Текст книги "Throne of the Fallen"

Автор книги: Kerri Maniscalcol

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“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 that 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.

“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 gentlewomen retire after dinner.”

Goodfellow would have an embolism if he ever visited House Lust.

Demons playing with virile-member-shaped implements was 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?” Envy asked. 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 believes the dealers aren’t exactly… human.”

Envy’s brows rose 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 fairy tales.”

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.

FIVE

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’d had to rent out her family’s country estate the past summer, Kitty had 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 out 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 despite the summer heat 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 that 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 on 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 town house, 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.

Much was 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 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 that 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 that he’d one day inherit a dukedom. His wicked smile and boyish charm 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 had 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. 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?” the widow 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 noncommittal sound. Camilla returned to the nearby 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 occupied.

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 that 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—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, that Synton must already have 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 he would 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 diversionary tactic.

She wondered if he was really asking about the dark market, which often intrigued newcomers, but it was neither the time nor the place to discuss that scandalous enterprise.

Silverthorne Lane was an area most in high society pretended didn’t exist. She avoided it herself, after her father’s obsession with it had grown so intense in his final months.

She hadn’t wanted to fuel any of the rumors they’d faced toward the end—society had whispered that her father had fallen in love with a Fae dealer there 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 herself 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 that 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 bullheaded, arrogant way. She had no desire to be alone with him in Wisteria Way again, but that circumstance was far preferable to 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 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 lying 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 sank her teeth into her lower lip to keep from drawing attention by either gasping or laughing. Synton had well and truly dressed the disgraced lord down in his own home.

A beat later, Vexley’s face flushed scarlet, the tips of his 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 immediately returned his demeanor 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 theatrical 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.

SIX

THE PRINCE OF Envy watched Camilla slowly place her hand in the crook of Vexley’s arm.

The very arm Envy had just fantasized about bodily removing. The splatter of blood would look rather arresting against the pale wallpaper, but he tamped his more violent instincts down.

Vexley was walking Camilla around like a prize. One he’d stolen, not won.

Envy was firmly of the thinking in the Seven Circles: when it came to the game of courtship, each person should want to play.

Vexley hadn’t given Camilla a choice—and from what Envy knew of the mortal customs, if she denied him, it would cause a scene.

And Miss Antonius didn’t appear to want to draw anyone’s eye for long tonight, for some reason. Though the deep hunter green of her silk gown matched Envy’s cravat and that kept holding his attention. Amid the sea of pastel-colored dresses skirting his peripheral vision, Camilla was a bold splash of darkness, intense and rich.

Despite his best effort not to notice, Camilla was beautiful.

Her silver hair had been curled delicately and clipped back from her face, showing off her pointed chin, her slender neck, and the simple yet stunning silver locket she wore that matched her eyes.

There was an elegance in the way she carried herself—her body made of the sort of delicate angles and swooping curves that begged to be captured on canvas. The way she moved now indicated that she wished to be as far from their host as possible.

Player or not—Envy still hadn’t decided—Vexley was making himself a complication in more ways than one. And Envy had no time to waste on fools.

Every day, his court weakened, a fault that was his alone.

Which was why he’d decided to go the more trusted route for this second attempt and seduce Camilla. It was purely a practical decision: it had nothing to do with how the candlelight was reflecting off her silver curls up ahead.

Envy offered his arm to the nearest woman—a vibrant redhead he briefly recalled had arrived with Camilla—and followed the procession down the corridor to the dining room.

“You’re the mysterious Lord Synton, I presume?” the redhead immediately asked.

“Is that what people are saying about me, Lady…?”

“Lady Katherine Edwards.”

He felt her gaze on him but kept his own locked on the procession of lords and ladies parading slowly toward the dining room. Envy fantasized about jabbing magical pokers at their asses to prod them along. Dinner hadn’t even started, and he was ready to leave.

“You’ve certainly made an impression,” she continued.

Envy glanced sidelong at Lady Edwards. “I do have that effect.”

She laughed, full and deep, drawing the attention of a dark-haired woman in front of them. The woman glanced back, surprising Envy with the open lust shining in her eyes.

Her focus shifted to Lady Edwards, and the dark-haired woman’s jealousy flared. He flashed a smile meant to intimidate and she averted her gaze.

“I see what my friend meant. You are trouble.”

His attention went to Camilla’s silver head at the front of the line. Lady Edwards was baiting him. And having entirely too much fun doing it.

But perhaps befriending her would put Camilla at ease. He allowed himself to don the mask of a charming but aloof noble.

“Tonight, I’d say I’m only slightly wicked, Lady Edwards.”

Envy was rather put off when he realized it was the truth.

He’d kept his flirting to a minimum, had only asked pointed questions that could help him with the game. And once Camilla had stepped into the room, he’d given her all his attention. Not wanting to appear too forward, he’d admired the most intriguing painting in the room, giving her five minutes before seeking her out. A perfect fucking gentleman, he thought with annoyance.

And yet she’d been completely, infuriatingly, unimpressed that he’d swooped in to catch her cup and save her from ruining her gown. No matter that he’d been the one to cause her unsteadiness in the first place. Prince Gluttony had claimed that that move always worked to woo a mortal. According to his brother, mortal women loved a dark hero. As if heroics were determined by an unsullied cup of punch.

But, as usual, Envy was discovering that Gluttony was a moron when it came to courtship. Camilla’s tongue had been as silver as her hair, lashing him with her quick dismissal.

If he was going to try seduction as his second attempt at securing her help, he’d have to tease out what aroused her. Surely she had some fantasy he could toy with.

The parade finally entered the dining chamber, and Envy schooled his features to hide his distaste.

The long cloth-covered table had been dressed in candelabras and an ungodly number of crystal vases. Wisteria—that must have come from a hot house and cost a small fortune—was the flower of choice, and he knew from the way Camilla’s eyes squeezed shut for a moment that the detail hadn’t been lost on her, either, and it didn’t please her.

Intriguing.

“Where is your family from, Lord Synton?” Lady Edwards asked, her voice cordial as she brought Envy’s attention to her. “Is Synton a western surname?”

“Southern,” he said evasively.

She gave him a once-over as she unfolded her napkin in her lap. He had the distinct impression that she was mentally flaying him, in search of his deepest secrets.

“I saw you speaking with my friend earlier. How do you know Miss Antonius?”

“I’m an art collector and her gallery came highly recommended.”

“Mm.”

Lady Katherine sipped her water.

Envy didn’t need to use his supernatural ability to sense emotions to know she was skeptical of him.

“Many gentlemen find themselves very intrigued by her… art.”

His sin ignited before he smothered the sensation.

Lady Katherine turned those shrewd eyes on Camilla and Vexley, who were now seated directly across from them. A man named Harrington took his seat on Camilla’s other side, causing her to stiffen ever so slightly. Envy made a mental note to look into him, too.

“She’s quite talented, and much more modest than her father.”

Envy tore his gaze away from the artist in question. “Her father also painted?”

Of course, he knew Pierre had painted, but acting as if he didn’t would garner much more information.

“Pierre Antonius became famous for The Seduction of Evelyn Gray, among many others. Surely you’ve heard of it, even in the southern region? It’s his most famous portrait. The woman who posed was nude, except for a veil, hiding her identity. Of course, she also had great, raven-like wings. Pierre’s work often depicted the fantastical, especially what he called halflings.”

“Humans who have unique parentage,” Envy supplied.

“You could say that.” Lady Katherine smiled demurely. “Women with wings, men with horns or devilish tails. Others certainly seemed to share his obsession. Through his art, society could indulge in their own fantasies, display pieces that would otherwise be considered unholy.”

Envy listened to Lady Katherine’s unsolicited but much-appreciated art history lesson as the wine was poured. His spies hadn’t found much on the man, aside from the fact that Pierre had opened the gallery two decades prior, and died two years back, leaving Camilla alone in the world. She had no maternal or paternal grandparents that he’d found, no aunts or uncles or cousins.

Strange, he thought, given how humans bred like rabbits.

“What of his family?” Envy asked, sipping his wine.

“Pierre? He had a tragic origin. His mother and father were killed in a carriage accident when he was a boy, and he’d been brought up by a family friend. Both of his parents had been only children and their parents had also met violent ends.”

“Some might say their family is cursed.”

Lady Katherine gave him a sharp look.

“Some have said that, and they are quite obviously fools.”

He smiled faintly. She’d very delicately suggested he might be one too.

“What of her mother’s family?”

Lady Katherine’s expression shuttered. “That’s a sensitive subject I’d rather avoid.”

Envy smiled pleasantly, though inside he churned with curiosity. “No need to sharpen your claws, Lady Edwards. I meant no harm. What else intrigues Waverly Green’s finest?”

Lady Katherine went on to tell him about Pierre’s fondness for riddles and mysteries. If he hadn’t been dead, Envy would have thought he was a player in the game too. But it was clear that this fondness was shared by many in Waverly Green. How dull the games of humans, he thought while nodding along.

The butler appeared again, solemnly chiming a bell to announce that dinner was to be served. It was presented a la française, so guests began serving themselves from the wide array of entrées and side dishes a barrage of servants had placed along the table.

Platters of roasted beef tenderloin with a rosemary jus; whipped potatoes topped with chives and dotted with pads of melting butter; glazed carrots; stuffed whole fish with dull eyes; steamed asparagus; oversized prawns with their tails still attached; and tenderized chicken breasts with a rich lemon cream sauce made their way around the table.

Envy could have done without the accusing stare of the fish, or the manual labor involved in cleaning the prawns, but kept his thoughts from his face. The food was otherwise decent and the company of Lady Edwards surprisingly tolerable.

Once they’d all sampled the first round, the second was brought out. Dishes inspired by the southern region of a nearby realm took center stage.

A salad made of oranges, diced onion, and pine nuts tossed with a tangy dressing made of salt, pepper, oregano, and oil and vinegar.

A second fish course came out, bringing a genuine smile to his face. It reminded him of his sister-in-law’s family restaurant and a dish served there. But in no other way did this feast compare to the luxury of dinner parties back home. Though he didn’t like to admit it, Envy’s brother Gluttony had recently impressed him, fashioning candles from bacon lard that, once they’d been lit and melted, created a rich, decadent sauce for the shaved Brussels sprouts.

Of course, his brother was highly motivated to have the best, most talked-about parties—he was locked in a feud with a reporter whose dismissals of him proved quite inspiring.

On and on the dishes came, and so did the wine. Blessedly.

He downed one glass and called for another, earning no admonishments. In fact, several other guests did the same.

Apparently, Waverly Green’s high society grew bored with their pompous, holier-than-thou ways too. Given the fact that Vexley was supposed to be a scoundrel, this dinner party was boring as sin. Envy’s masquerade next week would certainly stir things up nicely.

Across the table, the dark-haired woman from earlier, a widow named Janelle, kept trying to catch his eye. She pressed her breasts against the table as she leaned over, fully aware that the position combined with her low-cut bodice offered a tantalizing view.

Envy kept his attention on her face, where her lips were pouting ever so slightly.

“Fine wine, my lady, am I right?”

Her focus slid to his hand. He’d been absently stroking the stem of his wineglass, thinking of how to engage Camilla in conversation and draw her away from Vexley.

“Do you sculpt, Lord Synton?” she asked.

“Why do you ask, Lady Janelle?”

A pleasant flush rose in her cheeks.

“You have the hands of an artist, my lord. I can’t help but picture them molding objects to perfection. If you ever need a model, I’d be happy to pose.”

A flicker of annoyance surprised him, beckoning from Camilla’s side. But when he stole a glance at her, she wasn’t looking at him at all. Instead, she was fixated on Vexley, who was leaning toward her, eyes glassy from the fifth glass of wine he’d finished.

“Lord Synton?” Lady Janelle ventured, her breasts near to spilling out as she leaned farther forward.

Envy was saved from having to respond when the man to her left finally pulled his head out of his rear end to take an interest in the woman. And her generous cleavage.

Luckily, Janelle seemed very pleased by this turn of events as if that had been her goal all along. Games within games.

Vexley’s dinner party had quickly departed from the polite as harder spirits began to circulate alongside the wine, ensuring that the guests—both the ladies and the gentlemen—were getting as intoxicated as they desired.

“Sweet manna from heaven,” Envy whispered, swiping a whiskey cocktail from a tray, for the first time in his life regretting that his demon blood kept him from getting as soused on mortal liquor as all the rest.