“My lord?”

Envy pasted on a pleasant smile. Society games were already interfering, and he hadn’t even had the pleasure of bedding a lover for his trouble.

He shot one last look in Camilla’s direction, his sin igniting when he saw his pleasure-seeking brother sidle up to her, a fresh drink clutched in his hand.

Lust lifted his glass in Envy’s direction, a smile curling his lips. Gods-damned prick.

Envy could imagine too clearly what Lust would say, how he’d probably attempt to use his sin on Camilla again. Jealousy seared through him as he gathered the masked woman up in his arms, purposefully dancing her closer to where Camilla stood.

He wanted to keep an eye on Lust to ensure that his brother didn’t screw his best chance at saving his court. And perhaps he wanted to see how Camilla reacted to his dancing with another. He swore there had been something there, brief though it might have been.

And if Camilla had considered kissing him, perhaps she was also considering accepting his bargain.

Something like hope kindled in his chest. Tonight might prove to be worthwhile after all.

“IF YOU DESIRE another dance with my brother, take it.”

Camilla tore her attention from the man in the emerald mask waltzing across the dance floor and settled it on Synton’s brother.

She hadn’t noticed when they’d first met, but while he shared the same dark hair and bronze skin as Lord Synton, his eyes were a striking shade of charcoal that now nicely matched his mask.

He gave her a secretive smile that she couldn’t help but return.

There was something infectious about him, something that made her want to enjoy his company.

The feeling was a bit unsettling, if Camilla was being honest.

“It’s improper to dance more than twice with one man, Mr. Synton.”

At that, he laughed, the sound filled with genuine delight.

“While I imagine my brother has laid claim to this already, please call me Syn. I think of myself as the premier prince of sin, no matter what my brothers may say.”

Given the devious twinkle in his eye, she could imagine him in that role.

“Very well, Syn. How many brothers do you have?”

“There are seven of us, each more devilishly handsome than the last.”

Seven Synton brothers, God save them all.

And not a one of them lacking in confidence, Camilla would wager.

He leaned in, dropping his voice to a conspiratorial whisper. “We’re known as Princes of Sin. A title we take very seriously, I assure you.”

Camilla snorted. She didn’t doubt that at all. Though a slight trepidation crept along her spine. Seven Princes of Sin did exist, ruling over a realm called the Seven Circles, though some myths her mother had told her claimed there were once eight.

It couldn’t be…

She studied the man next to her.

“I’ve heard the stories. Let’s say you’re really a Prince of Sin. What do you rule over?”

“If you haven’t guessed already, I must not be a very good prince.”

A frustrating nonanswer. Though Camilla was probably only hoping he and Synton were something other, something more legendary. She wanted an excuse for this irksome attraction. It was far easier to blame it on magic than accept the fact that she liked a scoundrel all on his own.

“Why aren’t you out there dancing?” she asked. “Plenty of ladies keep stealing glances.”

“I much prefer to stir up trouble from the sidelines.”

He turned those unique eyes on the crowd, his smile growing more wicked.

“So much debauchery. It’s good for the soul.”

“Debauchery?”

Syn nodded to the dance floor. “Wickedness.”

Camilla followed his gaze, then sucked in a breath.

Couples who’d been discreetly talking in the shadows of the room had drawn closer together, as if compelled to touch, moving their hands into daring positions on each other’s bodies, their touches hungry and not at all restrained by prying eyes.

Camilla’s attention darted around the room. Those on the dance floor didn’t seem to notice the lapse in propriety. Most were laughing and swaying to the music of the string quartet. They’d all been sampling the drinks, their eyes glassy behind their masks, footsteps unsteady as they whirled.

But around the perimeter, far from the flickering candlelight, a few couples had begun to kiss. Throats, ungloved hands, lips, breasts…

“What on earth…” Camilla couldn’t believe it. She blinked as if that would erase the scene unfolding in the darkest parts of the glorious chamber. Heat crept along her body, inching up her neck, down to her belly.

Beside her, she realized that one masked couple had begun to make love, right up against the wall, the woman’s flushed skin emerging from under her dress as she wrapped a bare leg around her partner’s back. Candles flickered wildly on either side of them until they went out one by one, keeping their secret.

Camilla’s heart thundered in her chest. This couldn’t be truly happening. And yet…

She looked at the silver trays that kept coming, the drinks flowing freely. Had something been added to them, something that lowered inhibitions?

“Well, there’s a complication I didn’t expect,” Syn muttered. “Shall we take a turn about the garden, Miss Antonius?” He abruptly stepped in front of her, attempting to block her view.

But he was too late.

She ducked beneath his arm, watching in fascinated horror as the masked brunette rolled onto her toes and yanked Lord Ashford Synton’s lapels toward her, leaning in for a kiss, right there in front of the entire ballroom. A few couples stopped dancing, lips parting in shock.

At least Camilla wasn’t the only one who’d been rendered speechless.

And yet the cursed lord didn’t immediately disentangle himself from the masked beauty.

Not that Camilla watched for very long—or even long enough to see their lips crash together. The moment leading up to the kiss was all she’d needed to feel ill. Without thinking, she spun on her heel, fleeing the ballroom before she could do something ridiculous.

“Camilla, don’t!”

She ignored whoever called out for her, not wanting anyone to witness her jealousy, and pushed open the doors to the terrace, rushing down the stairs toward the hedge maze.

The damp cold of the autumn air stung her eyes and seeped in through the thin layers of her gown, chilling her to the core.

Camilla welcomed the feeling of ice—she wanted to feel nothing but numbness, to think of nothing but the cold.

Otherwise, she’d recall Synton and the way she’d wanted him to grab her earlier, press his mouth and body to hers until they couldn’t figure out where either of them began or ended.

She wanted to drown in his kiss, submerge herself in untold passion.

Camilla was startled to admit it, even silently to herself.

When he’d danced with her, saving her from Vexley, she’d foolishly thought it meant something. Just like the gown he’d sent. And the paintbrush.

All it meant was that he wanted something from her; he didn’t want her.

Camilla ran as fast as she could, rushing down one row of the hedge maze to the next, her slippers soaking in the dew of the freshly cut grass, icing her toes until each step felt like she was treading across tiny steel blades. The pain helped ease the ache in her chest.

She ran until the viselike grip of jealousy loosened, giving way to annoyance at herself.

Camilla should not suffer for a man who clearly didn’t harbor any secret affection for her.

If Synton didn’t wish to—

One moment the path ahead was clear, and the next she collided with the very man she’d been running from.

Lord Synton held her arms tightly, catching her before she stumbled and fell. Above her, his gaze was glittering and hard in the moonlight. He’d discarded his mask, and with it, any pretense of civility. Whatever looked out from his eyes did not seem human.