Everlasting Enchantment (3 page)

When the metal warmed and tightened around her wrist, it took every ounce of willpower Millicent had to suppress a choking snarl. Magic might be making the bracelet shrink, but the metal felt wholly of this earth, and her immunity to magic would not help. She wanted the relic for the duke, but not this way! She tried to push the bracelet off, but it would no longer fit back over her hand.

“Ah, the country girl,” crowed Lady Chatterly. “Don’t look so alarmed, dear. You wanted to gain some sophistication from a trip to London, and now you shall have more than you could have ever dreamed.”

Millicent dug her fingers under the silver, trying to rip the thing off using the full strength of her were-self. Several of the women patted her shoulder in congratulations and then headed toward the door to the ballroom. Millicent turned and stared at Claire in horror.

“I didn’t think… truly, I’m so sorry, Millicent.”

“Nonsense,” snapped Lady Chatterly. “You did her an enormous favor. The girl just doesn’t know it yet. Now, come along. The ladies are anxious to get back to the ball and we must get you out of here before they open the door.”

Millicent could only nod and follow. Her plan had been to steal the relic so she could give it to the duke. She had no desire to possess it herself. And she certainly didn’t care a whit about the man trapped inside, or his ability to pleasure a woman.

Lady Chatterly led her into a dark hallway and handed Millicent over to a young footman who took her out into the night and ushered her into a black carriage. The horses snorted and stomped their way into the foggy streets of London while Millicent tried to reassure herself.

Lady Chatterly said the bracelet would stay on her wrist for only one night. So Millicent figured all she had to do was let this Gareth person know it had been a mistake for the relic to choose her, and then give it to the duke the next morning.

Surely it would be as easy as that.

And then the gem on the bracelet began to glow, and a man appeared across from her, and Millicent’s mouth dropped open.

Gareth blinked for a moment, allowing the fuzz to clear from his head, which always happened whenever the relic spat him forth. He appeared to be in a coach, the roll of the wheels a gentle rumble beneath him.

“She said you had brown eyes and ebony hair,” murmured a sultry voice.

“Who?” asked Gareth, staring at the shadowy outline of a woman seated across from him.

“Lady Chatterly.”

Aah. He ran his fingers through his very blond hair. He remembered her, the woman who liked to be chastened. The woman who kept her promises. “And what do
you
see, my lady?”

He could feel her eyes upon him. From the top of his head to the pointed toes of his leather ankle boots. Her gaze lingered longest on the sword at his hip and the red dragon embroidered on his outer tunic. “You have wavy blond hair and light eyes… perhaps blue? And you look younger than I expected.”

“Perhaps you like younger men.”

“I beg your pardon?”

Gareth fell back against the cushions of the carriage with a tired sigh. He always awoke with new hope. But after centuries of disappointment, it had become difficult to keep faith. “My appearance changes to what the holder of the relic desires.”

“But I’m immune to magic. Your spells have no effect on me.”

She said it with pride and a touch of arrogance. Gareth’s interest stirred and he straightened, trying to make out the woman’s features. “A shape-shifter, are you? I’ve had a few over the years, my lady. Verily, they have always seen past the illusions cast on me. But they succumb to my charms just as easily as the others.”

She snorted. “Well, I’m not bloody likely to. It’s all a mistake, you see.”

With a grace born of centuries of practice, Gareth transferred himself from his seat to hers. Better. He could see her features now, and smiled with genuine pleasure. Silky black curls had escaped her coiffure and danced across soft pale cheeks. Red lips formed a perfect crescent below a pert little nose. But he admired her eyes the most, a golden amber that appeared to glow in the darkness. She was probably the most striking woman he’d ever seen. And he’d seen a lot of them. “You’re beautiful, my lady,” he murmured.

She narrowed her eyes. “I imagine that most women melt from your flattering compliments and soulful gaze. But not I. I didn’t want to wear your relic.”

“No?” It didn’t bother him when they protested. They always changed their minds. It just took hours instead of minutes to seduce them… and allowed him to hope for a little while longer.

“I only wanted to bring the relic to His Grace. It wrapped around my wrist by accident.”

He couldn’t help touching the softness of her cheek. But then again, he couldn’t help touching beautiful women. It’s what had landed him into this predicament in the first place. “Must we waste time talking?”

She wasn’t even aware that she leaned into his touch. “Bloody hell, you’re a slick one.”

She looked like a lady but had lapsed into speech worthy of the East End. What a delightful puzzle. Well, he had until dawn to figure her out. His heart sickened at the thought but he tried to keep his hope alive by focusing on the delightful creature next to him. “Not many women see me as I truly am. Is it possible you’re the one?”

“The one what?”

His fingers slipped down her cheek, traced a path across the side of her neck where he could feel the strong beat of her pulse. “The one who will free me from my curse.” Gareth leaned in, breathing in the scent of her. Roses and musk. “You see, my lady, I am seeking my savior.”

She blinked, and a slow rumble started in her throat. Aah, a were-cat of some sort, for she purred beneath the petting of his hand. “I don’t know what she looks like, for in my imagination it is always dark. But I think I will know her by the touch of her naked body against mine. By the weight of her breast in my palm. By the feel of her as I bury myself deep inside.”

Her purr skipped on a sharp intake of breath. Women couldn’t seem to resist the desire to find out if they were special. Special enough to save him. Gareth wished, by all that was holy, that one of them would finally be able to do so.

“So that’s why you seduce women? To find this savior?”

He nodded, bringing his mouth slowly closer to hers. “Will you help me, my lady?”

She stared into his eyes and for a moment he thought he’d won her. But the coach hit a pothole and she blinked, then quickly pulled away from him with a frown. “So what will happen when you find her?”

Gareth studied her with a sad smile. What had made such a lovely creature so hard inside? He could feel her strong will like a tangible wall between them. “I hope her love will break the spell and set me free of the relic.”

“Well, I can assure you, sir, I am not the one you seek. So you may as well save yourself the trouble of—”

The coach lurched to a stop, flinging the girl across the floor to the opposite seat. She tucked and landed on all fours within a froth of skirts and petticoats. Gareth had but a heartbeat to assure himself that she had come to no harm before the shouts of a man had him flinging open the door of the carriage. “Stay inside,” he commanded as he leapt onto the street.

He drew his silver-coated blade the moment his feet touched the cobblestones. Nary a lantern lit the crumbling brick buildings that lined the fog-shrouded street, but enough moonlight shone from the heavens to outline the shaggy mane of the lion that crouched across from him. The beat of enormous wings ruffled his hair and he cast a glance at the coachman, who appeared to be losing his battle with the giant bird that harried him from above with beak and talons.

The lion shifted to man, a jagged scar from temple to jaw ruining his even features. “Give us the relic and you won’t be harmed.”

Gareth smiled sadly. “I’m afraid that’s not possible.”

Within a blink, the man shifted back to lion and pounced. Gareth stepped into the charge and crouched, his sword held two-handed above him, slicing the underbelly of the beast as it flew over his head. He heard a growl of surprise and then a thud as the lion slammed into the side of the coach. Gareth spun to his feet, head low, sword at the ready.

But the lion appeared to be stunned, lying unmoving on the cobbles. Then the carriage rocked, and more growls could be heard from within. The horses reared and strained at their traces and Gareth feared they would bolt.

“My lady,” he shouted as he leapt forward. Concern for her safety caught him unawares. Fire raked his shoulder as the bird attacked from overhead with its talons. Gareth didn’t even look up. Just thrust his sword as high above his head as he could. A satisfactory caw of pain followed his strike; a few black feathers rained down.

“My sword is edged with silver,” warned Gareth. “And you fight with a knight of the Round Table. This will be your only chance to cry mercy.”

The sound of a laughing caw from overhead made his heart twist with sadness. He had done so much killing over the centuries. He tired of it. But it seemed that neither beast nor man would ever change.

The bird dove. Gareth could hear the arrow-sharp swiftness of its flight as it cut the air. He had no time for finesse, for he feared for his lady. The snarls from within the coach had died. So as he spun aside from the bird’s attack, he savagely struck with his sword, slicing off the beast’s wing. It flew in one direction as the body rolled off into another.

It had taken but seconds.

Gareth sprinted for the carriage as the coachman toppled from his perch, the frightened horses finally reaching their breaking point. He managed to catch the brass handrail as the team lunged forward. His legs scrabbled beneath him and his muscles strained until he found purchase with his feet and swung himself into the driver’s box. He cursed as he hauled on the reins, then lowered his voice to a reassuring tone as the horses slowed, sweating and shivering from their flight.

Gareth tied the reins securely to the bar and swung back down to the street. “My lady?”

The door had broken from its top hinges and swung drunkenly open before him. He could see nothing inside the pitch-black interior.

“He ruined my dress,” snapped that sultry voice.

Gareth smiled with relief and held out his hand. The moonstone winked from the relic on her wrist as she grasped his fingers and ducked out the door. He froze for a moment, surprised by the shock that went through him from her touch. His body must still be stimulated from battle, as he’d never quite experienced any feeling like that before.

She twisted from his hold and he covered his disappointment with words. “Are you hurt?”

She shook her head, the rest of her carefully sculpted coiffure falling apart, allowing her black hair to tumble down her shoulders like a river of night. “It’s his blood, not mine.” She wiped ineffectually at several dark spots.

“Whose?”

“That shape-shifter from the ball. A tiger, I think, but it happened all too fast to tell for sure.”

Gareth went down to one knee. “Forgive me, my lady, for failing to protect you.”

“Very gallant of you, I’m sure, but I hardly needed your protection. I thought one of my own kind would be more of a challenge, but he fought like an overgrown hyena. And I’ve had plenty of experience with those.”

She confused him. This was the part where she begged him to rise and fell into his arms. When it became apparent that she had no intention of doing so, Gareth stood. How did he seduce a woman tougher than the blade of his sword?

The lady tore off the voluminous sleeve of her gown, grimacing at the tattered cloth before tossing it to the ground. “He was heavy though. It took most of my strength to shove him out the door, and that’s saying a bloody lot.”

“What exactly are you, my lady?”

“I’m not your lady.” She tore off the other sleeve of her gown. He caught it before it hit the ground and used it to wipe off his bloody sword.

“Although I suppose it’s just a habit of yours to address a woman that way.” She eyed him with disbelief. “Lady Chatterly said you were a knight from the Middle Ages. Are you really that old?”

“Yes.” He couldn’t keep the weariness from that word. “Although my body appears not to age. I often wonder what will happen if the spell is ever broken. Will the years catch up to me and turn me to dust? Will the lady of my destiny bring about my salvation or my doom?”

“If you don’t know, why do you keep looking for her?”

Gareth fisted his hands. How could he explain his loneliness to a woman who relied solely on herself? “I long for a mortal life.”

She shrugged her shoulders. “I can’t figure why. You’re hurt, you know.”

Gareth glanced at his shoulder. “A flesh wound. And I heal quickly. Another facet of the curse.”

“Don’t tell me. A big black hawk? And perhaps a lion, too?”

He raised a brow. “You know them?”

“No. But I had a feeling they wouldn’t give up without a chase. I suppose I should thank you.”

Gareth shoved his sword back into his scabbard. So much for tumbling into his arms. “You’re welcome,” he replied, sensing it would be the best he would get. “And you didn’t answer my question.”

“What question—oh, never mind. You really don’t expect me to stand about talking when they might have friends following us?”

He shrugged. Hard as ice, and mysterious as well. The lady had probably spoken the truth earlier. He couldn’t imagine her falling hard enough in love with anyone to break a spell. “As you wish. Do you ride?” Gareth walked over to the horses and began to release a gelding from its traces.

“Ordinary horses don’t like shape-shifters. Especially my kind.”

“We will need speed, if we are indeed being pursued by others. Do not worry about the horse. There’s never been one born that I couldn’t handle.” Within minutes he had the gelding freed. Gareth swung up on its back and held out his hand to the lady. The horse nickered and shied away from the girl, but he quickly brought the beast under his control.

“I’m impressed,” she said as she caught his hand and leapt up behind him. She’d barely needed his assistance and he marveled at the strength inherent to shape-shifters. She curled her arms around his waist, but kept her body rigidly away from his back.

Gareth sighed. “Which way, my lady?”

“Oh, do stop calling me that. My name is Millicent. Millicent Pantere. And continue down this street to the old graveyard at Thieves Chapel.”

He smiled as he gently kicked the horse into a walk. He’d been right about her being a were-cat, if her last name was any indication. She couldn’t even answer a personal question outright but had to reveal herself in an obscure manner. He wondered if she was suspicious of men in general, or just him in particular.

When he felt sure the lady would hold her seat, he urged the horse into a gallop. The wind felt good in his hair, the silence of the night a warm cloak around his shoulders. For a brief moment he felt joy in the freedom of their flight. But he remembered another mantle of warmth, from a time so long ago it seemed like one of his dreams. Had he truly once felt the heat of sunshine on his shoulders? Had he galloped through a sun-dappled meadow with a laughing woman’s soft breasts pressed against his back?

He glanced down at his pale hands. Had they once been browned by the sun?

“Pull up,” said Millicent. As soon as they came to a halt, she slid to the ground. “This is the place.”

Gareth looked around at the tombstones wreathed in fog. “This is where you live?”

“Of course not.” She studied him for a long moment, those golden eyes disconcerting in their intensity. “Your sadness is a weight I can almost feel. Perhaps that’s part of what makes you so irresistible to women.”

Gareth’s brows rose in surprise. And pleasure. Perhaps the lady had decided to quit pretending to be unaffected by his charisma. But before he could form a reply, she hitched up her stained and ragged skirts and picked her way down an overgrown path. He removed the halter from the horse and let it free and then followed.

The path led to a crumbling church and Millicent’s steps seemed to lighten as if she neared the safety of home, but Gareth couldn’t imagine anyone living inside. The lack of a roof had allowed weeds and grass to flourish nearly waist high. Near the back of the chapel a portion of the roof still stood, and the lady stopped near a huge slab of stone.