TOTF Exclusive Excerpt #2
“If you go around biting everyone you fuck here,” Envy said between clenched teeth, “rumors are bound to begin, Alexei. Do you think terrorizing the entire city of Waverly Green is conducive to winning the game?”
“No, your highness.”
The blond vampire delicately dabbed at the corner of his mouth with a black neckerchief, removing the last bit of evidence before the human staff at Envy’s newly acquired manor spied the blood. The move was civilized, wildly at odds with the blood dripping down his chin.
“For what it’s worth, I didn’t intend to bite him. I only planned to give him what he’d asked for. A night of passion.”
“All the same, keep your fangs and cock to yourself. If you need a snack or a tumble, leave Hemlock Hall. The last thing we need is for any overwrought human to associate our arrival with vampire attacks. Have I made myself clear?”
His second-in-command inclined his head, wisely keeping his mouth shut.
Envy had returned to his manor house to plan his next approach of Miss Antonius, only to find the vampire in the middle of the main corridor, fangs deep in a femoral artery. His human lover’s trousers were around his ankles, and he was moaning loudly as Alexei alternated between drinking from his leg and stroking his erect cock.
Vampire venom was intoxicating for humans, enhancing pleasure tenfold, and causing most mortals to quickly lose all sense of reason.
The more powerful the vampire, the more potent their venom. And Alexei—once mortal—had been reborn into the vampire kingdom with the frosty blue eyes of royalty. As such his bite was wildly potent. In fact, a mere lick of his tongue or brush of his fingers could drive a lover mad before they even experienced his venom.
It had been a shit day and Envy was ready to retire to his studio alone where he could take out his frustration on a fresh canvas.
Instead, he found himself reprimanding his second as if he were a nurse maid punishing a child.
If they were in the Seven Circles, this wouldn’t be an issue. The very realm itself thrived on seduction. Alexei could fuck—and often did—any willing lord, lady, or member of the house.
Even a certain Goddess, Alexei’s most recent tryst. Envy had to admit the affair had its uses, no matter how much Envy disliked the female involved.
Alexei retreated to the other side of the room, giving Envy time and space to think. That was one good thing about a vampire, they could remain silent and motionless for hours, almost making you forget they were there.
Envy glanced out the tall window to the thick blanket of fog curling around the limestone estate, brooding.
Pride and Lust had a point—seducing Camilla seemed the clearest route to success. But if he took Miss Antonius to his bed, she would likely want more, crave it—most mortals who found themselves tangled in his sheets were tainted with his sin. They envied anyone who came before and anyone who’d come after. It was why he’d come up with his cardinal rule—he would spend only one night, ever, with a lover. Never more. His one-night rule had become legendary, along with the hunger of his lovers.
Often this was part of the fun, but with Camilla, it seemed too complicated to begin. Granted, Envy drew his power from provoking envy in others and fueling his sin was critical now. He needed to store as much power as he could to win the game.
But he hadn’t allowed a mortal into his bed in decades, not since the last time had gone so very wrong and felt reluctant to start again.
If a night of passion was Camilla’s price, perhaps he could leave the task to Alexei. It would be less complicated…but surely there was another way.
Envy abruptly flipped open the journal before him, staring down at the lines he’d written, the two clues he’d received over the last month with accompanying notes on how he’d solved them.
The first clue still made his blood boil—a taunt wrapped within a riddle, it had arrived while he’d been visiting House Greed a week after Wrath’s queen had taken the throne, nearly a month ago now.
He didn’t typically gamble in his brother’s House but was feeling petty. When Envy had turned over his cards, he’d realized the game was on. Twelve hunter green cards, with one lone red card, all blank save for the solid colors.
Envy had been waiting decades and had almost given up hope of the game ever starting. Pulse speeding, his attention had shot to the clock, noting the hour that was almost upon them.
Midnight.
Hunter green. House Envy.
Red: a bull’s eye target, he’d guessed.
Without delay, he’d rushed home to his throne room, arriving right before midnight. And there it had really begun, as his throne burst into flames on one side.
Just as in the painting he now needed Camilla to create.
It took two weeks to track the correct artist down based on the clue. Then he’d spent two weeks setting up his base in Waverly Green. He wanted to move onto the next clue quickly.
Previous games had anywhere from four to six clues, although none of those games had stakes anywhere close to the ones he faced now. But that meant Envy could be half-way through already, as long as Camilla agreed to paint the gods damned throne.
He glanced down at the clues again.
12 green, 1 red = midnight, House Envy, target/next clue
The Hexed Throne
Same Lie Lilac. Anagram
Anagram solved: Camilla Elise
A raven landed outside the window its beady ebony eyes fixed to him before it shot into the sky. It could be a simple bird, or a spy. He did not need a reminder that he wasn’t the only player in this game, though he knew each player would have different clues leading to the prize.
That Fae bastard Lennox often chose those he’d wronged at some point to play his games, allowing them a chance to win back whatever he’d taken. The clues, the prize, everything would be tailored to the individual, though clues often overlapped. For example, if another player was in Waverly Green, they might need Camilla to paint them something as well.
Envy slammed the journal shut.
He was in the right place. Now he just needed to convince Camilla to help. He cleared his mind of all but his surroundings, needing to let a new strategy form on its own.
Hemlock Hall was a sprawling manor house located at the top of a rather large hill that overlooked the twinkling city below. In that respect it reminded Envy of his own House of Sin. But that’s where the similarities ended.
This study was all dark wood and leatherbound books with an oversized desk and comfortable high back chairs. No vibrant art, no elegant sculptures. Only bland mortal maps, inaccurate and odious in their design.
A slight odor of cigar smoke lingered in the damp air, seeping into the wood after years of indulgence, a hint of the previous owner’s favorite vices, of which it seemed he’d had many. In fact, the lord recently had to abandon Hemlock Hall altogether, after falling on hard times, and had struggled to secure a buyer due to rumors that his lands were cursed. It was the sort of terrible news Envy had been all too happy to hear.
And perhaps those rumors might have been planted by Envy himself in the weeks leading up to his grand offer.
Not that money was a concern for Envy. But the crumbling estate had held so much potential, and he knew the rumors only added to his mystery, ensuring locals would accept any invitation to come tour the property.
And there was no better way for the Prince of Envy to enter mortal society than by hosting a masquerade ball, the likes of which he was certain they’d never seen before.
Envy reached across his desk to pull a bottle of dark whiskey closer, uncorking it and splashing a little into a cut crystal glass. He swirled it slowly as he considered the game again.
A fae overlord never went out of his way and knowing Lennox, Envy suspected the other players would also be drawn to Waverly Green after their first clues. A masquerade might give Envy a chance to discover who the players were, and how many. And if they were all charged to commission Camilla, then Envy needed to be ahead of the pack.
He already had his spies watching her gallery day and night, but he needed to consider other ways he could keep her close, too.
He finally glanced at Alexei. “Has there been any updates on Camilla’s vices? Any temptations we can exploit?”
“No, your highness.”
A knock sounded at the freshly polished mahogany door, interrupting them.
“Enter,” he commanded.
Goodfellow, his butler, swept into the room, bowing politely at the waist. “My lord.”
It was sad, really, how easily mortals believed lies. Money, fine clothing, arrogance—with only Envy’s word, his solicitor’s backing, and Alexei’s agreement, it was far too easy to create a story for the humans here. Envy was a lord who hailed from the Southern region of Ironwood Kingdom, his arrival heralded his family’s desire to expand their territory and wealth through marriage.
“Did you need something, Goodfellow?”
Goodfellow shot a nervous look toward the vampire.
“Alexei,” Envy said, “tend to that matter.”
His second inclined his head then left.
To Envy’s knowledge, humans in this realm didn’t necessarily believe in such creatures but could certainly sense they were prey when near one.
Fear heightened mortal senses, bringing them closer to the animal world before they reasoned their natural survival instincts away as silly.
Whether due to hubris or ego, man was the only creature who often ignored what no other prey did; trust your instincts or suffer the consequences.
“Yes?” Envy asked, drawing Goodfellow’s attention away from the vampire.
“Invitations have all been sent, my lord. Every noble family in Waverly Green won’t want to miss it. Cook has been—”
“Did you send one to Miss Antonius?”
“The artist?” Goodfellow asked.
Envy offered a slight nod.
“Not yet, my lord. But I suppose she’s become a society darling despite her rather tragic past, so I’ll add her to the list. As I was saying, Cook has—”
“Explain.”
“Er, about Cook or…” Goodfellow trailed off at Envy’s hard look. “Oh, Miss Antonius. Her mother left right before she debuted, poor thing. Made things proper difficult for the young Miss with all those nasty rumors. No mamma wanted their son to court her. She’s as good as a spinster now, though the ton love her gallery, which has kept her current, I suppose.”
Envy considered that a moment. Camilla’s mother was gone, she had no marriage prospects…so why had she so thoroughly dismissed him? Envy made it clear he was titled, and he was obviously handsome. Camilla should have at least attempted to flirt. Unless she’d been waiting for him to do so…
Why was Lust’s gods-damned scheme always the correct path to take? Maybe Envy should attempt to seduce her next. It was worth trying.
Goodfellow mistook Envy’s quiet pondering for an invitation to continue his report.
“Cook has been given the market requirements, and I’ve sent the footman out to secure the masks you requested. The gardener has also been instructed on the floral arrangements. Ballroom renovations are underway and should conclude at least two days prior, allowing time for any adjustments your lordship might desire.”
“What about the blackberries and brown sugar?”
“Taken care of, my lord. Along with the finest bourbon in Waverly Green.”
Envy nodded. “Progress on the gallery in the North wing?”
“The portraits have all been unveiled and the sculptures are being cleaned now.”
“I trust the hedge maze is also under control.”
“Of course. The groundskeeper has the images you rendered and is tending to it.”
A bit of the tension Envy had been feeling since Camilla’s refusal released. At least something was going his way tonight.
Goodfellow cleared his throat and Envy fought a sigh.
“Was there something else?”
With a bit more theatrics than was entirely needed, Goodfellow produced an envelope. Crisp, decent ivory stock. Bland and uninspired.
“An invitation has arrived, my lord. From Gretna House.”
Envy stared blankly at the butler.
“Pardon me, my lord. Gretna House is Lord Philip Vexley’s home. He’s a favorite of society, though a bit notorious, if I may speak freely.”
For all his pomp, Goodfellow was also a horrible gossip, only too happy to help Envy learn the ins and outs of Waverly Green.
“What makes him notorious?” Envy sipped at his whiskey, curious.
Goodfellow’s ruddy face flushed a brighter crimson, signaling nudity must be involved.
“It’s rumored he hosts . . . er, debauched parties, for a select circle of friends, my lord.”
Envy schooled his features. How predictable and so very human, he thought.
He might as well have some fun and watch Goodfellow flounder.
“Do guests engage in lewd behavior?”
Goodfellow drew in a sharp breath, then nodded. His eyes sparkled with the need to share this delightful scandal.
“And?” Envy encouraged.
“Oh well, I’ve heard some guests sneak off to the gardens to…” He glanced around as if to make sure no one else had snuck up on them. “…kiss.”
“Kiss.” Envy mentally counted until the urge to stab himself—repeatedly—passed. “Does anyone actually witness this . . . lewd behavior?”
“Well, I imagine so. Though I haven’t heard any specifics.”
Envy must not have hidden his annoyance as well as he’d thought; Goodfellow quickly continued on.
“That’s not saying anything of the art he’s collected. Most of it isn’t fit for polite company. Not that Lord Vexley concerns himself with that. He’s rumored to have an entire private collection of virile member-shaped implements. He keeps those hidden, else the ladies would faint at dinner. Society looks the other way with Vexley up until a point.”
“That point being virile member-shaped art,” Envy deadpanned.
“Indeed, my lord. This one is unsubstantiated, but there’s another rumor, that he hosts . . . demonstrations . . . once the gentle women retire after dinner.”
Goodfellow would have an embolism if he ever visited House Lust.
Demons playing with “virile member-shaped implements” were the daily standard there.
However, at the mention of art, Envy’s interest was finally piqued.
“This Vexley is an avid art collector, is he?” Goodfellow nodded. “Is his collection as large as the one here?”
Goodfellow opened his mouth then snapped it shut, reconsidering.
“I personally haven’t seen it, my lord, so I can’t speak with any authority on that. But I have heard he visits Silverthorne Lane. And you know what they say about the dark market.”
“Enlighten me.”
“Well, my lord, almost everyone in the Green believe the dealers aren’t exactly…human.”
Envy’s brows raised a fraction. He hadn’t heard this. But his spies would certainly hear from him about missing this detail.
“And what, pray tell, are they instead?”
“They say the dealers there are exiled Fae. Mind you, most who enter are also deep in their cups. Personally, I don’t believe in such fairytales.”
Envy stilled. This was very interesting news indeed.
“You’re certain this notorious lord visits these . . . Fae?”
“Aye. His footman told me himself, my lord. Once per week, like clockwork.”
“Accept his invitation,” Envy said, dismissing the butler with a crisp nod. Maybe he’d found another player, after all.
If Goodfellow disapproved of his master’s decision, he wisely didn’t let it show.
Envy wanted to get a feel for this rake who dealt with Fae, see if his theory was correct.
Goodfellow left to do Envy’s bidding.
If there was one truth that ought to be universally accepted it was this: When sin was involved, no gentleman in this realm or any other could ever hope to compete with a demon.
Most especially a prince of Hell.
Camilla fussed with her skirts as the carriage rattled over the cobbled street and, next to her, Lord Edwards prattled on about a rooster named Peter.
Apparently, Edwards was having newfound trouble with his cock.
Something Camilla prayed wasn’t a euphemism.
She met her friend’s gaze across the carriage, noting that Lady Katherine had pressed the back of her gloved hand to her lips, likely stifling a giggle. A fact that didn’t surprise Camilla in the least. Camilla and Kitty were made of the same twisted material, they simply hid that fact well. Most of the time.
“…which is why, dearest,” Edwards said to his wife, “we ought to go to Winterset to oversee the estate as soon as possible. We simply cannot permit Peter to run amok.”
If only society felt the same way about Vexley.
“Darling,” Katherine soothed, impressively without any hint of mirth in her tone, “we aren’t due back to our country house for months. I’m sure the chickens will be fine until summer.” She flicked her attention to Camilla. “You will join us again, at least part of the time?”
“Of course.”
Warmth suffused Camilla along with gratitude. When she had to rent out her family’s country estate the past summer, Kitty made sure Camilla stayed for nearly the entire season with them. And Camilla had never said so aloud, but even if she hadn’t been forced to rent her father’s country home, going there after he’d died would have been torturous. She worried she would feel the ghost of his presence wandering the halls, smell the piping hot chocolate he always made for them to sip while he painted and told stories of fae-kissed humans, beholden to the mysterious fairy king.
In some stories the king was cruel, in others he was godlike and benevolent. As she got older Camilla understood it was all nonsense, but she adored how Pierre loved his legends, even if, by the end, he clung to them too desperately as his grip on reality loosened.
“Perhaps Miss Antonius can paint Peter’s likeness.”
Kitty heaved a sigh.
Camilla was saved from any further mention of the fowl’s foul behavior when the carriage rolled to a stop. She swallowed the sudden lump in her throat, her nerves tingling as the driver came around to open the door and help her down.
They’d arrived at Gretna House, Vexley’s home.
A town house on Greenbriar Park, in one of the most exclusive neighborhoods on the east side of the Green.
The building—an off-white stone accented with wrought iron terraces and flowering trees and bushes, which cascaded along its front—was perfectly maintained, matching all the other town houses down the street. A beautiful stone fence separated the tiny front yard from the cobbled avenue.
Camilla exited the carriage with her head held high and stared at the townhouse, at the lights inside glowing warmly, the merry partygoers unaware of what all this had cost her. It was her illegal dealings that had helped Vexley purchase this house. Here stood a physical manifestation of her crimes, taunting her with its decadence.
There was much at stake for her over these next few hours. Tonight, she’d either steal back her freedom, or she’d be forever trapped in Vex the Hex’s web of deceit.
Much too quickly their trio ascended the grand stairs, were divested of their coats and stoles, and were seen to the drawing room to mingle with the other guests who’d already arrived.
Someone called out to Lord Edwards, but Camilla was so nervous she barely noticed when he and Katherine shifted course to say their hellos, leaving her to seek punch on her own.
She scanned the small group for Vexley. In the corner, the idiotic but wealthy lords Walters and Harrington were attempting to entertain the Carrol sisters, two pretty honey-haired women tarnished by rumors their father’s title had been purchased by the success of his gaming hell. She smiled politely at them and a few others but caught no glimpse of Vexley.
Camilla reached the punch and claimed a cup, sipping from it as she scanned the room again. Katherine and William were now speaking with William’s best friend, Lord Garrey. A man of thirty who—like most here—was known to grace the satire sheets from time to time.
Garrey remained one of the most eligible men Season after Season, thanks to the fact he’d one day inherit a dukedom. His wicked smile and boyish charm also didn’t hurt, though his gambling was hard to overlook, as Camilla reminded Kitty regularly.
Miss Young and Miss Linus were also in attendance. Though Camilla doubted either of their parents knew they’d snuck off to visit Vexley’s home. Both women were nearing spinster status but weren’t fully on the shelf yet.
Their chaperone, Widow Janelle Badde, raised her glass to Camilla in hello. Camilla had always admired Janelle. She’d married a man three times her age and he’d died shortly after, leaving her a young, happy widow who took full advantage of her status, taking lovers and volunteering to play chaperone for her unmarried friends when the occasion called for it.
Society didn’t approve outwardly, but they couldn’t disapprove either. Camilla’d just turned back to survey the other half of the room when her gaze landed on him.
Lord Ashford Synton in all his commanding, irksome glory.
He stood alone, admiring a painting on the far side of the room, and hadn’t noticed her yet, so she took a moment to study him, feeling vaguely annoyed to realize she wasn’t the only one doing so. Widow Janelle was practically wetting her lips as her gaze raked over him.
Camilla understood her reaction. The man cut a severe figure, even from across the room, candlelight gilding the sharp planes of his face. With a jolt, Camilla saw what was holding his attention. He was stepping closer to her favorite painting in Vexley’s home.
It was a watercolor of a field holding one rustic barn—something she’d imagined in the north, or even in one of her father’s tales. It was rich in shades of green and cream, from the mountains in the background, which were a dark hunter, to the long grass in the foreground, a glowing, pale sage.
The painting evoked a sense of peace when she looked at it. The idea of simplicity, of a life lived without secrets, without a societal cage.
What would it be like to run barefoot through that soft grass? To hike her skirts to her knees, and not give a damn about whether it was ladylike? Camilla longed to feel the dirt under her feet, to dance in her nightgown under the stars. To live without the rules of others binding her. She was a wild, untamed thing under all the pomp and circumstance.
She wondered what Synton saw, what he felt as he raised his hand, tracing the barn almost in reverence. “He is…something, isn’t he?”
Camilla started at Widow Janelle’s voice. Although she wasn’t even looking at Camilla. The woman’s gaze practically burned the clothes off Synton’s back.
“Do you know his name?” she asked hungrily.
Camilla bristled at the question, though her reaction made little sense.
“No, sorry.” She quickly diverted her own attention back to the party. “I’m parched. Would you like more punch?”
Widow Janelle made a non-committal sound. Camilla made her way to the refreshments, leaving Janelle to her ogling. Vexley hadn’t graced them with his presence yet, indicating he was either already drunk or hoping to make a dramatic entrance. Either way, she might have a few extra moments to explore while everyone was otherwise preoccupied.
Excited, Camilla stepped away from the table quickly and bumped into someone who’d come to collect a glass of punch, too.
“I’m—” Her words faltered as she glanced up. Two piercing emerald eyes stared down at her.
It took another second for her to realize Lord Synton’s two strong hands had steadied her, preventing her from spilling her drink. The coldness in his gaze was at odds with the burning she felt where he gripped her tightly, his long fingers easily fitting around her upper arms.
“How did you get over here so quickly?” she asked.
His mouth quirked up on one side, his expression slowly thawing.
“You saw me but didn’t say hello? I’m wounded, Miss Antonius.”
Synton’s voice was like a deep rumble of thunder in her ear as he finally dropped his hands but didn’t step back.
“Perhaps I was getting the lay of the land. A lady must know where it’s safe to step,” she quipped.
“Yet you’re stepping all over my ego.”
“Forgive me, my lord. I had no idea you’d be so easily damaged.”
He looked her over slowly, one brow arched.
“You attend gatherings here often?”
“I do.”
Camilla realized two things simultaneously as the handsome lord’s expression shifted from indifference to curiosity—the first, that he was as sinfully arresting as she’d pictured earlier when she’d almost given herself an orgasm in a moving conveyance, and second, Synton must have already heard the rumors about these parties.
Heat flooded her cheeks.
Nothing untoward usually happened here, at least not while she was in attendance. Though couples did sneak off for trysts more than usual, and Vexley was in possession of a few fertility statues that were probably used for the exact purpose people speculated.
She quickly motioned to the still life paintings on the walls, tame by comparison.
“Lord Vexley is an admirer of fine art. I help curate his collection.”
“Interesting.” He said the word like he meant repugnant instead.
Synton’s gaze turned shrewd as he looked her over again.
“What brings you here?” she asked to divert his attention. If he assumed she was here for a wild tryst, then she was very intrigued by what would he have to say for himself.
“So you’re responsible for most of his pieces? He doesn’t . . . work with anyone else?” Synton asked stiffly, ignoring her question entirely. There was an edge in his tone now, subtle but there. She’d think it hinted at envy, but of what, Vexley’s art?
Camilla hid her annoyance.
Answering a question with another question was an excellent diversion tactic.
She wondered if he was really asking about the dark market, which often intrigued newcomers, but it was neither the time nor place to discuss that scandalous enterprise.
Silverthorne Lane was an area most in High Society pretended didn’t exist. She avoided the area herself, after her father’s obsession with it had grown so intense in his final months.
She hadn’t wanted to fuel to any of the rumors they’d faced toward the end—society had whispered her father had fallen in love with a Fae and had become addicted to the dark magic that could offer a few hours of oblivion.
Camilla knew neither was true.
Her father was obsessed with something far more dangerous.
“Vexley does purchase through me quite often, though I’m only one of many dealers.”
An arm slipped around her waist.
“Now, darling. You’re much more than an art dealer to me.”
“Lord Vexley.”
Camilla’s spine stiffened at the most unwelcome weight of Vexley’s arm on her person.
When she thought it couldn’t get worse, the rake’s palm shifted lower, cupping her backside.
Camilla seethed from both the uninvited touch and Vex the Hex’s bold insinuation that there was more to their relationship. If she needed further proof that she must act tonight and win back her freedom, this was her sign. In fact, she prayed she wasn’t too late.
She quickly sidestepped, dislodging from the embrace without anyone—aside from Synton—noticing the lapse in propriety.
But Synton wasn’t looking at her at all. He was coolly staring Vexley down. His expression had turned so frosty with displeasure, for a moment she swore she could see her breath in the air.
“Do you always lay claim to things that don’t belong to you, Vexley?”
Camilla’s lips parted in shock. Did Synton sound . . . jealous?
Luckily, Vexley snorted like Synton had told a clever joke, signaling he’d already helped himself to a few glasses of spirits.
“You must be the newly arrived Synton. I’ve heard you’re quite the collector yourself. Though I doubt yours is as large as mine.”
Synton ignored the insinuation, his attention landing squarely on Camilla once again. “I’d love a private tour of your gallery, Miss Antonius, to see your taste. I’m in the market for several pieces for my own gallery at Hemlock Hall.”
“Hemlock Hall?” Vexley interrupted, realizing he was being slighted. “That place is a wreck.”
“Miss Antonius?” Synton pressed, still not deigning to acknowledge their host.
Camilla understood immediately what Synton was offering. In his own, bull-headed, arrogant way. She had no desire to be alone with him in Wisteria Way again, but that circumstance was far more preferable than being within pinching distance of Vex the Hex.
“I can make time later this evening or tomorrow at first light.”
“Tonight, then.”
“Very well, my lord.”
Camilla wasn’t sure if she should be grateful for Synton’s interference. It felt a little like hopping from a cast iron skillet into a blazing fire.
Synton had an agenda of his own, but at least she was choosing which devil to get into bed with. Proverbially speaking of course.
An image of Synton laying sprawled across dark sheets, bronze skin gleaming, arms folded behind his head, flashed in her mind before she banished it.
“Come now, Synny.” Vexley either missed or ignored the anger flickering in Synton’s eyes at the nickname. “Camilla shouldn’t be traipsing around the art district at indecent hours.”
“Miss Antonius has made her decision and I don’t recall inquiring after your uninformed and frankly, rather dull opinion, Vexley.”
Camilla sunk her teeth into her lower lip to keep from drawing attention by either gasping or laughing. Synton had well and truly dressed the dandy down in his own home.
A beat later, Vexley’s face flushed scarlet, the tips of ears turning the brightest shade of pink she’d ever seen as his mind caught up with the insult.
Objectively, Vexley was a physically attractive man, but the way his face contorted now made him look demonic.
“How dare—”
A knock came at the drawing room door, quickly followed by the butler.
“Dinner is ready, my lord.”
Called to duty, Vexley’s demeanor immediately returned to that of the unruffled rake, his mouth hitching high on one side in a lopsided smirk.
“The time to feast has arrived!” He announced, then twisted on his heel, wavering only slightly before offering his arm to Camilla. “Miss Antonius. Friends. Shall we?”
Camilla felt Synton’s heavy gaze land on her once again, weighted with disapproval, but she didn’t dare to look at him, nor to publicly reject Vexley’s theatric chivalry.
All she had to do was make it through this dinner.
Then, after the more polite crowd had departed and the drinking began in earnest, she’d sneak off to find that forgery and set it ablaze, incinerating Vexley’s hold over her once and for all.