He glanced around the shadow-filled room. Even in the dim light from the single lamp on the desk, the room looked exactly as he remembered. Shelves flanked either side of a massive fireplace, reaching from the floor to a wide plaster frieze beneath ornate carved molding and a coffered ceiling. The room was longer than it was wide, with one end dominated by a bowed window, covered at night with heavy drapes. What walls didn’t host shelves had portraits of ancestors dating back generations. To the right of the door hung a portrait of Camille as a girl, together with her sisters and mother, exactly where it had always hung.

“That would be most kind of you,” Pruzinsky said in a polite manner.

Gray moved to his side and perused the shelves. This section primarily held books of history, records of ancient civilizations, discourses in philosophy, treatises on economics. There was, as well, a large set of encyclopedias and several rows of nothing but various years of Debrett’s and Burke’s guides to the aristocracy.

“Are you looking for anything in particular? I know there’s quite a bit of Shakespeare on the other wall, as well as Dickens, Thackeray, Trollope, Ruskin. What are you in the mood for?”

“Something that isn’t the least bit interesting, I should think. As the purpose is to put me to sleep.” He smiled coolly. “Something quite dull should do nicely.”

“I suppose dull is as much in the eye of the beholder as beauty. Personally, I have always found works of a philosophical nature to be most efficient at inducing sleep.”

Pruzinsky nodded. “Philosophy it is, then.”

They studied the shelves for a few moments in silence.

“You don’t like me, do you?” Pruzinsky said at last.

“I wouldn’t say that.”

“You don’t trust me with your cousin.”

“I would not trust anyone with my cousin.” Gray shrugged. “She has a significant fortune and a tendency toward impulse. Which is not to say she is not intelligent. She has simply always allowed her emotions to rule her head.”

“Then we have much in common.” He paused. “You do realize I intend to marry her.”

And I intend to stop you. “I suspect that depends on whether she wishes to marry you.”

“Oh, she does.” He smiled in an overly smug manner.

“But you have not yet proposed?” Gray held his breath.

“A minor detail.” Pruzinsky waved off the question.

“Well, then, allow me to be the first to congratulate you.”

“As her soon-to-be fiancé, I must say I do not like the way you look at her.”

Grayson started. “How do I look at her?”

“Not like a cousin, no matter how distant.”

“Camille and I have always been close,” he said slowly.

“And yet you didn’t see her for”—Pruzinsky glanced at him—“eleven years, was it?”