Camille refused to talk about the past. However, Beryl’s charge, coupled with Win’s reassessment of what had passed between him and Camille years ago, as well as the discovery that she was still angry at him—well, there was definitely much unfinished between them. There were things he needed to know, and no doubt things she needed to know as well, although she was probably too stubborn to admit it. It was past time they cleared the air between them. And perhaps when they did, he could finally put her out of his head once and for all. If indeed that was what he still wanted.

He stepped to his door, yanked it open and froze.

“Good evening, Cousin.”

Ten

Ten

“Finished so soon?” he said in a casual manner.

“Oh, I know my part, Cousin.” Miss Murdock smiled up at him in a wicked manner. “And I know yours.”

He stepped into the hall and closed the door behind him. Even if he was mistaken as to her intentions, it was far wiser to deal with her in the relative safety of the still-lit public corridor rather than his private bedroom. He didn’t know if the actors/servants had forgotten to extinguish the sconces or had not yet gotten around to it. Regardless, he was grateful. “I am nothing more than a distant cousin come for Christmas.”

“Very distant.”

There was no mistaking the look in her eyes. He was right: She was dangerous. Not that under other circumstances, he wouldn’t be tempted. There was much to be said for dangerous women.

“And yet . . .” She reached out a finger and ran it down the middle of his shirt. “Such an important role and you play it so well. I thought perhaps we could rehearse. Together. I’m certain we could both benefit.”

“Be that as it may.” He caught her hand against his chest and grinned down at her. She scarcely came up to his chin. “I don’t need rehearsal, remember?”

“Then perhaps you have a good book I might borrow.” She pressed closer against him, trapping their hands between them. “I do so love a good book before bed.”

“Yes, you mentioned that earlier. I am sorry.” He shook his head regretfully. “I doubt that I have a book that would interest you.”

“Certainly, you have something of interest in there. We needn’t read, you know. We could, oh, talk.”

“Miss Murdock—”

“Edwina.” She raised up on her toes and brushed her lips across his. “You should call me Edwina.”

“Ah, Miss Murdock, as flattered as I am, that wouldn’t be at all proper, now would it?”

“But we are family, aren’t we, Cousin Grayson?”

He chuckled. “Very well, then, Edwina.”

“I knew it when I first saw you. Even as handsome as you are, you’re not an actor, are you?”

“I am through Christmas.”

“And then?”