“Or we could do this in front of everyone else, although in that case there will be no choice but to notify the authorities and have you arrested. Still, that would create a nasty scandal, which I would much prefer to avoid.” Gray shrugged. “The choice, however, is entirely yours to make.”

“Very well.” At once, the man’s accent vanished. He closed the doors behind him.

Gray indicated the chair in front of him. “Sit down.”

The actor hesitated, then sat down. “How did you know?”

“The Kingdom of Greater Avalonia has not existed for more than half a century now.”

Dunstan grimaced. “I didn’t realize that until after I had chosen it. Then I had hoped it was too obscure to be noticed.” He thought for a moment. “Even so, I could still be the prince.”

“The real Prince Nikolai Pruzinsky is in his eighties.”

Dunstan shrugged. “I could be a descendent.”

“But you’re not.” Gray shook his head. “A legitimate prince, even one traveling incognito, would never travel alone.”

“Never?”

“Never,” Gray said firmly.

“I see,” Dunstan said thoughtfully, as if taking mental notes.

“And all that smiling and nodding . . .” Gray shook his head.

“I thought that was most effective.” A smug note sounded in Dunstan’s voice. “Indeed, I thought it was quite clever. The more I pretended not to understand, the less I was expected to answer.”

“I will admit, the accent was a nice touch. Definitely Eastern European, but vague enough as to be unidentifiable.”

“Thank you,” Dunstan said modestly. “I do accents very well.” He nodded hopefully in the direction of the liquor cabinet. “It’s been a long night. Would you mind?”

“Yes,” Gray snapped. “This is not brandy and cigars in the library with the gentlemen after dinner. Indeed, I am hard-pressed not to thrash you to within an inch of your life.”

Dunstan smiled in a smug manner. “You’re a gentleman, sir. You wouldn’t do that.”

“I’m half American, Dunstan.” He smiled coldly. “You would be surprised at what I would do.”

Dunstan paled, but attempted a brave front, nonetheless. “Still, you have no real proof of anything, do you? It’s really my word against yours, isn’t it?”

“You’re right.” Gray shrugged. “Aside, of course, from the playbill with your name on it, the photograph of you and the photographer’s sworn statement as to your identity.”

“Is that all?” Dunstan scoffed, but there was a distinct look of unease in his eyes. And Gray knew—the same way he knew when he had clinched a difficult business deal—that he had him.

Gray raised a brow. “Do I need more?”

“I suppose not.” He shifted in his chair.

“But I am curious, Dunstan. What, exactly, was your plan here?”

“Does it matter?”