Camilla cringed. A loyal companion was what Kitty insisted upon calling the object of her search for a discreet lover for Camilla, an endeavor Camilla heartily disapproved of.

Aside from a few heated kisses, some heavy petting, and a clandestine meeting with an infamous hunter that introduced her to her first orgasm, Camilla had little real-world experience, living off the details told to her by her married friend. After seeing the pain of her father’s heartbreak when her mother left, Camilla rejected the idea of marriage.

She’d never seriously considered Kitty’s idea, though she still desired a man’s touch. Katherine not only knew this but often tried to play matchmaker, much to Camilla’s amusement and horror. Once her mind was set, Katherine wouldn’t be deterred.

Had Katherine been in the gallery tonight, she would have thought Lord Synton would do just fine for Camilla’s loyal companion, thanks to the sheer dominance that seemed to radiate in the space around him. He was a man who knew what he wanted and went after it.

Synton had walked in and practically laid claim to the gallery with just one arrogant glance, owning everything, including Camilla’s good sense.

Irksome though that trait might have been during the day, Katherine would claim it was a desirable attribute at night in the bedchamber, especially if he’d made it his mission to own Camilla’s body with that same level of authority.

“Your silence leads me to believe you have found someone interesting.”

“No,” Camilla lied. “Not at all.”

Unbidden, and not for the first time that evening, her thoughts turned to a mesmerizing pair of emerald eyes and a sensual mouth that had boasted a very devilish grin earlier.

On the carriage ride to her friend’s house, while the rain lazily drummed its fingers over the roof, Camilla had rested her head against the cushioned wall, closed her eyes, and somehow found herself imagining Lord Synton sitting next to her on the bench, slowly tugging her close, his fingers drifting along her arms, exploring the tiny swath of skin exposed where her gloves and gown diverged as if it held the answer to each mystery in the universe.

He’d lock those emerald eyes on her, watching as he leaned in slowly, affording her time to stop his pursuit, before gently running his lips along the sensitive skin of her neck in a whisper-soft kiss. When her breath hitched from the sensation, he’d work his way along the curve of her shoulder, then down along her décolletage.

His mouth becoming bolder as each expert flicking of his tongue or gentle scrape of his teeth caused a bolt of heat to sear through her.

When she was practically panting, only then would his singular focus fix on her bodice, as he carefully pulled at each lace, undoing them with maddening precision. And then he’d discover one of the most scandalous secrets for a spinster: her love for lingerie, garments that made her feel beautiful, pieces that she acquired quietly from the modiste that were delicate and soft and feminine as they hugged her curves.

Camilla had trailed her own fingers from the bench to her lap, drawing her skirts up, the rustle of the silk its own forbidden music against the rumble of the carriage’s wheels. Slowly she’d begun stroking the sensitive skin above her lace-edged stocking, inching ever closer to the growing heat between her legs.

She had touched herself in the carriage while envisioning his fingers between her thighs, working her body until the coachman rapped at the door, startling her back to her senses and—frustratingly enough—preventing her from achieving her release.

Lord Synton indeed. He was just a rake she needed to stop fantasizing about. Especially after he requested the one thing she would never paint. Anyone interested in a hexed object was to be avoided at all costs. Both her mother and her father had warned her against them—it had been a rare time they’d both been insistent.

Hexed objects weren’t quite sentient, but they weren’t entirely without thought, either. Camilla knew that the witch who’d created them had done so out of hatred, and through dark magic, granting the objects leave to become more twisted and chaotic as the centuries went on.

According to her father’s stories, this meant they could even shift forms—what was once a throne might take on the appearance of a book, or a dagger, or a feather, allowing it to prick or sting or kill for amusement. It might even decide to take over a living creature, inhabiting their form until it grew bored and abandoned the shell of the host.

“Camilla?” Katherine’s concerned face came into view. “Darling, should we open a window? You look a bit flushed.”

“No, please. It’s that last sip of sherry, I think.”

Camilla internally cursed Lord Ashford Synton and his seductive, arrogant mouth for distracting her all over again. It was entirely infuriating to at once dislike a man and be attracted to him. She couldn’t believe she’d thought of him in that manner.

Though the same couldn’t be said about some other men she despised. She’d never almost brought herself to climax in the back of a carriage while imagining Vexley.

And Camilla silently vowed never to think of Synton in that way again either.

“Vexley mentioned hosting a party, have you received an invitation?” she asked.

Katherine regarded her for another long moment before finally nodding.

“It was delivered right before you arrived. Please say you’re going,” she pleaded. “I cannot bear the thought of being there without you.”

If Vexley had sent an invitation, Camilla would need to say yes to avoid his ire, no matter how much she wished not to.

Though an idea was beginning to take shape.

If she went to Vexley’s home during what would certainly turn into a raucous event, she might be able to locate that first forgery.

Vexley had said he’d hidden it—which meant he was keeping it in a private room no guests would visit during the festivities, giving her an excellent starting point.

While the party was fully underway, Camilla would search until she located it, then set it in the nearest fire before Vex the Hex ever knew what she’d done, thus saving herself from any further attempts at blackmail.

It was risky, but should the plan work, the reward was too great for her to miss taking the opportunity.

There had been desperation in the troublesome lord’s words earlier, and Camilla knew that one day soon he’d find a way to force her hand.

“Of course I’ll attend.” Camilla held up her glass to her friend’s and clinked it against hers. “I cannot think of a better way to spend the evening.”

“Liar.” Katherine laughed and shook her head. “But I’m glad you’ll be there. You know how delightfully boisterous those affairs get, especially when Vexley’s been drinking.”

Camilla did know, and she prayed Vex the Hex wouldn’t let her down.

Katherine’s face brightened. “Speaking of interesting affairs, have you heard about that new lord who’s recently arrived? A Lord Ashford something. Everyone’s talking about him.”

Camilla swallowed the sudden lump in her throat.

“Oh? I hadn’t heard. At least people aren’t still whispering about my mother.”

Katherine gave her a sad smile. She’d tried to shelter Camilla from the worst of the gossip over the last decade, especially as ruthless mammas did their best to ensure that their daughters married the best men of their Season.

“From what you’ve told me, Lady Fleur was never a shrinking violet, which is why they still speak of her ten years later,” Kitty said, sensing where Camilla’s mind wandered. “And she was right that all those doltish mothers just envied your talent. Do you remember what you told me she said?”

Camilla huffed a laugh. “They didn’t envy my talent, Kitty. They thought me odd and didn’t wish for their sons to court me.”