Lady Yardley’s elegantly arched brows rose in surprise, and then she giggled. “Oh, my. I should have known. She is rumored to be rather fast, isn’t she? I imagine her reputation would shock… and fascinate you, yes?”
Millicent lowered her lashes. “You won’t tell His Grace about my request, will you? I’m afraid he wouldn’t understand.”
“Why, Willie has—” The woman gave a delicate cough. “No, of course not. I shan’t breathe a word of it to him.”
“Oh, thank you.” Millicent looked over her shoulder. Two pairs of predatory eyes blinked back at her. She suppressed the growl that threatened to shoot up her throat and turned back to her companion. “I’m most eager to meet the, er, famous lady. Shall we?”
Instead of taking offense at Millicent’s tug on her arm, Claire laughed and pulled in the opposite direction. “She’s this way. And don’t think I didn’t catch that little stumble. I think notorious would be a more likely description than famous.” She breezed right past the two baronets, who glared at Millicent and spun to follow them.
The crowd parted easily for Lady Yardley. Not so for the baronets, and they soon lost the men in the press of people. Millicent breathed a sigh of relief. And then she realized the direction Claire had taken.
Millicent ducked her head as they pressed through a group of baronets. She hardly dared to breathe. She had intended to escape only two, and now Lady Yardley had dragged her into a pack of them.
“That’s a charming dress,” said Claire, eyeing Millicent’s brocade gown, chatting gaily away, as if being surrounded by predators didn’t matter to her one whit. “Where in London did you find a seamstress who can craft such skillful rosettes?”
Surely her companion knew that baronets had the strength to rip them to shreds? Millicent could barely focus on a reply, while every hair on the back of her neck stood upright with alarm. She had no idea where the dress had come from. But she’d learned that when in doubt, a half-truth is better than an outright lie. “His Grace provided me with a wardrobe. He said my country clothing would put him to shame.”
“Hmph. Well, he was probably right. Willie has always had impeccable good taste. I think that’s why I admire him so—you certainly aren’t blocking my way, are you, sir?”
A large man with a hawkish nose stood in front of Lady Yardley, his enormous liquid eyes fixed on Millicent. He bowed aside at her companion’s words but not before he shot Millicent a look of raptorial hunger. Ordinarily a bird of prey wouldn’t frighten her. But a shifter’s were-form could be larger than their human form. Did Claire truly not know what type of creature she brushed aside? Or did her status as a lady provide her with such confident security?
Millicent didn’t have such protection.
Her companion finally tugged her into the space between the shape-shifters and another cluster of aristocratic gentlemen. Millicent took a deep breath and refused to turn around and look into the eyes of all the weres that burned holes in the back of her neck. She’d noticed several female baronets among them, but apparently the aristocracy knew of their natures and they also weren’t allowed to penetrate their group.
But the gentlemen parted for Lady Yardley and her companion. The Duke of Ghoulston had been right. Millicent’s anonymity provided her access.
The heightened senses of her were-nature allowed her to overhear the comments of the aristocrats as she passed.
“Here come two more ladies.”
“Hush. I’m trying to hear what they’re saying.”
“Well, I’d jolly well give my best horse to know what they’re hiding,” said his fellow loudly.
Lady Yardley’s mouth curled into a secretive smile.
“Haven’t you heard? Lord Dunwist told me that his wife has been acting strange lately. Ever since she made friends with Lady Chatterly, she’s been as demanding as his mistress.”
“Good gawd, man, that’s preposterous! Ladies should behave according to their station.”
“I hear there’s some sort of powerful magic involved.”
“Damn it, man. I say we should do something about this.”
But they didn’t appear to know precisely what that might be, because as Millicent passed through their group to where a circle of ladies stood, not a one of the top hats made a move to follow them. A tall woman with iridescent strix feathers in her hair glanced up and smiled. The circle of women opened to let them in, their wide skirts smashing back together as they closed the gap behind them.
“Lady Chatterly,” said Claire. “How good to see you again.”
The feathers trembled. “We were just about to retire to the salon. It seems that we have attracted some attention.” Her clear gray eyes focused on Millicent. “And who have we here?”
“Allow me to introduce you to Lady Millicent. She’s from the country.”
Millicent blinked innocently at the notorious lady, who bestowed an anticipatory smile upon her. “She may join us, since you vouch for her, Lady Yardley. It should be… amusing to have her amongst us.”
With a sweep of her skirts, Lady Chatterly made for a door set near a golden urn at the bottom of one of the rainbows. The other ladies followed, their gowns looking like so many silk flowers clustered in a bouquet. Millicent snuck a glance behind them as she passed through the door into the salon. The group of curious gentlemen followed, and the shape-shifters watched with angry, hooded eyes.
The last lady through the door firmly closed it behind her, drawing the bolt with a resounding snap.
The room had been decorated years ago, rather garishly, with portraits of the royal family in huge gilt frames, heavy furniture of mauve and crimson, and silver candelabra stands in every corner. A fireplace large enough for Millicent to stand nearly upright in crackled with a merry blaze against the autumn chill.
Lady Chatterly enthroned herself on a chair set before a highly polished table. “Ladies, please sit down. I have much to tell you and I fear we have little time.”
Millicent sat near the closest window, the cold seeping in around the panes and cooling her hot cheeks. Sunshine spoiled the dwellers aboveground in other ways, for they kept their rooms too warm for someone who had lived her entire life in the cold dank of the Underground. She watched the eager faces of the other ladies, hoping that whatever Lady Chatterly had to say would involve the relic. Claire took a seat close to Millicent, as if to protect her, which she found endearing.
“First,” said Lady Chatterly, “we must strengthen the wards to keep the prying magic of our men from the room.”
Millicent’s heart skipped as several of the women clasped hands to perform a warding spell. She blew out a sigh of relief when several of the ladies just folded their hands in their lap. They must not have the title or the power to perform such a spell, and wouldn’t think it amiss that Millicent didn’t join in either.
She could see the magic forming as a slight haze, feel it prickle the skin on her arms, but otherwise the spell didn’t affect her. It wouldn’t affect the other weres in the ballroom either, so the doors and walls would have to suffice. Millicent hoped they were thick.
“Now then,” said Lady Chatterly when they finished the spell. “There’s a back exit across the room.” She nodded toward the far wall. “And a carriage waiting for the one the relic will choose. As some of you already know, the only condition is that you tell no one the relic is in your possession, and you return it to me on the morrow. Are you newcomers clear on that?”
Several women nodded their heads, although a few looked frightened. Millicent mimicked the expression of fear while her mind calculated with truly frightening intensity. The duke had been right; the relic existed. These women had been harboring a dangerous secret. But why would Lady Chatterly allow other women to borrow such a powerful thing?