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Authors: Victoria Alexander

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BOOK: What Happens At Christmas
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“You know everything.”
He studied her, determination in the very lines of his body. It had been a long time, but she recognized his resolute manner.
“If that's the only way to get rid of you . . .” She blew a resigned breath. “He is Prince Nikolai Pruzinsky, of the Kingdom of . . . Oh, I can't recall—”
“Ah yes, lovely place,” he murmured.
She cast him a scathing glance and continued. “He longs for a traditional English Christmas. I still don't see why, but he is foreign and he's read any number of English Christmas stories, and, well, you understand.”
Grayson's forehead furrowed. “Not entirely.”
“He expects, as well, a proper English family, and I intend to give it to him. As my family has never been what one might call proper, in the strict definition of the word—”
He snorted.
“It seemed to me, as Mother, Delilah and Uncle Basil are out of the country, anyway, hiring actors to play my family for Christmas was a rather brilliant idea.”
His brow arched upward.
“I intend to make this Christmas with my family—”
“Your bought-and-paid-for family?”
She ignored him. “All he has ever thought it would be.” She hesitated. She might as well tell him everything. The damnable man wouldn't be satisfied until she did. And they had never lied to each other, not really. “And, while he is here, I fully expect him to propose.”
“You love him, then.” His resigned gaze met hers.
“I don't . . . not love him.”
“Do you love him or don't you?”
She huffed. “Once again, Grayson, this is none of—”
“None of my concern. Yes, yes, I know.” His tone hardened. “Tell me, Camille. Do you love him or not?”
“I fully plan to love him,” she said in a sharper tone than she intended, but then Grayson was so annoyingly persistent. “There is nothing about him not to love. Why, he's every woman's dream.”
“So you are going to do it again. Marry someone you don't love.”
“Stop it at once, Grayson.” She drew her brows together. “This is not the same. Not at all. I am not a nineteen-year-old girl. I am a woman who knows her own mind. He is what I want, and I intend to have him.”
“Why? You don't need his money.” He paused. “I assume he has money.”
“Of course. He's a prince.” Camille scoffed. “And how do you know I don't need his money?”
“You're a very wealthy widow.” He shrugged. “Win has kept me apprised of your life these past eleven years.”
“Yes, of course, he would, wouldn't he?” He and his cousin had always been as thick as thieves. Precisely why she had kept her distance from Winfield Elliott for all these years.
“As I assume you are aware of the twists and turns of my own life.”
“Not at all. I have made it a point not to be.” In truth, she had avoided any talk of him whatsoever, going so far as to forbid Beryl to so much as mention his name. Beryl must have said something to Mother, who never spoke of Grayson either. Given that Camille's social circle rarely crossed his cousin's, or that of most of his friends, it had been remarkably easy to go for years without hearing a word about him. She knew he had gone off to America shortly after her marriage and had been involved in some sort of business enterprise. She had heard as well that he had never married; but beyond that, she had no idea how he had lived his life or what had become of him. She hadn't wanted to know, hadn't wanted to think of him, hadn't wanted to regret. “Indeed, I know nothing about your life from the moment you left this house until today. Nor do I wish to.”
“I see.”
“If you have heard enough now, perhaps you would be so good as to take your leave.” Again she gestured at the door. “Finally.”
“What happens after Christmas?”
“You refuse to let this be, don't you?”
“You said I was stubborn.”
“And I was right, wasn't I?” She sighed. “The day after Christmas, Nikolai shall have to return to his country because of a monetary crisis—”
“A what?”
“A monetary crisis. Beryl assures me it happens all the time.” She waved her hand absently and continued. “I shall accompany him, of course. And then, at some point before the wedding—”
“Dependent, of course, on whether or not he proposes.”
“That is not in doubt,” she said with a confident smile. “As I was saying, before the wedding, I shall confess my little Christmas ruse and explain to him, as most of my family was out of the country, I simply wanted him to have the kind of English Christmas he has longed for. It is, well, my gift to him.”
“Are you mad?”
“Admittedly, there might be a flaw or two—”
“Or two?”
“I merely need to smooth out some of the rougher edges.”
He stared in disbelief. “So this is another one of your schemes that you have not thoroughly thought out?”
“I have given it a great deal of thought.” She glared. “I am thinking about it every waking moment. I am dreaming about it as well. Indeed, there is little else on my mind!” She clenched her teeth. “And for your information, Beryl is the schemer. I haven't schemed for years!”
“Camille.” Concern sounded in his voice. “Aside from the fact that this is complete and utter madness—”
“So I've been told,” she snapped.
“It can't possibly succeed.”
“I've been told that as well.”
He shook his head. “You've gotten yourself into this and you have no way now to escape.”
“There is no need to escape. Yes, there are a few unanticipated problems, but it shall all work out beautifully in the end.” She adopted a note of complete confidence. “I have no doubt of it.”
“Camille, this is not the—”
“Good afternoon,” a voice sounded from the doorway and Camille's stomach twisted.
She threw Grayson a warning look, then turned toward the door and her prince. “Your—Nikolai.” She adopted her most welcoming smile and held out her hand. “I trust your rooms are suitable.”
“Quite.” He stepped to her, took her hand and raised it to his lips. His gaze never left hers in a manner so polished as to be perfect. But then, he was a prince. “I must tell you again how grateful I am that you have welcomed me into your home for Christmas.”
“It's our very great honor to have you here.” She gazed into his blue eyes, simmering with promises and just the right hint of desire. She shivered with anticipation.
“I cannot find the words to tell you how much I am looking forward to the time spent here with you.” He smiled an altogether perfect smile. He was every bit as tall as Grayson; and with his blond hair and blue eyes, square jaw and broad shoulders, he was a handsome devil. The perfect picture of a perfect prince; and, if all went well, her perfect prince. “And your family, of course.”
“Of course,” she murmured.
Grayson cleared his throat, breaking the spell. She withdrew her hand with a reluctant sigh.
“Forgive me.” Nikolai directed his attention to Grayson. “I do hope I was not interrupting.”
“Not at all,” Camille said.
“I was not aware that we were not alone. But then when I am in a room with Lady Lydingham, I can see nothing else, save this enchanting creature,” Nikolai said smoothly.
She cast Grayson a satisfied smirk.
“In my experience, Lady Lydingham is nothing if not an enchanting creature,” Grayson said pleasantly. “But then, even as a young girl, she was enchanting. Why I can recall—”
“Recollections that are best left for another time,” Camille said quickly. The only thing worse than Grayson being here in the present was his reminiscing about the past.
“Oh, but I should like to hear it.” Nikolai favored her with an affectionate smile. “I wish to know everything there is to know about you, my dear.”
“How . . . perfect of you.” She sighed up at him.
Grayson choked.
“Again my apologies.” Nikolai shook his head. “I fear in Lady Lydingham's presence, I quite forget all else. Allow me to introduce myself. I am Count Pruzinsky, of the Kingdom of Greater Avalonia.” He clicked his heels together. “And I am at your service.”
Grayson frowned. “I do beg your pardon, but I was under the impression you were a prince.”
“He is a prince.” Camille huffed. “He just prefers not to be addressed as such when traveling in a foreign country.” She lowered her voice. “There are dangers, you know.”
“Really?” Surprise or perhaps skepticism sounded in Grayson's voice. She could cheerfully strangle him right here and now. And, as everyone already thought she was mad . . . “I never would have imagined.”
“I would prefer not to discuss such dire possibilities,” Nikolai said in an offhand manner. “Christmas and all.”
Grayson nodded. “To be expected, of course.”
“Forgive me.” Nikolai glanced from Grayson to Camille. “We still have not been introduced.”
“I am sorry. What was I thinking?” Camille smiled in as pleasant a manner as she could muster. “This is Mr. Grayson Elliott. He is—”
“Her cousin. Camille's cousin.” Grayson grinned an altogether wicked and, perhaps once, devastating, grin.
“My what?” She stared. What was he up to now?
Nikolai's brow rose in confusion. No doubt he'd smile and nod at any minute.
“Distant, you know,” Grayson said. “Our connection is tenuous at best. Scarcely worth mentioning, but nonetheless we are family. In truth, I am little more than a poor relation, but I am exceptionally fond of Camille and her sisters. And it is Christmas.”
“Yes, this is my cousin,” she said reluctantly. “My very distant cousin. It's been years since we've seen him. Why, we have practically forgotten what he looks like.”
“A family reunion! How delightful,” Nikolai said with a genuine smile. “You are the first of Lady Lydingham's relations I have met and I am quite looking forward to meeting the rest. You have my everlasting gratitude for welcoming me into the bosom of your family for Christmas.”
Grayson chuckled. “We are an interesting lot.”
“We are not.” Camille forced a laugh. “We are no more interesting than anyone else's family. Quite proper and really, on occasion, even somewhat dull.”
“Nonsense, Camille.” Grayson shook his head. “There is nothing the least bit dull about this family.”
“And what is it you English say?” Nikolai thought for a moment. “Ah yes. The more, the merrier.”
Camille shook her head in confusion. “The more . . .”
“I assume, as a member of your family, Mr. Elliott has come—”
“For Christmas.” Grayson's wicked grin widened, if possible.
Camille stared in disbelief.
“Yes, indeed.” Laughter flashed in Grayson's eyes. “I am Camille's cousin and I've come for Christmas.”
Five
C
amille's eyes widened with a look one could only describe as horror. “What do you mean you've come for Christmas?”
“Now, now, Camille, you needn't look so shocked.” Gray resisted the urge to chuckle.
He wasn't entirely sure why he had introduced himself as her cousin, as her
poor relation,
although it was apparent to him she had no idea of his financial state. His announcement that he would be staying for Christmas was as much a surprise to him as it was to her. Still, now that he had said it, he quite liked the idea. If Camille insisted on going through with this theatrical farce of hers, the least he could do, as her old friend, was provide his assistance. He owed her that much really. And what better way to help than by residing in her family's home, where he could be close at hand? Besides, while he hadn't realized it before she had walked into the room, there was unfinished business here. He and Camille were a play without a last act, and it was past time to see how it would end. The moment he saw her again, he knew the final curtain hadn't fallen, not for him.
“It's simply a surprise, that's all.” She could barely choke out the words.
“A delightful surprise, no doubt,” the prince said in an accent Gray couldn't quite place. Hungarian, perhaps? Or Russian? Regardless, as he'd never met anyone from the Kingdom of Greater Avalonia, it sounded very much as one would think it would sound. Rather perfect, really. Still, there was something about the accent that struck him as odd. Too perfect, perhaps?
“ ‘Delightful' is not exactly the word I had in mind.” A feigned smile graced Camille's lips, but her livid gaze fixed on Gray. “Stunned is perhaps more accurate.”
“I know my presence is the last thing you expected—”
Camille choked.
“But when I heard the rest of the family was to be here, how could I fail to join them?” Gray addressed the prince. “You see, I have been abroad for a number of years and have only recently returned to England.”
The prince nodded. “There is nothing better than being surrounded by one's family for Christmas.”
“Nothing at all.” Gray paused. “Might I ask, Your Highness—”
“No, please.” Pruzinsky shook his head. “As I am traveling merely as Count Pruzinsky, I much prefer not to be addressed as ‘Your Highness' but simply as ‘Count.' ”
“Do you?” Gray's brow rose. “How very unusual.”
“No, it's not,” Camille said firmly. “It's enlightened.”
“In truth, it's not at all unusual for my family.” Pruzinsky chuckled. “We have long had a tradition of traveling the world without the accoutrements of our royal stations. Sort of a surreptitious grand tour, as it were. It enables us to see the true nature of the world and other lands. Quite beneficial when the time comes to rule. Diplomacy is an art, you know. And people treat you differently if they know your true position in life. Don't you agree?”
“Yes, I suppose,” Gray said. Would Camille treat him differently if she knew he now had the wealth and power he hadn't had eleven years ago? He slanted a quick glance at her. While she had adopted a calm air, her gaze when she met his blazed with fury. At this moment, probably not.
“But you had a question for me, Mr. Elliott.”
“I was just wondering why, given your comment about being with family at Christmas, you choose to spend Christmas here in England.”
“I have to confess, Christmas caught me unaware,” Pruzinsky said wryly. “I have been away from home, traveling the continent and, most recently, the British Isles for nearly a year. I simply lost track of the days. No doubt the direct result of meeting your cousin. I daresay, she could make anyone forget their own name.” He directed a warm smile toward Camille and she beamed back at him. “By the time I realized how close Christmas was, it was too late to make the journey home.”
“I see,” Gray said. “Forgive my ignorance, Count, but where exactly is your country?”
“No apology is necessary, Mr. Elliott.” Pruzinsky smiled in a benevolent manner. “We are a very small country and quite secluded, wedged between the Russian, Austrian and Germanic empires.”
“But from what you have said, it sounds quite lovely,” Camille said. “I should very much like to see it someday.”
“And I would very much enjoy showing it to you. There is nothing as beautiful as the view from the castle of the snow-covered mountains of Avalonia in December.” Pruzinsky sighed wistfully. “Unless, of course, it's the green hills and valleys in the spring.”
“Of course,” Gray murmured. He was not well versed in the geography—or climate—of that part of Europe. Indeed, the map of that particular region seemed to change nearly every year. Still, like the prince's accent, his explanation struck an odd chord as well. Although, admittedly, Gray might well be suspicious of anyone with whom Camille was this enamored. That realization was as surprising as his impulsive decision to stay and help her with this farce.
“But while I will not be joining my own family, I now have the pleasure of joining Lady Lydingham's family for Christmas,” the prince said with a yet another fond look at Camille. No, there was more than fondness in that look. Gray's stomach tightened. “The first of many such gatherings, perhaps.”
“Perhaps.” Camille fluttered her lashes at him.
Good God! Why didn't the woman fling herself into his bed right now? Gray ignored the thought that perhaps she already had and absolutely refused to consider why he found that idea annoying.
“Now then.” Pruzinsky smiled pleasantly. “It appears my bags have been misplaced. I was hoping your butler might know of their whereabouts.”
“Oh, dear, that is a problem.” Camille shook her head. “I am sorry, I'm afraid the staff here in the country is not quite as efficient as it should be. I shall find Fortesque immediately.” She stepped toward the door, paused, then extended her hand to the prince.
Pruzinsky took it at once, and brought it to his lips. Gray resisted the urge to groan. Camille sighed and slanted a pointed look at Gray. “I shall be no more than a moment.”
“Even a moment without your presence is too long,” Pruzinsky said gallantly. A bit overdone to Gray's thinking, but then the man was a foreign prince and perhaps allowances should be made.
“I shall do my best to be as entertaining as possible until you return,” Gray said with a smirk.
“As only you know how.” She paused. “On second thought—”
“No, my dear, we shall be fine.” Pruzinsky met Gray's gaze directly. “It's obvious to me your cousin has some reservations about my presence in your home. He is your male relation, so it is, no doubt, to be expected.”
“Nonsense,” Camille said in a firm tone. “It's just his manner. Think nothing of it. Everyone in the family has long said Grayson is entirely too suspicious.” Her jaw tightened. “It's one of his more charming attributes.”
“Not at all,” the prince said smoothly. “I would feel entirely the same, were our positions reversed.”
“Grayson simply doesn't understand I am no longer the girl he left behind.” Camille glared.
Pruzinsky's considering gaze slipped from Camille to Gray and back.
Camille's hands clenched at her side. “It has been eleven years since he left England, after all.”
Gray shrugged. “It seems like yesterday.”
“It wasn't,” she said sharply; then obviously remembered she was trying to impress a prince and smiled. “Indeed, it feels like another lifetime altogether.”
“Eleven years.” The prince's eyes widened with surprise. “Then I did interrupt a reunion. I do apologize.”
“Not necessary.” Camille blithely waved off the comment. “Grayson had said hello and was about to leave—”
“To fetch my bags.” He leaned toward the prince and lowered his voice in a confidential manner. “I, too, have encountered a few baggage difficulties, especially at the train station.”
“I quite understand.” Pruzinsky nodded. “It is at once the benefit and misfortune of not traveling as a prince. No one treats you as a prince.” He flashed an amused grin. “And, as I am more than capable of finding a servant myself, I shall leave you to reminisce.” He nodded. “Mr. Elliott, Camille.” He looked as if he were about to grab her hand once again; then apparently thought better of it and took his leave.
“That's the man you want to marry?” He turned toward her.
“What do you mean—my cousin come for Christmas?” she said at precisely the same time.
“I thought you could use some help in this convoluted plot of yours.”
“I don't need your help, and, yes, that is the
prince
I intend to marry.” She glared.
“He's not like any prince I've ever known.”
“Oh, really?” She raised a brow. “How many princes have you known?”
“That's not what I mean, and you know it,” he said sharply. “Doesn't his manner strike you as odd? All that traveling without the trappings of his position? Capable of finding the butler himself? He doesn't act the least bit royal.”
“He's traveling incognito,” she said in a lofty manner. “It's quite progressive of him.”
“It's odd, extremely odd.”
“I think it's perfect.”
“Do you?” He narrowed his gaze. “You've never been one to forgo the accoutrements of wealth and position.”
“And, I daresay, in his own country, neither does Nikolai.” She paused. “Nor will we as a royal couple, of course.”
“I think it's suspicious.”
“It doesn't matter what you think.”
“I don't trust him,” Gray said flatly.
“You scarcely met him.”
Gray shook his head. “He's entirely too polished. He's exactly what one would think a prince would be, aside from that nonsense about not traveling as a prince.”
“It's a family tradition.” Camille's jaw clenched.
“He's entirely too”—Gray shrugged—“perfect. No man is that perfect.”
“He's a prince and he is perfect.” She raised her chin. “And charming and dashing and handsome. He is everything any woman would ever want. Everything I have ever wanted.”
“I see.” He studied her closely. It had been a long time, but once he had known her as well as he knew himself. And right now, she was not being completely honest with him or perhaps with herself. Or, more than likely, both. “Well, then, Camille, if he is what you want—”
“He is,” she said staunchly.
“Then I shall do everything I can to assure your success.”
Suspicion sounded in her voice. “Why?”
“Because . . .” He blew a long breath. “All I have ever wanted was your happiness.”
She stared at him for a moment. “Come now, Grayson, if you truly meant that, you would leave.”
“Oh, I can't possibly leave now.” He shook his head. “Your long-lost cousin leaving before Christmas? What would your prince think?”
“I shall tell him you were called away. Some sort of emergency.”
“A monetary crisis, no doubt.” A wry note sounded in his voice.
She ignored it. “Perhaps not, but something equally plausible.” Speculation flashed in her eyes. “Will you? Leave, that is?”
“Oh, I wish I could, but . . .” He shook his head in a mournful manner. “I wouldn't miss Christmas at Millworth Manor for anything in the world.”
“Imagine my surprise.” She studied him closely. “Do I have your word you won't muck this up? That you will indeed help and not hinder my efforts? That you will act as a member of the family and behave accordingly?”
“Given the family members I have met thus far—”
“Grayson!”
“You have my word.” He nodded in a solemn manner.
“Regardless, I don't trust you.”
He gasped. “I am nothing if not trustworthy.”
“Hah!” She heaved a resigned sigh. “I really have no choice in this, do I?”
He grinned. “None whatsoever.”
“Very well, then.” She smiled although the look in her eye was anything but welcoming. “Welcome home,
Cousin.
”
“Excellent.” He started toward the door. “I will fetch my bags and explain this interesting turn of events to Win and my uncle—”
“No!”
He turned back. “I have to say something to explain my absence.”
“But you can't tell them the truth. Say anything but the truth.” Her gaze met his. “If you truly want to help me, start here. I cannot have the entire world knowing about this.”
BOOK: What Happens At Christmas
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