“You think me a fool, Miss Antonius, but I assure you I am not. No, I did not lose it. It was right where I’d left it before dressing for dinner last night. And when I awoke, it was gone.”

Camilla’s mind spun. This was quite possibly the worst news. She’d been certain she’d have another chance to steal the painting back.

Vexley had to be wrong.

The alternative sent invisible spiders skittering across her skin. If someone else had the forgery now…

She straightened her spine, playing for time. “You had enough spirits to fell an elephant during dinner, Vexley. Are you certain you didn’t move it and forget?”

“Don’t.” He leaned in, blue eyes wild. “You leave early. Not saying goodbye to anyone. And Synton also mysteriously vanishes. Then I awake to a missing painting. If you aren’t in cahoots with him, then I wonder, what happened to Lady Katherine, too? What would her husband think of such unbecoming behavior, such scheming? Especially if it were to become the talk of the ton. Satire sheets simply love a scandal, Camilla.”

“Lady Katherine knows nothing of the forgery, and you’d do well not to threaten her.” Camilla held her ground, nose stubbornly a few inches from Vexley’s own. “I went home at a respectable hour and that somehow makes me guilty? What of the dozen or so others who showed no such tact? You know as well as I do that Harrington or Walters would love to possess that piece for their private collections. They have no idea it’s not the actual painting. Do you truly hold them in such high esteem as to think they wouldn’t steal it, given the chance?”

“Were you not telling me this very week that you wanted our arrangement to end?” he pressed, spittle foaming in the corners of his mouth. “I may not be a detective inspector, Camilla, but that certainly sounds like motive. If you’re working with Synton, there will be hell to pay.”

His hand rose quickly to circle her throat. He rested it there lightly but with dark promise.

Trapped, Camilla went very still.

His gaze raked down the front of her bodice, pausing on the swell of her breasts in her morning gown. For one horrifying moment, she thought he’d rip open her dress.

“Deliver it back by week’s end, or I will see you ruined.”

The bell over the door tinkled pleasantly, alerting them that they were no longer alone.

Camilla’s breath stayed lodged in her chest as precious seconds passed by and Vexley didn’t unhand her. Instead, his pale eyes glittered with malice—he knew exactly what she feared, and he enjoyed it.

But finally, Vexley straightened, his expression changing from fury to lazy indifference before he finally stepped aside, pretending he’d been admiring the art behind her.

“Have that wrapped up and sent over to Gretna House, Miss Antonius. I rather like it after all.” He fixed her with an even gaze. “The splashes of red remind me of blood. They’re raw. Powerful. You know I’ve always found broken things darkly appealing.”

His ability to don a new mask so swiftly was disturbing. Wondering how she’d never noticed it before made her unease grow.

“Of course, my lord.” She accepted his ruse, even if her smile felt as strained as the tension still winding between them. She finally caught a glimpse of the door, where a satire-sheet columnist seemed far too intrigued by their interaction.

“May I assist you with something, sir?” she asked cheerily.

“Lord Vexley!” The columnist ignored Camilla, instead calling after Vexley, who’d swept through the gallery as if he’d suddenly remembered he had somewhere more important to be.

“A moment… is it true that Walters fought with a garden statue last night and lost?”

Vexley paused, debonair act reinstated. “Come now, Havisham. You don’t believe I’ll give up my friends’ secrets that easily, do you?”

Vexley flashed his legendary grin, slowing his pace to saunter out the door, apparently without a care in the world. Camilla waited until he and Havisham had exited the gallery before dropping onto her stool, muscles trembling. She had no doubt that Vexley would make good on his threats if pushed. In fact, he’d seemed ready to kill her then. Her hands came up to her throat, the icy sensation of the lord’s touch chilling her to the core. She’d known Vexley would be angry if she succeeded in stealing the forgery, but she’d never imagined him causing bodily harm.

He’d never been violent before. Nor had she heard any rumors of his being involved in fisticuffs. Vexley had convinced everyone he was simply a drunken, lovable rogue.

But what did she truly know of the lord?

No one respectable visited the dark market as often as he did. Silverthorne Lane was a place where magic slithered through the streets, drinking the life and emotion from visiting mortals. She’d seen it happen firsthand with her father, knew how dangerous a place it was. Once he’d started going there, life as they’d known it had ended.

Initially, as Pierre grew sicker, Camilla, too, had ventured there, damning all consequences. If that was where her father had fallen ill, she believed she’d find the cure there too. And she’d felt the power there, sensed the allure.

After her father had died, she’d gone only twice more.

The first time was when she’d met Wolf, the legendary hunter, tempted by the life beyond Waverly Green he might have offered her.

The second time, she’d gone to warn him away, to ensure that he kept their night of passion a secret. Camilla wanted to stay in Waverly Green, and no one could know she’d thrown her reputation away in a fit of desperation, needing to remember she was still alive, even in the darkness of her grief.

Wolf had left with a vow, but only after promising he’d return one day.

She still prayed that would never happen. Vexley and Synton were trouble enough.

Speaking of… she’d been a fool to think that just because Synton hadn’t pressed her for more information last night, he’d leave it be. One thing she could agree with Vexley on was that somehow, some way, Synton had snuck back into Gretna House.

Camilla would be damned if she’d let one more man blackmail her.

If Vexley was actually going to ruin her, she would at least have the satisfaction of seeing that wretched painting destroyed by her own hand.

Furious, Camilla put a sign on the door informing patrons that the gallery was closed for the day, then went to hire a coach.

She had a sudden need to visit Hemlock Hall.

As she stepped out into the cobbled street, she sensed someone behind her. She spun around, noticing a man leaning against the building across the street. His features were hidden by a hat he’d tugged low over his brow, his size and form indistinguishable under a black cloak.

He had on leather gloves that gave her pause.

Camilla waited for him to push off the building and leave, but he didn’t. He remained where he stood, silent, foreboding.

Vexley wouldn’t have hired someone to watch her, would he?

The answer to that was a simple yes.

She swallowed and hurried to the end of the street, calling a coach. When she climbed in and glanced out the window, the man was gone.

ENVY TILTED BACK his head, considering the forgery he’d stolen earlier. The late-afternoon sunlight slanted through the window, gilding the dust motes he’d stirred with his pacing.

He’d been staring at the impressive painting for the better part of the day, pleased with himself for wrangling it out from under Vexley’s nose while he snored.

The man was a total disgrace, sleeping on his stomach, his pimpled ass uncovered, passing gas as foul as his manners.

A savage part of Envy wanted to hang the forgery in his foyer, invite Vexley over for drinks, and piss a circle around Camilla’s work, marking his territory until the game moved on.