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.