“I’m not going to ask why he wanted your locket,” he murmured. “I suspect you wouldn’t tell me the truth even if I did.”
Camilla pressed her lips together.
“As long as you’re all right,” he said, looking her over again, “I’m going to bed. Sleep well. We’ll start the painting first thing tomorrow.”
He turned, hand on the knob. And her loneliness rose up in a rush.
“Wait.”
He twisted to meet her gaze. Silent. Steady. When she didn’t speak again, a wry smile tugged at his lips.
“Did you want something, Miss Antonius?”
She wanted him to hold her again, to make the coldness still clinging to her disappear.
His gaze darkened as if he’d read her thoughts, his attention slowly moving down.
She hadn’t been expecting company, and a maid had already helped her into her nightgown and robe. Camilla had her own guest room at Birchwood, with items of hers stashed away for whenever she visited; Katherine wouldn’t hear otherwise.
The robe was made of silk and the nightgown was soft knit lace, the material hugging the contours of her body with gentle grace. Given the nature of the material, much of her silhouette was easily visible. She loved to sleep in its soft luxury, never expecting anyone to actually see her in it.
Camilla was now exquisitely aware of just how little she had on.
Synton’s attention was a hot caress as it slowly moved from her face and then downward. His perusal was thorough, sensual. He took his time, admiring every inch of her body before dragging his gaze back up again, just as slowly.
Camilla’s mouth was suddenly as dry as the desert, her body growing warm and tight. Gone were any horrible memories of the hedge maze. The ghost of what had almost happened had been chased away.
“Was there something
Camilla’s voice drew Synton’s focus back to her face but did nothing to douse the fire crackling between them.
Synton had the air of someone who indulged in his carnal urges often and was well versed in both giving and receiving pleasure. Camilla had never been one to fully submit to another in any capacity, but there was something tantalizing about the thought of being subjected to his every whim and demand.
Before she could stop herself from imagining his previous lovers, jealousy seared through her.
His expression shifted suddenly, the fire giving way to ice.
“Write up a list of everything you need from your home.” His tone was clipped, impersonal. “Tomorrow you’ll be moved into Hemlock Hall.”
“What?” Camilla pulled her robe more tightly around herself, caught off guard.
“My staff will collect your things tonight.”
Living under the same roof as this impossible man was most decidedly a terrible idea.
“I cannot live with you before we’re married. People will talk.”
“Not if you’ve been gifted your own private bridal wing by your protective fiancé. I want you with me from now on, lest anyone else try to harm you.”
“Have I been?” she asked. “Gifted my own wing?”
His smile reemerged, turning positively feline. Bunny herself seemed to perk up from where she’d settled in a corner.
“Disappointed you won’t be sharing my bed for our little ruse, pet?”
She was, rather.
Camilla also knew he was needling her with the endearment to distract her.
“You think very highly of yourself.”
“I’m exceptionally talented at reading emotions. You desire me physically.”
Cocksure. Arrogant. Damnably correct.
She lifted a shoulder as if it were common knowledge and she was unperturbed. “Well, you cannot keep your hungry gaze off me, either, my lord. Each time you look at me I think you’re removing an item of clothing and trying to decide what to do next.”
“Is that what you think, Miss Antonius? That I somehow lack know-how?”
Camilla sensed they were entering dangerous territory again.
She’d been fighting loneliness for the last two years. If she permitted herself this one indulgence, allowed him to make her forget her solitude… maybe the ache would disappear for another few years. They were already pretending to be betrothed.
Why not let that excuse set her free? She could give in to her desires for one night.
“I’m quite positive you’re a proficient deviant when you wish to be.”
Synton’s sparkling gaze filled with challenge. His expression said Camilla was right.
“Tell me, Miss Antonius, are you ever a deviant?”
Camilla had been, that once. Had craved the touch of another ever since.
He mistook her silence. His tone softened to a purr. “Would you like to be?”
He waited, watching. Whatever he saw in her expression made him stalk closer. Like he’d understood she was silently daring him to act on his longings as well.
“Just for tonight,” he said, gaze locked onto hers, setting new rules. Ones that intrigued Camilla, despite herself. “Our secret.”
Camilla’s breath caught. She hadn’t expected him to agree.
“Take off your robe. Hand me the sash.”
Camilla glanced around the bedchamber, thinking of her friend who was sleeping soundly two doors down.
“We shouldn’t,” she said, hand rising to rest on the sash, the cool silk a balm against the sudden warmth in the room.
