“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.