“Quiet.”

She squirmed and he stepped off the roof, landing effortlessly with a quiet thunk in the dewy grass before she could cry out.

Instead of being relieved, Camilla latched onto him harder, practically crawling up his body as she pressed her face into his chest, her breathing quick and uneven.

He swept a hand over her forehead. Sweat beaded across her brow and the back of her neck. He glanced up at the roof, brows tugged close.

“Camilla. Breathe. We’re on solid ground.”

“We… we could have died.”

“Death isn’t in my plan, pet.”

A beat of silence passed.

“Do not call me pet.”

“Noted, kitten.”

She uttered a filthy name under her breath, her trembling easing as she shifted from fear back to annoyance.

He smiled. Good. She was feeling feisty enough to work through whatever beginning stages of shock she’d been experiencing.

Perhaps he also smiled because he realized he liked annoying her. Despite the strict rules of this society that tried to tame women, she bit back. He enjoyed seeing her teeth.

Envy was so focused on Camilla that he didn’t notice they had company until a pointed object cut through the night, jabbing him sharply between his shoulder blades as a shadowy arm lashed out from the shrubbery.

A hiss escaped his lips—more from surprise than pain—as he spun around, keeping Camilla out of harm’s reach.

“What—”

“Unhand my friend at once, you scoundrel!”

Lady Katherine leapt from the nearest bush, lifting her weapon again—her heeled shoe—and waving it threateningly.

Envy closed his eyes, wondering whether the game was truly worth this cost. If his brothers could see him now. Being assaulted by women’s footwear.

“I swear, if you ruin her—”

“Does it look like I’m ravishing her?” he growled, keeping his voice low.

Lady Katherine still brandished her shoe, but she craned her neck and hobbled awkwardly on one shoeless foot to get a better look at Camilla.

Just then Vexley’s voice bellowed out from above, drawing their attention to the open window and the shadowy figure stumbling past it. With luck the idiot would fall out.

Envy turned back to Lady Katherine, his patience gone.

“Unless you’d like to be the cause of her ruination, move out of my way. Now.”

Lady Katherine kept her cool gaze locked on Envy.

“Her dress is torn.”

“You’re very astute,” he deadpanned, earning a fierce glare.

“You can leave her here in the garden with me and go, my lord. Scandal avoided.”

“Please, Kitty.” Camilla’s voice startled them both. “I wish to leave now.”

“You’re certain this gentleman hasn’t accosted you?” she asked, still glaring at Envy as if he were the lowest form of life and cradling the heel of her shoe as if to jab him again. The way she said gentleman indicated she meant vile deviant. An accusation that was fitting enough.

“Yes. Please. We need to leave before someone spies us. You know columnists always sneak onto the property.”

Katherine’s expression suddenly shifted. “Oh! Is he a potential loyal companion?”

“Kitty!”

Camilla’s strength at last returned, and she practically shoved herself out of Envy’s arms to stand on her own, teetering only slightly.

That reaction certainly piqued his interest, but before he could gather any more information, they heard an approach.

Lady Katherine, the shoe-wielding bandit, pressed her lips together but hobbled back, allowing them finally to pass without any more interference.

As Camilla passed by, she reached out to squeeze her friend’s hand.

Envy wasted no time. He strode toward the side alley, where he’d instructed his driver to wait, pleased that Camilla hurried along after him without prompting.

Hushed voices and a giggle carried across the garden, sounding suspiciously like Widow Janelle—followed by a soft moan, which spurred Envy to grab Camilla’s hand and lead her the rest of the way to his carriage as swiftly as possible.

This villain would play the role of gentleman only so long before he struck back. The next clue was practically in his grasp, and Envy would be damned—more than he and his court already were—if he allowed one more person to stand in the way of his securing that painting before time ran out.

ALL CAMILLA WANTED to do was crawl into a hot bath and forget that this cursed night had ever happened. To have had the forgery in her hands and to be unable to grab it felt like unjust cruelty. If only she’d had a few more minutes alone or if Vexley hadn’t come drunkenly knocking, maybe she’d be soaring high on her newfound freedom.

Instead, she felt leaden with despair.

She’d not only lost the greatest opportunity she’d had, but she’d also nearly died on that godforsaken roof and would have to answer Kitty’s questions regarding Synton and the unfortunate lack of anything untoward occurring between them.

She wondered if he felt that strange allure with everyone—she certainly had never become enraptured by physical desire quite like that. Except for maybe that one time with her hunter. Even then things had been different.

Camilla had wanted Wolf, had thoroughly enjoyed their night of passion and being completely free to act however she pleased; he’d been a tireless lover who matched her in so many ways, even if he’d reminded her of how lonely she was, how much she yearned for someone like her, and tempted her to live as he had.

It was wonderful while it lasted, but it wasn’t the same urge she felt around Synton. He made her want to shed her own civility and indulge her passions.

Which was dangerous for her life here.

“Dreaming of strangulation, Miss Antonius?”

Synton’s deep, rich voice drew her attention to where he sat across from her in the carriage, his face half hidden in shadow as they rolled down the cobbled street toward her town house.

“Pardon?” she asked.

Synton leaned forward and she followed his gaze to her lap.

She’d been flexing her hands in a way that did look rather threatening.

“Your tone sounds far too intrigued by that thought, Lord Synton. It leads one to believe you’re a secret deviant.”

“And your tone sounds far too intrigued by that revelation, Miss Antonius.”

A smile twitched at her lips.

When they’d first gotten into the carriage, they’d only spoken twice. Once for Camilla to give her address and the second for Lord Synton to insist upon draping his overcoat around her.

It was a slow sort of torture to be surrounded by his intoxicating scent and feel the warmth of his body that had lingered in the fine material when he’d shrugged the coat off and immediately placed it around her shoulders.

She’d been relieved when he hadn’t pushed to visit the gallery—after her night, she was far too drained to show any paintings at this late hour.

Plus, Camilla wanted to put some much-needed space between herself and the lord after their awkward encounter in Vexley’s bedchamber.

Largely because she couldn’t sort out whether she was more relieved or embarrassed that Synton hadn’t wished to touch her. Obviously, he’d been physically attracted to her—his arousal had been plain as day. Which made her wonder if he was attached to someone else, or if he’d been repulsed by the idea of touching her.

He’d said he was worried about being trapped in marriage, which might be the biggest reason behind his refusal to even kiss her.

At least he hadn’t mentioned the forgery.

Camilla was more upset with herself for that slip than for anything else. Synton didn’t seem like the sort to spread news, but she really didn’t know him. It would be quite the salacious bit of gossip to share at the next party or ball—the gallery owner and artist who led a secret life selling forgeries and deceiving society.