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.
“Bitch!”
He doubled over and she attacked again, following him to the ground like a feral beast after a bone. Which, she thought wryly, she sort of was.
But as she drew back, she tripped over her damn gown.
He used the moment of distraction to counterattack.
He kicked her feet out from under her, knocking the breath from her lungs as she fell. Before she could regain her senses, he rolled on top of her, crushing her with his weight.
“Give me the fucking necklace or I swear I’ll kill you.”
His hands were around her throat, squeezing. Little black spots flickered at the edge of her vision, and she thought she tasted blood. Then she realized: she’d bitten her tongue in the fall. The metallic taste filled her mouth, made her gag.
She clawed at his hands again, now slippery with his blood.
“You bitch.” He was in a rage now, his fingers tightening until she was certain he’d break her neck.
She felt around the ground desperately. Something had fallen, something she could… her fingertip stung as she found his fallen blade.
Blackness filled her vision. She had seconds left. Maybe less.
Her hand slipped over the hilt, the blood making it nearly impossible to clasp. She dragged her hand across the grass, succeeding in wiping some of it away.
“No one said you needed to be breathing,” Lord Garrey said, his face a vicious mask of brutality. She had no idea what he meant. Who didn’t say she needed to be breathing?
Maybe he thought she was too far gone to understand.
“Guess you’ll give me the locket willingly when you’re dead.”
As the final air was forced from her lungs, Camilla grasped the dagger and brought it down, sinking it to the hilt into the side of his neck.
She twisted it, baring her teeth in a snarl, tears streaming down her face.
His grip loosened instantly, and his eyes froze open. Then, slowly, he toppled to the side. Camilla could barely see through the tears that were flowing faster now. She shoved and wriggled her way out from beneath him, trembling from the attack and what she’d just done.