Instead, Envy’s arm slipped easily around Camilla, and he expertly drew her into a waltz without missing a beat. She stiffened for a moment, then relaxed, her gaze fixed to his mask. Vexley fumed, but the dance had soon left him far behind.
They circled other couples, but Envy paid them no mind. Camilla was a goddess to be worshipped, and tonight she was his.
He watched as she nibbled her lower lip, the action igniting an ember of heat low in his abdomen.
“Something you wish to say, Miss Antonius?” he asked, bringing his mouth to her ear.
He’d meant to tempt her, but that coiled warmth dropped lower, his body suddenly aware of each place they pressed together.
A shiver rolled down her spine—Envy knew, because he felt it beneath his light touch. Her skin pebbled from excitement. He drew her closer, not demanding or forceful, but steady. An edge shy of possessive.
Camilla didn’t back away. Instead, she leaned in, as if matching his move. Daring him to up the ante. His hand gently stroked along her back, her sharp intake of breath hardly noticeable as they whirled.
“Camilla?” he prompted, his breath stirring the delicate silver curls near her neck.
“People will talk about what you just did, my lord.”
Amusement laced his tone.
“And what would they say?” He guided her around again, moving faster, keeping pace with the music. “That I stole a dance? That I prevented a drunken ass from making a spectacle? Or that I could not care less what anyone thinks?”
She was quiet a moment.
“The paintbrush was lovely. But bribery is always tempting, isn’t it?”
He smiled. “Consider it merely a simple gift.”
“With all due respect, my lord, I’d wager nothing with you is simple.”
His chuckle was deep and delighted. Miss Antonius was a formidable opponent. He might actually miss sparring with her when all this was through.
Envy maneuvered them to a shadowy section off to the side, affording them a moment of privacy.
“If I wished to coerce you, Miss Antonius, I can think of much more interesting ways to do so.”
Camilla’s gaze dropped to his mouth, lingering there a beat too long before she jerked it back up, quickly glancing away. A pretty blush stained her cheeks.
Interesting.
He considered tilting her chin up, tracing those full lips with his, kissing her right there. He wondered if she’d be scandalized by his behavior, or if the mask would make her daring.
A throat delicately cleared behind them, breaking the moment. Envy didn’t immediately step away or drop his arms from Camilla. He shot an annoyed look over his shoulder.
“Yes?” he asked, tone clipped.
The brunette held up her dance card. “This dance belongs to me, my lord.”
Envy blinked, realizing that the music had stopped, that a new song was beginning. He was about to dismiss the woman, who he suspected was Widow Janelle behind the white feathered mask, when Camilla stepped back, dipping her chin in a slight nod, then swiftly moved across the dance floor, heading straight for the refreshment table.
Envy stared after her a beat. He’d been so close to… what? Getting her to say yes, or gaining her trust? Maybe he simply wanted to kiss her in that moment, make Vexley and anyone else watching mad with envy.
The brunette shifted back into view, her gaze behind her feathered mask drinking him in.
“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.
EIGHTEEN
“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.