her, all those years ago, he had been certain she loved him as well. He had known it as he had never known anything before or since. Perhaps if he hadn't let pride and pain drive him away . . . Perhaps if he hadn't been so young and foolish . . .
Regardless, nothing could be done about the past now, save overcome it. For that, he would need time, and time was short. Christmas was a mere three days away, and Camille planned to leave with her prince the day after.
Determination narrowed his eyes. Not if he could help it. If he was to reclaim Camille's heart, he would first have to do something about Pruzinsky. With any luck at all, Beryl's investigator would uncover useful information about the man before it was too late. However, it had been his experience that waiting was not the best way to achieve one's goals. He hadn't made his fortune by waiting.
He organized the points in his head. Number one: Earn Camille's forgiveness. From what Win had surmised, her anger probably stemmed from Gray's declaring his love on the day before her wedding and then never speaking with her again. In hindsight that was a mistake. A mistake of epic proportions. He had been her friend. He had stunned her with his revelation and then given her no real chance to respond. If she had shared his feelings, as he knew in his heart she had, how must she have felt when he didn't come back that day? When he didn't stop her wedding? When years passed and her husband died and he still did not return?
He had never before put himself in her shoes. Now that he hadâhe wincedâdamnation. He would be angry in her place. Furious and unrelenting. And it would take a great deal to earn his forgiveness, if indeed it could be earned at all.
Number two: He had to regain the friendship they had once shared. Helping her in her Christmas farce was a start, even if he didn't want it to be successful. At least not to the point where she won the hand of her perfect prince. Of course, if it blew up in her face, there would be no way to keep the debacle quiet. Her reputation would be shattered. He couldn't have that either. What he had to do was make this Christmas plot even more difficult to manage than it already was, in hopes of bringing her to her senses. Make her realize that a man, even a prince, whom she needed to put on an act for, wasn't a man worth having. And certainly wasn't worthy of having her.
And therein lay his confusion. Last night there had been a moment when she was speaking of marrying the prince, when he thought she had surely changed her mind. But today in the attic, when they spoke of the imaginary prince at the ballâand it was obvious they were describing Pruzinskyâshe had sighed in a most heartfelt manner, as if the prince was all she wanted in the world. Last night she had kissed him back. There was no doubt of that. Then today she had threatened bodily harm if he kissed her again; yet, only a few minutes later, she obviously wanted him to do just that. It was most confusing. He didn't know what she wanted.
Although, perhaps, neither did she. He smiled slowly. The Camille he remembered always knew her own mind, what she wanted and what she didn't. This was a very good sign.
So he would gain her forgiveness, earn back her friendship; then number three: He would win her heart. It was an excellent plan, lacking only the minor details. An idea flashed through his mind as to what else might make this a perfect Mr. Dickens's Christmas and complicate the proceedings as well. He grinned. She had everything else. How could she have forgotten this? He would arrange for it at once. He headed to the library and penned a quick note to Win. On his return to the entry, he gave it to a footman with instructions to deliver it at once.
For now, he would take Pruzinsky on a long walk to the pond to determine if it was frozen enough for skating. And in the process, he would see what he might be able to learn about Camille's prince.
Gray started back down the stairs to the front entry and his heart sank. Pruzinsky waited for him with Camille. Blast it all. He wanted to get the prince alone. His step slowed.
She glanced up at him. “We were beginning to think you had changed your mind.”
No, not Camilleâit was Beryl. Relief washed through him. He usually had been able to tell one twin from the other, if only because Camille's eyes lit with affection when she saw himâor at least they had once. Beryl's gaze, however, tended to be cool and assessing. There was a slight difference in the timbre of their voices as well. Of course, that was a long time ago.
He plastered a smile on his face. “Are you joining us?”
“There is nothing I like better than a brisk late-morning walk on a cold winter's day,” Beryl said with an enthusiasm that didn't fool him for a moment. Beryl had never been the kind of woman who took well to the out-of-doors under less than ideal conditions. She was obviously here at the insistence of her sister. Still, this might give him the opportunity to pull her aside and find out exactly what she had meant when she'd said he had broken Camille's heart. He never went into a business negotiation without knowing all the facts and he wanted to know them now. Gray joined the couple and nodded a good day to the prince.
“Your Highness.” What was it about foreign royalty that gave one the oddest desire to click one's heels together? He resisted it.
Pruzinsky raised a chastising brow.
“My apologies,
Count,
” Gray said.
Count,
” Gray said.
“I know it is difficult for you English, dispensing with the formality of titles. I find it most amusing.” The prince chuckled. “You may consider it a royal command, if it eases your British sensibilities.”
“How very gracious of you,” Beryl said with a smile.
The prince returned her smile; then stepped aside to allow the lone footman present to help him with his cloak.
Beryl stepped closer to Gray and lowered her voice. “Camille thought it would be better not to leave you alone with the prince.”
“I said I wouldn't shoot him,” Gray said quietly. “What more can she ask for?”
“Apparently, she thinks there is a great deal more. Besides, you know what they say about keeping your enemies closer than even your friends.”
“I am not her enemy.”
“It remains to be seen exactly what you are. Friend or enemy, it scarcely matters at the moment.” Beryl shrugged. “Neither of us trusts you.” Her gaze strayed to Pruzinsky. “Of course neither you nor I trust him.” She closed her eyes for a moment as if saying a silent prayer. “Oh, it's going to be a jolly Christmas.”
Gray choked back a laugh.
Pruzinsky glanced at them. “Are we ready?”
“As ready as we shall ever be.” Beryl adjusted her fur-trimmed bonnet. A fetching thing, really, although he doubted that it would keep her warm. He wouldn't be at all surprised if Beryl abandoned them within moments of leaving the house. She took the prince's arm. “Shall we?”
Pruzinsky stared down at her. “This is something I shall have to get accustomed to, you know.”
“What?” She smiled up at him. “A long walk on a winter's day?”
“No.” He smiled. “Enjoying the company of two beautiful women who look exactly the same. I am a most fortunate man.”
Gray coughed.
“Indeed, you are. And so clever to appreciate it.” Beryl shot Gray a sharp look, then returned her attention to the prince. “Not all men are so intelligent.”
The footman opened the door and they stepped outside, but not before Gray noticed the servant/actor in question now sported a long, drooping mustache, white hair and comically bushy eyebrows. Gray did wonder what part this particular footman was rehearsing. He caught the footman/actor's eye and winked. The young man's eyes widened in surprise. Gray stifled a grin. Excellent.
They strolled briskly down the road leading to the pond; Gray a step behind Beryl and the prince. Beryl hung on Pruzinsky's arm. Under other circumstances, Gray would have suspected her of flirting. Today he was fairly sure she was just trying to keep warm. He tried not to smirk. No, Beryl would not be with them for long. The prince, on the other hand, appeared invigorated by the cold winter day. Gray, too, found the crisp air refreshing.
Pruzinsky inhaled deeply. “I must confess, I enjoy days like this.”
“Cold, gray and bleak,” Beryl muttered.
“Not at all,” Pruzinsky said. “I find serenity in the starkness of a winter's day. And there is nothing like sharp, cold air to get the blood moving. To reinvigorate one's senses.”
“My thoughts exactly,” Beryl said under her breath, then forced a smile. “Tell me, Count, is your country at all like England?”
“I haven't seen all of England, but I would say we are much more mountainous. You see, we are nestled between Russia, Prussia and Austria.”
“Quite a strategic spot,” Gray said, although that geography didn't seem quite right to him. Still, that part of the world was constantly shifting, and where boundaries were drawn today might not be where they were yesterday or would be tomorrow.
He had spent a few minutes in the manor's library after his foray in the attic with Camille, wanting to see if he could discover anything more about the prince's kingdom. And, indeed, he had found everything as Win had said. Avalonia hadn't existed as a sovereign country for more than sixty years. That meant there was no castle, certainly no crown prince and, more than likely, no fortune. Still, if he said anything to Camille before he knew exactly who this man was and what he wantedâand if he was wrongâshe would never forgive him. There was, as well, the distinct possibility she would never forgive him if he was right either.
“Our location has proven our salvation more than once through the centuries,” Pruzinsky said. “We have either been too small or too well protected or too inconvenient to be bothered with.”
“How fascinating.” Gray resisted the urge to point his finger and shout “Aha!” He had read the same thing, nearly word for word, in the encyclopedia where he'd found his information. Information anyone could find with minimal effort. Now that he thought about it, hadn't the book Pruzinsky replaced on the shelves last night been a volume of the encyclopedia?
“You must miss it,” Beryl said.
“One always misses one's home.” Just the right touch of longing sounded in Pruzinsky's voice. Oh, he was good, whoever he was. “Especially at this time of year.”
“Do tell us about Christmas in your country, Count.” Beryl glanced at Gray with a look that said she was as skeptical of what he was saying as Gray was.
“Oh, I daresay, you don't want to hear me reminisce about Christmases long past.”
“Oh, but we do.” Beryl fluttered her lashes at him. “I can't imagine anything more fascinating than hearing about Christmas in another land.”
“Very well.” Pruzinsky thought for a minute. “We are quite a merry people. The weeks leading up to Christmas . . .”
Pruzinsky proceeded to spin a tale every bit as elaborate as those told by Mr. Henderson and, no doubt, with just as little substance. His story of Christmas festivals and jolly villagers and gifts distributed by Father Christmas sounded more to Gray like a fairy story spun from sugar plums and gingerbread than anything that might conceivably be legitimate. Beryl was obviously thinking the same thing. She smoothly turned back the subject from Christmas to the country itself. Again his details were straight from the encyclopedia. By the time they reached the pond, Gray had no doubt the man had never seen the verdant valley and snowcapped mountains of the country that no longer existed.
Beryl surveyed the frozen expanse. Benches placed along the perimeter of the pond provided restful spots to sit and enjoy the peaceful setting in the summer and places to perch to attach skates in the winter. She nodded. “It looks solid enough for skating.”
“We should do more than look if we are to allow anyone on it.” Gray took a tentative step on the ice and bounced slightly. He had skated on this pond as a boy and knew how it looked when it was frozen solid and when it wasn't. It had the right appearance and he heard no telltale sounds of cracking. Regardless, it was best to be sure. “I'll go out a bit farther.” He glanced at Pruzinsky. “I say, would you be a good chap and walk around to the other side and check the ice.” He pointed to a bench on the opposite side of the pond.
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