“Lord Vexley!” The columnist ignored Camilla, instead calling after Vexley, who’d swept through the gallery as if he’d suddenly remembered he had somewhere more important to be.
“A moment… is it true that Walters fought with a garden statue last night and lost?”
Vexley paused, debonair act reinstated. “Come now, Havisham. You don’t believe I’ll give up my friends’ secrets that easily, do you?”
Vexley flashed his legendary grin, slowing his pace to saunter out the door, apparently without a care in the world. Camilla waited until he and Havisham had exited the gallery before dropping onto her stool, muscles trembling. She had no doubt that Vexley would make good on his threats if pushed. In fact, he’d seemed ready to kill her then. Her hands came up to her throat, the icy sensation of the lord’s touch chilling her to the core. She’d known Vexley would be angry if she succeeded in stealing the forgery, but she’d never imagined him causing bodily harm.
He’d never been violent before. Nor had she heard any rumors of his being involved in fisticuffs. Vexley had convinced everyone he was simply a drunken, lovable rogue.
But what did she truly know of the lord?
No one respectable visited the dark market as often as he did. Silverthorne Lane was a place where magic slithered through the streets, drinking the life and emotion from visiting mortals. She’d seen it happen firsthand with her father, knew how dangerous a place it was. Once he’d started going there, life as they’d known it had ended.
Initially, as Pierre grew sicker, Camilla, too, had ventured there, damning all consequences. If that was where her father had fallen ill, she believed she’d find the cure there too. And she’d felt the power there, sensed the allure.
After her father had died, she’d gone only twice more.
The first time was when she’d met Wolf, the legendary hunter, tempted by the life beyond Waverly Green he might have offered her.
The second time, she’d gone to warn him away, to ensure that he kept their night of passion a secret. Camilla wanted to stay in Waverly Green, and no one could know she’d thrown her reputation away in a fit of desperation, needing to remember she was still alive, even in the darkness of her grief.
Wolf had left with a vow, but only after promising he’d return one day.
She still prayed that would never happen. Vexley and Synton were trouble enough.
Speaking of… she’d been a fool to think that just because Synton hadn’t pressed her for more information last night, he’d leave it be. One thing she could agree with Vexley on was that somehow, some way, Synton had snuck back into Gretna House.
Camilla would be damned if she’d let one more man blackmail her.
If Vexley was actually going to ruin her, she would at least have the satisfaction of seeing that wretched painting destroyed by her own hand.
Furious, Camilla put a sign on the door informing patrons that the gallery was closed for the day, then went to hire a coach.
She had a sudden need to visit Hemlock Hall.
As she stepped out into the cobbled street, she sensed someone behind her. She spun around, noticing a man leaning against the building across the street. His features were hidden by a hat he’d tugged low over his brow, his size and form indistinguishable under a black cloak.
He had on leather gloves that gave her pause.
Camilla waited for him to push off the building and leave, but he didn’t. He remained where he stood, silent, foreboding.
Vexley wouldn’t have hired someone to watch her, would he?
The answer to that was a simple yes.
She swallowed and hurried to the end of the street, calling a coach. When she climbed in and glanced out the window, the man was gone.
THIRTEEN
ENVY TILTED BACK his head, considering the forgery he’d stolen earlier. The late-afternoon sunlight slanted through the window, gilding the dust motes he’d stirred with his pacing.
He’d been staring at the impressive painting for the better part of the day, pleased with himself for wrangling it out from under Vexley’s nose while he snored.
The man was a total disgrace, sleeping on his stomach, his pimpled ass uncovered, passing gas as foul as his manners.
A savage part of Envy wanted to hang the forgery in his foyer, invite Vexley over for drinks, and piss a circle around Camilla’s work, marking his territory until the game moved on.
Instead, Envy reined himself in, remembered that strategy was what won wars.
And certainly, a war was on. Last night his second attempt to secure Camilla’s help had failed. He only had one more opportunity before he was disqualified. And while the rules surrounding any forfeit were still unclear, the realities facing his court were anything but.
Envy needed to win.
He’d been trying to keep a positive attitude, but things were bleak. He couldn’t use his magic to influence Camilla—seduction didn’t work.
Asking straight out had failed spectacularly.
“Fuck.” Envy raked a hand through his hair, glancing up at the painting again.
Desperation made people messy, careless. Envy needed to focus. Stealing the forgery had given him a bargaining chip to use with Camilla. He’d seen how much she wanted it. So, when Camilla had tried to tear it from the wall, he’d used a tiny bit of magic to lock it in place. Collecting it himself was an insurance plan, a card hidden up his sleeve. Since it wasn’t outright persuasion, it wasn’t breaking any of Lennox’s rules.
Now that he had secured the forgery, Envy considered what else he might focus on.
Preparations for the ball were well underway, as it was nearly upon them, only two nights away now.
The manor house was fully restored to its former glory and then some. The dark wood gleamed from its recent buffing, the new velvet draperies hung thick and lush. The artwork brought over from his real private collection was tastefully displayed across the estate, and he’d shown the staff how to prepare his preferred custom drink—the Dark and Sinful. It was a decadent concoction he’d created one evening of muddled blackberries, brown sugar simple syrup, bourbon, orange zest, and a splash of champagne.
They’d scoffed at the name, but none had protested after they’d sampled it.
Now he could turn his full attention toward attempt three. His spies hadn’t unearthed anything of great importance on Camilla yet, only things he’d already known—although they had confirmed his suspicion about the secret tunnel her father had made. It was laid on top of a realm line, an invisible magical boundary that might open to other realms. Not many knew of them and even fewer used them. Particularly here in the human realm.
Envy hadn’t sensed that the tunnel had been activated, so it wasn’t presently in use. And he hadn’t seen any runes or a portal key notch, although that didn’t mean Pierre hadn’t hidden one somewhere. And even if he had, Envy doubted he’d been able to unlock it.
Portal keys were only gifted by two species that Envy knew of: Fae, primarily the Unseelie royalty who ruled the dark court, or very powerful shape-shifters—like werewolves.
Instead of wasting the rest of the day with his growing frustration, perhaps Envy would pay the infamous dark market a visit. At least then he might learn more about what Vexley had been up to. He’d been so convinced that the man was another player, but after his baffling performance last night, Envy hoped this wasn’t his competition. It’d be a letdown. But it would be helpful all the same to find out who else in Waverly Green might be privy to realm lines.