To pass the last half hour before closing, Camilla returned to her painting. Getting lost in creation was precisely what she needed to do to forget Vexley’s absurd proposal.
She’d been trying to paint a world she saw repeatedly in her dreams, one where winter reigned in all its stark, lethal beauty.
Camilla had just returned to her easel, plucked up her paintbrush, and sat when the bell over the door sounded again. This time she nearly snapped her brush in two.
How dare he come back and coerce her again.
She closed her eyes and prayed for some hidden well of strength to appear and save her from committing murder. At eight and twenty, she was far too young to be either locked in a cell or beheaded for strangling that scheming, arrogant rake right then and there.
“Apologies for any insult it causes,” she said without peering out from around her easel, “but I am not in the market for a husband, my lord. Please just go.”
A beat of silence passed. With any luck, Vexley would be insulted by the bite in her tone and would turn right back around and leave for some faraway city at the edge of the world.
“Well, that’s quite a relief, considering I’m in want of a painting, not a wife.”
The deep, rumbling voice had Camilla immediately standing up from her stool to see who it belonged to, her lips parting in surprise.
The man who stood just inside the doorway was most decidedly not Vexley.
For a moment, Camilla somehow lost the ability to speak as her attention roved over the dark stranger.
This man was tall, his hair black with the slightest hint of brown in the flickering candlelight, and while his frame was lean, she noticed the hardness of his body as he moved farther into the gallery, his clothes tailored to show off the definition.
Not moved but prowled.
Camilla innately sensed that she was in the presence of a jaguar—a sleek apex predator one couldn’t help but be fascinated by even as it drew close enough to bite.
His eyes, a unique, lovely shade of emerald, glittered as if he knew where her thoughts had traveled and he rather enjoyed the idea of sinking his teeth into her flesh.
Whether he would do so for pleasure or to cause a bit of pain, Camilla couldn’t immediately discern. Though if the wicked gleam flaring to life was anything to go by, she’d choose the latter. Which indicated he was quite dangerous, yet her heart wasn’t pounding from fear as he stalked closer, his gaze lazily taking her in as if he had every right to do so.
This man owned every inch of space around him, including her attention. Camilla found she couldn’t have looked away if she’d tried. Not that she was trying very hard.
He wasn’t simply handsome, he was striking, his face a study of fine contradictions that made her fingers twitch with the urge to paint the hard, chiseled angles of his face, the soft curves of his lips, and those jewel-toned eyes that stood out against his bronze skin, forever capturing that devilish glint on canvas.
His beauty was cold ruthlessness with a regal edge. A polished blade meant to be admired even as it cut you down. He’d make a fine portrait, one Camilla imagined would cause quite the stir among noblewomen.
Her cheeks pinked at what she’d said about marriage, and she hoped it was too dim in the room for him to notice.
A hint of mirth curled the edge of his sensual mouth, indicating that he had indeed picked up on her embarrassment.
If he was a gentleman, he’d let it pass without comment.
“You are Miss Camilla Elise Antonius, I presume.”
His knowing her middle name struck her as odd, but when he studied her appearance with quiet intensity once again, she could barely form a clear thought.
No one had ever looked at her with such singular focus before—like she was both the most glorious answer and an exceptionally troubling riddle tied into one.
“Correct, sir. How may I help you?” she asked, finally regaining her wits.
“I came to discuss details of a piece I’d like to commission,” he began, his voice like warmed honey melting over her, “but I’m intrigued by you now, Miss Antonius. Is that how you welcome all patrons or just the ones you find incredibly handsome?”
Only the ones I find insufferable, she thought crossly as the spell she’d initially felt broke.
Camilla bit her tongue to prevent herself from outwardly commenting on his arrogance.
She’d been wrong. He was no jaguar, he was a wolf.
Which meant he was just one more cocky aristocratic dog she’d need to rid herself of this evening.
“Are those the specifications?” she asked, nodding to a crisp piece of hunter-green parchment he held.
Her tone was as cool as the autumn air outside, but the gentleman didn’t seem at all put off. If anything, a flicker of intrigue ignited in those impenetrable, jewel-like eyes.
He silently held the parchment up for her, not moving from where he stood near her desk.
Camilla hesitated. He was making her come to him.
It was either a subtle show that he could be trusted, or a calculated move to exert his will upon her. Given the dangerous curve of his mouth and the cold calculation in his eyes, it had everything to do with power.
Here stood a man who wanted to be in control. Camilla considered kicking him out to put him in his place and his wolfish smile grew wider, his gaze quietly mocking.
“Unlike asking for your hand, you’ll find it’s a rather simple request.” His attention never wavered from hers. “Come. Look for yourself.”
Said the wolf pretending to be a sheep.
Camilla highly doubted that anything this man wanted would be simple but made her way to him nonetheless. The faster she knew what he desired, the faster she could send his dark, mysterious arse on its way and be rid of him—and his wicked grin—for good.
TWO
FEW THINGS PLEASED the Prince of Envy more than making a strategic move.
Fortunately, as he placed the parchment down and slid it across the old desk, careful to avoid snagging the paper on the scarred wood, today was one such glorious day. He was one step closer to unlocking his second clue.
From what he’d briefly observed of Waverly Green, the females in this realm were taught to please males. He had little doubt that Miss Antonius would have the painting completed by week’s end. All he’d need to do was walk in, command the room, and she’d do his bidding.
The woman who now stood across from him narrowed her silver eyes, her full lips turning down as she read. Her embarrassment had quickly given way to annoyance.
The feeling prickled over his skin, not quite the stabbing sensation of fury, but with enough effort, he was certain she’d get there. And as that was his brother Wrath’s sin of choice, Envy wanted nothing to do with stoking Camilla’s anger.
“See?” he asked, his tone deceptively casual, though internally he was feeling anything but. His heart thudded against his ribs the longer the artist stared at his note. She wasn’t reacting the way he’d imagined.
When she finally glanced up, he offered her one of his most sinful smiles.
She arched a brow, less than impressed.
Well, then. He’d get straight to the point.
“As promised, it’s a rather simple request, Miss Antonius. I want a painting of a throne. Pristine and dazzling on one side and blazing with flames on the other. If you succeed in this piece, I’ll commission another.”