“I live to amuse you, Cousin.” He placed his hand on hers and squeezed. She bit her lip to keep from wincing and he tried not to grin. She might never trust him or like him, for that matter. Once again he realized that, if he was successful in winning her sister, Beryl would be part of his life, part of his family, until the day one of them died. They would no doubt drive one another mad.

All in all, a small price to pay.

Camille was not at all a superstitious sort, under most circumstances. But the moment she looked around the dinner table—noting the prince occupied in animated conversation with her sister on one side and Miss Murdock on the other; Mr. Henderson and Mrs. Montgomery-Wells trading absurd tales; Grayson joining in, with obvious amusement—the thought struck her before she could banish it: Things were going well.

She knew better. It was like a curse destined to bring disaster down around her head. And she would prefer to avoid disaster, thank you very much. Still, there were only two days left to survive until Christmas; and at the moment, while she refused to be completely confident, she couldn’t vanquish an annoying ray of hope.

Nor could she get Grayson out of her head, where he seemed to have taken up permanent residence. He was perhaps the most confusing man she had ever met. One minute he was quite sweet and directing all that charm, which seemed to come as naturally to him as breathing, toward her; and the next he was trying to steal her cook and ruin everything by hiring orphans. Orphans, for goodness’ sake! Whatever had possessed him?

And then there was all that nonsense about love and war and fine lines, and if he had one wish he’d wish for her—not to mention the way he had grabbed her and kissed her last night. She ignored the thought that he hadn’t kissed her this morning, when she had rather hoped he would. But then she was never quite as strong in the morning as she was during the rest of the day. Yes, that was why she had, perhaps, a tiny bit, wanted him to kiss her.

If the man wanted her, he needed to do something about it. He needed to prove it, although she wasn’t at all sure how she felt about that. Wasn’t at all sure how she felt about him—at least not here and now. She’d been angry at him for so long; now that he was so abruptly back in her life, feelings she thought were long in the past seemed to simmer just below the surface.

She’d agreed they needed to talk about the past. Perhaps once they did, they could put it all behind them. But to what end? To resolve matters between them and finally lay the past to rest? Or to start anew?