“I stand corrected,” said Lady Yardley as she pulled smelling salts out of her reticule and handed them to another woman to administer to the fallen. “Your reputation is now even more notorious, Lady Chatterly.”

The matron who had spoken earlier gave an elegant snort, then quickly slipped off her gloves, pushed back the voluminous sleeves of her black gown, and held out her arm. Lady Chatterly gave her a knowing grin and slipped the band of silver over the woman’s knobby-knuckled hand up to her wrist. Then easily pulled it off again.

“Maybe next time,” murmured Lady Chatterly in sympathy before trying it on another woman. And then another.

Millicent’s heart started to pound and she felt a little faint while the lady drew closer as the relic failed to tighten around anyone’s wrist. Bloody corset. It didn’t allow one to breathe properly. Of course they would expect her to try it on.

Lady Chatterly suddenly stood next to her, tapped her slippered foot impatiently while Millicent carefully removed her gloves. The lady thrust the bracelet at her. The cold metal touched her fingers and Millicent suppressed a shudder. She had nothing to fear. It wouldn’t choose her… she had no use for any man. Besides, her immunity to magic meant it couldn’t cast a spell on her. Although hadn’t Lady Chatterly assured them that the bracelet, and the man trapped within, were as real as the chair she sat upon? Then she would be just as vulnerable as any of these other women.

But the last thing she would ever desire in her life would be a man. No, she was nothing like these other women.

When the metal warmed and tightened around her wrist, it took every ounce of willpower Millicent had to suppress a choking snarl. Magic might be making the bracelet shrink, but the metal felt wholly of this earth, and her immunity to magic would not help. She wanted the relic for the duke, but not this way! She tried to push the bracelet off, but it would no longer fit back over her hand.

“Ah, the country girl,” crowed Lady Chatterly. “Don’t look so alarmed, dear. You wanted to gain some sophistication from a trip to London, and now you shall have more than you could have ever dreamed.”

Millicent dug her fingers under the silver, trying to rip the thing off using the full strength of her were-self. Several of the women patted her shoulder in congratulations and then headed toward the door to the ballroom. Millicent turned and stared at Claire in horror.

“I didn’t think… truly, I’m so sorry, Millicent.”

“Nonsense,” snapped Lady Chatterly. “You did her an enormous favor. The girl just doesn’t know it yet. Now, come along. The ladies are anxious to get back to the ball and we must get you out of here before they open the door.”

Millicent could only nod and follow. Her plan had been to steal the relic so she could give it to the duke. She had no desire to possess it herself. And she certainly didn’t care a whit about the man trapped inside, or his ability to pleasure a woman.

Lady Chatterly led her into a dark hallway and handed Millicent over to a young footman who took her out into the night and ushered her into a black carriage. The horses snorted and stomped their way into the foggy streets of London while Millicent tried to reassure herself.

Lady Chatterly said the bracelet would stay on her wrist for only one night. So Millicent figured all she had to do was let this Gareth person know it had been a mistake for the relic to choose her, and then give it to the duke the next morning.

Surely it would be as easy as that.

And then the gem on the bracelet began to glow, and a man appeared across from her, and Millicent’s mouth dropped open.

Two

Gareth blinked for a moment, allowing the fuzz to clear from his head, which always happened whenever the relic spat him forth. He appeared to be in a coach, the roll of the wheels a gentle rumble beneath him.

“She said you had brown eyes and ebony hair,” murmured a sultry voice.

“Who?” asked Gareth, staring at the shadowy outline of a woman seated across from him.

“Lady Chatterly.”

Aah. He ran his fingers through his very blond hair. He remembered her, the woman who liked to be chastened. The woman who kept her promises. “And what do you see, my lady?”

He could feel her eyes upon him. From the top of his head to the pointed toes of his leather ankle boots. Her gaze lingered longest on the sword at his hip and the red dragon embroidered on his outer tunic. “You have wavy blond hair and light eyes… perhaps blue? And you look younger than I expected.”

“Perhaps you like younger men.”

“I beg your pardon?”

Gareth fell back against the cushions of the carriage with a tired sigh. He always awoke with new hope. But after centuries of disappointment, it had become difficult to keep faith. “My appearance changes to what the holder of the relic desires.”

“But I’m immune to magic. Your spells have no effect on me.”

She said it with pride and a touch of arrogance. Gareth’s interest stirred and he straightened, trying to make out the woman’s features. “A shape-shifter, are you? I’ve had a few over the years, my lady. Verily, they have always seen past the illusions cast on me. But they succumb to my charms just as easily as the others.”

She snorted. “Well, I’m not bloody likely to. It’s all a mistake, you see.”

With a grace born of centuries of practice, Gareth transferred himself from his seat to hers. Better. He could see her features now, and smiled with genuine pleasure. Silky black curls had escaped her coiffure and danced across soft pale cheeks. Red lips formed a perfect crescent below a pert little nose. But he admired her eyes the most, a golden amber that appeared to glow in the darkness. She was probably the most striking woman he’d ever seen. And he’d seen a lot of them. “You’re beautiful, my lady,” he murmured.

She narrowed her eyes. “I imagine that most women melt from your flattering compliments and soulful gaze. But not I. I didn’t want to wear your relic.”

“No?” It didn’t bother him when they protested. They always changed their minds. It just took hours instead of minutes to seduce them… and allowed him to hope for a little while longer.

“I only wanted to bring the relic to His Grace. It wrapped around my wrist by accident.”

He couldn’t help touching the softness of her cheek. But then again, he couldn’t help touching beautiful women. It’s what had landed him into this predicament in the first place. “Must we waste time talking?”

She wasn’t even aware that she leaned into his touch. “Bloody hell, you’re a slick one.”

She looked like a lady but had lapsed into speech worthy of the East End. What a delightful puzzle. Well, he had until dawn to figure her out. His heart sickened at the thought but he tried to keep his hope alive by focusing on the delightful creature next to him. “Not many women see me as I truly am. Is it possible you’re the one?”

“The one what?”

His fingers slipped down her cheek, traced a path across the side of her neck where he could feel the strong beat of her pulse. “The one who will free me from my curse.” Gareth leaned in, breathing in the scent of her. Roses and musk. “You see, my lady, I am seeking my savior.”

She blinked, and a slow rumble started in her throat. Aah, a were-cat of some sort, for she purred beneath the petting of his hand. “I don’t know what she looks like, for in my imagination it is always dark. But I think I will know her by the touch of her naked body against mine. By the weight of her breast in my palm. By the feel of her as I bury myself deep inside.”

Her purr skipped on a sharp intake of breath. Women couldn’t seem to resist the desire to find out if they were special. Special enough to save him. Gareth wished, by all that was holy, that one of them would finally be able to do so.

“So that’s why you seduce women? To find this savior?”

He nodded, bringing his mouth slowly closer to hers. “Will you help me, my lady?”

She stared into his eyes and for a moment he thought he’d won her. But the coach hit a pothole and she blinked, then quickly pulled away from him with a frown. “So what will happen when you find her?”

Gareth studied her with a sad smile. What had made such a lovely creature so hard inside? He could feel her strong will like a tangible wall between them. “I hope her love will break the spell and set me free of the relic.”

“Well, I can assure you, sir, I am not the one you seek. So you may as well save yourself the trouble of—”

The coach lurched to a stop, flinging the girl across the floor to the opposite seat. She tucked and landed on all fours within a froth of skirts and petticoats. Gareth had but a heartbeat to assure himself that she had come to no harm before the shouts of a man had him flinging open the door of the carriage. “Stay inside,” he commanded as he leapt onto the street.

He drew his silver-coated blade the moment his feet touched the cobblestones. Nary a lantern lit the crumbling brick buildings that lined the fog-shrouded street, but enough moonlight shone from the heavens to outline the shaggy mane of the lion that crouched across from him. The beat of enormous wings ruffled his hair and he cast a glance at the coachman, who appeared to be losing his battle with the giant bird that harried him from above with beak and talons.

The lion shifted to man, a jagged scar from temple to jaw ruining his even features. “Give us the relic and you won’t be harmed.”

Gareth smiled sadly. “I’m afraid that’s not possible.”