Goodfellow took Envy’s quiet pondering as an invitation to continue his report.

“Cook has been given the market requirements, and I’ve sent the footman out to secure the masks you requested. The gardener has also been instructed on the floral arrangements. Ballroom renovations are underway and should conclude at least two days prior, allowing time for any adjustments Your Lordship might desire.”

“What about the blackberries and brown sugar?”

“Taken care of, my lord. Along with the finest bourbon in Waverly Green.”

Envy nodded. “Progress on the gallery in the north wing?”

“The portraits have all been unveiled and the sculptures are being cleaned now.”

“I trust the hedge maze is also under control.”

“Of course. The groundskeeper has the images you rendered and is tending to it.”

A bit of the tension Envy had been feeling since Camilla’s refusal released. At least something was going his way tonight.

Goodfellow cleared his throat, and Envy fought a sigh.

“Was there something else?”

With a bit more theatrics than was entirely needed, Goodfellow produced an envelope. Crisp, decent ivory stock. Bland and uninspired.

“An invitation has arrived, my lord. From Gretna House.”

Envy stared blankly at the butler.

“Pardon me, my lord. Gretna House is Lord Philip Vexley’s home. He’s a favorite of society, though a bit notorious, if I may speak freely.”

For all his pomp, Goodfellow was also a horrible gossip, only too happy to help Envy learn the ins and outs of Waverly Green.

“What makes him notorious?” Envy sipped at his whiskey, curious.

Goodfellow’s ruddy face flushed a brighter crimson, signaling that licentiousness must be involved.

“It’s rumored he hosts… er, debauched parties, for a select circle of friends, my lord.”

Envy schooled his features. How predictable, and so very human, he thought.

He might as well have some fun and watch Goodfellow flounder.

“Do guests engage in lewd behavior?”

Goodfellow drew in a sharp breath, then nodded. His eyes sparkled with the need to share this delightful scandal.

“And?” Envy encouraged.

“Oh, well, I’ve heard that some guests sneak off to the gardens to”—he glanced around as if to make sure no one else had snuck up on them—“kiss.”

“Kiss.” Envy mentally counted until the urge to stab himself—repeatedly—passed. “Does anyone actually witness this… lewd behavior?”

“Well, I imagine so. Though I haven’t heard any specifics.”

Envy must not have hidden his annoyance as well as he’d thought; Goodfellow quickly continued.

“That’s not saying anything of the art he’s collected. Most of it isn’t fit for polite company. Not that Lord Vexley concerns himself with that. He’s rumored to have an entire private collection of virile-member-shaped implements. He keeps those hidden, else the ladies would faint at dinner. Society looks the other way with Vexley up until a point.”

“That point being virile-member-shaped art,” Envy deadpanned.

“Indeed, my lord. This one is unsubstantiated, but there’s another rumor, that he hosts… demonstrations… once the gentlewomen retire after dinner.”

Goodfellow would have an embolism if he ever visited House Lust.

Demons playing with virile-member-shaped implements was the daily standard there.

However, at the mention of art, Envy’s interest was finally piqued.

“This Vexley is an avid art collector, is he?” Envy asked. Goodfellow nodded. “Is his collection as large as the one here?”

Goodfellow opened his mouth, then snapped it shut, reconsidering.

“I personally haven’t seen it, my lord, so I can’t speak with any authority on that. But I have heard he visits Silverthorne Lane. And you know what they say about the dark market.”

“Enlighten me.”

“Well, my lord, almost everyone in the Green believes the dealers aren’t exactly… human.”

Envy’s brows rose a fraction. He hadn’t heard this. But his spies would certainly hear from him about missing this detail.

“And what, pray tell, are they instead?”

“They say the dealers there are exiled Fae. Mind you, most who enter are also deep in their cups. Personally, I don’t believe in such fairy tales.”

Envy stilled. This was very interesting news indeed.

“You’re certain this notorious lord visits these… Fae?”

“Aye. His footman told me himself, my lord. Once per week, like clockwork.”

“Accept his invitation,” Envy said, dismissing the butler with a crisp nod. Maybe he’d found another player after all.

If Goodfellow disapproved of his master’s decision, he wisely didn’t let it show.

Envy wanted to get a feel for this rake who dealt with Fae, see if his theory was correct.

Goodfellow left to do Envy’s bidding.

If there was one truth that ought to be universally accepted, it was this: when sin was involved, no gentleman in this realm or any other could ever hope to compete with a demon.

Most especially a Prince of Hell.

CAMILLA FUSSED WITH her skirts as the carriage rattled over the cobbled street and, next to her, Lord Edwards prattled on about a rooster named Peter.

Apparently, Edwards was having newfound trouble with his cock.

Something Camilla prayed wasn’t a euphemism.

She met her friend’s gaze across the carriage, noting that Lady Katherine had pressed the back of her gloved hand to her lips, likely stifling a giggle. A fact that didn’t surprise Camilla in the least. Camilla and Kitty were made of the same twisted material; they simply hid that fact well. Most of the time.

“… which is why, dearest,” Edwards said to his wife, “we ought to go to Winterset to oversee the estate as soon as possible. We simply cannot permit Peter to run amok.”

If only society felt the same way about Vexley.

“Darling,” Katherine soothed, impressively without any hint of mirth in her tone, “we aren’t due back to our country house for months. I’m sure the chickens will be fine until summer.” She flicked her attention to Camilla. “You will join us again, at least part of the time?”

“Of course.”

Warmth suffused Camilla along with gratitude. When she’d had to rent out her family’s country estate the past summer, Kitty had made sure Camilla stayed for nearly the entire season with them. And Camilla had never said so aloud, but even if she hadn’t been forced to rent out her father’s country home, going there after he’d died would have been torturous. She worried she would feel the ghost of his presence wandering the halls, smell the piping-hot chocolate he always made for them to sip despite the summer heat while he painted and told stories of Fae-kissed humans, beholden to the mysterious fairy king.

In some stories the king was cruel, in others he was godlike and benevolent. As she got older Camilla understood that it was all nonsense, but she adored how Pierre loved his legends, even if, by the end, he clung to them too desperately as his grip on reality loosened.

“Perhaps Miss Antonius can paint Peter’s likeness.”

Kitty heaved a sigh.

Camilla was saved from any further mention of the fowl’s foul behavior when the carriage rolled to a stop. She swallowed the sudden lump in her throat, her nerves tingling as the driver came around to open the door and help her down.

They’d arrived at Gretna House, Vexley’s home.

A town house on Greenbriar Park, in one of the most exclusive neighborhoods on the east side of the Green.

The building—an off-white stone accented with wrought iron terraces and flowering trees and bushes, which cascaded along its front—was perfectly maintained, matching all the other town houses on the street. A beautiful stone fence separated the tiny front yard from the cobbled avenue.