Harcourt followed him. “Master—it’s not wise to leave behind loose magic.”

Lord Sussex glanced behind him, sparkling magic trailing from his hands. He gathered it to him, creating a small sun within his hands. When they reached the drive out front, he dispersed it over their heads, lighting up the night. “There, now. It will follow us to light the way… no broken legs for my horses. Sir Timison, sound the alarm to gather any other shifters in residence, and then fetch my coach, quickly.”

The man with the black-striped hair shifted to tiger and raced off into the mews, returning shortly in human form on top of the carriage, the horses racing toward them at amazing speed. Although Millicent had not seen them in the group of baronets, the horses must be shape-shifters themselves to cover ground at such a pace.

She blinked. The group of shifters surrounding them had more than doubled with the sound of the alarm. The speed of her own kind could still amaze her.

His lordship turned to his baronets. “I suppose you shall all move faster in your were-forms. When we catch up to the blackguard, keep to the shadows. I don’t want to spook the man. Ghoulston had his own guards with him, along with Victoria’s. If Ghoulston doesn’t stop his coach when I hail him, take out the guards, as quietly as you can. And try not to kill any of Victoria’s men; she is rather fond of them.”

He turned his sharp gaze on Millicent, Claire, Gareth, and Sir Harcourt. “I want you in the coach with me, to convince Queen Victoria if possible, to restrain her if necessary. She will not marry this man.”

“If Ghoulston sees us,” said Gareth. “He will know the game is up.”

“Hopefully, I will have my niece in my coach before the man is the wiser.” The Master clambered into the carriage, the springs squeaking. The four of them quickly followed; Claire, Millicent, and Gareth squished together on one seat, Sir Harcourt taking his seat beside Lord Sussex.

“The fastest road to Gretna Green,” shouted his lordship, and the coach lurched forward.

Millicent gazed out the window, trying to ignore the jolt of excitement that flew through her at the feel of Gareth’s warm body pressed against hers. Beyond the circle of the Master’s magical light, she could see the dark shape of lion, tiger, wolf, and jaguar keeping pace with the horses, and occasionally a flash of fur atop the roofs, a gleam of claw within a back street. They could easily pass them if they wished, since the were-horses were hampered with pulling the coach, but kept a protective circle around them. Millicent did not need to gaze upward to know that eagles and hawks and falcons flew above them.

An astonishing company. Ghoulston would be frightened out of his wits, for his magic could not defend against a one of them.

A smile crept across her face. For Nell. Ghoulston would pay for what he had done to Nell.

The coach swerved and smashed Gareth even closer against her, Claire uttering a squeal at the wild movement. Were-horses galloped at a clip that ordinary horses could not match, and Millicent could only be grateful that the Master’s coach appeared to be built to handle such extraordinary speed.

Gareth muttered an apology, which she felt more than heard, for the wheels crunched and the wind wailed and the carriage groaned.

Millicent scooted as close to the wall as she could and closed her eyes. What had it cost her to avenge Nell’s death? She had broken her promise to Gareth. A good man. A man of such honor, that she knew if their positions had been reversed, he would never have broken a promise he had made to her. And then she had the gall to tell him he should thank her for it.

Right after Gareth had saved her from the madness of her beast.

He would never forgive her. Indeed, why would she want him to? She had spoken truly, after all. If she could not free him from the relic, she did not want him to sacrifice his freedom to be with her. He might come to resent her, and she could not bear it. But it hurt to be so close to him and have to pretend she didn’t care.

But Millicent had not thought about what would happen when Claire brought the relic to the Hall of Mages. She had not thought beyond her need to avenge Nell. Of course the Master would keep the relic. He would not allow Claire to walk out of the Hall with it, to allow the ladies of Society to lead him a merry chase again. And what would the spymaster do with the bracelet? Perform magical experiments on Gareth, as Ghoulston had done? Keep the relic within a warded vault, never to be placed around another woman’s wrist again… trapping Gareth inside it forever?

No. Gareth would never forgive her. She had no right to ask it of him. She ignored the weakness in her foolish heart that kept wanting her to do just that.

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.”