Still, while she refused to let herself believe all was going well, there was nothing at all dangerous about counting the days until Christmas. In that, she was like the children asleep in the nursery.

It did seem that Christmas would never come.

All in all, it was an interesting evening and relatively uneventful, if one discounted the arrival of the real Ladies Briston and Hargate. Gray resisted the urge to chuckle. That was one development Camille had not counted on. Still, she handled it well enough—with his help, of course. He wasn’t about to let this farce of hers be her undoing.

He poured himself a brandy and watched Camille chat with her younger sister and her fraudulent family members. It looked as though she had taken his comments about Delilah to heart. In spite of his absence for all these years, the rift between the sisters was obvious. As well as a shame. His uncle had told him that he and Gray’s father had once suffered an estrangement of sorts, and he was eternally grateful they’d settled their differences before his brother’s death. It was a lesson that had stayed with Gray: One never knew how much time one had to make amends. His gaze lingered on Camille. Pity it had taken him so long to realize that lesson applied to him as well.

“There’s something not quite right about him, isn’t there?” Lady Briston said beside him. He wondered how long she’d been standing there.

“Who?”

“Camille’s prince, of course.”

Gray nodded. “You noticed that too?”

“My dear boy.” She gave him a pitying look. “I have encountered far too many displaced royals in my life not to be able to tell when one is less than genuine. It is fortunate, then . . .” She paused, apparently having thought better of what she was about to say.

“Yes?”

“Just a random thought. Of no real significance.” She sipped her brandy and studied Pruzinsky. “It is a pity, though.”

“Why?”

“Dear Lord, Grayson, have you looked at the man?” She had the look in her eyes of a gourmand who had just spotted a delectable morsel. “I’m not sure I have ever met a living, breathing man who looks as tasty as that one does.”

“I see.”

She slanted him a sharp glance. “You thought I was going to say it was a shame because I wish to have a prince in the family.”

He started to deny it, then thought better of it and nodded.

“I can’t deny the idea of being connected to royalty has a particular appeal, but my daughters are no longer children. They each married well the first time.” She slanted him a sharp glance. “As their mother, it was my duty to make certain they did so.”

“Of course,” he murmured.