Camilla stood still, her pulse thrashing as his dark eyes dropped, taking special care to follow the line of her décolletage, then abruptly flicked back up to trace her jaw, her lips beneath her mask.

If she’d thought his expression was forbidding a moment ago, it was nothing compared to the brutally cold look he gave her now.

“Never show me your envy again, Miss Antonius. It won’t end well.”

“Do not threaten me.”

Camilla shrugged out of his grasp, not bothering to deny her jealousy.

His lips curved into a wolfish grin. “It was a warning.”

A strange, dark energy surrounded him out here, a mixture of shivering violence and burning lust, two opposing forces clashing together like a brewing storm.

Even with the charge sizzling in the air, she had the impression that he was holding himself back, aware of whatever power he wielded and the damage it could cause.

Her chin notched up.

“And if I don’t heed it?” She met his eyes, unwilling to drop her gaze.

There was one strained beat of stillness, then all the control he’d been exuding snapped.

One moment she was standing there before him, the next she was up against the hedge, the evergreen branches poking into her with a delicious hint of pain.

Synton had pressed his entire length to her front, his hand tangled in her hair, his nose buried against her throat, breathing her in. His body was tense, coiled tight.

With a mere flick of his wrist, he had her mask off, sliding its silky ribbons down over her ears, across her cheek, before he tossed it into the dense shrubbery.

He tipped her face higher, seemingly to decide which he’d like to taste first, her lips or the flushed skin of her throat.

She was shocked to realize she wanted him to taste it all.

Synton angled his face closer, his lips tracing a line of fire along her jaw as he brought them slowly to hers, hovering for a moment in which she could taste the hint of bourbon and berries on his breath. Then, at last, his mouth brushed against hers. Tender at first, and then firmly, sending sparks of desire up her spine.

As he withdrew, his teeth tugged needily on her bottom lip.

“Some games should not be played unless you’re certain you can win.” He ran a finger along the edge of her ear, gently settling her hair back into place. “Stoke my sin again and I will show you what it means to lose, Miss Antonius.”

Without another word, he turned, leaving her alone. She could practically hear the thunder of her heart echoing off the hedge maze, followed a second later by the scorching flame of her annoyance. A dramatic mood shift. Once again.

“Damn insufferable ass.”

She took a moment to collect herself, pulling free of the hedge, straightening her gown and fluffing her skirts. Her annoyance only grew as she plucked her mask from the nearby shrub. She picked a few stray leaves from it, the moonlight sparking off the mask to illuminate the abandoned maze each time she shifted it.

Camilla exhaled loudly, glancing back toward the large manor in the distance. She hadn’t realized how far she’d run. Now the warm glow of the windows seemed like distant stars.

Perhaps she should go home. She was no longer in the mood to play Synton’s games.

Holding her mask in one hand, she grabbed her heavy skirt in the other and trudged along silently, looking for the path out of the maze and to the front of the estate.

Surely Lord Edwards and Lady Katherine’s driver would take her home. He could always come back for them.

A twig snapped behind her and she whirled around. A man stepped out from the next pathway, holding his hands up.

“I didn’t mean to scare you, Miss Antonius.”

Camilla strained to see him in the dark. “Lord Garrey?”

He stepped closer, hands still up as if to prove he meant no harm.

“You’re a long way from the ballroom.” He glanced around. “Shall I escort you back?”

Camilla’s heart thrummed faster, her instincts warning her that something was off. Lord Garrey’s gaze kept darting around, his head cocked to one side, as if listening.

His behavior wasn’t what it ought to be, given the fact that he’d come upon her alone. He knew just as well as she did how this would look. He should have turned and left her immediately. Yet he lingered, his attention straying to her neck.

“You know we can’t be seen alone. Please,” she said, keeping her voice calm and steady, though inside she felt anything but, “leave before my reputation is ruined.”

“I imagine that would be worth something to you.”

She didn’t like his tone.

“It’s valuable to every woman in Waverly Green, my lord. I’m no different.”

“But you are, aren’t you?” he asked, taking a small step in her direction. “Different.”

This conversation was heading down a road it shouldn’t.

“If you’re referring to running my father’s gallery, then I suppose I am.” She didn’t bother pointing out that society was to blame for more high born women not running a business, that only her circumstances were different.

He nodded, almost absently, then sprang forward, like a fencer. Camilla was caught off guard by the sudden burst of violence.

Before she could fight back, Garrey had clamped a cloth over her face, preventing her from screaming for help. She clawed at him, nails raking down his skin so hard she drew blood.

“Hush,” he said. “This will be over soon.”

He yanked her around, slipping his hand beneath the chain of her necklace, but not jerking it. She whimpered as his grip on her tightened painfully.

“Give me the goddamn locket, Camilla.”

She shook her head, tears welling in her eyes.

“Don’t make me get rough.”

He tugged at the locket but didn’t use enough force to rip it off. Through the tangle of fear and rage she felt from the assault, this was odd enough to be noticeable. Why go through the trouble of attacking her only to falter now?

Instead, he shoved her down to the ground, pinning her beneath his body. He’d removed his hand from her mouth, but she went still when she saw the glint of metal. Garrey held a dagger to her heart, eyes dark.

“Give me the locket and this will be over.” His voice was low. “I don’t want to hurt you, but I will do what I must.”

Seeing the blade pierce her beautiful dress, Camilla raged. She didn’t want to hurt him either, but she, too, would do what she must.

“The locket isn’t worth much money,” she spat. “You won’t pawn it for much.”

“It’s worth more to me than you can imagine.” He motioned to it with the blade. “Give it to me with your own hand. Now.”

“Why? If you want it, take it.”

“Stop playing games, Camilla. Give it over. And be quick about it.”

Camilla’s mind spun. She could give him the locket. Make this encounter end. But it wasn’t simply a necklace, and somehow, some way, Lord Garrey had figured that out.

A plan slowly formed.

“Let me up.” She added a touch of submission to her expression, made her bottom lip quiver. “I’ll have to stand to undo the clasp.”

Lord Garrey looked her over, his expression pinched.

He didn’t believe her, not fully, but she’d seen that wild desperation in his gaze. She knew, too, that he saw what everyone else in Waverly Green did—a young, aristocratic woman who’d been groomed to obey men.

While he might suspect a trap, he’d also been groomed to believe he could handle her.

He got to his feet slowly and offered his hand. His manners were obscene, considering what he’d just done. Camilla bit down on her retort. Instead, as she came to her feet, she wobbled, pretending her heel had broken in the scuffle.

“Oh!” she cried, falling forward, grabbing his arms to steady herself.

Generations of good breeding snapped in, just as she suspected they would. Lord Garrey dropped his dagger, catching her. And she used the movement to bring her knee up between his legs as hard as she could.