When he reached her upper thigh, he angled his body half over hers, nuzzling the silky hair between her legs until she spread for him. And then he began his lovemaking in earnest. He knew exactly where to lick, precisely when to suck, until Millicent’s breathing became ragged and hoarse. With a skill born of centuries of practice, he raised his body and slid effortlessly into her.
“Gareth,” she breathed, those eyes now wide open, shining golden in the twilight streaming in through the window.
“I love you,” he whispered again, seeking to show her how very much. He sought the most sensitive area within her, keeping his lower body tightly pressed against hers, continuing the gentle pressure he’d used with mouth and tongue.
A slow, gentle friction.
Building to a gradual unfurling.
He reached his pinnacle when he felt hers begin, his body responding to the tightening of her muscles, his heart responding to the joy of her pleasure. Millicent continued to shake long after his own tremor of release had passed. He cradled her to him, feeling pleasure course through her again and again, like the ripple of waves across a calm lake.
She breathed his name again, this time with a bit of awe.
He would have smiled if he had not been so intent on the bracelet on Millicent’s arm. Had he detected a slight loosening of the silver band? Alas, yes. It slid down another inch, falling off as it always did after he made love to the relic-holder. The stupid piece of metal did not recognize that Millicent was different… perhaps Gareth had given the enchantment too much credit. If it had been crafted to find his true love, it would not be falling off her wrist. Frustration flared inside of him. He needed more time with her. “Promise me you will never give the bracelet to another.”
Millicent tugged the bracelet back up her arm, held it there until it tightened once again. “I cannot keep you forever, Gareth.”
He twisted a lock of her silky hair around his finger. “Why not, my lady? Imagine a lifetime of the pleasure I just showed you. A lifetime within my arms.”
“That’s entirely unfair.” She wiggled, putting a bit of distance between them. “You are too skilled between the sheets, Gareth, to allow a woman to think clearly afterwards.”
This time he allowed himself a smile. “Promise me.”
“I cannot keep you trapped within the relic for my entire life.”
He leaned forward and kissed her. “Promise me.”
She huffed. “Oh, bloody hell, all right. I promise. Why is it becoming so difficult to deny you anything?”
“Because you love me, my lady.”
“But not enough.” Her shoulders slumped. “Not enough to free you.”
Gareth swept his blond hair away from his face. Damn Merlin. He could not bear to see Millicent unhappy. He reached for her again to comfort her, but she leaned away, stretching out her long limbs with the fluid grace of her were-cat.
As always, her inner strength rose to the surface once more, and she cocked him a saucy grin. “How I wish it were otherwise. I would not mind being woken up every morning in such a manner.”
Gareth should have known she would not accept sympathy. He wondered if she had ever been offered it. He shrugged his shoulders, watching her gaze follow the movement with appreciation. He had never met a stronger woman, and wondered if that was the reason he had fallen in love with her. He needed her much more than she needed him.
“It would be my pleasure to wake up with you in the morning, my lady… but it is actually the dead of night.” He reached out and curved his arm about her waist, pulling her into his lap. “The most difficult part of the curse right now is being taken from your side. I regret every moment I cannot be with you.” He nuzzled her hair, breathing in the sweet scent. “Tell me what you did while I was gone.”
She shivered, raised a hand to smooth it across the front of his chest, as if she tried to sculpt his muscles. “There is much I have to tell you. But I am afraid it’s going to be difficult for me to concentrate if we continue to touch each other—”
A bolt of iridescent wings shot through the window into the room, plowing into a cluster of decorative perfume bottles on the vanity. Scent exploded into the air, an overwhelming mixture of lavender, rose, and vanilla. Gareth had his sword to hand before he knew what had invaded Millicent’s bedroom, his blade and body protecting her as he sought out the source of the commotion.
“It’s just Ambrose,” she said, her voice laced with exasperation.
“What’s an Ambrose?”
“Part of the news I had to share with you.”
Gareth squinted. A little man staggered upright from behind a crystal bottle, his prismatic wings fanning the air to keep him steady… which served to scatter the scent even more strongly about the room. The sprite sneezed, wiping a pointy nose on an elegant but tattered sleeve.
“I beg your pardon,” he said, “but the currents from the waterfall beyond your window play havoc with my wings.”
Gareth picked up his sword belt and slipped the blade back into its sheath, tossed it back on the table, and then turned a brow to Millicent. She shrugged, resulting in a tantalizing motion of her naked breasts.
“Bran sent him,” she started, then noticed Ambrose’s mouth drop open, and quickly tugged the sheet up over her chest. “He’s a message sprite.”
“And why did Bran send him?”
“On a most urgent matter,” interrupted the sprite. “Of that I can assure you, good sir. I am employed only by the gentry—fallen as they are to reside in the Underground—but gentry no less!”
“What an annoying creature. Quit ogling my lady, little man, and get out.”
“Ogling? Why sir, I may stare, but I never ogle.” Ambrose raised his pointed brows and looked at Millicent. “But I swear, Miss Millicent, if you would but give me one more peek, I shall give up drink forever.”
Gareth lowered his head. “Get. Out.”
The little man huffed, but launched into the air, flying back out the window. Within a few moments they heard Nell screech from the other room, and Gareth assumed the creature had entered again through the withdrawing room window, and regretted that he had disturbed the ladybird. But Nell must deal with the little man for the moment. He needed answers to his questions without the sprite interrupting. He turned to Millicent.
“I am as astonished as you are,” she said. “I did not think Bran gave a farthing about what happened to me beyond my ability to keep order in his pub.”
“Then he sent the sprite to help you?”
“Yes. Bran heard that Nell and I were taken prisoner, and he intends to help us escape.”
Gareth’s lip twitched. Ah, poor Millicent. She looked perplexed as to why another person would come to her aid.
She shrugged, smooth silk sliding over soft skin. “I did not ask for his help. I never have.”
“Perhaps you’ve never really needed it before.”
“Well, I sent the sprite back to Bran and told him to wait for a signal from us to move. I imagine he has every disreputable brawler in the Underground waiting to join a good fight. They fear the sorcerers, you know, but not as much as one would think—especially with enough gin in their bellies to give them courage.”
“Good. Then we can escape as soon as we discover what the Duke of Ghoulston is up to.”
“I doubt it shall be that easy, but…” She frowned. “Ghoulston took me for an outing yesterday. I’m sure it has something to do with his plans for world domination—or whatever his ridiculous goal is, but I cannot make sense of it.”
“Where did he take you?”
“To a tea party at Lady Yardley’s country estate. He gave me a gift to give to the queen, and he wanted to be very sure no one knew it came from him.”