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Authors: Victoria Alexander

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BOOK: What Happens At Christmas
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“Audience of one?”
“The prince, of course.” She raised a brow. “You didn't know?”
“As I said, I have only just arrived.”
“Of course. And, as no doubt Lady Lydingham would prefer the entire world not know she has hired a troupe of actors to play her family to impress a prince at Christmas, it makes perfect sense that you would not know all until you arrived.”
“It does indeed make sense.” And more so with every word from the actress's mouth.
“I believe I shall rehearse a bit more before I meet the prince. Now that I know I was right about my portrayal of Lady Hargate.” She tilted her head and considered him. “Wouldn't it be great fun if you are here to play the role of Lady Hargate's secret lover?”
“That would indeed be interesting.” He grinned.
“I shall hope for the best, then.” She smiled in a flirtatious manner and left the room.
Surely, he misunderstood, although Miss Murdock was quite clear as to why she was here. Why on earth would Camille hire actors to play her family? And who was this prince everyone kept waiting to meet? None of this made any sense to him; it all seemed entirely farfetched. Beryl was probably behind it. She had always been more devious than Camille, although the two of them together had made a dangerous pair. Apparently, in that respect too, nothing had changed.
“Miss Murdock,” a harried feminine voice sounded from the hall. “Have you seen Fortesque?” The voice grew closer. “Apparently, Mrs. Montgomery-Wells is wandering about freely—” His heart skipped a beat. Regardless of the passage of years, he would know that voice anywhere. “And who knows what kind of mischief she might get into.” Camille passed by the door, glanced his way, then pulled up short and stared.
Her hair was as blond, her eyes as blue, her face as lovely as the last time he had seen her. Nothing had changed. The moment her gaze met his, the clock turned back eleven years. To the day before her wedding when she had gazed into his eyes and he had known without question that she loved him. A myriad of emotions flashed through her eyes—disbelief, delight, annoyance, even anger. But there was more. So subtle that he doubted she was aware of it. No more than a hint or a vague promise perhaps of something deeper and richer and forever shone in her eyes.
And Gray suspected he had lied to his cousin; and worse, he had lied to himself.
Four
S
urely, her eyes were deceiving her. Or she'd gone mad. She stared at the figure standing in the parlor, in very much the same place where she'd last seen him. Yes, that was it. She was mad—quite, quite mad. Her scheme had completely destroyed her mind. They would be hauling her off to Bedlam at any—
“Camille?” the imaginary creature that looked suspiciously like Grayson Elliott said in a cautious manner. Of course he would be cautious, as she was so obviously mad.
She shook her head to clear it. Damnation, he was still there. “Grayson?”
“None other.”
A broad smile broke across his face, and the most absurd desire to dash across the room and into his arms gripped her. She ignored it.
“How very good to see you, Camille.”
“Is it?” She stepped into the room slowly, as if she were moving in a dream. A dream she had had before. There was indeed something not quite real about all this. He was the last person she expected, or wanted, to see now or ever again. He was a road not taken. Over and done with, and not to be considered again. Nonetheless, it—he—appar-ently was real. Grayson was here, looking every bit as wonderful as she remembered, with his dark eyes and dark hair and devastating smile, the smile which had once touched her heart. Not that it mattered at the moment. She drew a deep breath. Time enough later to examine the unexpected emotions coursing through her. “What are you doing here?”
He chuckled. “My aunt sent a basket of Cook's baked goods to welcome your family back to Millworth Manor.”
“How very kind of her.” She glanced around the room. “Where is it?”
“I gave it to your”—his eyes narrowed slightly—“butler.”
“Ah, well, then . . .” She wasn't sure why he was still here. She wasn't sure how she felt about him being here at all. All she was certain of was that she wanted him to leave. At once, if not sooner. “Do give my thanks to Lady Fairborough. If that's all—”
“What happened to Clement?” he asked abruptly.
“Gone.” She said the first thing that came into her head.
“My condolences.” Sympathy showed in his eyes. “Hard to imagine he's gone. He was such a fixture here.”
“He's not dead. He's gone to Wales. To be with his family.” It was true, as far as it went, although it made no sense for the butler to be gone when the house was full. “He retired,” she added as an afterthought. Oh yes, that made it plausible.
“I see,” he said slowly. “You must miss him.”
“We do,” she said with a firm nod. “He was a part of the family. And an excellent butler.”
“It must be difficult, with a new butler, that is. And the entire family here for Christmas.”
“You have no idea.” And getting more difficult every minute. “But Fortesque is very well trained.” She smiled in what she hoped was a pleasant manner. He had delivered his aunt's basket—what was he still doing here? “Again, do thank your aunt for me.”
“Oh, I will.” He studied her coolly. The man obviously had no intention of leaving.
“As you said, it is a bit awkward to have a new butler at this time of year. There does seem to be an endless list of things that need to be attended to, with the entire family in residence and all. I'm sure that you are busy as well, so I won't keep you—”
“Ah yes, the whole family you say?”
She nodded.
“Your mother and Colonel Channing, your sisters and Beryl's husband?”
“Yes, yes, that's everyone.” Impatience edged her voice. The last thing she needed at this moment was to deal with the distant past in the guise of Grayson Elliott. The present was entirely too complicated already. “Although Lionel, Lord Dunwell, is engaged in town and won't be arriving until Christmas Eve.”
“I see. But your mother and uncle and sisters—”
“Yes, yes, all of them,” she snapped. “Now, if there is nothing—”
“It's been a long time, Camille.”
She deliberately misunderstood him. Now was not the time. “Indeed, it's been entirely too long since we have all been at Millworth Manor for Christmas, and we are quite looking forward to it. However, I have a great deal to—”
“I met your mother.” His gaze bored into hers.
Her breath caught. “Did you?”
“A few minutes ago.” He smiled. “She's changed.”
There was no way to explain Mrs. Montgomery-Wells. Best to simply pretend complete and utter ignorance. She usually did that very well. “As have we all.” She shrugged. “It's been eleven years since you were last in this house, after all. People change, but life goes on. I daresay, nothing is as it used to be.”
He laughed.
She narrowed her gaze. “What do you find so amusing?”
“I met your sister as well.”
“Beryl?” she said hopefully.
“No, Delilah.”
She winced. “Oh.”
“What is going on here, Camille?”
“Christmas?”
His brow rose.
“It's complicated, Grayson, and it's none of your concern.” She huffed. “Now, if you would be so good as to take your leave.” She gestured at the door. “I would be most appreciative.”
“Oh, I think not.” He sauntered,
sauntered,
over to the fireplace, crossed his arms over his chest and leaned against the mantel in a most arrogant manner. “I'm not going anywhere.”
She widened her eyes. “Why not?”
“Not until you tell me what's afoot here.”
“Why do you want to know?” She mimicked his stance, folding her arms over her chest. “This has nothing to do with you. This is none of your concern whatsoever. Indeed, nothing having to do with this household or its respective members has been your concern for, oh, more than eleven years now.”
For a long moment, he stared at her in silence.
“If you have something to say, do be so good as to simply say it. Then”—she jerked her head toward the door—“get out. Or better yet, get out now!”
His tone was cool, calm and entirely too reasonable. It was most infuriating. “The last time I was here—”
“No, no! I don't want to hear it!” She clapped her hands over her ears and squeezed her eyes closed tight. “I didn't want to hear it then. I don't want to hear it now!”
“Camille—”
Damnation, she could still hear him. “I'm not listening! Go away!”
He didn't respond. With her hands over her ears and her eyes shut, she couldn't tell if he was still here or if he'd left the room. With any luck at all, he was gone. She counted to ten slowly, then opened her eyes and groaned.
“You're still here.”
“I said I wasn't leaving.”
“Why not?”
“Because I am fairly certain you need my help,” he said simply.
She stared in disbelief. “I need what?”
“My help.”
“My God.” She nearly choked on the words. “You are as stubborn and arrogant as you always were.”
“Come now, I was never arrogant.”
“No?” It was her turn to raise a brow.
“Admittedly, there might have been a moment now and then—”
“A moment? Hah!”
“I don't remember—”
“I can name any number of examples of your arrogance in the past, if I were so inclined, but I'm not.” Her voice rose. “Because that would take a great deal of time and I want you to leave!”
He ignored her. “What have you gotten yourself into, Camille?”
“You can't simply appear in my life after all these years without a word and insist on . . . on . . . rescuing me!”
“Is it that bad?” His brow furrowed. “Do you need rescue?”
“No, no, everything is going quite well.” The lie flowed easily from her lips. “Better even than I had expected.”
“Not to my observation,” he said wryly.
“You're not leaving, are you?”
He shook his head.
She studied him closely. “If I tell you, will you leave?”
“If you tell me, I will consider leaving.”
“That's something, at any rate. Very well, then.” She threw her hands up in resignation. She had been completely confident when she had first revealed her plan to Beryl. Now, however, it was only the first day and she was already beginning to note a flaw or two. Perhaps, before she said anything, it would be best to find out what he already knew. Or thought he knew.
“First, let me ask you this.” She adopted a casual tone. “What do you think I've gotten myself into?”
He laughed. “Camille, I had nearly forgotten how thoroughly delightful you can be.”
“I have no intention of being delightful to you,” she said in a lofty manner. “Thoroughly or otherwise.”
“Nor would I expect you to.” He grinned, straightened and started toward her. The last time he had crossed this room toward her, she had ended up in his arms; his lips had claimed hers for the first—and last—time. The memory of that single, unforgettable kiss swept through her, and it was all she could do to keep her knees from buckling. Blasted man!
Without thinking she took a step back. “What are you doing?”
He frowned. “What are
you
doing?”
She raised her chin. “Nothing, not a thing, nothing at all.”
He stared and then sucked in a sharp breath. “You thought I was going to kiss you, didn't you?”
“No, of course not. Not for an instant.”
His eyes narrowed. “Because when we were last in this very room—”
“What utter nonsense, Grayson. You are entirely too full of yourself.” She waved off his comment. “Your kissing me was the last thing on my mind. Indeed, it wasn't on my mind at all. Not that I would allow you to do so, anyway.”
“Excellent, as I have no intention of kissing you.” He shook his head. “I made that mistake once and I'll not do it again.”
“Mistake?” she said without thinking.
He nodded. “It was presump—”
“No!” She shook her head and glared. “I have no desire to speak of that now. It's been eleven years, Grayson. It's in the past, and it does neither of us any good to dwell on what happened between us.” And what didn't.
“Still”—he chose his words carefully—“as we were always friends, I have long thought I owed you an apology. My behav—”
“Accepted!” She drew a calming breath. “If that's all, then—”
“It's not.”
“I was afraid not.” She sank onto the sofa. “Very well. What do you think you know?”
“I know the woman who introduced herself as Lady Briston, Millicent—”
“Bernadette,” she said. “My mother's name is Bernadette.”
“She didn't seem to know that—this particular Lady Briston, that is. She appeared more than a little confused.”
“She has a problem remembering her lines,” she said under her breath.
“Then there was the young woman who claimed to be your sister Delilah.”
Camille shifted uncomfortably on the sofa.
“We had quite an interesting conversation.”
“She has always been good at small talk.” Camille forced an offhand note to her voice.
“Oh, I wouldn't describe this as ‘small talk' or idle chatter,” he said coolly. “Indeed, she was most informative.”
Camille's heart sank. “Oh?”
“Yes, you see, she thought I was here to audition for a role she was unaware of.”
“Really?” She widened her eyes in feigned surprise. “How very odd.”
“I thought so, at first.” He studied her intently. “Until, of course, she explained that Lady Lydingham had hired actors to play her family for Christmas.”
“She said all that, did she?” Camille said weakly.
He nodded. “Apparently, to impress a prince.”
She stared at him for a moment, then stood. “Well, that's it, then. You know it all. Now you can leave.”
“Who is this prince?” he said in a stern manner.
“That, too, is none of your concern.”
“Camille.” His tone eased. “I'm not leaving until you tell me everything.”
BOOK: What Happens At Christmas
6.02Mb size Format: txt, pdf, ePub
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