“I . . .” She caught sight of the footman struggling with a garland and sighed. “No, no, that’s not at all right. It should be higher. Here I’ll show you.” She started up the stairs, then turned back toward him. “Do be so good as to make yourself useful, Grayson. There is still a great deal to be done.”

“Your wish is my command.” He grinned. “Cousin.”

“Hmph.” She huffed and continued up the stairs.

He’d be more than happy to make himself useful, and the mistletoe was the perfect place to start. Somewhere safe and discreet, indeed. Safe and discreet were not in the spirit of the season. Besides, mistletoe provided opportunities he did not intend to pass up. He crossed to the pile of greenery. Someone had gathered the mistletoe into bunches tied with ribbons. He bent down and gathered the bunches together.

“I beg your pardon, Mr. Elliott,” Fortesque said in a quiet voice behind him.

“Yes?” Gray stood up.

Fortesque glanced at Camille, then her mother, and leaned close in a confidential manner. “We have yet another new arrival. I put him in the library, and I thought perhaps it might be best if you were to handle this one, as I’m not sure Lady Lydingham is up to—”

“Yes, of course.” He thrust the bunches of mistletoe at the actor. “See to it that these are hung throughout the house.”

Fortesque took the greenery reluctantly. “But I was under the impression Lady Lydingham did not want—”

“Lady Lydingham wants everything to be perfect, and what is more perfect at Christmas than mistletoe?”

“Well, yes, I suppose, but—”

“Should she complain, you have my permission to place the blame entirely on me, although it might be wise to avoid her catching you in the act, as it were. So do try to be inconspicuous.”

“Yes, sir, but—”

“And, Fortesque, there might be a little something extra in your Christmas stocking if you manage this.”

“Yes, sir.” Fortesque nodded. “I shall do my best, sir.”

“I knew you would.” Gray grinned and headed toward the library. Camille couldn’t possibly complain about a kiss from him under the mistletoe. Of course, this also gave Pruzinsky increased opportunity; but as both Gray and Beryl would be watching, Pruzinsky’s advantage would be minimal.

He stepped into the library and pulled up short. Colonel Channing stood there, gazing out the window. But the way the man held himself seemed different from the man he remembered. Certainly, it had been a long time, but there was a tension in the line of his body that didn’t seem right. Perhaps it was what Gray had learned yesterday that still lingered in the back of his mind, or possibly it was instinct. And there was every chance he was wrong.

“Lord Briston?”

“Yes?” The gentleman turned toward him.

It had been years since he had seen Colonel Channing. Still . . .