Текст книги "Throne of the Fallen"

Автор книги: Kerri Maniscalcol

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Текущая страница: 6 (всего у книги 35 страниц)

NINE

ENVY HELPED CAMILLA onto the metal roof, more concerned by the way she squeezed her eyes shut and teetered across the steep incline than by the loud banging still coming from the door inside.

He’d have them down in the garden and off to his waiting carriage before Vexley could find them, but only if Camilla didn’t have a stroke first.

“Open your eyes,” he demanded quietly.

Having her break her neck would be inconvenient, to say the least. He had no idea what her death might mean for the game, but it certainly wouldn’t be good.

Camilla shook her head, her face pale in the moonlight.

For the first time since their tumble, Envy tuned in to her emotions, feeling the iciness of her fear travel down his own spine. If he’d been mortal, he’d have shuddered from the coldness of it.

Camilla wasn’t simply afraid, she was petrified.

“Is it the height or the fear of being caught?”

“Both,” she gritted out, keeping her eyes shut tight.

His magic detected a lie, but he couldn’t dwell on it.

Her teeth chattered loudly, and soon her whole body would start shaking. Her slippered foot slid across the roof.

Envy didn’t wish to reveal any hint that he was more than human, but Camilla needed to be on solid ground before she did something reckless, like faint.

He slipped one arm under her legs, then banded the other around her middle, tucking her small frame tight against him.

Surprisingly, she curled into his body without resistance, shivering like someone who’d been pulled from frigid waters. Her reaction was extreme, even for human fear, but he had no time to puzzle it out now.

“Relax,” he commanded. “This will be over in a second.”

“What do you—”

“Quiet.”

She squirmed and he stepped off the roof, landing effortlessly with a quiet thunk in the dewy grass before she could cry out.

Instead of being relieved, Camilla latched onto him harder, practically crawling up his body as she pressed her face into his chest, her breathing quick and uneven.

He swept a hand over her forehead. Sweat beaded across her brow and the back of her neck. He glanced up at the roof, brows tugged close.

“Camilla. Breathe. We’re on solid ground.”

“We… we could have died.”

“Death isn’t in my plan, pet.”

A beat of silence passed.

“Do not call me pet.”

“Noted, kitten.”

She uttered a filthy name under her breath, her trembling easing as she shifted from fear back to annoyance.

He smiled. Good. She was feeling feisty enough to work through whatever beginning stages of shock she’d been experiencing.

Perhaps he also smiled because he realized he liked annoying her. Despite the strict rules of this society that tried to tame women, she bit back. He enjoyed seeing her teeth.

Envy was so focused on Camilla that he didn’t notice they had company until a pointed object cut through the night, jabbing him sharply between his shoulder blades as a shadowy arm lashed out from the shrubbery.

A hiss escaped his lips—more from surprise than pain—as he spun around, keeping Camilla out of harm’s reach.

“What—”

“Unhand my friend at once, you scoundrel!”

Lady Katherine leapt from the nearest bush, lifting her weapon again—her heeled shoe—and waving it threateningly.

Envy closed his eyes, wondering whether the game was truly worth this cost. If his brothers could see him now. Being assaulted by women’s footwear.

“I swear, if you ruin her—”

“Does it look like I’m ravishing her?” he growled, keeping his voice low.

Lady Katherine still brandished her shoe, but she craned her neck and hobbled awkwardly on one shoeless foot to get a better look at Camilla.

Just then Vexley’s voice bellowed out from above, drawing their attention to the open window and the shadowy figure stumbling past it. With luck the idiot would fall out.

Envy turned back to Lady Katherine, his patience gone.

“Unless you’d like to be the cause of her ruination, move out of my way. Now.”

Lady Katherine kept her cool gaze locked on Envy.

“Her dress is torn.”

“You’re very astute,” he deadpanned, earning a fierce glare.

“You can leave her here in the garden with me and go, my lord. Scandal avoided.”

“Please, Kitty.” Camilla’s voice startled them both. “I wish to leave now.”

“You’re certain this gentleman hasn’t accosted you?” she asked, still glaring at Envy as if he were the lowest form of life and cradling the heel of her shoe as if to jab him again. The way she said gentleman indicated she meant vile deviant. An accusation that was fitting enough.

“Yes. Please. We need to leave before someone spies us. You know columnists always sneak onto the property.”

Katherine’s expression suddenly shifted. “Oh! Is he a potential loyal companion?”

“Kitty!”

Camilla’s strength at last returned, and she practically shoved herself out of Envy’s arms to stand on her own, teetering only slightly.

That reaction certainly piqued his interest, but before he could gather any more information, they heard an approach.

Lady Katherine, the shoe-wielding bandit, pressed her lips together but hobbled back, allowing them finally to pass without any more interference.

As Camilla passed by, she reached out to squeeze her friend’s hand.

Envy wasted no time. He strode toward the side alley, where he’d instructed his driver to wait, pleased that Camilla hurried along after him without prompting.

Hushed voices and a giggle carried across the garden, sounding suspiciously like Widow Janelle—followed by a soft moan, which spurred Envy to grab Camilla’s hand and lead her the rest of the way to his carriage as swiftly as possible.

This villain would play the role of gentleman only so long before he struck back. The next clue was practically in his grasp, and Envy would be damned—more than he and his court already were—if he allowed one more person to stand in the way of his securing that painting before time ran out.

TEN

ALL CAMILLA WANTED to do was crawl into a hot bath and forget that this cursed night had ever happened. To have had the forgery in her hands and to be unable to grab it felt like unjust cruelty. If only she’d had a few more minutes alone or if Vexley hadn’t come drunkenly knocking, maybe she’d be soaring high on her newfound freedom.

Instead, she felt leaden with despair.

She’d not only lost the greatest opportunity she’d had, but she’d also nearly died on that godforsaken roof and would have to answer Kitty’s questions regarding Synton and the unfortunate lack of anything untoward occurring between them.

She wondered if he felt that strange allure with everyone—she certainly had never become enraptured by physical desire quite like that. Except for maybe that one time with her hunter. Even then things had been different.

Camilla had wanted Wolf, had thoroughly enjoyed their night of passion and being completely free to act however she pleased; he’d been a tireless lover who matched her in so many ways, even if he’d reminded her of how lonely she was, how much she yearned for someone like her, and tempted her to live as he had.

It was wonderful while it lasted, but it wasn’t the same urge she felt around Synton. He made her want to shed her own civility and indulge her passions.

Which was dangerous for her life here.

“Dreaming of strangulation, Miss Antonius?”

Synton’s deep, rich voice drew her attention to where he sat across from her in the carriage, his face half hidden in shadow as they rolled down the cobbled street toward her town house.

“Pardon?” she asked.

Synton leaned forward and she followed his gaze to her lap.

She’d been flexing her hands in a way that did look rather threatening.

“Your tone sounds far too intrigued by that thought, Lord Synton. It leads one to believe you’re a secret deviant.”

“And your tone sounds far too intrigued by that revelation, Miss Antonius.”

A smile twitched at her lips.

When they’d first gotten into the carriage, they’d only spoken twice. Once for Camilla to give her address and the second for Lord Synton to insist upon draping his overcoat around her.

It was a slow sort of torture to be surrounded by his intoxicating scent and feel the warmth of his body that had lingered in the fine material when he’d shrugged the coat off and immediately placed it around her shoulders.

She’d been relieved when he hadn’t pushed to visit the gallery—after her night, she was far too drained to show any paintings at this late hour.

Plus, Camilla wanted to put some much-needed space between herself and the lord after their awkward encounter in Vexley’s bedchamber.

Largely because she couldn’t sort out whether she was more relieved or embarrassed that Synton hadn’t wished to touch her. Obviously, he’d been physically attracted to her—his arousal had been plain as day. Which made her wonder if he was attached to someone else, or if he’d been repulsed by the idea of touching her.

He’d said he was worried about being trapped in marriage, which might be the biggest reason behind his refusal to even kiss her.

At least he hadn’t mentioned the forgery.

Camilla was more upset with herself for that slip than for anything else. Synton didn’t seem like the sort to spread news, but she really didn’t know him. It would be quite the salacious bit of gossip to share at the next party or ball—the gallery owner and artist who led a secret life selling forgeries and deceiving society.

As if he’d plucked the very worry from her head, Synton said casually, “I won’t tell anyone. About the forgery.”

Relief flooded her system until he added, “As long as you answer two questions truthfully.”

Camilla felt her agitation rising again and fought the urge to roll her eyes as he continued.

“If you lie, I’ll know. Do we have a deal?”

He watched her closely, his emerald gaze intense, until she reluctantly nodded, her silver gaze holding his with as much defiance as she could muster.

“Is Vexley using that forgery against you?”

She blinked, surprised by his intuition. And she wasn’t certain why, but she believed he was telling the truth about knowing if she lied.

“Yes.”

“Has he asked you to paint anything else?”

“Yes.”

Camilla tensed, waiting for him to press for more information.

A beat of silence passed while he studied her features, his own expression impossible to read. Synton now knew one of her darkest secrets. As if the threat of scandal weren’t enough, he now held the same power over her as Vexley.

“I am nothing like him, Miss Antonius.”

Something dangerous flared in his gaze.

Did he just read my mind?

“Of course not. Control your expressions. They betray your thoughts as clearly as speech.”

Without uttering another word, Synton sat back, his face half hidden as he turned to look out the window once again.

Camilla realized it had been a purposeful action—that he did not want her to glean anything from him in return. It felt like a small victory, all things considered.

They traveled the rest of the way in silence, Camilla practically on the edge of her seat, vibrating with nerves as her home finally came into view. Greenbriar Park, where Vexley lived, was only two streets away, but they were long avenues and took ages to traverse at night because of the street cleaners and the market carts making their creaking way home.

She inwardly sighed when the carriage stopped one door down, just as she’d instructed. Home. A bath. Her bed. Blessed distance from this man who was starting to know too much and, she suspected, had quite a past of his own.

“Thank you for—”

One moment Camilla’s hand clasped the door handle, the next she was on Synton’s lap, his iron-like arm banded around her waist to hold her still. The curtains that had been tied back from the window were swinging shut.

“What—”

“There is a man outside your home, Miss Antonius.”

Synton flicked the edge of the curtain back just enough for her to peer out, scanning the street. It looked empty to her.

“On the west side, over there. He’s watching your door and he’s highly agitated. I need to know why.”

“How do you know he’s agitated with me?” Camilla felt exhausted.

“Is there a jealous lover I should know about?” Synton pressed.

“Oh, for heaven’s sake. I don’t see… Oh.”

There, in the darkest part of the shadows, Camilla caught a minuscule flicker of movement. How Synton had noticed it was beyond her.

She swore under her breath when another figure moved next to the first.

“Satire-sheet columnists. With all the excitement tonight, I forgot they sometimes watch the homes of Vexley’s party guests. They report on who left with whom so they can fuel more gossip. We should be all…”

Camilla closed her eyes, remembering the glaring reason why she couldn’t pretend it was Lady Katherine dropping her off.

Even in the dark alley where Synton’s carriage had been waiting, she’d noticed SYN painted across the doors in silver ink. The lord didn’t have to come inside for the columnists to run wild with their headlines:

ANGEL OF ART SUCCUMBS TO SYN

Beyond the danger of the scandal, Camilla also did not need Vexley to discover that Synton had taken her home—if Vexley believed another man was a threat to their arrangement, she had no doubt he’d do something rash to secure her forever.

“There’s a place we can go to avoid them,” she said at last. “Have your driver pull onto the next road.”

Camilla would be forced to reveal one more secret to Synton tonight, it seemed.

He pounded a fist against the roof and the driver rolled on.

As they bounced over the cobbled street, Camilla realized she was still on Synton’s lap, his firm thighs bulging beneath her. She shifted, but he made no move to release her.

“Have him turn here.”

Synton did as she instructed, and within moments they’d pulled in front of a seemingly ordinary house.

Each time Camilla saw its cheery exterior, her heart ached.

Her father had purchased the building on the street behind their town house ten years prior—within a week of her mother’s abandonment. Some had called it grief, or madness, and they weren’t wrong. He’d renovated it into a house filled with secrets over the last few years of his life.

To anyone passing by, it appeared to be a normal home. But the front door and windows were only excellent sculptures, secured to the walls. The true entrance was located around the private, gated alley beside it. After the gate was manually opened, by tugging the hidden latch, it revealed a secret door in the building’s side, tall and wide enough to drive a carriage through.

There were no neighbors to the right, only a stone wall too tall to climb over. And the three-story town house itself successfully blocked any other prying eyes.

It was her father’s favorite creation. He’d always loved secret entryways but had become especially obsessed with them toward the end. Camilla never quite knew what to make of this. She suspected it related to his love of the old stories, and perhaps a little to her mother, as if one magical door might unlock all her secrets and reveal where she’d gone when she left him.

No matter the reason, in that final decade, doors, portals, entryways, and passages all became Pierre’s greatest source of inspiration. He’d painted them, sculpted them, and made this whole house as an ode to whatever world it was he desperately wished to find.

Camilla had never shown any of this last phase of his work before. It was better that no one knew who he’d become. And while her father might not have understood, she did: some doors were not meant to be opened.

After she had instructed the coachman how to open the gate, they pulled up in front of the massive door. “Have your driver pull the lantern on the right toward him,” Camilla said.

If Synton was curious about the odd request, he didn’t let it show.

A moment later, the door opened wide, and they drove the carriage into the dark space beyond. They waited for the door to close behind them before Camilla exited the coach.

Synton followed her out, his attention sweeping across the cavernous room, only dimly lit by a few flickering gas lanterns. He quickly took in every bridle, saddle, and stack of hay before looking her over anew.

“What a lovely barn. And how do you plan on sneaking past the columnists?”

“You confound me, my lord. Of all the questions you could ask, that is the most burning one? No matter where you’re from, a secret door cannot be common.”

He raised a brow.

“I’ve heard of your father’s eccentricities, Miss Antonius. I’m assuming this was his doing. A fine workspace, I’m sure, but at present, I am more concerned with getting you home than delving into your unusual family history.”

Camilla could hardly believe Synton had gleaned so much from that cursory glance. When her father had been alive, he had used the space as his studio. He’d claimed he needed the space, and the quiet, to truly work. In the back was a staircase that led to a washroom and two bedrooms on the second floor that contained all his art supplies. The third floor had remained an open expanse dedicated solely to showcasing his work.

No one except Camilla had had access to this studio, and until this moment, no one but her and her father had ever set foot inside.

“What I cannot piece together,” Synton went on, “is the reason we’re here. Are you planning on waltzing down the street on foot, as if you’d been out for a stroll?”

“Of course not. I’m going through the secret tunnel, naturally.”

She pointed to a pile of what appeared to be broken wheels in the corner.

It was another of her father’s creations. When she turned the topmost wheel, it would release the trapdoor hidden beneath.

“Thank you for your help this evening. I’m capable of traveling the rest of the way on my own. If you press against the haystack, it will open the side door again. Good night, my lord.”

Synton appraised her with cool calculation.

“I will not be so easily dismissed this time, Miss Antonius.”

He brushed past her and strode into the tunnel after releasing the trapdoor. His steps were sure and steady.

“Come. I’ll escort you home. We still have business to tend to anyway.”

ELEVEN

ENVY SPLIT HIS focus between the annoyed woman striding ahead of him—now sans his overcoat, as she’d promptly tossed it in his face—and the secret, arched tunnel.

When he’d been informed at dinner tonight that Camilla’s father was a bit eccentric, he hadn’t gotten the impression he’d been the sort to build secret art studios and subterranean tunnels, filled with doors that seemingly led nowhere.

Yet there they were, walking through a hidden passage that connected one side of the block to the other. He could have sworn he’d sensed a ward outside, too. One that gently encouraged passersby to move on, not to be interested in the house of riddles.

It explained why Envy’s spies wouldn’t have known about the studio. They would have simply gone by it, focused instead on Camilla’s town house, never the wiser.

It was an impressive feat for a mortal. One Envy imagined was due to the time the man had spent on the mysterious Silverthorne Lane.

Thankfully the old man had had gas lanterns installed at even intervals, ensuring that the space was well lit and easily passable.

Not that Envy needed the light to see. It was something Lord Antonius had clearly done for his daughter’s benefit.

An odd charge filled the air that had nothing to do with Camilla’s darkening mood or the way his gaze kept sliding to her torn bodice and the tantalizing lingerie that peeked out with each of her movements.

The design of the lace was beautiful, and he’d almost convinced himself that that was why he kept being drawn to it. Envy appreciated art, and the material was finely crafted.

Surely it didn’t have anything to do with the woman wearing the lovely garment, or the flashes of her smooth, golden skin under the black lace.

Camilla was a walking contradiction—he sensed that she was surprised by her attraction to him earlier, yet she also wanted to throttle him.

It would make an interesting combination in the bedroom.

The artist stopped near the middle of the passage and spun to face him, silver eyes flashing like blades in the dark.

A wiser male would take it for the warning it was.

But Envy preferred walking the knife’s edge of danger.

“Well?” Camilla’s voice was as frosty as the look she leveled at him. “What business is so important that it cannot wait until morning?”

No one would ever accuse her of not being passionate.

“I need you to begin work on the Hexed Throne immediately.”

She stared at him as if he’d lost his mind.

“No.”

“Why are so you opposed?” For the first time that evening, he felt genuine frustration bubbling up. And then it hit him. “Has anyone else asked you to paint a hexed object?”

She gave him an exasperated look. “We’ve been over this, Lord Synton. I’m not painting a hexed object. For you or anyone. Why on earth would you think I’d changed my mind?”

“I did you a favor tonight. I expect one in return.”

“I see.” Camilla’s tone was suddenly clipped. “How foolish of me to think you were simply being a decent human. Thank you for showing me who you truly are, my lord.”

If she knew who Envy truly was, she’d run away screaming and never look back.

In his experience, women like Camilla denied wanting romance, only to end up offering their hearts for bastards like him to eventually break. Lust was so often confused with love.

Envy gave her a slow, cruel smile that made her take an uneasy step away from him.

He was not good, and he was not mortal.

The sooner she realized that, the better it would be for her. If Camilla was sunshine, he was the darkest of nights. And if she wasn’t careful, his shadows would snuff out her light, if only for the fleeting chance to possess her warmth before destroying it.

Love was not for him, but he did rather enjoy one night of lust.

“I warned you. I’m no saint, Miss Antonius.”

He closed the distance between them, caging her between himself and the wall.

“Nor am I a gentleman. I didn’t help you out of the goodness of my heart. You have a rare talent—one that I am willing to pay an extraordinary amount of coin for.”

Anger flashed across her features, and she lifted her chin to meet his gaze.

“Find. Someone. Else.”

“No.”

“You want the painting. Why? Why must it be of that?”

“I desire it for my private gallery,” he lied. “Your talent is well known.”

Sensing the spike in her nerves—and desire—at his proximity, he brought his mouth to her ear. Seduction, he reminded himself, was the path to his second attempt. He needed her to want him badly enough to give in to her desires.

When he spoke, his lips whispered across her smooth skin, the touch barely there but potent in its effect. She shivered in his arms.

“Therefore, I want you. And only you.”

He shifted to see her face.

At first glance, Camilla gave no indication of being affected by their nearness; her expression was cool indifference; but then her gaze betrayed her by falling to his mouth.

He knew what she would see—lovers had always praised the fullness of his bottom lip, the crooked arc to his devilish grin that would free the dimples in his cheeks if he chose to show them off.

But he didn’t expect his own reaction. The heat in her look awakened something in him, something possessive.

Her breaths were coming faster, shorter, her pulse visibly pounding in her throat.

Camilla wanted him.

And he, in turn, now knew her secret, that this little minx desired the demon, excited by all the wickedly tempting things he would make her feel.

“Name your price, Miss Antonius.”

Envy dropped one hand to tuck her loose curls behind her ear, easing his body between her legs, forcing her thighs to spread as he pressed closer.

Her breath hitched as his knee settled at the junction of her body, anticipation thickening the air between them.

Camilla’s tongue darted out to wet her lips.

Earlier thoughts of that tantalizing mouth and all the carnal ideas it had inspired returned with a vengeance. He hardened and saw the exact moment Camilla felt it.

She shivered against the cool stone wall at her back.

“I think I know what you’d like in return.” His hand ghosted down her silhouette, coming to rest on her hip. “Shall I fuck you against this wall?”

Her desire for him flared as he gripped her harder, bunching her silken skirts between his fingers, igniting his own need. His mouth hovered against the skin of her cheek; his focus narrowed to each point of contact between them. Camilla’s chest heaved against his, teasing him with its uneven rhythm.

“First with my fingers, then my cock.”

His body strained to feel hers, soft where he was hard. In this battle of seduction, he was slowly winning. He felt her resolve dissipating, felt her slowly arch into his touch.

“Surely there’s some arrangement we can come to?”

Camilla’s desire evaporated at once.

In its place, he was hit by the familiar prickling of anger.

She shoved at his chest and Envy stepped back, giving her space, surprised at how immediately he felt his own sense of loss.

“There will be no arrangement of any sort between us, my lord. I’d sooner make a deal with the king of demons himself.”

Irrational jealousy barreled through him at the thought of Camilla striking a deal with his brother Wrath, but he bit the iciness of his sin back.

“That can happily be arranged. Shall we leave for his residence now? Once you’re good and sated, perhaps you’ll be more agreeable.”

A low, soft laugh escaped her lips, the sound sending a bolt of awareness through him, one he did not care for as he found his gaze ensnared by her.

“Go home, Lord Synton.”

Camilla grabbed the hem of her skirts and marched down the tunnel toward her house, leaving him where he still stood.

“I’ve had quite of enough of your charms for one night,” she called back over her shoulder.

And yet he could not say the same regarding her.

Envy would do well to remember that Miss Antonius—with her pretty smile, soft curves, and lilting laugh—was not for him, though as her words replayed in his mind, his sin ignited once again. I’d sooner make a deal with the king of demons himself.

Like hell she would.

Camilla was his until the game ended, and he was not known to share.