He could smell the fresh scent of her hair, even over the scent of evergreen, which hung in the air. “I suspect you know exactly what I am thinking.”

“Well, I am not thinking the same thing,” she said in a firm tone, but made no effort to push past him.

He smiled. “I was simply wondering where you intend to put the mistletoe. We gathered quite a lot of it, you know.”

“I did notice that. Rather an excessive amount, don’t you think?”

“It is Christmas, after all.” His gaze locked with hers. “Where will you hang it?”

“Where?” For a long moment, she stared at him, a hint of confusion and even—dare he hope—a touch of longing in her eyes. At last she shook her head, as if to clear it, then stepped away. “Somewhere safe.”

“ ‘Safe’?”

“Yes, safe,” she said sharply. “Somewhere discreet. I don’t want it all over the house where the unsuspecting might encounter it every time they turn around and be compelled to kiss someone they would prefer not to kiss.”

“That is, however, the purpose of mistletoe.” He chuckled. “I must commend you, Camille. The house is beginning to look as it did at Christmas when we were young.”

“It is, isn’t it?” Her expression eased and she glanced around. “I always loved this house at Christmas, with the ivy and holly and ribbons everywhere.” She smiled. “I always thought it was very nearly perfect.”

“That is what you want. A perfect Christmas.”

She hesitated, then nodded. “Indeed, it is.”

“Although I’m not sure ‘perfect’ can be achieved.”

She frowned. “Why not?”

“Well . . .”

“What is it now?”

“Perhaps you’re not aware, but this morning I found your mother rehearsing a scene from Romeo and Juliet with Mr. Henderson.”

“Good Lord.” She grimaced. “Was she . . .”

“Juliet.” He nodded.

“And Mr. Henderson?”

“Romeo, of course.” He grinned. “They were really quite good. It was rather impressive, all in all.”

“I gather you did not find it necessary to stop them?”

He gasped in feigned dismay. “I would never dare to tell your mother what she may or may not do in her own home.”

Camille bit back a smile. “It might be unwise, at that.”

“ ‘Unwise’?” He scoffed. “It would be nothing short of fatal.”

“And as you have only a minor role—”

“I could be done away with at any moment,” he said in a somber manner. “Which would no doubt make your life easier,” he added casually.

“Yes, it would.” She nodded and studied him. “Although, at this point in our production, your role seems to have taken on greater significance. Why, the audience would be most annoyed were you to breathe your last.”

“And would you?” He held his breath.