What Happens At Christmas

by Victoria Alexander

  “. . . and I should love to hear more about your travels in the Alps,” Mrs. Montgomery-Wells said to the prince. “I have never seen an Alp, but I understand they are quite scenic.”

  Camille had provided the real names of the actors, as Gray claimed it was awkward for him otherwise. After all, if one knew the real Lady Briston, calling the actress “Lady Briston” simply did not ring true if one was not a professional actor. And if Gray was to be part of the cast, he did want to play his role as well as possible.

  “If you would be so kind, Your Highness,” the older woman continued.

  Henderson cleared his throat. “Among family, remember, Constance?”

  “Regina,” Beryl said sotto voce.

  “Yes, of course.” Mrs. Montgomery-Wells heaved an exasperated sigh and returned her attention to the prince. “If you would be so kind, Your Highness, dear.”

  Camille winced. Gray bit back a grin. The prince, however, with his overly perfect face and his overly perfect manner—Camille’s perfect prince—did exactly what a charming, perfect prince would do and acted as if it was not at all uncommon for him to be addressed as “Your Highness, dear.”

  One might have attributed his response to a lack of understanding of the English language; and, indeed, he did spend much of the meal smiling and nodding, as if he were perpetually confused. Yet, there was a gleam of intelligence in his eyes; and Gray wagered he understood far more than he let on. Which did lead one to wonder why he would act otherwise. One more reason to mistrust the royal.

  Add that to the fact that Pruzinsky watched Camille with a look that was part speculation and part possession. Studied her, really, as if he was trying to determine . . . what? How best to seduce her? If he hadn’t already. Gray pushed the thought from his head. It was none of his concern, really. And why wouldn’t the prince wish to seduce her? Why wouldn’t any man?

  Camille was as lovely now as she had been when he had last seen her. Certainly, the twins had always been pretty in that blond-haired, blue-eyed, classic-English-beauty way. But Camille had been a girl when they’d parted; now she was very much a woman. One could see that in the set of her chin and the look in her eye. There was a strength about her now; there was a confidence and grace that had come with the passage of years. This was not a woman who would marry a man because she was expected to do so. This was a woman who knew her own mind.

  How could she not know she had broken his heart?

  “The Alps meander through several countries, Lady Briston,” the prince said. “Are you speaking of the Italian Alps or the Swiss Alps or the German Alps?”

  “A mountain’s a mountain, I say.” Henderson nodded. “Unless you’re speaking of the Himalayas. Why, I recall an expedition when I was . . .”

  The actor was well worth whatever Camille was paying him. Once he launched into one of his tales, no one else could get a word in. Which meant no one could make a mistake. It was entirely possible Camille might be able to pull off her charade. Of course, as she herself had pointed out: it was only the first day.

  When the final course was cleared, Mrs. Montgomery-Wells rose to her feet; the gentlemen following suit. “Now then,” she announced in what was obviously her best lady-of-the-manor voice. “The ladies shall retire to the parlor and leave the gentlemen to their brandy and cigars.”

  “Excellent idea, Aunt Bernadette,” Gray said. If he could keep Henderson from monopolizing the conversation, he could use this opportunity to find out more about Pruzinsky. “We shall join you shortly.”

  “Nonsense, Cousin,” Camille said quickly. “There’s no need to be so formal. We are at home, after all. Why don’t we all adjourn to the parlor? Besides, Mother, you haven’t allowed cigars in the dining room since Father was alive.”

  Confusion furrowed Mrs. Montgomery-Wells’s forehead. “I haven’t?”

  “No, Mother.” Camille fixed her with a firm look. “The smell makes you sneeze.”

  “I had no idea,” the older woman murmured.

  “But brandy is permitted,” Henderson said in a hopeful tone.

  “It always is, Uncle. My goodness, we are all so forgetful tonight.” Beryl took his arm and started to lead him away from the table. “Why don’t we all gather around the piano and sing Christmas carols.”

  “A delightful idea, Lady Dunwell. Lady Briston,” the prince said in a gallant manner and presented his arm. “Might I escort you into the parlor?”

  Mrs. Montgomery-Wells giggled. “I should be delighted, Your Highness, dear.”

  “Cousin?” Miss Murdock fluttered her lashes at Gray.

  As much as he knew Miss Murdock was the type of woman who made every man feel as if she were interested in him, and him alone, Gray would have to be dead not to respond to her inviting manner. He grinned and offered his arm. “Shall we?”

  “Indeed, we shall.” Camille took his other arm. “Delilah plays beautifully.”

  Miss Murdock peered around Gray at Camille. “No, I don’t.”

  “You’re supposed to,” Camille said through clenched teeth.

  “I do,” Beryl said quickly, and the group moved into the parlor.

  Beside him, he felt Camille huff in annoyance.

  Beryl’s suggestion was nothing short of inspired. In spite of her continued amusement, she was obviously sincerely trying to help her sister. The carols left little time for idle conversation as they slid from one traditional Christmas song to another: from “The Wassail Song” to “The First Nowell,” from “The Cherry Tree Carol” to “The Holly and the Ivy,” from “Silent Night” to “God Rest Ye Merry, Gentlemen.” Mrs. Montgomery-Wells and Henderson took seats while the others stood around the piano. Camille’s false family proved to be far better singers than they were actors. The prince, too, had an excellent voice and joined in the singing with enthusiasm. This was one area in which he seemed to have no trouble with the language. Odd, but perhaps not surprising given his fascination with a traditional English Christmas. Even Camille’s tension seemed to ease. It was a convivial group and a surprisingly pleasant evening.

  “If you will forgive me,” the prince said after an hour or so. “I find I am somewhat weary after today’s travel and should like to retire for the night.” He moved to the doorway, then turned. “Camille? If you have a moment.”

  “Of course.” She smiled and joined him.

  “Ladies, Colonel, Mr. Elliott. I bid you all a good night.” Pruzinsky nodded and stepped into the corridor, Camille at his side.

  Gray excused himself, leaving the others to chat by the piano, and casually stepped to the table bearing the brandy decanter to refill his glass and get a better view of the couple outside the open doors. He couldn’t hear the conversation, but at least he could be close at hand if Camille needed him. To do what? Protect her honor? She’d likely smack him if he dared to try. Regardless of whether Pruzinsky was legitimate or not, interference was one thing Camille would never tolerate.

  Still, one could tell a great deal about a couple by simple observation. The way they might lean toward each other, or the casual touch of a hand, or the manner in which their eyes met. He didn’t trust Pruzinsky one bit. But Camille was an intelligent woman and one couldn’t help but wonder exactly what it would take to make certain she didn’t trust the prince as well.

  “What a lovely evening, Camille.” Nikolai gazed down at her. “Your family is delightful.”

  “They can, as well, be a bit . . .” She searched for the right word. “Eccentric, perhaps.”

  He chuckled. “No more so than mine. Your mother reminds me very much of an aunt of mine.” His blue eyes twinkled with amusement. “She, too, has a tendency to forget her own name.”

  “Oh, dear.” Camille winced. “You noticed that, did you?”

  “Even with my inability to completely grasp the nuances of the English language, it was hard to miss. Although such things are to be expected in the elderly.”

  Good Lord. If her mother knew she was being thought of as elderl
y, there would be hell to pay. With any luck, she would never know.

  “I find those little quirks to be quite charming.”

  “My mother is nothing if not charming.” Which was entirely true, regardless of whether she was speaking of the real Lady Briston or the actress playing her.

  “Camille.” He gazed into her eyes, took her hand and raised it to his lips. “We have much to discuss, you and I.”

  “Do we,” she said lightly.

  “Indeed, we do.” He turned her hand over and kissed her palm in a manner that should have sent shivers up her spine. Yet, it did nothing more than tickle. Not at all what she expected. Surely, the last time he had kissed her hand, she had shivered. Hadn’t she? “I must confess, I have given the question of the two of us much consideration.”

  “Oh?”

  “I have thought of little else since the moment we met.” He chuckled, then sobered. “I have long believed in fate. That our futures lie in the hands of forces more powerful than ourselves. And fate cannot be denied.” His gaze searched hers. “A beautiful woman fell into my arms and it seemed no less than fate. No less than what I had been waiting for all my life.”

  For once, words failed her. She stared up at him.

  “It is not often one meets one’s dreams come true.”

  “Goodness, Nikolai.” She laughed softly. “You shall quite turn my head with talk like that.”

  “Excellent.” He lowered her hand but continued to keep it firmly clasped in his. “As it is such a lovely head.” He paused. “The addition of a crown would only make it lovelier.”

  “And yet”—she raised a shoulder in a casual shrug—“I have no crown.”

  “Perhaps that can be remedied.”

  “Can it?” Surely, he wasn’t going to propose? Now? It was what she’d wanted. What she had planned. The sole purpose of this entire Christmas charade. Why, this was going to be easier than she had thought.

  “It would be difficult, you know. There are all sorts of matters to be resolved. Details to be sorted out, arrangements to be made, permissions to be sought.” He shook his head. “Yet, I think well worth it. You would make an exquisite princess. My exquisite princess.”

  Still, now that a proposal seemed imminent, it seemed, as well, not quite . . . right. “Given your position, it is not a decision to be made lightly.”

  “Nor would I make it lightly.” He squeezed her hand. “Dare I tell you how much I long to take you in my arms, to make you truly mine.”

  “Oh, my.”

  “Camille”—he bent closer and spoke softly into her ear—“I wish to feel the heat of your body next to mine, the beat of your heart in tandem with my own, your breath mingling with mine.” He straightened and his gaze bored into hers. “You feel the same. There is passion in you, Camille, simmering beneath the surface. Waiting only for the spark that will burst it into flames. I can see it in your eyes.”

  “Can you?” she murmured.

  This perfect man, her perfect prince, was gazing down at her with desire flaring in his eyes. She should be falling into his arms, into his bed, and all she could think about was that Grayson was in the bedroom across the hall from hers. Why, even now he was standing near the parlor door pouring himself a brandy. Annoying creature. This was his fault.

  “As I said, we have a great deal to talk about.” His gaze locked with hers. “Let me come to you tonight.”

  “Oh, but my family, Nikolai. They are all in the rooms next to mine. Should we be discovered . . .” She shook her head, in part to hide her relief. She wasn’t her sister. They were entirely different when it came to this sort of thing. Beryl was much more adventurous. Camille had always considered herself rather discriminating. She had never fallen into bed with a man just because it might be, well, fun. “It would be most . . . improper.”

  “Yes, of course.” He released her hand and stepped back. “Forgive me. I lost my head for a moment.” He smiled. “Not an uncommon occurrence when I am with you, I fear.”

  “You are a most charming devil, Nikolai.” She adopted a teasing smile.

  “I cannot help myself, it seems, with you. I am allowing my heart to lead my head. Too quickly, perhaps.” He sighed. “But then I am a man who knows what he wants when he sees it. And I always get what I want.”

  “One of the privileges of being a prince, no doubt.”

  “I should warn you, Camille, I am a most impatient man.”

  “Ah, but patience is a virtue, Nikolai.”

  “Alas, one I have never cultivated.” He shook his head in a mournful manner. “You will, no doubt, be a good influence on me in that respect.”

  “One can only hope.”

  “I daresay, my nature is not easily changed.” He laughed. “But who knows what changes might be wrought with the right woman by my side.”

  “Who knows, indeed?”

  “Do you realize I have not yet kissed you?” His gaze drifted from her eyes to her lips and back. “Were I to pull you into my arms and kiss you quite thoroughly here and now, would your family object?”

  “My family would be thoroughly shocked.” She smiled weakly. “As would I.”

  “Ah, well. Then that, too, shall have to wait.” He considered her for a moment. “Not forever, I hope.”

  “One never knows.” She laughed and he joined her.

  “Now, then, tell me,” he said. “What manner of Christmas frivolity do you have in store for us tomorrow?”

  “Oh, I thought perhaps tomorrow you would enjoy a walk around the grounds. The estate is quite extensive, and, of course, there’s the pond, and if the . . .”

  Camille rattled off the plans she’d made to occupy Nikolai and the others, but her mind was anywhere but on the next day’s activities.

  Whatever had come over her? She had exactly what she wanted within her grasp, and it no longer seemed to be what she wanted at all. And the blame could be laid squarely at Grayson’s feet. Perhaps not entirely, but most of it. Had he not appeared, she would have dashed aside any minor doubts she might have had and at this very moment, no doubt, be betrothed to her prince. She’d been certain that she wished to marry Nikolai—and certain, as well, that it was the hand of fate throwing them together. Grayson’s presence had managed to take those minor, little doubts— scarcely worth mentioning, really—and magnify them out of all proportion.

  Still, if one believed in fate, how did one explain Grayson’s untimely reappearance after eleven years? Unless that, too, was fate.

  Blast it all. She needed to give this entire matter further consideration as—it was now apparent—she had failed to do before plunging into her Christmas deception.

  Certainly, Nikolai didn’t make her shiver when he kissed her hand, but it was only her hand, after all. When they shared a proper kiss, it would be an entirely different matter. Nikolai was exactly what she had always wanted, exactly what she wanted now.

  Wasn’t he?

  Nine

  “You don’t trust him, do you?” Beryl said in a quiet voice by Gray’s side.

  “No.” He glanced at her. “Do you?”

  “I want to. He is extremely charming.” She watched the couple outside the doorway. “But although I have heard of royals traveling incognito, I have never yet to meet one who doesn’t have so much as a valet. At least not one who allegedly has a castle and kingdom and fortune.”

  “So you don’t think he is who he says he is?” Gray held his breath. He and Beryl had never been especially friendly, but she might well prove to be an unexpected ally.

  “I have no reason to believe otherwise. I simply find his behavior odd.” She shrugged. “But then, nobility is often odd.”

  Gray’s gaze returned to Camille and her prince. “What do you think she sees in him?”

  “My God, Grayson, have you looked at the man?” Beryl studied the prince. “He might well be the most attractive creature I have ever met. Why, I swear, when he smiles, the sun flashes off his teeth.”

  “His pe
rfect teeth,” Gray said under his breath.

  Beryl laughed. “Besides that, he is a prince, and Camille has always wanted a prince.” She paused. “You probably don’t remember, but Camille read far more than I did as a girl. Usually, it was stories involving handsome princes who rescued maidens from wicked trolls or evil stepmothers. Stories of true love and all that.”

  “I remember,” he said quietly.

  “She married who she was expected to marry and, don’t mistake my words, she cared a great deal for her husband, but he was not the love of her life. Now, even though she denies it, I suspect she is looking for that fairy-story true love.”

  “She says she’s not in love with him.”

  “But she intends to be. She’s quite adamant about it.” Beryl sighed. “She doesn’t understand that it doesn’t really happen that way. You don’t fall in love because you wish it or you should.”

  Gray’s throat tightened. “No, of course not.”

  Beryl studied the couple for a moment. “I gather your cousin has kept you well informed through the years?”

  Gray nodded. In the corridor, Pruzinsky drew Camille’s hand to his lips.

  “Then I imagine you know I was not especially, oh, celibate during my widowhood.”

  He chuckled. “And from the gossip Win related, not especially faithful once you remarried.”

  “That’s all water under the bridge.” Beryl waved off the comment. “I have reformed, mended my wicked ways, as it were, as has Lionel. We are both more than happy with each other now. It’s quite lovely, really.”