Текст книги "Throne of the Fallen"

Автор книги: Kerri Maniscalcol

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Текущая страница: 5 (всего у книги 35 страниц)

Hours later, after the last dessert was brought out and cleared away, the host snatched a chalice from the table and lifted it high, spilling half its contents down his coat sleeve and splattering the remaining red liquor onto the table linen, as if re-creating a murder scene.

Envy kept his face impassive, though annoyance raged within. He despised messy displays. It showed a lack of control.

Surely this inebriated fool couldn’t be his competition.

“Ladies, please see yourselves to the drawing room while the gentlemen smoke our cigars. We shall all take a few moments to gather ourselves before I show off my newest treasure. Afterward, how about we all play some… games? If you dare.”

Without looking in her direction, Envy tapped into Camilla’s emotions, noticing a drastic spike in her nerves. All the while Vexley spoke, her discomfort wound around Envy’s insides, as if her growing anxiety were his own.

Miss Camilla Antonius was either up to something nefarious or was nervous about what Vexley had in store for everyone. Or perhaps she was excited by the prospect of his games.

Envy recalled what Goodfellow had said. He fought the urge to look at her.

It was entirely possible that Envy had read Camilla’s emotions wrong earlier—perhaps she’d only been upset with Vexley for his public display and not his unwelcome touch.

Anticipation and nervousness were nearly identical at their core, so it was impossible to discern which emotion the artist was currently experiencing. It was rare that his supernatural senses couldn’t aid him, and Envy didn’t care much for this uncertainty.

But perhaps it was another opportunity. If he could determine what Camilla was up to tonight, then he could devise a way to make himself indispensable to her, thus ensuring that she’d help him in return. No seduction required.

“All right, then,” Vexley said finally. “Let’s be on our way.”

Out of the corner of his eye, Envy watched Camilla bolt for the door. Without drawing attention to himself, Envy quickly stood, but just as he pushed back his chair, he was stopped by Lady Katherine.

“Do be a dear and escort me to the drawing room, my lord,” she said, blocking his path.

He glanced from the meddlesome woman to the door, debating whether using his magic now would in any way count against him. It was small as far as risks went, but Envy couldn’t chance breaking any rules of conduct.

“It will be but a moment,” she added.

A moment was all Camilla had needed to slip away, a fact that her friend either seemed to know or had surmised just as he had.

Outmaneuvered by propriety, of all cursed things, Envy pasted on a pleasant smile and offered his arm.

“Of course, Lady Katherine. Lead the way.”

SEVEN

AFTER A QUICK scan of the corridor to ensure that she was alone, Camilla all but ran toward the staircase leading to the rooms on the upper level, the sound of the dinner party growing louder as everyone moved toward the door she’d just exited through.

Hopefully most of the guests were too inebriated to notice her hasty exit and would be focused on the naughty games Vexley had not so subtly hinted at.

It never ceased to amaze her that even the most level-headed man could become so simpleminded with the promise of sin. During her first few Seasons, she’d secretly watched couples sneaking off during balls, rushing to the gardens to give in to their desires. Men were clapped on their backs, deemed rakes and rascals, if they were discovered. Yet the women were tossed aside as harlots, condemned for acting on what was natural to both parties. It was unfair and rankled Camilla more than she ever let on.

Men had the luxury of remaining eligible bachelors while still feeding their sexual appetites, yet women were warned to remain saintly should they refuse the noose of wedded bliss. And Camilla played that game too, loathing it but unwilling to forsake her reputation, her highest bargaining chip in this realm.

Thinking of desire, she thought again of Lord Synton, then quickly shook that away. With any luck, he would become distracted by one of the many ladies who’d openly admired him during dinner.

Annoyance overtook her nervousness for a moment, though Camilla had no right to feel that way. It was just that the idea of Synton sneaking off for a clandestine affair rather than seeking out her company irked her. In her fantasy he’d been consumed only with her, focusing on her pleasure the same intense way she studied a subject she painted.

It was that intensity she’d loved imagining, that feeling of being wholly consumed by another person.

Just once she wanted someone to want her. Not her art. Not her talent. Her.

Sometimes she felt so alone. Her father was gone, so was her mother. The fantasy of Synton had reminded her of all she didn’t have but wanted. But in truth Synton hadn’t looked in Camilla’s direction or sought her conversation during dinner at all.

Which was precisely why she would never confuse fantasy with reality again.

Shoving those distracting thoughts away, Camilla focused solely on the task at hand: find the forgery and destroy it.

Wide oak planks creaked noisily beneath her slippered feet, causing her pulse to speed as she grabbed a fistful of her skirts and leapt onto the first step, ascending out of view right as the dining room door crashed open against the wall and the sound of voices spilled into the corridor like uncorked bottles of wine.

“Oi!” Vexley yelled. “Watch it, Walters. Or you’ll cause a bigger scandal than Harrington did when he pissed on that statue.”

Camilla didn’t dare stop as the boisterous laughter grew closer. She’d overseen the installation of almost every piece of art in Vexley’s home, giving her an intimate knowledge of its layout. The first door on her left contained a reading room with a few shelves of books, two comfortable chairs, and a decent fireplace. It was much smaller than the main library downstairs and remained mostly unused by the lord.

She tiptoed inside, closing the door with a quiet snick, relieved to see the fire burning gently. Vexley might not pick up a book as often as he picked up a hand mirror, but he was vain enough to want to give the appearance of being well-read, should anyone secret themselves away to steal kisses in this chamber.

“Right, then. The painting.”

Camilla got to work straightaway.

She rushed to feel along the bookshelves for any hidden latches. When she’d scoured each, she stepped on each floor plank, listening for the most minute difference in sound that would indicate a compartment below the floor.

She pushed against the paneled wall, growing more frantic as the minutes ticked by. There was no closet, no door, no candelabra that opened a secret room. No other place to hide the painting.

Before turning to go, Camilla glanced behind the canvas hanging above the mantel, making sure there was nothing secreted behind the portrait.

Though portrait was a stretch. It was a nude man who looked startlingly like Vex the Hex, sprawled across a cloud. His hand was wrapped around his engorged member, paused midstroke, his gaze fixed presumably on whoever had caught his fancy.

By polite society’s standards it was rather lewd, but as someone who studied art, Camilla was unfazed by the male form.

She fought the urge to flick his cursed bollocks, and, satisfied that the room was not harboring the forgery, she cracked the door and listened for a few beats before exiting.

Voices carried up the stairs like ghosts of lovers past, but this floor was still otherwise unoccupied by the living.

No couple had sought it out, at least for the moment, but as this was one of Vexley’s parties, it was only a matter of time.

Camilla crept down the corridor and quickly slipped into the next room—the bathing chamber. She conducted the same search as before, tapping the walls, pushing at panels, and looking behind other artwork. She dropped to the floor and peered under the claw-foot tub, running her hands over the underside and the floor just in case.

Nothing.

Camilla pushed herself up to her knees, surveying the room from a different angle.

Her father had always told her to pay attention to the details of a room—that sometimes looking at the negative space revealed more than staring at an object directly.

It was a trick that worked wonders in the woods of their country estate. Camilla once spied a heron standing tall among the trees by spotting its legs in the space between the tree trunks.

Unfortunately, there was nothing out of the ordinary here.

Camilla investigated a linen closet that she prayed held her salvation, but she saw nothing more than neatly folded towels, a silk robe, and extra bars of soap.

Her next two searches, of the guest rooms, provided the same frustrating results, except with the added tingle of trepidation when she swore she was being watched.

She waited in the shadows, back pressed to the wall, heart pounding, for whoever it was to reveal themselves, but of course no one was there.

At last, she paused outside Vexley’s personal bedroom suite, certain there was no way he’d actually have hidden the forgery there. Vexley had said it was away from public view, and knowing what she did of his nighttime activities, his bedchamber entertained more guests than his receiving room.

Still, she refused to leave any nook or cranny unsearched.

With a prayer that luck would be on her side, Camilla entered the one chamber she’d sworn she’d never visit. The overwhelming scent of Vexley’s cologne almost sent her running back in the direction she’d come, but unless he had some secret tunnel that led from his parlor to his bedchamber, Vexley wasn’t waiting for her inside.

This was it, then. She stepped fully into the expansive bedroom, leaving the door cracked to alert her to the sound of anyone approaching.

Camilla wasn’t sure what she’d expected to find—an oversized bed with messy sheets, a few naked women pleasing themselves or each other while they waited—but a standard-sized bed with pristine coverings, handsome yet plain bedroom furnishings, a well-tended fire on the far wall, and the very painting she’d been looking for proudly displayed above the headboard was not it.

“Vexley, you plumb fool.”

Of course he wouldn’t be able to resist showing off the forgery to his lovers.

Without delay, Camilla hiked up her gown and climbed onto the bed.

Her fingers had just closed around the gilded frame when she heard a sound that sent ice shooting through her veins: the creak of the floorboard directly behind her.

She froze, debating her next move. But one thing was certain: with the painting fully in her grasp, she couldn’t let go now.

The fireplace was at the opposite end of the room, but if she moved swiftly, she might manage to toss the painting in before Vexley could snatch it away. It wouldn’t be fully destroyed, but it should be tainted enough that he’d no longer display it or use it against her.

She waited for Vexley to demand she drop the forgery at once, but no cocky or snide remarks came.

Perhaps the noise wasn’t from someone who had followed her into the room. Everyone had been drinking quite heavily—she didn’t think they’d be able to sneak up the stairs, let alone slip undetected into this chamber. Maybe it was just a creaky old house.

But Camilla knew that wasn’t the case; the heat traveling along her neck indicated that someone was indeed in the chamber with her. She steeled her nerves and slowly turned, ready to toss the canvas out the window or throttle Vexley with it if need be.

“Please. Don’t stop on my account.”

EIGHT

SYNTON CASUALLY LEANED against the wall, arms folded across his chest, an amused upward tilt to his lips. He had somehow managed to enter the room and close the door behind him without making a sound.

A feat that should have been impossible for a man of his size.

“I’m rather interested to see what comes next, Miss Antonius.”

Instead of allowing him to have the upper hand, Camilla decided to turn this around. False bravado could work wonders.

She let the painting go long enough to place her hands on her hips and leveled her best haughty glare at Synton.

“What are you doing here?”

“We had an agreement. Remember?” Synton’s gaze left hers to take in the painting. “I came to intercept you before you disrobed for your tryst.”

“My tryst? With Vexley?” Her voice notched up an octave.

Synton cocked a brow, waiting.

“I assure you I would rather attend a Crown ball in the nude than become Vexley’s plaything.”

Synton’s gaze darkened. He nodded toward the painting. “Instead of undressing, imagine my surprise to find you stealing the famed Seduction of Evelyn Gray. That’s rather naughty for an artist.”

“I’m not stealing anything, my lord.”

Lying was not something Camilla normally condoned, but she needed to get rid of him before he ruined her best chance to destroy the forgery.

Silence stretched between them. He didn’t believe her.

Rightfully so, but still.

“Vexley asked me to have this cleaned earlier this week. I was simply fetching it before we left for the gallery.” Before she could stop herself, she added, “You seemed quite enchanted by Vexley’s mention of games. I figured you’d be occupied for a while.”

Amusement ghosted across his features.

“Is that why you ducked in and out of every chamber on this floor? You were coming to fetch the painting while also considerately ensuring that I had time to woo a lover? How utterly magnanimous.”

Camilla’s eyes narrowed.

“Do you make a habit of spying on ladies, my lord?”

“Only the ones who declare they’d never marry me without a proper hello, then get jealous over the idea of me having a tryst with someone else.”

“I am not jealous. And if you must know, I thought you were someone else that day,” she said. “Tonight, I’d been looking for the water closet. If you were a gentleman, you would have announced yourself and offered me assistance instead of lurking in the shadows.”

The wry amusement vanished from his face. He cocked his head to one side, his attention languidly sliding over every inch of her as if each dip and curve were for his viewing pleasure alone.

By the time he brought his gaze back up to hers, there was no mistaking the raw hunger that flashed in those emerald eyes. She wished she hated his heated stare, but it made her feel breathless, like a fire crackling to life.

“Do you believe I’m a gentleman, Miss Antonius? I’d wager your heart is beating so wildly because deep down you hope I’m not.”

Camilla wasn’t sure how he knew her heart was suddenly pounding, but she certainly wasn’t going to own up to the fact that he affected her.

“You’re mistaken. I don’t think of you at all, Lord Synton.”

The smile that had been teasing the edges of Synton’s mouth turned into a full grin, showing off a pair of dimples she hadn’t noticed before.

“Another bold and interesting lie.”

He moved closer to the bed, a hunter sighting his prey, and the thought of being caught by him caused her pulse to race harder in anticipation.

With one languid, effortless movement, Synton stepped up, pressed a hand to the wall to settle in, and now stood on the mattress beside her, leaning in close.

As he stared down at her, Camilla briefly forgot about the forgery.

No one had ever looked at her so boldly. So intensely. Like he could see through all her carefully erected walls to who she was at her very core.

Or maybe he simply looked at her like he knew the depth of her desire and it affected him in turn. More than either of them wanted it to.

She’d only wanted to keep up her normal life here. Had fought hard to become what people expected. But now, she could admit, for only a second, that maybe she’d wanted something else, too. Something that called to a secret part of her.

“You ought to know, if I had taken a lover, I would have needed hours, Miss Antonius.”

His gaze dropped to her neck a second before he reached out, slowly stroking along her quivering pulse.

A bolt of heat lashed through her from the brief contact of his bare skin, and his hand fell away as if he, too, had felt the burn.

She expected him to draw back entirely, but instead he looked at her curiously and then surprised her by raising that same hand to run his thumb against the seam of her lips, applying steady pressure until they parted and allowed him entry.

An ember of desire ignited in his eyes, locked on hers, when she submitted to his unspoken command, drawing his thumb into her mouth.

He tasted of sin and decadence. A heady mix that heated her core.

“The tongue may lie, but other parts of the body always tell the truth, Miss Antonius. If one looks closely enough.”

With what appeared to be great effort, he withdrew his thumb and dropped his hand once again, though he didn’t step away.

Camilla wasn’t sure what it was about him. Perhaps that he was largely unknown to her, unlike other members of society. Or maybe it was the quiet intensity with which he studied his surroundings. Whatever it was, she couldn’t bring herself to move away, ensnared by curiosity, wondering what he’d do next.

Synton stood entirely too close and not close enough, his intoxicating scent now overtaking Vexley’s in the air. There was something dark and utterly masculine about it. Bourbon and spice with only a hint of sweet berries.

Suddenly, Camilla wanted to run her tongue along the seam of his lips, tasting the sweetness of sin she was certain she’d find there.

Instead, he brought that tempting mouth to her ear, lightly brushing it against the lobe. Her eyelids fluttered shut from the sensation.

“Why are you after that painting, Miss Antonius? Did Vexley steal it from you?”

The forgery.

Vexley.

It was as if Synton had dumped a bucket of ice water over her, bringing her back to her senses. The scoundrel hadn’t been trying to kiss her at all, he’d been after information. Likely to blackmail her too.

Camilla went to push herself away from the lord of temptation, but he suddenly stepped aside on his own, causing her to lose her footing as the mattress heaved.

She went tumbling forward.

Camilla tensed for what would certainly be a painful collision with the hardwood, but Synton moved faster than should have been possible, leaping forward to enclose her in his arms and break her fall with his body, which thumped heavily to the floor.

Air whooshed out of him upon impact, their knees and hips and chests crashing together, accompanied by the sound of silk ripping. For a moment, both lay still, dazed. But then Camilla stirred.

“Damn,” she cursed softly.

She pushed herself up, quickly taking stock of things.

Synton looked all right—not a hair out of place or wrinkle in his suit.

Camilla’s full skirts were twisted but were otherwise unscathed. But the seam along the left side of her dress wasn’t as fortunate.

She glanced at the exposed stays, cursing like the worst sailor ever to visit Waverly Green’s shores. The black lace of her stays, her secret indulgence, was clearly visible, clinging to the outline of her breasts, displayed in all its decadence.

A deep chuckle below her—and its subsequent rumble that vibrated along a very sensitive area of her body—drew her attention to more pressing issues: she was straddling Synton in another man’s bedroom, her gown half torn as if they’d been in the throes of passion, her hands braced on his chest.

His hard chest.

Lord help her. Synton felt like a marble statue crafted by one of the greats.

Camilla became intimately aware of just how large he was as he shifted between her thighs, how toned and powerful.

She also realized she rather liked the feeling of him beneath her—it was as if she’d conquered some great beast and for a moment, he belonged only to her.

At least until he pounced in turn.

He gave her a lazy sort of smile.

“If you’re unharmed, Miss Antonius, you may wish to stand up. Quickly.”

“Are you hurt?” Camilla looked him over more carefully, then scooted down his hips before he could stop her. “Should I… oh. Oh.”

Something hard pressed against her backside.

At once she understood what he’d been too polite to say.

Synton was as far from hurt as a man could be.

Her mouth went dry, her pulse speeding.

For a breath they both remained frozen, staring into each other’s eyes.

Camilla didn’t know why he’d paused, but she was suddenly battling a fierce internal war. She should get up immediately, and probably make a small fuss, but her body tingled where they touched, and her pulse pounded a tempting beat.

Any sense of reason was quickly being replaced by physical desire.

And even he couldn’t scoff his way out of this one: his body was responding beneath hers.

Camilla glanced down to where his hands now grasped her hips, his strong fingers buried in the silk of her twisted skirts. She had raised her head to meet his eyes again when he abruptly shifted, pushing her up onto her feet, then slowly rose to his own.

“Apologies, Miss Antonius. I assure you I didn’t intend for that—”

“No, no,” Camilla interrupted, looking anywhere but at the lord and his fierce arousal. “There’s no need to apologize or explain. I should have—”

“Hello? Who’s up there?”

Vexley. His voice came from what sounded like the top of the stairs.

Dread washed over Camilla, erasing all feelings of awkwardness.

“Oh, God, no. Hide! We mustn’t be seen together. Especially like this.” She pulled uselessly at the torn edges of her bodice, but the curve of her breast remained stubbornly free.

Indeed, Vexley sounded intoxicated enough to cause a scene. He stumbled along the corridor, cursing as he smacked into things, drawing slowly closer.

Synton, having restored his own cool, didn’t seem concerned. He merely straightened his jacket and arched a brow.

“Why?”

“Because I’ll be ruined!” Camilla tidied her hair and smoothed her skirts, but the gaping seam couldn’t be hidden. “Fuck, fuck, fuck. This is a nightmare.”

She glanced up at Synton, who, if anything, was growing more amused by her foul language.

“Why in the name of the Crown are you just standing there, my lord? Do you want us to be discovered?”

“I couldn’t care less if that inbreed found us.”

“You should!” She couldn’t help but drop her gaze. “If you cannot get that situation under control, we’ll definitely look guilty, my lord.”

“That situation, Miss Antonius?” Synton’s voice was amused. “Have you never seen a situation before? I suppose propriety would have me offer to marry you immediately?”

She gave him a withering look. Her lack of virginity, such as it was, was none of his damned business.

“I’m not marrying.”

“Hullo?” Vexley called out from the room next door, his voice slurred. “Come out, come out, wherever you are! No fornicating up here, least not without me!”

“We could pretend,” Synton went on thoughtfully as if Vexley weren’t coming to destroy everything she’d worked so hard for over the last two years.

“Pretend?” She must be having a nightmare. “Are you mad?”

“I don’t see how that would be a terrible thing,” Synton said calmly. “He’d stop ogling you if he thought you were involved with someone else. Unless you actually enjoy his advances?”

Camilla shot him an incredulous look.

“It’s not just about Vexley finding us,” she hissed. “If I’m found in a compromising position, society will either demand we marry—not pretend, my lord, but actually marry—or I will be forever ruined. My gallery. My life. I’ll never be accepted again. Surely you know this!”

“Rules are made to be broken.”

“For you, perhaps. But women here do not get that same grace. You have a duty to do the honorable thing!”

Camilla ran to the window, looking down into the dark garden below. There were no guests or, worse, columnists lurking that she could tell, at least.

If only they weren’t two stories up, she’d toss herself out. She cast her eyes around the shadowy corners of the room, but wherever Vexley kept his wardrobe, it didn’t seem to be here, as each wall gleamed closet-free.

“The forgery!” she cried as her attention landed again above the bed.

“Forgery…”

Before Synton could say more about it, she rushed past him, leaping back up on the bed to snatch the painting off the wall.

But this time it didn’t move an inch, catching her off guard. How the hell had Vexley attached the thing? What had changed?

Camilla worked her fingers underneath the frame and heaved her weight away from the wall, doing her best to pry the painting free. But it didn’t have the common decency to even pretend to budge.

She stared at the cursed thing, wondering how on earth she’d managed to move it not ten minutes prior. She couldn’t have imagined she’d nudged it before Synton interrupted her. Could she?

“Helllooooo.”

The bedroom doorknob rattled, chilling her blood. Any second Vexley would charge into the room and find them alone, and disheveled. And knowing Vexley, he’d embellish the tale until they were both nude and caught midact. Or worse: Vexley would claim he’d ruined her dress and say Synton had found the two of them together. It would be his word against Synton’s, and Synton was a newcomer.

Camilla yanked at the painting one last time, swearing as it remained stubbornly fixed to the wall. Vexley pounded against the door violently now.

“I’m no longer amused. Open the damned door!”

The knob jangled again but held firm.

Softening her grip on the painting, Camilla looked back at Synton. He held up an ornate skeleton key that apparently locked any door as well as opened it, flashing a devious grin.

“That should slow him down for a moment. Maybe two,” he whispered, his voice enticingly smooth. “But we must hurry.”

He pocketed the unique key and moved to the window, scanning the garden below. Seeming satisfied, he pushed open the window, then held out his hand to Camilla.

“Are we making our grand escape, or not?”

Camilla glanced between the lord and the forgery. Freedom was so close she could taste it. How could she willingly leave it behind? Synton made an annoyed noise, drawing her attention back to him.

Grinding her teeth, she climbed down from the bed, keeping her voice low. “My lord, you can simply walk out the door unscathed. Why are you helping me?”

“Trust me, I’m as far removed from a saint as one can get.” He flashed his teeth. “What I am is someone completely uninterested in society games or playing the role of a besotted fool, Miss Antonius. I do not desire the complication. If you’re ruined, it will negatively impact my plan. If you’re attached to that drunkard, it will also complicate matters for me. I’m helping myself first, which has a trickle-down effect of assisting you.”

“How very noble,” she murmured. Of all the men in Waverly Green, how had she ended up stuck with him?

Without another word, Synton nimbly hoisted himself out the window, finding purchase on the edge of the iron roof, then poked his head back inside. Shadows carved his face into dangerous lines, and for a moment, his eyes became ebony pools. Then he blinked and whatever hidden depths she thought she’d seen vanished.

Who is this man? She paused halfway to the window, indecision warring inside her. To be so close to her goal and to walk away was unfathomable. To climb out the window with this stranger seemed insanity. Yet if she stayed, she’d find herself in worse circumstances.

“Camilla.” Synton’s voice rang with authority. “Vexley will break through that door soon. Unless you wish to become his bride, I’d hurry.”

With one final look at the forgery, Camilla made her choice and prayed she would live to regret it.