Fortesque fairly sprinted up the stairs, opened the door enough to poke his head in and then gestured for her to join him. As soon as she was a step behind him, he opened the door, stepped into the attic and swept a dramatic bow.

“My lady, your prince awaits.”

“My what?” She stepped into the attic and her breath caught.

The room was aglow with the lights from dozens of chandeliers and candles. Swags of satins and silks and laces covered the boxes and the walls and the ceiling. Ferns and palms and potted plants had been brought up from the conservatory. Mistletoe hung everywhere she looked. The attic had vanished and in its place was a ballroom glittering with light and magic.

“My lady, it is my honor to present”—Fortesque stepped aside and gestured with a grand wave of his arm—“the Christmas ball.”

Off to one side, the footman who had played the violin last night, now dressed in the court costume of another age, started playing her favorite waltz. The other footman stood nearby, holding a tray bearing two glasses of champagne.

Grayson stepped forward, wearing some sort of antiquated uniform. It was white with gold trim, and sported glittering medals and a blue sash. She had never seen anyone so dashing, so perfect. Her prince. Her true love.

“May I have this dance, my lady?” he said and swept an impressive bow.

She swallowed hard. “I fear I am not dressed for a ball.”

“And yet, you are the most beautiful creature I have ever seen.” He held out his arms. She stepped into his embrace and they began to waltz.

“Grayson, this is . . .” She shook her head.

“Christmas, Camille,” he said with a smile. “The first of every Christmas yet to come.”

“How did you . . . Where did you . . .”

“You were right about all sorts of things being stored in these trunks and boxes.” He chuckled. “Although it took most of yesterday to find what I needed and to arrange all this.”

“Which is why you were so preoccupied yesterday.” She stared up at him. “You did this for me.”

“I would do anything for you, and you did want a proposal from a prince for Christmas.”

They whirled over the floor, in perfect step with each other. At last.

“I did until I realized it was the wrong prince.” She drew a deep breath. “How much did you give him?”

“A hundred pounds and ship’s passage to America.” He shrugged. “It seemed a small enough price to pay.”

“Last night, you knew it was me?”

“Not until the end.” He chuckled. “I’ve never had a conversation with your sister in which she hasn’t insulted me or said something sarcastic.”

“You should know, I had already decided, before last night, not to marry him.” She paused. “It’s possible I decided the moment you stepped back into my life.”

“Good, then you shall marry me.”