“Do you sculpt, Lord Synton?” she asked.

“Why do you ask, Lady Janelle?”

A pleasant flush rose in her cheeks.

“You have the hands of an artist, my lord. I can’t help but picture them molding objects to perfection. If you ever need a model, I’d be happy to pose.”

A flicker of annoyance surprised him, beckoning from Camilla’s side. But when he stole a glance at her, she wasn’t looking at him at all. Instead, she was fixated on Vexley, who was leaning toward her, eyes glassy from the fifth glass of wine he’d finished.

“Lord Synton?” Lady Janelle ventured, her breasts near to spilling out as she leaned farther forward.

Envy was saved from having to respond when the man to her left finally pulled his head out of his rear end to take an interest in the woman. And her generous cleavage.

Luckily, Janelle seemed very pleased by this turn of events as if that had been her goal all along. Games within games.

Vexley’s dinner party had quickly departed from the polite as harder spirits began to circulate alongside the wine, ensuring that the guests—both the ladies and the gentlemen—were getting as intoxicated as they desired.

“Sweet manna from heaven,” Envy whispered, swiping a whiskey cocktail from a tray, for the first time in his life regretting that his demon blood kept him from getting as soused on mortal liquor as all the rest.

Hours later, after the last dessert was brought out and cleared away, the host snatched a chalice from the table and lifted it high, spilling half its contents down his coat sleeve and splattering the remaining red liquor onto the table linen, as if re-creating a murder scene.

Envy kept his face impassive, though annoyance raged within. He despised messy displays. It showed a lack of control.

Surely this inebriated fool couldn’t be his competition.

“Ladies, please see yourselves to the drawing room while the gentlemen smoke our cigars. We shall all take a few moments to gather ourselves before I show off my newest treasure. Afterward, how about we all play some… games? If you dare.”

Without looking in her direction, Envy tapped into Camilla’s emotions, noticing a drastic spike in her nerves. All the while Vexley spoke, her discomfort wound around Envy’s insides, as if her growing anxiety were his own.

Miss Camilla Antonius was either up to something nefarious or was nervous about what Vexley had in store for everyone. Or perhaps she was excited by the prospect of his games.

Envy recalled what Goodfellow had said. He fought the urge to look at her.

It was entirely possible that Envy had read Camilla’s emotions wrong earlier—perhaps she’d only been upset with Vexley for his public display and not his unwelcome touch.

Anticipation and nervousness were nearly identical at their core, so it was impossible to discern which emotion the artist was currently experiencing. It was rare that his supernatural senses couldn’t aid him, and Envy didn’t care much for this uncertainty.

But perhaps it was another opportunity. If he could determine what Camilla was up to tonight, then he could devise a way to make himself indispensable to her, thus ensuring that she’d help him in return. No seduction required.

“All right, then,” Vexley said finally. “Let’s be on our way.”

Out of the corner of his eye, Envy watched Camilla bolt for the door. Without drawing attention to himself, Envy quickly stood, but just as he pushed back his chair, he was stopped by Lady Katherine.

“Do be a dear and escort me to the drawing room, my lord,” she said, blocking his path.

He glanced from the meddlesome woman to the door, debating whether using his magic now would in any way count against him. It was small as far as risks went, but Envy couldn’t chance breaking any rules of conduct.

“It will be but a moment,” she added.

A moment was all Camilla had needed to slip away, a fact that her friend either seemed to know or had surmised just as he had.

Outmaneuvered by propriety, of all cursed things, Envy pasted on a pleasant smile and offered his arm.

“Of course, Lady Katherine. Lead the way.”

AFTER A QUICK scan of the corridor to ensure that she was alone, Camilla all but ran toward the staircase leading to the rooms on the upper level, the sound of the dinner party growing louder as everyone moved toward the door she’d just exited through.

Hopefully most of the guests were too inebriated to notice her hasty exit and would be focused on the naughty games Vexley had not so subtly hinted at.

It never ceased to amaze her that even the most level-headed man could become so simpleminded with the promise of sin. During her first few Seasons, she’d secretly watched couples sneaking off during balls, rushing to the gardens to give in to their desires. Men were clapped on their backs, deemed rakes and rascals, if they were discovered. Yet the women were tossed aside as harlots, condemned for acting on what was natural to both parties. It was unfair and rankled Camilla more than she ever let on.

Men had the luxury of remaining eligible bachelors while still feeding their sexual appetites, yet women were warned to remain saintly should they refuse the noose of wedded bliss. And Camilla played that game too, loathing it but unwilling to forsake her reputation, her highest bargaining chip in this realm.

Thinking of desire, she thought again of Lord Synton, then quickly shook that away. With any luck, he would become distracted by one of the many ladies who’d openly admired him during dinner.

Annoyance overtook her nervousness for a moment, though Camilla had no right to feel that way. It was just that the idea of Synton sneaking off for a clandestine affair rather than seeking out her company irked her. In her fantasy he’d been consumed only with her, focusing on her pleasure the same intense way she studied a subject she painted.

It was that intensity she’d loved imagining, that feeling of being wholly consumed by another person.

Just once she wanted someone to want her. Not her art. Not her talent. Her.

Sometimes she felt so alone. Her father was gone, so was her mother. The fantasy of Synton had reminded her of all she didn’t have but wanted. But in truth Synton hadn’t looked in Camilla’s direction or sought her conversation during dinner at all.

Which was precisely why she would never confuse fantasy with reality again.

Shoving those distracting thoughts away, Camilla focused solely on the task at hand: find the forgery and destroy it.

Wide oak planks creaked noisily beneath her slippered feet, causing her pulse to speed as she grabbed a fistful of her skirts and leapt onto the first step, ascending out of view right as the dining room door crashed open against the wall and the sound of voices spilled into the corridor like uncorked bottles of wine.

“Oi!” Vexley yelled. “Watch it, Walters. Or you’ll cause a bigger scandal than Harrington did when he pissed on that statue.”

Camilla didn’t dare stop as the boisterous laughter grew closer. She’d overseen the installation of almost every piece of art in Vexley’s home, giving her an intimate knowledge of its layout. The first door on her left contained a reading room with a few shelves of books, two comfortable chairs, and a decent fireplace. It was much smaller than the main library downstairs and remained mostly unused by the lord.

She tiptoed inside, closing the door with a quiet snick, relieved to see the fire burning gently. Vexley might not pick up a book as often as he picked up a hand mirror, but he was vain enough to want to give the appearance of being well-read, should anyone secret themselves away to steal kisses in this chamber.

“Right, then. The painting.”