Millicent glanced up beneath her lashes at Sir Harcourt. He had not given the relic to Lord Sussex, had pushed it up his forearm to keep it secure. The relic would not tighten for a man, and certainly not for Harcourt—despite his handsome scarred face and mane of golden-blond hair.
No, she could not ask for Gareth’s forgiveness. She could barely meet his gaze. But she could make it up to him by taking back the relic. She just had to wait for the right moment.
Harcourt must have felt her gaze, because he looked over at her, his amber eyes bright with interest. He glanced at the bracelet on his arm, and then back to her. So. He would not make it easy.
They flew over the road for an eternity, Gareth a volatile presence beside her. It felt so strange to be awkward with him, when it had become so easy to touch him, to be close to him. And all of it her fault. She resisted the urge time and again to rub against him, to smooth back the blond hair that escaped his leather tie.
Claire leaned forward, glanced between Gareth and Millicent, and gave her a puzzled look. Thank goodness the rattling and banging prevented any conversation. Millicent had no desire to explain her complicated relationship with the knight.
The small door that allowed the occupants to speak to the coachman suddenly flew open.
“What is it?” shouted Lord Sussex.
“We’ve got company behind us,” replied Sir Timison.
“Who?” growled Harcourt.
“Not sure yet,” he shouted back. Then raised his voice even louder. “Magic ahead!”
The carriage swerved once again, bounced several times, and then steadied. Sir Harcourt stuck his head out the window, scanning the road ahead, the darkness behind. They had left London a long time ago; only shadows of hedgerows and trees flashed past them now. The shape-shifters hid more easily in the countryside. When Millicent looked out the window, she could no longer see a hint of claw or fang.
“Slow down,” commanded Harcourt.
Millicent’s ears rang with the comparative silence as the coach settled to a normal pace.
“Those are Queen Victoria’s guards,” said the Master, his balding head now stuck out his own window.
Harcourt pulled his head back inside. “Nay, my lord. It is only illusion.”
Lord Sussex collapsed back into his seat. “Ghoulston’s magic is stronger than I thought. But, by Jove, I have spies who are immune to it! What is really ahead, Sir Harcourt?”
“A motley assortment of creatures escort Queen Victoria’s coach, my lord. It seems Ghoulston has brought up his army from the Underground.”
“That many?”
“They are more than six times our number.” Harcourt smiled, revealing his wicked canines. “I’d say the odds are about even.”
But Lord Sussex did not look reassured. “I cannot believe the silly chit went off without her own men. She is the queen—Ghoulston’s magic cannot be stronger than hers.”
“She sees what she wants to see,” said Gareth, “with the clouded gaze of a woman in love.”
Millicent stiffened, unsure if she should take some hidden meaning from his words.
“They have seen us,” called Timison’s voice from the driver’s seat.
“Stop the coach,” ordered the Master. “And open the door for me.” His intelligent gaze settled on Sir Harcourt. “We cannot risk any conflict with the queen inside that carriage. Lady Yardley will accompany me to speak with Ghoulston. He will not be suspicious of her. You three stay here. If I manage to get the queen back into my coach, you will have to find some way to convince her that Ghoulston is a blackguard.”
Sir Harcourt growled. “I do not like this. On what pretense will you trade yourself for the queen?”
“I need to have a man-to-man discussion with the duke on the responsibilities of marriage. I am the closest thing she has to a father, after all. And I was remiss in my duties. But now that I have accepted the marriage, I must honor them.”
Harcourt shook his blond mane. “I do not think he will fall for it.”
“You underestimate my powers of persuasion.” Lord Sussex turned to Timison as the were-tiger opened the door of the coach. “Tell Charles and Grayson to turn this carriage around and race back to London as soon as the queen is inside.”
Millicent raised a brow at Harcourt.
“They are the were-horses,” he whispered.
“Then why a coachman?”
“Lookout,” he idly answered, his concentration focused on his master.
“But what of your lordship?” asked Sir Timison.
Lord Sussex raised his bushy white brows. “Join your fellows and tell them to stay hidden in the shadows until I give the signal.” The old man’s diplomatic mask faded for a moment, and Millicent glimpsed the warrior beneath. “And then we have some sport, old chaps.”
The Master stepped out the door and glanced back at Harcourt. “And for Merlin’s sake, keep your shaggy head inside the coach.”
Lady Yardley followed him out of the carriage without a word, her face as white as a sheet, her lips tight with grim determination.
Millicent could no more keep the disbelief off her face than Claire could wipe the fear from hers. Convince a woman that the man she loved is lying to her? “It would be easier to fight Ghoulston’s men,” she grumbled.
Sir Harcourt grunted in agreement, although she did not think he actually followed her train of thought.
It became very quiet in the coach. Millicent strained her ears to hear what went on outside, her attention divided between trying to ignore Gareth and her guilty feelings, and Claire’s sudden peril. What had Millicent done, all for the sake of revenge?
Apparently Gareth and Harcourt concentrated on listening as well, for they all sat frozen, taking shallow breaths. She heard the jingle of harness as the horses danced in place. No, as Charles and Grayson danced in place. They might be half-human, but their animal natures would still prompt them to nervousness around a pack of predators.
Millicent could not hear or see them, but she could feel the rest of the baronets prowling around the two carriages.
Sir Harcourt cocked his head. Millicent heard it too. The sound of footsteps approaching their coach. Light, delicate footsteps. And then the sound of Lady Yardley’s voice.
“Men,” she sighed. “We must allow for their protective natures, Your Majesty. We will follow along behind your coach for a time, to give them their privacy.”
“Hmph,” replied Queen Victoria. “You would think my uncle would have allowed for this chat before we left, despite his initial disapproval of my plans.”
As one, Millicent, Gareth, and Harcourt slid across their seats to the far side of the carriage.
Claire opened the door, and stepped behind the queen.
And several things happened at once.
The windows of the carriage lit up from a flash of brilliant magic outside, creating a halo behind the queen’s petite frame. Growls and snarls erupted from down the road; a crack of gunfire from up ahead.
Claire unceremoniously shoved the queen into the coach. She landed across Sir Harcourt’s lap, a mass of silk blue skirts and lace petticoats. The large man flushed beet red, and hastily assisted the queen to a sitting position beside him. Claire scrambled through the door and slammed it behind her.
The carriage vaulted forward, swung crazily about—pitching Millicent into Gareth, and the queen into Harcourt once again—and sped back toward London.
“What is the meaning of this?” demanded Queen Victoria.
Gareth glanced at Millicent. “Even if we had the time, she would not believe us.”
“I know.”
“Do you remember how Selena…?”
Millicent shuddered. But he was right. It would serve them best to have the queen in love with Gareth instead of Ghoulston.