“What things?”

“Your prince, for one, and your Christmas production, for another. You have a lot to contend with at the moment, Camille. You needn’t concern yourself with the past.” He nodded at the others. “And it appears all is going quite well.”

“Thank you, but it is only the first day,” she said absently. How on earth did she break his heart? That wasn’t at all how she remembered it. He was right about one thing though: She had neither the time nor the inclination to dwell on his charge at the moment, ridiculous as it was. She pushed it from her mind and blew a resigned breath. “Who knows what might happen tonight or tomorrow or on Christmas? It is far too soon to be anything but vigilant.”

“You may rest assured that I will do all within my power to assist you.”

“You’ve said that before,” she said in a sharper tone than she had intended. “Why, Grayson? Why do you wish to help me?”

“I’m not entirely sure yet,” he said so softly that she surely misunderstood.

“What?”

“We were friends once—”

“A very long time ago.”

“And it’s in the interest of that friendship that I am lending you my assistance.” He bent closer and spoke softly, his breath warm against her ear. “I meant it when I said I want only your happiness. As your friend, no matter how long ago, it is my . . . my duty to help you.”

She stared at him, then snorted. “Hardly.”

“Admit it. With none of your family, your real family, here—”

“Beryl is here and her husband will be here in a few days as well.”

“A political type, isn’t he?”

She nodded.

Grayson sipped his tea thoughtfully. “And from what I have heard, he’s rather stiff and stodgy.”

“Not in the least,” she lied.

“Not really the sort to fling himself into this production with the wholehearted abandon it deserves.”

“Nonetheless—”

“And it seems to me, given the magnitude of this farce, that you need all the help you can get.” He shook his head in a mournful manner. “You need me, Camille.”

“I most certainly do not.”

He cast her a skeptical look.

“I do not!”

He smiled in an annoyingly smug way, as if he knew something she did not, and sipped his tea.

Blasted man. She trusted him no more than she trusted his cousin. Still, they had been friends once, before . . . Broken his heart, indeed. How could she possibly have broken his heart? He had made a declaration of love out of the clear blue sky on the very day of her marriage to another man, and then he vanished like a frightened rabbit gone to ground, never to be heard from again until today. No, if anyone’s heart had been broken, it had been hers.