Gareth groaned.

Her tongue tingled. Slightly salty. Rich and heady, like strong ale. She explored the length of him, until he started to tremble, and clenched his fists at his sides. And then she retraced the path her cloth had taken earlier, until she reached his mouth, and he grasped the back of her head, kissing her with an intensity that made her tremble.

And then the world spun, and Millicent found herself on her back, Gareth inside her, slowly, sweetly making love to her again.

If she died tonight, she would be content.

She blinked the burn of tears from her eyes. She had shed more today than she had in her entire life, and she would never cry again. She vowed she would not have a reason to.

Gareth whispered in her ear, nonsense words of passion and endearments. He made love to her this time as if he sought to comfort her as well: gentle, gliding motions that slowly built a delirious heat inside her once again. And Millicent responded by dancing to the loving tune with him, touching him wherever her hands could reach. Saying good-bye with tender caresses.

They reached that peak together, and tumbled over it slowly, clasped so tightly together Millicent thought, for just that one moment, they might have become one being.

“Gareth,” she murmured, tasting his name on her lips, memorizing the feel of it in her mouth.

He lifted his head, his eyes so incredibly blue, so incredibly intense.

“Millicent,” he breathed… and then disappeared.

She blinked for a moment, startled by the cold air replacing the warmth of his body, his sudden absence. Dawn had come too quickly.

Millicent sat up, held her head in her hands for a moment. Gareth.

She sighed, and stood. The painting on the wall had lightened, and the one lone window across the room now glowed with the pale coming of the sun. Something she had little experience with. But it occurred to her that she stood in a room aboveground… and she had a task to do.

Muck up the duke’s grand schemes. Revenge for Nell.

Millicent went back to the washbasin and splashed her face, dispelling the dreamy aura Gareth had created. By the time she finished washing, a beam of sunlight slanted into the room, fell on a glint of moonstone.

The bracelet.

As usual, it had fallen off her arm when they had made love. It must have been after the first time, but she could not remember losing the bracelet. She bent down and picked it up, cradling it in her hand. She had promised him she would never give the relic to another, that she would always return it to her wrist, so he would come to her again.

But she knew she could no longer keep that promise. Too many reasons bade her otherwise, but the most compelling one was simple. She loved him.

Millicent set the bracelet on the mahogany wood top of the washstand and strode over to the chair that held what appeared to be over a dozen gowns. Heavens. She picked up a chemise edged with fine lace and pulled it over her head, when a knock at the door interrupted her.

“Yes?”

The door cracked open, the beaked-nosed face of her hostess peeking through the crack. “I thought I might come myself to help you dress, dear, instead of one of the maids. Bran led me to believe there is a bit of… secrecy regarding your errand.”

“I can manage fine by myself. I am not used to maids and whatnot.”

Undaunted, Lady Roseus slipped into the room, a smile on her face. Despite her rather large nose, or perhaps because of it, she was a strikingly lovely woman. She wore a pink morning gown, the shade matching the color of her cheeks. “Here, let me help you with those laces.”

She punctuated her words with a decisive honk. Millicent sighed and turned around, holding up the linen corset to her front. She did need help, and if Bran liked the lady, she should make an effort to do so as well.

“Where is Sir Gareth?” asked Lady Roseus as she tugged on the corset strings.

“You just missed him,” replied Millicent, the ghost of a smile on her face. Apparently, Bran did not trust the lady enough to reveal any of their secrets. She would take her cue from that, for she could feel the other woman fairly quivering with curiosity.

“Your human form is just as lovely as your were-panther, Lady Millicent. The color of your hair matches your coat… sleek, black, and shiny.”

“Thank you.” Millicent turned around and studied the gowns.

“And your eyes,” continued Lady Roseus, “such a lovely shade of gold, and slanted just like your panther’s.”

Millicent flushed, ignoring the lady’s further compliments. She supposed she would just choose the gown on top. She picked it up, and Lady Roseus honked.

“Oh, my dear, not that one. With your coloring, let’s see…” She dug through the pile. “This bronze poplin, now, this will be quite complimentary on you. I must apologize for all the pink gowns. I did not know what you looked like, and I have so many of them…”

She looked so earnest, and concerned, that Millicent could not help but warm to her, and tried to hide the dismay on her face as she gazed at the dress. “I’m sure this will suit.” The dress looked extremely… fussy. But she supposed Lady Yardley would be impressed by it. The hem and sleeves and an apron-like square down the front had all been edged with scallops. Lady Roseus handed her matching bronze shoes, a small black lace hat trimmed with bronze beads, and a pair of light green gloves.

The lady tamed Millicent’s hair into a presentable chignon, pinned the silly hat on her head, and handed her a bronze-beaded reticule and black lace parasol. Millicent retrieved the bracelet from the washstand and stuffed it into the small bag, fighting the urge to return it to her wrist. She turned and faced Lady Roseus, lifting her chin to combat the sadness in her heart.

“You look smashing, my dear,” said the smaller woman. “The carriage is waiting, but my man will need a destination.”

“I shall give it to him,” replied Millicent.

Her hostess’s face fell.

“I thought curiosity was my animal’s faulty nature.”

Lady Roseus pinked at the subtle gibe. “I am really quite fond of Bran.”

Millicent raised a brow.

“I am interested in anything concerning him… especially if it could be dangerous.”

“Do not fear, Lady Roseus. My task will not endanger him, or any of your household.” Millicent studied the other woman. “You must care for him a great deal to aid him with little knowledge of the reason.”

Her pink complexion darkened to rose.

“I will make sure to mention that to him.”

The lady’s face lit. “Oh, would you? I would be ever so grateful… men can be rather obtuse, at times.”

Millicent nodded in agreement, followed her hostess from the room, down the stairs, and through the hall to the front door. A carriage did indeed stand waiting for her, and the coachman pulled down the step for her, and she climbed inside. The man gave her an inquiring look.

Millicent realized she had no idea where Lady Yardley lived in London. Or whether she would even be at home, instead of ensconced at her country estate, where Millicent had last met her. “Lady Claire Yardley… daughter to the Earl of Sothby.”

When the coachman nodded and closed the door, she slumped in relief. As she had hoped, she did not need an address for such lofty personages. Lady Roseus had an excellent coachman… who would no doubt inform his mistress of their destination as soon as they returned. Millicent looked out the window as the carriage jolted forward. Her hostess still stood on the steps of her elegant town home, waving frantically. Millicent sighed. The lady gathered her skirts, as if she would run the carriage down unless Millicent acknowledged her farewell. Millicent finally waved back. Heavens, she had never met a friendlier woman. No wonder Bran had been drawn to her. As she had recently discovered, her employer possessed a gentle heart beneath his overbearing exterior.

Millicent continued to gaze out the window. She loved the rain, such an odd occurrence aboveground, but today the skies lacked any gray clouds, and brilliant sunshine bathed London. Although it hurt her eyes, she loved days like this the best. To feel warmth from something other than a fire, a gentle warmth that bathed her cheeks and hands, was something she could get used to.

The houses became grander, and more peculiar, as they drove through the affluent areas of the city. The aristocracy flaunted their magical powers with their very own homes. Imposing marble edifices snuggled up to fanciful towers of gemstone and spun sugar. Stately parks held animated statues, and fountains sparkled with liquid diamonds. Odd-shaped trees mixed with enormous oaks, while flowers of luminous color swayed next to bushes of tamed roses.

So bright and strange and beautiful. Millicent felt the sudden urge to stay aboveground forever.

She sat back against the cushions of the seat. She would never get an opportunity to do so. She belonged in the Underground, in the darkness, with the rest of the creatures of the night. Even now, she felt her beast clawing to the surface, panicked at all of the open space around her, the tall buildings and crowded streets only adding to her tension.

The carriage entered a large square, stopped in front of a mansion decorated with thousands of white peacocks. They roosted on every windowsill, abnormally long tails of delicate feathers sweeping down to the next story. Two stood silent sentry next to the door, and one enormous bird spread his feathers in a white arc on top of the home, neatly shading the entire house.