“A delightful idea, Lady Dunwell. Lady Briston,” the prince said in a gallant manner and presented his arm. “Might I escort you into the parlor?”

Mrs. Montgomery-Wells giggled. “I should be delighted, Your Highness, dear.”

“Cousin?” Miss Murdock fluttered her lashes at Gray.

As much as he knew Miss Murdock was the type of woman who made every man feel as if she were interested in him, and him alone, Gray would have to be dead not to respond to her inviting manner. He grinned and offered his arm. “Shall we?”

“Indeed, we shall.” Camille took his other arm. “Delilah plays beautifully.”

Miss Murdock peered around Gray at Camille. “No, I don’t.”

“You’re supposed to,” Camille said through clenched teeth.

“I do,” Beryl said quickly, and the group moved into the parlor.

Beside him, he felt Camille huff in annoyance.

Beryl’s suggestion was nothing short of inspired. In spite of her continued amusement, she was obviously sincerely trying to help her sister. The carols left little time for idle conversation as they slid from one traditional Christmas song to another: from “The Wassail Song” to “The First Nowell,” from “The Cherry Tree Carol” to “The Holly and the Ivy,” from “Silent Night” to “God Rest Ye Merry, Gentlemen.” Mrs. Montgomery-Wells and Henderson took seats while the others stood around the piano. Camille’s false family proved to be far better singers than they were actors. The prince, too, had an excellent voice and joined in the singing with enthusiasm. This was one area in which he seemed to have no trouble with the language. Odd, but perhaps not surprising given his fascination with a traditional English Christmas. Even Camille’s tension seemed to ease. It was a convivial group and a surprisingly pleasant evening.

“If you will forgive me,” the prince said after an hour or so. “I find I am somewhat weary after today’s travel and should like to retire for the night.” He moved to the doorway, then turned. “Camille? If you have a moment.”

“Of course.” She smiled and joined him.

“Ladies, Colonel, Mr. Elliott. I bid you all a good night.” Pruzinsky nodded and stepped into the corridor, Camille at his side.

Gray excused himself, leaving the others to chat by the piano, and casually stepped to the table bearing the brandy decanter to refill his glass and get a better view of the couple outside the open doors. He couldn’t hear the conversation, but at least he could be close at hand if Camille needed him. To do what? Protect her honor? She’d likely smack him if he dared to try. Regardless of whether Pruzinsky was legitimate or not, interference was one thing Camille would never tolerate.