She fought the urge to flick his cursed bollocks, and, satisfied that the room was not harboring the forgery, she cracked the door and listened for a few beats before exiting.
Voices carried up the stairs like ghosts of lovers past, but this floor was still otherwise unoccupied by the living.
No couple had sought it out, at least for the moment, but as this was one of Vexley’s parties, it was only a matter of time.
Camilla crept down the corridor and quickly slipped into the next room—the bathing chamber. She conducted the same search as before, tapping the walls, pushing at panels, and looking behind other artwork. She dropped to the floor and peered under the claw-foot tub, running her hands over the underside and the floor just in case.
Nothing.
Camilla pushed herself up to her knees, surveying the room from a different angle.
Her father had always told her to pay attention to the details of a room—that sometimes looking at the negative space revealed more than staring at an object directly.
It was a trick that worked wonders in the woods of their country estate. Camilla once spied a heron standing tall among the trees by spotting its legs in the space between the tree trunks.
Unfortunately, there was nothing out of the ordinary here.
Camilla investigated a linen closet that she prayed held her salvation, but she saw nothing more than neatly folded towels, a silk robe, and extra bars of soap.
Her next two searches, of the guest rooms, provided the same frustrating results, except with the added tingle of trepidation when she swore she was being watched.
She waited in the shadows, back pressed to the wall, heart pounding, for whoever it was to reveal themselves, but of course no one was there.
At last, she paused outside Vexley’s personal bedroom suite, certain there was no way he’d actually have hidden the forgery there. Vexley had said it was away from public view, and knowing what she did of his nighttime activities, his bedchamber entertained more guests than his receiving room.
Still, she refused to leave any nook or cranny unsearched.
With a prayer that luck would be on her side, Camilla entered the one chamber she’d sworn she’d never visit. The overwhelming scent of Vexley’s cologne almost sent her running back in the direction she’d come, but unless he had some secret tunnel that led from his parlor to his bedchamber, Vexley wasn’t waiting for her inside.
This was it, then. She stepped fully into the expansive bedroom, leaving the door cracked to alert her to the sound of anyone approaching.
Camilla wasn’t sure what she’d expected to find—an oversized bed with messy sheets, a few naked women pleasing themselves or each other while they waited—but a standard-sized bed with pristine coverings, handsome yet plain bedroom furnishings, a well-tended fire on the far wall, and the very painting she’d been looking for proudly displayed above the headboard was not it.
“Vexley, you plumb fool.”
Of course he wouldn’t be able to resist showing off the forgery to his lovers.
Without delay, Camilla hiked up her gown and climbed onto the bed.
Her fingers had just closed around the gilded frame when she heard a sound that sent ice shooting through her veins: the creak of the floorboard directly behind her.
She froze, debating her next move. But one thing was certain: with the painting fully in her grasp, she couldn’t let go now.
The fireplace was at the opposite end of the room, but if she moved swiftly, she might manage to toss the painting in before Vexley could snatch it away. It wouldn’t be fully destroyed, but it should be tainted enough that he’d no longer display it or use it against her.
She waited for Vexley to demand she drop the forgery at once, but no cocky or snide remarks came.
Perhaps the noise wasn’t from someone who had followed her into the room. Everyone had been drinking quite heavily—she didn’t think they’d be able to sneak up the stairs, let alone slip undetected into this chamber. Maybe it was just a creaky old house.
But Camilla knew that wasn’t the case; the heat traveling along her neck indicated that someone was indeed in the chamber with her. She steeled her nerves and slowly turned, ready to toss the canvas out the window or throttle Vexley with it if need be.
“Please. Don’t stop on my account.”
EIGHT
SYNTON CASUALLY LEANED against the wall, arms folded across his chest, an amused upward tilt to his lips. He had somehow managed to enter the room and close the door behind him without making a sound.
A feat that should have been impossible for a man of his size.
“I’m rather interested to see what comes next, Miss Antonius.”
Instead of allowing him to have the upper hand, Camilla decided to turn this around. False bravado could work wonders.
She let the painting go long enough to place her hands on her hips and leveled her best haughty glare at Synton.
“What are you doing here?”
“We had an agreement. Remember?” Synton’s gaze left hers to take in the painting. “I came to intercept you before you disrobed for your tryst.”
“My tryst? With Vexley?” Her voice notched up an octave.
Synton cocked a brow, waiting.
“I assure you I would rather attend a Crown ball in the nude than become Vexley’s plaything.”
Synton’s gaze darkened. He nodded toward the painting. “Instead of undressing, imagine my surprise to find you stealing the famed Seduction of Evelyn Gray. That’s rather naughty for an artist.”
“I’m not stealing anything, my lord.”
Lying was not something Camilla normally condoned, but she needed to get rid of him before he ruined her best chance to destroy the forgery.
Silence stretched between them. He didn’t believe her.
Rightfully so, but still.
“Vexley asked me to have this cleaned earlier this week. I was simply fetching it before we left for the gallery.” Before she could stop herself, she added, “You seemed quite enchanted by Vexley’s mention of games. I figured you’d be occupied for a while.”
Amusement ghosted across his features.
“Is that why you ducked in and out of every chamber on this floor? You were coming to fetch the painting while also considerately ensuring that I had time to woo a lover? How utterly magnanimous.”
Camilla’s eyes narrowed.
“Do you make a habit of spying on ladies, my lord?”
“Only the ones who declare they’d never marry me without a proper hello, then get jealous over the idea of me having a tryst with someone else.”
“I am not jealous. And if you must know, I thought you were someone else that day,” she said. “Tonight, I’d been looking for the water closet. If you were a gentleman, you would have announced yourself and offered me assistance instead of lurking in the shadows.”
The wry amusement vanished from his face. He cocked his head to one side, his attention languidly sliding over every inch of her as if each dip and curve were for his viewing pleasure alone.