Throne of the Fallen

TIME SEEMED TO stand still as Camilla considered Synton’s offer.

It was the best option she had, she supposed, considering the circumstances. Although she couldn’t understand why he’d want anything to do with her after… what she’d just done.

The violence, the blood, the pain. She exhaled, trying to push that attack from her mind.

Unlike Vexley, Synton wasn’t blackmailing her or forcing her hand. He hadn’t manufactured this discovery, had previously admitted to wanting to avoid playing any society games.

The fact that she’d just mortally stabbed someone on his estate, and he’d assisted in covering it up, was certainly something they’d need to discuss. But he’d protected her. Held her when she started to fall apart.

She glanced down at herself, wondering at her dress. The lack of bruising. If she went to the authorities, no one would believe she’d been brutalized. Had Synton used magic to heal her? It was possible if he’d visited the dark market like she’d told him to.

“Miss Antonius?” he prompted quietly. “Do you accept?”

If she was Synton’s intended, Vexley wouldn’t be able to try to coerce her into marriage himself. And if he tried to blackmail her again, she had a feeling Synton would be more than happy to dissuade him.

And if Synton succeeded in locating her father’s key?

It was almost too good to hope for.

The lord’s patient gaze was fixed on her face, his own expression impossible to read. But for one moment he’d given her a look filled with such hope, such silent urging, she’d known how desperate he was. She knew next to nothing about him, but her instincts said to trust him.

Camilla nodded.

“I accept.”

In a flash he pulled a pear-shaped emerald-and-diamond ring from his pocket and placed it on her finger, its size wildly large on her tiny hand. The ring was beautiful, expensive.

Territorial.

No one would be able to miss the damn thing.

She pressed her lips together, wondering why he’d conveniently had this in his pocket. But her suspicions faded in the next second, as Synton twisted and punched Harrington in the mouth, the sound like a whip crack in the sudden quiet.

The lord cursed, stumbling back as blood poured down his chin.

Walters jumped back too and screeched before tearing off across the maze.

Camilla could only stare, unblinking, at the scene before her. Harrington wasn’t a small man by any means, but Synton had dispatched him with only one punch. And it looked as if he’d restrained himself.

Exactly how strong was he?

“Are you bloody mad?” Harrington yelled. “You broke a tooth!”

Synton landed another solid blow to his opponent’s middle and Harrington went down.

“Now you’ve got a matching rib. If you ever speak of my betrothed in such a manner again, I’ll rip your tiny, limp cock off and shove it down your throat. Have I made myself clear?”

“What in God’s name is going on here, gentlemen? Though I use the term gentlemen very loosely.”

Lady Katherine rushed upon their little gathering. Tossing her gray mask aside, she looked between Synton and Harrington before scrutinizing Camilla.

A hundred questions were brewing behind her steady gaze, and Camilla knew she’d demand answers later, but for now Katherine seemed appeased and stared down at Harrington, shaking her head.

“How many scandals will you be involved in before you act as a man of your station ought to, Harrington?” Katherine asked. “Wasn’t relieving yourself in front of the duchess lesson enough? You’re not nearly charming or handsome enough to carry on like a buffoon.”

Harrington wheezed as he glared at Synton. “I caught this rake with your friend. God only knows what he would have done if I hadn’t come upon them and interceded.”

“You interrupted my proposal, misread the situation, and proceeded to spread ugly rumors without giving either of us a chance to defend ourselves.”

Synton wrapped an arm around Camilla’s shoulders, drawing her near. She nestled closer without pause. His warmth enveloped her, reassured her.

“You insulted Miss Antonius and offended me. Count your blessings that I haven’t challenged you to a duel.”

“You’re not engaged,” Harrington scoffed. “You got caught with her tits nearly out and—”

Synton had him on the ground again.

By now half the masquerade had gathered in the hedge maze, watching Harrington get the life punched out of him.

Camilla ought to feel horrified or sickened, but the truth was she wished to land a punch of her own. That should have bothered her, given what she’d just done to Lord Garrey.

Synton’s head whipped in her direction, his bright emerald gaze clashing against hers.

She could have sworn his lips twitched before his expression was once again hard.

“Would anyone else care to comment on my fiancée?” he asked, his tone deceptively calm.

No one, not even Lady Katherine, uttered a single word.

“Wonderful. If any of you consider changing your mind, I’d recall this scene before spreading rumors. Should any reach my ears, leaving Waverly Green as quickly as possible would only delay the inevitable.”

He didn’t say, “I’ll hunt you down and tear you limb from limb,” but the message was unmistakable.

“And now, my darling,” he said, turning back to her, “shall we find something to toast?”