No columnist had showed up, and since it was the middle of the week and it was near closing, the gallery was blessedly empty. Due to her limited funds, she’d had to dismiss her assistant this morning, a choice that broke her heart. And was now proving even more terrible as the opportunistic scoundrel closed in on her.
“In fact, it’s such a fine painting I had to hide it from view,” he continued, pressing a hip against the large desk as if leaning in to share a secret. “Lest anyone try to steal it from me.”
The famous painting was a forgery, the first and the last she’d ever wanted to create. Two years prior—and nearly eight years to the day after Camilla’s mother abandoned them—her father had abruptly taken ill with a mysterious affliction and could no longer work.
Camilla had emptied their coffers in a desperate attempt to save him, and she would do it again. She’d had several physicians visit their home, had even ventured into the forbidden dark market in search of a magical elixir, convinced his illness was not of this realm.
All attempts to battle Death had been in vain.
It had hurt terribly when her mother disappeared, one bright morning the spring before Camilla came of age, but her father’s death had truly broken her heart.
Pierre had been fearless, as an artist sharing every part of his soul with his audience, as a father raising Camilla on his favorite tales of magic and adventure, of dark realms far beyond Ironwood Kingdom’s shores. Camilla still worried she wasn’t living up to all he’d taught her.
After his death, she’d painted the forgery only to raise funds. She’d hated being dishonest, had considered trying anything else, but both their town house and the gallery were set to be wrenched away by debt collectors, even after she’d pawned all her jewels, and the silver, and rented their country estate for barely enough coin to maintain the staff and groundskeeper’s salaries. Camilla had had nothing left to sell. Save her art or her body.
Or the one thing she hadn’t the heart to pawn. And that sentimentality had come back to haunt her. In more ways than one.
Somehow, though not utterly surprisingly, Vexley had been both cunning and sober enough to spot a minute difference between the forgery and the real painting, and instead of being enraged that she’d attempted to cheat him, had immediately come up with a scheme to profit from her talent. It wasn’t honest work he was requesting now.
Nor would he be paying for her services.
Camilla smothered the urge to knee him in the groin and plastered on another smile.
“A gentleman of your breeding is known to stick to his word, sir. We had a bargain and I’ve more than paid in full. Shall I fetch the memory stone?”
Vexley tossed his head back and laughed, the sound genuine yet somehow grating for that very reason. He found her amusing. Wonderful.
“My darling, what if I were to propose marriage? Would you be more inclined to please your husband then? Surely you’d wish to ensure that we had a comfortable life with a roof over our heads and fine foods in our bellies.”
Now it was Camilla’s turn to laugh. Marriage. To Vex the Hex. And with it a lifetime of servitude and forever being a cheat and liar. Along with the string of lovers he’d not be discreet about and the whole ton thinking she was a plumb fool.
He eyed her speculatively, brows raised, and she realized he hadn’t been jesting.
Camilla cleared her throat, searching for the most diplomatic response to soften the blow. The privileged men in their world did not take well to their whims and fancies being denied, and while she might loathe him, she needed to remain in his good graces until he purged that damning memory and set her free.
“Unfortunately, I am not in the market for a husband, my lord. My gallery keeps me quite thoroughly busy and—”
“You’d continue with your gallery, my dear. With your talent and my connections, we could make more gold annually than the Crown.”
“We were almost discovered!” she hissed. “There will be no money if we’re hanged.”
“You worry too much.”
Vexley waved off that most important detail as if it were nothing at all.
“And there won’t be another scare like that. I hadn’t heard that Harrington already possessed that piece. It was easy enough to convince him that his original was the fraud and Walters’s was the original, wasn’t it? He handed it over to me just as I said he would. And anyway,” Vexley went on, “do you really believe anyone would question my wife? If they did, all we’d need to do is update your wardrobe with some low-cut gowns and they’d hardly care what you were saying or selling after that, my dear. I assure you their attention would be thoroughly diverted. Your bosom is quite impressive for someone of your stature. We can certainly work with that, use it to our advantage.”
“I—”
Camilla was at a loss. Vexley seemed entirely certain that she’d be pleased to have her mind ignored in favor of her body being ogled to further their scheme.
A scheme she wanted no part in.
If he pressed the issue of marriage, it could become a true problem.
In fact, since they were alone and he was encroaching on her personal space, they were teetering near scandal now.
Camilla wasn’t exactly middle-class, even if she operated a business. Her father, eccentric though he might have been, had been high-born and titled. She’d spent nearly all her inheritance trying to save him, so her earnings were critical for maintaining her home and staff. Her father used to say how proud he was of taking care of generations of staff. She did not want to let anyone else down by having to let them go.
All Vexley would need to do was come around to her side of the desk and give the impression that something untoward was happening; then if one columnist spied the action through the window and reported on it, Camilla’s life and all she’d worked hard to achieve would be in total ruin.
An icy finger of dread trailed down her spine.
The lord standing before her had no qualms about blackmail and might very well be desperate enough to trap her in marriage. Then she would be his pawn for the rest of her days.
Vexley suddenly reached for her bare hand and brushed a chaste kiss across her knuckles, his cool lips causing a slight shudder of revulsion that he mistook for pleasure. His pupils dilated, mouth quirking upward. He thought much too highly of his ability to seduce.
“I see you’re overcome by my charms. Let’s continue this discussion another time. I’m hosting a lavish dinner party in two nights to show off my most recently acquired treasure; expect an invitation shortly.”
Before she could find a reasonable excuse to decline, Vexley turned on his buffed heel and exited the gallery.
The bell tinkling overhead was the only indication he’d truly been there and it hadn’t been a wretched nightmare.
He wished to make her Lady Camilla Vexley. God save her.