Everlasting Enchantment (12 page)

Gareth.

He pulled her slightly away from the door so he could work his hands between her body and the polished oak. One hand cupped her breast while the other pressed between her legs. Millicent moaned, leaned back against him, surprised to feel the warmth of his naked skin. The man could shed his clothes faster than humanly possible.

His scent surrounded her, earthy and male and uniquely delicious. He nipped the back of her neck, gently twisted her nipple, and stroked her nub until she trembled for want of him. She pushed backward against his legs, silky skin sheathing hard muscle. She rose up to her tiptoes, wanting to feel the part of him that could bring her such pleasure, demanding he enter her.

He chuckled, low and a bit arrogantly. “Nay, my sweeting. It is my turn to love you, and I will not be rushed.”

Millicent’s heart turned in her chest. She couldn’t fathom why his words affected her so strongly, but she felt her eyes burn and blinked away the ridiculous tears.

His lips wandered to her shoulders, to the middle of her back. His hands continued to stroke, to fondle, to caress, until she felt that singular sensation build inside her again. The one she knew would shatter her into a thousand bits when it exploded.

Anticipation made her pant, made her whisper his name between breaths.

Suddenly his mouth was at the back of her ear, whispering his love for her, his breath hot and making the side of her face tingle. He dropped his hands, and she had to bite her lip to silence a protest. He swept his palms down her arms, captured her hands within his, and pulled them up, placing them on the door in front of her. Then he gently pressed down on her back, maneuvering her hips toward him, until she bent forward, supporting the weight of her upper body on the door.

Bloody hell.

He bent his body over hers, his long blond hair tickling the sides of her face, his hands roaming, cupping her breasts, finding sensitive areas on her skin she hadn’t known existed. Then his fingertips found her nipple again, and his other hand pressed between her inner thighs, gently coaxing her legs open.

Millicent eagerly complied.

He kissed her ear, then her cheek, while his fingertips found her nub again. She rewarded him with a sigh, turned her head sideways, and he captured her mouth with his, a rather fascinating angle that made kissing a different experience. But he was building that pleasure to a peak again, and Millicent started to tremble, found it difficult to catch her breath.

He broke the kiss, pulled his upper body slightly away from hers.

“No…”

But he would not listen. And he silenced her in a way she never could have imagined. He plunged his finger inside her.

“Yes…”

The arrogant man chuckled again. Did things with the rest of his fingers that made her tremble.

“Ah, my love,” he murmured, dropping his hands and standing up behind her. He caressed her bottom, murmuring something about perfection, but Millicent could focus only on his touch, on this aching need he had built inside her. And when she felt the hot, silky length of him finally touch her, spread her apart and plunge inside, she thought she might scream.

She no longer wondered at this new position. She felt only the absolute delight of it. He held her hips, thrusting inside her, taking long, smooth strokes, touching her differently with each one, until he found…

Millicent gasped. A surge of pleasure went through her, the deeper one, the one inside her womb. He stilled, allowed the feeling to wash through her, before starting his rhythm once more, this time bending forward and stroking her nub again, building that pleasure to a new peak. And this time he allowed her to reach it, to tumble over the edge, her body rippling with ecstasy, like a flurry of waves washing through her. And that deeper pleasure joined it, until Millicent lost herself to mindless rapture.

He bent his upper body over hers once again, and whispered, “I love you. I love bringing you pleasure.” And then he straightened, and started to gently move once more, to build her up to the heights of passion again.

And yet again.

Millicent came to earth the third time blessing her were-strength, for surely she would have collapsed. “Gareth,” she pleaded.

“I want to hear you say it.”

“Say what?”

“That you love me.”

Millicent froze, a tangle of emotions welling up inside her. How to speak the truth, when she wasn’t sure of it herself? She closed her eyes. “I love being with you. I love the way you make me feel. I love becoming a part of you like this, even if it’s only for a short time. Please, Gareth.”

He plunged inside her, taking her breath away, her thoughts away. He built her to that peak again, but this time allowed himself to join her, to take his own release the moment she found hers. And Millicent discovered a new joy. That bringing him pleasure increased her own tenfold.

When the world settled around her once again, she realized her arms and legs shook so badly she couldn’t unlock them for fear of tumbling to the floor. But as usual, her knight came to her rescue, scooping her up in his arms and carrying her to the bed, lowering them both to the mattress without ever letting her go. He tucked her head into the hollow of his shoulder, pressed her close to him, allowing her leg and arm to flop over his lean torso.

Millicent could barely move…

Could barely keep her eyes open…

And woke to find him gone.

She sat up, aching in places she didn’t know she could ache in, and pressed her hand against the indentation of his head in the pillow next to hers. She ran her palms across the sheet, imagining she could still feel his warmth in the rumpled bedding.

“I do love you, Gareth,” she muttered to herself, “but don’t you see it doesn’t matter? I cannot keep you trapped within the relic and deprive you of a chance for freedom, and my love isn’t strong enough to break the spell. We are doomed, you and I, and it’s better not to forget that.”

As if to prove the truth of her words, the relic had fallen off her arm. She frantically searched the bedding for the band of silver. It had fallen off the bed onto a thick red carpet, and the moonstone within it winked mockingly at her as she picked it up and slid it over her wrist.

Would it tighten around her arm again?

Conflicting emotions rose inside her as the bracelet shrank to fit securely on her arm. Fear, wonder, and a trace of anger at feeling trapped. She wished she knew what it meant… and realized it might mean nothing at all.

But still, she felt the smile on her face as she rose and began to dress.

She had managed to fasten only a few buttons of her gown when Nell screamed, with more terror in her voice than Millicent had ever heard before. She tore open the door and shifted to panther midleap into the withdrawing room, using her stronger vision to search for the danger. But Nell sat on a velvet settee, apparently unharmed, and Millicent could not see anyone else in the room. But she and Nell had been through some tight scrapes, and the old woman wouldn’t have screamed like that unless she had a reason.

She shifted to human. “What is it?”

Nell pointed to a pile of cushions. “It flew in the window.”

Millicent lit a lamp and approached cautiously, remembering the pointy teeth of the sprites the duke had set upon them before. Their bites might be as drug-inducing as Selena’s. But the small creature sprawled across a beaded pillow did not resemble those nasty little creatures. Indeed, this one was quite… handsome, in a pointy sort of way. His brown hair stuck up in all directions, as if he had purposely used pomade to shape it that way, and his pointy nose and chin looked somehow appropriate for his narrow face. He wore a rather smart set of miniature clothing, with a waistcoat of gold brocade, and lace at sleeves and neck. His wings splayed out around him, a lovely display of gossamer iridescence.

He looked like the sort of sprite the gentry aboveground used to carry messages to one another, usually flowery love notes or secret assignations. What on earth was the little thing doing in the Underground?

When she got closer, she noticed the grime covering the lace, the ragged tears at the elbows of his coat, the worn cloth at the knees. Millicent sniffed. He smelled like rotten apples… and gin. Lots of gin.

“You’re not hurt, you little scamp. You’re drunk!” Millicent nudged him with her finger.

One eye opened. A very large brown eye, rather like a puppy’s. “Never drunk, dear lady. Slightly foxed, perhaps. I’m sorry to say that I haven’t been completely drunk since… hmmm, the year eighteen hundred and thirty. Or was it thirty-one…?”

Millicent folded her arms across her chest, catching her sagging bodice in the crooks of them. “What are you doing here?”

Nell walked over and began to button up the back of Millicent’s gown, peeking around her arm to glare at the sprite.

The little man sat up, rubbed a hand across a face that hadn’t seen a razor for a few days, and frowned. “Well, a few years ago I woke up in an empty barrel of ale after getting a
wee
bit too foxed. The smuggler did not appear to appreciate my fine compliment to his beverage, and sold me to a young warlock, along with the rest of his supply. Imagine my surprise at discovering that the Underground was no mere myth, but a real city of dark mages and pubs. Many, many pubs. Since my previous, err, employer, had dismissed my services, I thought to myself: Ambrose, this is a serendipitous opportunity! You shall finally be appreciated by the young, uh, nobles, living down here, and as soon as you pay off your debt to the young warlock, you can be a free agent and—”

“Not in the Underground,” snapped Millicent, flinging out her arms. Good grief, she had not expected his life story. She then pointed to the floor. “But in this
palace
.”

The sprite—Ambrose—rose to his several-inch height and glanced about the room. “Where, exactly, am I?”

Nell had finished buttoning Millicent’s dress and bent down to inspect the little man. “Ye are in the Duke of Ghoulston’s castle, and it’s a bad place ye’ve taken a wrong turn to.”

“My dear woman, I have never taken a wrong turn in my life. Each of my adventures has led me to even greater heights—Ghoulston, you say? Oh, yes, I remember now. I have a message for Lady Millicent.” His pointy gaze swept to Millicent. “A shape-shifter with black hair and cat-eyes. I presume I flew through the correct window, madam?”

Millicent could only nod, afraid if she argued about the honorific in front of her name it would set Ambrose off on another tale. And she was too curious about who could have possibly sent her a message, and why. “Yes. I am Millicent.”

“I don’t suppose you would happen to have a drop of—”

She growled.

“No, I rather thought not.” He let out a dramatic sigh. “The sender of my message is none other than Lord Bran of… err, of the fine establishment of the Swill and Seelie.” He bent over in a bow, and promptly landed flat on his pointy wee face.

Millicent whined in frustration.

Nell glanced up at her. “There’s a liquor cabinet near the sideboard. Shall I fetch a glass? Per’aps if I wave it beneath his nose it’ll bring him to.”

“Good idea.”

Nell hobbled over to a carved mahogany cabinet tucked in the corner of the room, opened the doors to reveal a sparkling display of bottles filled with rich brown and red liquids. She chose one at random, uncorked it, and brought it to the sprite, waving it over his prone form.

The fumes of the brandy had a startling restorative effect on the sprite. His pointed nose twitched, his eyes flew open, and he scrambled to his feet with a bounce. “Jolly good. I knew you had to have some about.” His wings fluttered as his gaze flicked to the cabinet. “An abundant stash, I see.”

Millicent lowered her face to mere inches away from his. “What is the message?”

“Err, my memory is still rather fuzzy. I have found that a few swallows of excellent—brandy, is it not? Yes, brandy—will often sharpen my faculties.”

“Give me the message now, and you can have all the brandy you want. Continue to be a nuisance, and I shall pluck off your wings. Slowly.”

Nell cackled, and Ambrose gave her an injured look, but quickly spit out his message.

“Bran is aware of your forced confinement, and feels that as your employer, he
bears
a certain responsibility for you.” The little man grinned at his play on words.

Millicent blinked. How astonishing. She had never suspected that Bran felt anything other than a mild interest in her beyond the bounds of her ability to do her job.

“And he will send a force to rescue you. He has offered free drink for a fortnight to any volunteers, and has enough men to show the duke that he is a man—shape-shifter—not to be trifled with. He hoped I would find you so you would be prepared for his attack this evening.”

Millicent glanced at Nell, who appeared to be just as surprised by the message.

“Per’aps it’s a matter of pride,” said the old woman. “Fer it’s a foolish thing for Bran to go up against a sorcerer, even if he’s immune to the duke’s magic. Silver blades will cut him just as easily.”

“Whatever the reason,” replied Millicent, “we cannot accept his offer of rescue until we find out the duke’s plans for Gareth. But you, Nell. We should get you away from here.”

“And miss all the excitement? Ach, no, me gel, I’m staying right here with you and the knight.”

Millicent huffed. It did no good to argue with Nell if she had her mind made up. She glanced back at Ambrose, who kept gazing at the large bottle of brandy with lovesick eyes.

“Ambrose.”

He ignored her.

“Nell, fetch a thimble for him, will you? He’s liable to swoon again.”

Iridescent wings twitched. “I never swoon, madam. Lose my equilibrium, perhaps. But never swoon.”

Nell fetched a thimble from Millicent’s sewing supplies and carefully poured a drop into the makeshift tankard, and handed it to the little man. He downed the contents faster than any of the patrons of the Swill and Seelie, causing her and Nell to gape at him in admiration.

“Quality brew,” he said, wiping his mouth on a well-stained sleeve, and looked up at Millicent with a renewed sparkle in his large brown eyes. “Now then, where were we?”

“I want you to return with a message to Bran. Tell him I have… unfinished business with the duke. Tell him to wait for a message from me to move. Then you come back here, so I can send him to you when it’s time.”

Those pointy brows furrowed. “There appears to be more afoot here than just a simple kidnapping. My services do not come cheap, my dear, and I would rather not involve myself in anything… too dangerous.”

“You may avail yourself of the entire cabinet.”

His gaze riveted on the sparkling bottles and their contents. “I daresay, that is rather generous—”

“As long as you can manage to fly with my message when the time comes,” added Millicent.

“Madam. I assure you, I have never been unable to fly. I may wobble a bit—”

“But ye always manage to fly,” finished Nell. “We gets it. Now off with ye, before…”

Millicent cocked her head at the door. “I hear it too. Someone’s coming. Go on, Ambrose, and return soon.” She watched the sprite test his wings, spin upward into the air, and out the window. She hoped he would come back.

The door to their prison finished opening and Selena stepped inside, clasping her hands in front of her with a flourish of rippling sleeves. She wore a black gown of such fine silk that it fluttered with every move she made.

“Don’t you wear anything but black?” muttered Millicent.

She flashed her pointed teeth. “It suits my mood most of the time. And right now, I’m annoyed with having to fetch you for the duke.”

Millicent lowered her lashes, hiding the spark of interest in her eyes, and spoke as surly as she could. “What does he want now?”

“Just put these on,” snapped the were-bat, tossing a mound of golden silk at her. “And make it quick. It’s past my feeding time.”

Nell followed Millicent into the bedroom and helped her put on the clothing, a voluminous gown with long, puffed sleeves and multiple petticoats.

“Did ye notice they come for ye when our knight ain’t around?”

Millicent wondered when Gareth had become “their” knight. “I rather think he scared the duke at his last appearance.”

Nell snorted. “Per’aps. Or per’aps the duke has a plan that he don’t want Sir Gareth buggering up. Or per’aps—”

“Hush, Nell. We all agreed that we must find out what the duke is up to. I’m counting on his ego to brag about it over tea.”

“Still, I’m coming with ye.”

“Not unless the duke demands it. I need you here in case Ambrose returns.”

The old lady glanced at the bracelet on Millicent’s wrist. “Our knight won’t be out for hours.”

“I know, and it hardly matters. Since when do I need a man to protect me?”

Nell raised one red brow, but did not say another word as she followed Millicent out of the bedroom.

Selena narrowed her eyes. “You look suitably ridiculous. Like a rat with a silk bow around its neck. Come on.” She spun in a swell of black silk, toward a group of guards waiting just outside the door, then glanced over her shoulder at Nell. “The old woman stays here, of course, to insure your cooperation.”

“With what?” asked Millicent.

“Apparently you have received an invitation to take tea with Lady Yardley.”

***

Millicent sat across from the Duke of Ghoulston in his private coach once more, but this time they left London until the windows afforded a view of the English countryside. The light hurt her eyes, but she continued to squint at the vista of green spread over hill and meadow, the quaint cottages covered in roses, the grazing cows and rippling ponds. And an occasional touch of shimmering magic. Unicorns leaping over hedgerows, waterfalls that flowed upward into fountains of sparkling light, trees of rich purple shaped into umbrellas of shade. England was beautiful aboveground.

The duke sniffed and wriggled his bulk on the seat, rocking the coach even more than the pitted roads already managed to. He glanced at her with that secretive smile still plastered to his fleshy face.

Millicent scowled. “For the hundredth time, where are we going?”

He glanced out the window. “To Lady Yardley’s country estate. I suppose we shall be there soon enough. Here.” He handed her a gold box carved with delicate oriental flowers, their petals studded with precious gems that winked in the late-afternoon sunshine.

The box felt cool and heavy in her hands. It looked valuable enough to feed her and Nell for years. “What is this for?”

“You shall give it to Lady Yardley. It is a gift for the queen.”

“What’s in it?”

“Some tea. A rather unique blend of my own. You shall not mention that, of course.”

“Of course.” Millicent hid her smile of triumph. The man had been singularly reluctant to reveal anything about their outing up to this moment, and any information she could glean from him might help her understand his purposes. His nervousness made the hairs on the back of her neck tingle in alarm, telling her he had some serious evil in mind. “Why don’t you just give it to her yourself?”

“Ah.” Again he wriggled, the magically enhanced fabric of his coat changing color with his movements. “I have my reasons.” He kept wiping sweat off his upper lip, and his black eyes glittered with some inner excitement.

“So, you don’t want anyone to know the tea is a gift from you. Surely you could have used someone else for the ruse. Why me?”

His bushy brows rose in a mockery of innocence. “For some confounded reason, Lady Yardley has taken a liking to you. But more importantly, she trusts your naive facade. She will not think twice about your desire to give the queen a gift. It is something most new arrivals at court feel compelled to do. But this one will manage to reach her, since it will be delivered by her own Lady of the Bedchamber.”

Millicent looked down at the box in her hands, quickly threw back the lid, and inspected the contents. Black tea leaves. “What did you put in your special blend? I will not harm the queen for any reason.”

He sputtered. “Harm? The queen? Are you mad? Do you know what the penalty is for treason?”

His horror seemed genuine.

“I know you have some evil plan, Your Grace. I do not believe for a moment that you took me all the way from London just so I may deliver a harmless gift.”

He shrugged. “Either you give my box to Lady Yardley, or I finally indulge myself with an experiment on that were-firebird. I have an idea that her feathers may be used as the firing mechanism for an explosive device I’m working on. It’s a pity I must pluck them out, one by one.”

Millicent growled softy. There must be something in the tea, but she could not see nor smell anything abnormal about it. Not a whiff of magic. And the queen would have safeguards about her, preventing harm of any foreign magic to her person. Surely the queen had someone to taste her meals as well, so it would be foolish of the duke to put anything in it that might poison her.

“Oh, my dear Millicent. I see how your weak mind struggles to find answers to machinations beyond your scope of comprehension. Leave the thinking to me, were-cat. And just do your best to enjoy the outing.”

The road suddenly became smoother and Millicent glanced out the window, then tried not to gape. Lady Yardley’s country residence loomed into view down a long, tree-lined lane, and it looked more beautiful and elegant than Buckingham Palace. It did not need magic to enhance its magnificence, although Millicent did detect warding spells shimmering about the towers and parapets, giving it a rather dreamlike quality.

Her hand shook, shuffling the tea leaves in the box. What had the duke gotten her into? “I hope I do not manage to spill your gift onto the lawn. I can be rather clumsy in human form.”

She glanced up when he did not answer. The Duke of Ghoulston no longer sat across from her. Instead, some demon from one of her worst nightmares lounged against the upholstery. Pointed horns, gaping mouth revealing pointed fangs, red skin shimmering with oily moisture. It took all of her self-possession not to shift to panther.

But her immunity to magic allowed her to see past the illusion, to the duke’s rather smug face. She would not allow him to intimidate her.

“You forget your place, my dear.” He spoke with a voice that seemed to resonate from the depths of hell. Crimson saliva dripped from the corners of his black lips. “I have been a gentleman with you, but do not allow yourself to forget your predicament. Or Nell’s.”

His illusion wore no clothing, and when the duke wriggled again, he exposed the demon’s…

Bloody hell. It was as sharp and pointed as a dagger.

“You will care for that tea as if your life depended upon it.”

Millicent quickly slammed the lid closed.

The coach rocked to a stop, and although she knew he could not harm her with the illusion, and her immunity to magic allowed her to see the demon as only a hazy form surrounding the duke, she still breathed a sigh of relief when it vanished.

The coachman opened the door and lowered the steps, and the duke scrambled out, turning to extend a gentlemanly hand to Millicent. She ignored it, managed to gather her golden skirts about her without falling from the carriage. She recoiled in disgust when Ghoulston wrapped a shawl about her shoulders with familiar intimacy.

“Easy, were-cat. Lady Yardley believes you adore me—your dearest cousin.”

A liveried footman met them at the door, and Millicent stifled her growl and allowed herself to be led through the entryway of the castle, down a long hallway lined with ancient portraits. The pictures within the frames kept changing, as if the decorator had decided that too many frames would clutter the walls, but needed to display all of the castle’s inhabitants. She squinted to see past the illusion, strengthening her natural gift of immunity to magic to see her real surroundings. Millicent feared she would need all the advantage she could get.

She handled the golden box with extreme care.

They walked down another hallway, this one lined with busts resting on carved pillars. The statues would open their eyes as they passed, curiosity within the white orbs of their sockets, and some would smile. Others would wink. And still others would move their mouths as if they carried on a conversation.

Millicent shivered.

“Lady Yardley finds them amusing,” offered the footman, his steps slowing as they neared an open doorway. Millicent could hear subdued laughter and light chatter emanating from the room. She glanced at the duke’s expectant face, took a deep breath, and stepped past the threshold.

At first the withdrawing room appeared as a mass of golden color, with gilt on the paneled walls, the enormous fireplace, the backs of chairs, and bric-a-brac on the tables. Millicent blinked and managed to see the true nature of the room, although still magnificent even with its loss of gilding. Tables covered in white linen had been arranged about the room, with silver tea services on each one, and enough food for a feast. Sweetmeats and lobster and tiny little cakes covered in sparkling sugar, little sandwiches cut into stars and hearts, biscuits lathered in cream, scones of chocolate…