But the spies had learned from past experience. They did not give her time to react. The coach door flew open, the chap with the scar and mane of golden hair covered her mouth with a cloth… and Millicent took a breath before thinking to shift.
The world faded to a fuzzy black.
Fifteen
Gareth materialized in a room lit with candlelight, and decorated with so many feathers he resisted the impulse to sneeze. He blinked, taking a moment to gather his wits about him, remembering his lady had just made passionate love to him before the relic had sucked him back in.
Why then, did he face a reddish-haired woman in a strange room?
“Who are you?”
She sat in a prim chair, in a prim gown buttoned up to her neck, and twisted her fingers in her lap. “Lady Claire Yardley.”
The name sounded familiar… “Millicent’s friend?”
“Yes.”
Gareth spied the wink of moonstone and strode forward, grabbing the woman’s upper arm. “Where did you get this?”
“I… unhand me, sir. I did not steal it, if that’s what you are thinking. Millicent gave it to me.”
“Gave it…?” He staggered back a step. No, she would not do such a thing. She had promised… “When? Why?”
“This afternoon. She told me an improbable tale about a dear friend of mine. She said you would confirm the story.”
Gareth collapsed on the edge of a bed covered with a downy blanket, absently noting it puffed around him when he sat. Surely Millicent could have come up with another way to convince Lady Yardley? If she had wanted to… but perhaps she did not want to. Perhaps this gave her the excuse to rid herself of him.
She had promised to keep the relic forever.
To keep him forever.
The prim lady leaned forward, her expensive skirts rustling softly with the movement. “Millicent told me to bring the bracelet to the Master of the Hall of Mages, and that you would convince him of Ghoulston’s wickedness. She also said she is sorry, but the relic must be given the chance to choose another woman…” She blushed. “She thought I would be perfect for you.”
“Indeed?” He had not intended to growl the word.
“I told her you—it did not want me.” She slid the bracelet down her arm, where it dangled on her wrist. “See, it is quite loose. I can give it to you, if you’d like.”
Gareth shook his head. “I would just have to give it to another. If Millicent no longer wants…” Had his voice just cracked, like some broken-hearted schoolboy? Did his chest truly ache, as if Millicent had taken his own sword and stabbed him in the heart? He had thought… after everything they had been through together… after making love to him the way she had…
He had thought she loved him enough to be faithful to him forever. That he had broken down that wall around her heart, at least enough for her to consider them as one, united in purpose and deed and love.
But her need for revenge had outweighed her need for him. He understood it, because he understood Millicent. But that did not erase the feeling of betrayal that shook him.
For a moment his vision wavered, the walls of the room expanding and contracting, and he could not breathe. He crushed the bed coverings as he curled his fingers into fists, trying to keep an anchor in a world gone suddenly insubstantial. Gareth felt scattered, as he sometimes did when he first appeared from the relic. He heard a loud crack, which pounded at his ears, as if he heard his own heart break. And then the world righted, he drew in a long breath, and he could think again.
Millicent had forsaken him.
Is this how Merlin had felt, when Vivian had broken trust with him? No wonder the great wizard had called his magic down upon Gareth. He would do the same… but he had no one to curse but himself. After centuries of searching for true love, he now regretted that he’d ever found it. He did not know it would hurt so much.
“Sir Gareth. Are you well? Can I get you a spot of tea?”
“Can tea fix a broken heart?” he muttered.
“I beg your pardon?”
“Nothing.” Gareth looked up at the woman. She looked… like a well-bred lady. Her eyes shone with the innocence of a woman who had led a sheltered life, attending balls and fetes, surrounded by gentlemen of only the highest pedigree. He doubted if she had ever been treated with anything but absolute respect. She commanded it with every line in her correct posture. He understood why it would be difficult for Lady Yardley to believe Millicent’s story about the machinations of the Duke of Ghoulston. Such evil would be inconceivable to her.
He understood why Millicent had chosen this lady for him, damn her. Lady Yardley was the opposite of the shape-shifter. Goodness oozed from her very pores.
And he had no desire for the woman whatsoever.
Gareth leaned forward, determined to focus his thoughts elsewhere. “Millicent’s tale is true, I assure you. The tea you gave the queen is laden with my blood. The blood of a man who has spent centuries seducing women.”
She gasped at his indelicate words. And yet her eyes sparkled with sudden interest, and she leaned toward him. Innocent, yes, but a curious minx.
Too bad Gareth had no desire for her. Odd. He had never felt this way before. He had never met a woman he did not find attractive in some way or another. Perhaps Millicent’s betrayal would have a worse consequence than just breaking his heart. If she had ruined him for other women, he would indeed be trapped inside the relic forever.
Gareth straightened his spine. He must keep his focus. He had more important things to worry about. “I assure you that Ghoulston is every bit as evil as Millicent has told you. Giving the queen a potion to make her fall in love with him is paltry in comparison to what he is capable of. Millicent told me the queen had fallen in love with her cousin, Prince Albert. Do you not think it odd that the queen’s feelings have changed so suddenly?”
She nodded, delicate curls of reddish-brown hair curling artfully about her cheeks. Not wildly, as Millicent’s black strands had a habit of doing. “We do not need to waste any more time in conversation, Sir Gareth. The longer I thought of Millicent’s story, the more I came to believe it. I already have a carriage waiting for us. Millicent said the relic would grant us a conversation with the Master of the Hall of Mages, His Grace, the Duke of Sussex.”
Gareth blanched. Surely Millicent had not realized the fate that awaited him in the Master’s hands. Like all of the relics, the bracelet would be consigned to a heavily warded vault beneath the Hall of Mages. He would no longer be able to search for a way to free himself of the curse.
No, Millicent could not have known. He would not believe that of her. She had given the bracelet to a woman she deemed a friend, one whom Millicent judged “good” enough to release him from the curse. Millicent understood the torture of being trapped; he had seen her own anguish too often. No, she had not realized the consequences of handing the bracelet over to the Master.
But Gareth did.
He had felt the weight of the years for some time now. Only Millicent had lightened that heavy load. And she had abandoned him. Given up.
Gareth glanced at the relic. For the first time, he wished it would draw him back inside and let him sleep, for without Millicent, he only felt tired.
But first he had a task to perform for his lady, and then Lord Sussex could lock him away inside a vault forever. It mattered little to him anymore.
He stood, shaking back his hair, his sadness. “Let us be off then, Lady Yardley. We have the task of saving the country, do we not?”