What Happens At Christmas (Millworth Manor series Book 1)

by Victoria Alexander

  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.”

  “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 weal
thy 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.”

&nbs
p; “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

  Camille’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.”