Also by the fact that he’d lied about why he wanted the hexed painting. He was clearly hiding something. Then when he’d demanded to know if anyone else had asked for a hexed object, she’d gone cold.
She’d forgotten about the note.
A request from a mysterious collector had come earlier that week, asking after an illustrated book of spells. The note was unsigned, had no return address, so Camilla had tossed it aside, not thinking about it again until now. What could Synton know?
He certainly knew more about that. Camilla ran the slick bar of soap down the side of her body, mimicking his featherlight touch. If she closed her eyes and drew up the memory, the heat of him still lingered.
Along with annoyance.
Camilla had been wrong when she’d thought Vexley was the most aggravating man she’d ever known. Synton now proudly claimed that honor, except—most maddeningly of all—she couldn’t stop thinking of him.
Camilla had been rendered speechless. Not by his crude words, but by her immediate internal reaction to them.
In public Synton had been the perfect gentleman, seeming offended by Vexley’s crass behavior. How different he was when no prying eyes were near, how wondrously sinful.
His whispers felt like their own dark secret. And Camilla was certainly fond of those.
Then he’d gone and ruined everything by negotiating it as payment for her services. As if he could not simply desire her without a price being attached!
His stupid proposition made her feel lonely all over again.
When Camilla had debuted, just after her mother’s disappearance, she’d almost been like any other young woman of her station—charmed by the idea of some prince waltzing her across a ballroom, declaring his love.
In truth, everything had been horrid.
Her father’s eccentric behavior and her mother’s absence had made her a wallflower, standing in the shadows while her friends danced and flirted. It got worse her second and third Seasons, until she stopped believing in her fairy tale.
It had been a foolish dream anyway, one her mother had warned her against.
From the moment Synton strode into her gallery she’d felt drawn to him, a bit of that bright-eyed girl returning, longing to be wanted madly. More fool her, she supposed.
The bell over the door rang loudly, jarring her into the present. She glanced at the clock, startled to see it was now afternoon.
“What have you done with it, you thieving little chit? Did you give it to him?”
Vexley’s thunderous accusation broke the peace of the day and her muddled memories of the night before.
Camilla twisted from her painting, stunned by the absolute fury on Vexley’s face as he advanced, hands clenched at his sides.
Instinct made Camilla want to run far and fast, but some little innate voice warned her to stand her ground, that Vexley was mad enough to give chase and it would be far worse for her if he caught her then.
Camilla kept her voice calm and even. “I’m not sure what you mean, my lord. What have I done with what? And who have I given it to?”
“Do not play coy with me today! You know precisely what I’m inquiring about.”
Vexley towered over her, a serpent ready to strike.
“Where is the forgery? I have spent the entire morning tearing my home apart and it is most certainly not there, so I’ll ask you once again nicely before I stop being a gentleman, where is the damned thing, Camilla? Did you give it to Synton?”
She blinked up at him, hearing the words but having difficulty understanding.
If Vexley believed he was acting like a gentleman, then she might as well declare herself the Seelie Queen of Faerie.
“I haven’t the slightest idea.” Camilla’s pulse roared in her ears as she focused on the most important thing he’d said. Surely she’d misheard him. “Have you lost it? Or moved it and forgot?”
“You think me a fool, Miss Antonius, but I assure you I am not. No, I did not lose it. It was right where I’d left it before dressing for dinner last night. And when I awoke, it was gone.”
Camilla’s mind spun. This was quite possibly the worst news. She’d been certain she’d have another chance to steal the painting back.
Vexley had to be wrong.
The alternative sent invisible spiders skittering across her skin. If someone else had the forgery now…
She straightened her spine, playing for time. “You had enough spirits to fell an elephant during dinner, Vexley. Are you certain you didn’t move it and forget?”
