“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…
Her stomach growled.
If Lady Yardley considered this tea, Millicent wondered what a full meal might be like.
The duke clasped her arm, gave it a painful squeeze, and led her over to a group of women.
Millicent lifted her chin as all eyes turned to study her from head to toe. Selena had managed to twist Millicent’s hair into the semblance of a chignon, yanking as hard as the vamp could, of course, but it lacked the pearls and feathers and diamonds sprinkled into the other ladies’ coiffures. Well, she might not be up to their standards, but she rather thought not a one of them could break up a bar fight, scare off a were-lion, or satisfy the magic man the way she could.
How odd. The thought actually brought her comfort.
“It’s the country girl, is it not?” asked one of the ladies.
“Lady Millicent,” greeted Claire, her hazel eyes sparkling with delight. “I’m so glad you could join us!”
“Lady Yardley,” began Millicent.
“I’m sure it’s her,” interrupted a woman standing nearby. “Those eyes are most unusual.”
“You are being quite rude, Lady Chatterly,” said Claire.
“And since when do I care about social niceties?” Lady Chatterly bore down on Millicent, iridescent blue peacock feathers in her hair this time, the colorful eyes of the pattern seeming to stare intently at her. “I fear you possess something of mine that you forgot to return to me.”
Millicent threw Ghoulston a disgruntled look. He had thrust her into this predicament.
“Perhaps you should discuss this in private,” suggested Claire, tilting her head at the duke, who wore an expression of polite inquiry, as if he hadn’t the slightest idea what they were talking about.
Lady Chatterly ignored her, stepping forward in her boldly striped gown and clasping Millicent’s arm. “I demand to know who you have given it to.”
Millicent growled softly. Who had made Lady Chatterly the keeper of the relic? What right had she to think she held any demands upon Gareth? Millicent struggled to retain her human shape as her cat tried to surface, for she did not suffer anyone to hold her against her will.
Then Lady Chatterly’s face went through an abrupt change of emotion as she felt at Millicent’s arm. She pushed up the billowy sleeves of Millicent’s gown and gaped at the bracelet still tightly fitted around her wrist. “It’s not possible… you could not have resisted him… what is wrong with you?”
“I… nothing, I assure you. He is not as irresistible as you seem to think.”
“Nonsense!”
“Am I missing something?” inquired His Grace with just the right touch of boredom to his voice.
Claire patted Lady Chatterly on the shoulder. “My dear, you really must contain yourself. Come now, a nice hot cup of tea should do the trick.”
“But… but… how is it possible? I’ve never known a woman to wear it for more than one single evening…”
“Astonishing, I agree. But remember, Lady Millicent is from the country, and they are rather… conservative in her area. I’m sure she will succumb soon, and then promptly return the, err, item to you. Isn’t that right, Millicent dear?”
Millicent obligingly nodded.
Claire led Lady Chatterly to a back table, consoling the woman as she went.
Normal conversation resumed around the room.
“See what you’ve done?” hissed Millicent. “She’ll come to you for the relic, now.”
Lord Ghoulston shrugged, rather elegantly, drat the man. “I don’t know a thing about it now, do I? And I hazard to guess she will be reluctant to discuss the matter. Besides, it shall be a wicked pleasure to send her on a wild-goose chase into the backwaters of the North. She’s a bit of a harpy, that one.”