Five #2
“So you’re responsible for most of his pieces? He doesn’t… work with anyone else?” Synton asked stiffly, ignoring her question entirely. There was an edge in his tone now, subtle but there. She’d think it hinted at envy, but of what, Vexley’s art?
Camilla hid her annoyance.
Answering a question with another question was an excellent diversionary tactic.
She wondered if he was really asking about the dark market, which often intrigued newcomers, but it was neither the time nor the place to discuss that scandalous enterprise.
Silverthorne Lane was an area most in high society pretended didn’t exist. She avoided it herself, after her father’s obsession with it had grown so intense in his final months.
She hadn’t wanted to fuel any of the rumors they’d faced toward the end—society had whispered that her father had fallen in love with a Fae dealer there and had become addicted to the dark magic that could offer a few hours of oblivion.
Camilla knew neither was true.
Her father was obsessed with something far more dangerous.
“Vexley does purchase through me quite often, though I’m only one of many dealers.”
An arm slipped around her waist.
“Now, darling, you’re much more than an art dealer to me.”
“Lord Vexley.”
Camilla’s spine stiffened at the most unwelcome weight of Vexley’s arm on her person.
When she thought it couldn’t get worse, the rake’s palm shifted lower, cupping her backside.
Camilla seethed from both the uninvited touch and Vex the Hex’s bold insinuation that there was more to their relationship. If she needed further proof that she must act tonight and win back her freedom, this was her sign. In fact, she prayed she wasn’t too late.
She quickly sidestepped, dislodging herself from the embrace without anyone—aside from Synton—noticing the lapse in propriety.
But Synton wasn’t looking at her at all. He was coolly staring Vexley down. His expression had turned so frosty with displeasure, for a moment she swore she could see her breath in the air.
“Do you always lay claim to things that don’t belong to you, Vexley?”
Camilla’s lips parted in shock. Did Synton sound… jealous?
Luckily, Vexley snorted like Synton had told a clever joke, signaling that he’d already helped himself to a few glasses of spirits.
“You must be the newly arrived Synton. I’ve heard you’re quite the collector yourself. Though I doubt yours is as large as mine.”
Synton ignored the insinuation, his attention landing squarely on Camilla once again. “I’d love a private tour of your gallery, Miss Antonius, to see your taste. I’m in the market for several pieces for my own gallery at Hemlock Hall.”
“Hemlock Hall?” Vexley interrupted, realizing he was being slighted. “That place is a wreck.”
“Miss Antonius?” Synton pressed, still not deigning to acknowledge their host.
Camilla understood immediately what Synton was offering. In his own bullheaded, arrogant way. She had no desire to be alone with him in Wisteria Way again, but that circumstance was far preferable to being within pinching distance of Vex the Hex.
“I can make time later this evening or tomorrow at first light.”
“Tonight, then.”
“Very well, my lord.”
Camilla wasn’t sure she should be grateful for Synton’s interference. It felt a little like hopping from a cast-iron skillet into a blazing fire.
Synton had an agenda of his own, but at least she was choosing which devil to get into bed with. Proverbially speaking, of course.
An image of Synton lying sprawled across dark sheets, bronze skin gleaming, arms folded behind his head, flashed in her mind before she banished it.
“Come now, Synny.” Vexley either missed or ignored the anger flickering in Synton’s eyes at the nickname. “Camilla shouldn’t be traipsing around the art district at indecent hours.”
“Miss Antonius has made her decision, and I don’t recall inquiring after your uninformed and, frankly, rather dull opinion, Vexley.”
Camilla sank her teeth into her lower lip to keep from drawing attention by either gasping or laughing. Synton had well and truly dressed the disgraced lord down in his own home.
A beat later, Vexley’s face flushed scarlet, the tips of his ears turning the brightest shade of pink she’d ever seen as his mind caught up with the insult.
Objectively, Vexley was a physically attractive man, but the way his face contorted now made him look demonic.
“How dare—”
A knock came at the drawing room door, quickly followed by the butler.
“Dinner is ready, my lord.”
Called to duty, Vexley immediately returned his demeanor to that of the unruffled rake, his mouth hitching high on one side in a lopsided smirk.
“The time to feast has arrived!” he announced, then twisted on his heel, wavering only slightly before offering his arm to Camilla. “Miss Antonius. Friends. Shall we?”
Camilla felt Synton’s heavy gaze land on her once again, weighted with disapproval, but she didn’t dare to look at him, nor to publicly reject Vexley’s theatrical chivalry.
All she had to do was make it through this dinner.
Then, after the more polite crowd had departed and the drinking began in earnest, she’d sneak off to find that forgery and set it ablaze, incinerating Vexley’s hold over her once and for all.