As Gareth reached the bottom of the last step and made his way through the catacomb of tunnels, the darkness surrounded him like a shroud, only the odd glowing fungus on the walls keeping it at bay. He could still not get used to the idea that he would never live in darkness again, that tomorrow morning, he would see the sun rise once more. He had marveled over it for the last few weeks and had not missed a sunrise or a sunset, even when the sky had been darkened with clouds and rain for a day or two.

He reached out and ran a finger along the green-glowing plant on the tunnel wall. Millicent had not only given him his freedom, but had gifted him with more light in his life than he could ever have imagined. He would do anything for her, including the task of chasing after a legend.

The tunnel abruptly ended and opened onto the massive cavern that sheltered the underground city. The network of streams running through the streets stank as badly as the Thames above. The buildings he passed resembled those of London’s East End, except for the lack of solid roofs. The fairylights studding the ceiling high above looked like nothing more than the twinkling stars in the sky. The resemblance to London always astonished him.

But the Underground never saw the sunlight.

Millicent lived in the dark.

He would give her the same gift she had given him. If only she would let him.

Gareth passed over one bridge after another, feeling only a slight twinge from his injury. He’d had the most powerful healer in the country to tend him. Queen Victoria herself. Even though the love potion had worn off, the queen still seemed to retain a fondness for him… although she had enthusiastically set her cap on Prince Albert. But as soon as Gareth could move without wincing, she had taken him to Ipswitch, to see Hobover Manor. Gareth had learned that the house had been named after the hobgoblins that roamed the halls of the stone structure. The creatures were rumored to be mischievous but harmless. And he had seen only one of them, a little fellow with hunched shoulders and a crooked grin. Gareth had managed to hire some staff while he was there, and had set them to putting the manor in order. The queen had pointed out an enormous hearth in the middle of a neglected ballroom as a likely place to build Nell’s nest.

Surprisingly, Lord Sussex himself had acquired the branches and spices for the nest and had them delivered to Hobover House with his regards.

Gareth needed only to bring Nell’s ashes home.

He opened the door of the Swill and Seelie, the wood creaking on the hinges of the door. Gareth had a home. A real home. Not the inside of an enchanted moonstone. And he wanted nothing more than to live there the rest of his life with Millicent. He glanced at the door that led to her chambers as he waded through the chairs of the common room, careful to avoid jostling the few customers slumped over the tabletops.

He also wanted nothing more than to drag her from this place and take her home with him, but he couldn’t be sure she would stay, unless he managed to bring Nell back to life. Such a slim hope to gamble his happiness upon.

Gareth stepped behind the bar, where Ambrose lay snoring atop an abandoned leather glove, and gently tapped on the door of Bran’s room.

The were-bear opened it with a growl. “Egads, man, do ye know what time it is?”

“Aye. The sun rose aboveground about an hour ago.”

“The sun rose…” The big man shook his head like a bear coming out of a long hibernation. His eyes widened as the implication of Gareth’s words seemed to sink in. “Ye saw the sun, lad?”

“For several weeks now.”

“How—when? Wait, come inside. We don’t want to wake the regulars.”

Gareth followed him into the storeroom, and took the same seat he had once before, atop a wooden crate full of bottles. “It’s why the bracelet did not tighten around Millicent’s wrist,” he said without preamble. “The curse had already been broken.”

Bran settled his bulk on another crate, the wooden slats bowing under the big man’s weight. “That’s a relief. The gel has done nothing but sulk. And start fights. Crikey, I hired her to stop them, ye know.” He scratched at his chest. “So, Millie’s love was strong enough to break yer curse after all?”

“Yes. But I’m not sure it’s strong enough to make her marry me.”

“Then why are ye here, if not to take the gel off my hands?”

Gareth’s gaze swung over to the low shelf Bran had pointed out before. “I came to get Nell’s ashes. I have a home now. A place where she can… rest in peace.” He couldn’t bring himself to tell Bran about his hopes to bring Nell back. It seemed a foolish proposition beneath Bran’s steady practicality.

“A home? Ye move fast, lad.”

“It’s a gift from the queen, in recompense for saving her from an ill-fated marriage. She told me to tell you she would like to reward you, as well.”

The were-bear’s heavy brows lifted in surprise. “Ye don’t say? Well, tell Her Majesty I have everything I need right here. It was an honor to do queen and Country a service, lad. It doesn’t come about too often, belowground.”

Gareth felt little surprise at Bran’s answer. He rose and took the bag of ashes from the shelf, stuffing it into the deep pocket of his new morning coat. Another change he had to become accustomed to. Different clothing. The queen had outfitted him with an entire new wardrobe of trousers, brocade waistcoats, velvet frock coats. He preferred his new boots over the pointy toes of his old ones, but missed his sword. Queen Victoria had deemed it quite out of fashion, but had come to his rescue by outfitting him with a bamboo cane that held a hidden blade inside.

Paper crackled and he pulled out Lady Roseus’s note. “I have a message for you.”

Bran’s face lit up and he quickly rose and splashed water on his face from a washbowl in the corner of the room.

“Aren’t you going to read it?”

“Not necessary,” replied Bran from behind the cloth he dried his face with. He quickly pulled on a shirt, boots, and a worn leather overcoat. “I can smell the scent on it from here.”

Gareth stepped aside as Bran stumbled past him.

“Where are you going?”

“Ain’t it obvious, mate? When duty calls, I do not delay in answering. It will be a few hours before the regulars wake.” And with that, Bran opened the door and left the pub.

Gareth stood for a moment, only the soft sounds of a little snoring sprite breaking the silence.

He should leave as well. Return to Hobover House with Nell’s remains.

But he could feel her. So near.

He had hurt her when he’d demanded she give him the bracelet.

She had been furious when it had not tightened about her wrist.

Now was not the time to explain everything to Millicent. He hoped to have Nell’s rebirth as an assurance for his proposal.

Gareth threaded his way through the tables again, stopped at the entrance to the hall that led to her room. He could not be sure if she would welcome him. But he did not have the willpower to be this close… without touching her.

Gareth took a breath, strode to her room, and opened the door.

She lay on her pallet, hidden in her were-form, the glossy fur of her panther blending with the dark night. He knelt next to her, laid his hand on her velvet head, and Millicent shifted to human. Gareth smiled in triumph. If nothing else, he had tamed her beast.

Millicent turned her head, her face haloed within a square of fairylight filtering through the small window next to her bed. Her skin glowed like porcelain, like fresh-fallen snow. Her dark lashes fluttered and her mouth parted on a sigh.

Gareth reacted without thought. He leaned down and pressed his lips against hers.

The scent of windblown moors replaced the sour smell of ale that permeated the rest of the tavern. He gloried in the taste of her. Stronger than wine. Sweeter than honey.

In his time, he would have composed poems about her.

The hell with this modern age. He would do so anyway.

Her lips moved beneath his and he deepened the kiss, until her arms stole around his shoulders and his heart fluttered in joy. In triumph. Millicent might never be sure of her feelings, but her body knew what she wanted.

Gareth shed his overcoat, his coat, his waistcoat. He had not lost the skill of removing his clothing without breaking the kiss, despite no longer being cursed. Millicent’s hands fluttered about his shoulders, tugged at the knot of his cravat. She wore a gown of soft cotton, the fabric so thin in places he could feel the heat of her skin beneath. Gareth smoothed his palms over the curve of her breasts, and she purred.

He pulled up her skirts, ran his hands up her muscled leg, along the sweet jut of her hipbone.

Millicent fumbled at the buttons of his shirt, managed to open it enough to smooth her hands along his chest. Her touch set Gareth on fire. Alas, how she managed to heighten his senses, to bring his body to a level of excitement he had never experienced before.

He must have her. He would do anything to win her. Gareth pressed closer, claimed her tongue with his in a dance that mimicked his intent. Millicent clutched his shoulders in a possessive grip. He touched her. Touched her wet heat, her silky folds, and she arched against his hand.

He delved deeper. Deeper, until she squirmed beneath him. Until she growled with need.

In one smooth motion, Gareth slid his body over hers and kissed her entrance with his swollen flesh. Then gently, slowly, filled her with his need, with his desire. With his love.

Millicent arched back her head, breaking their kiss, exposing the smooth white curve of her throat. Her harsh gasps sounded loud in the tiny room. He ran his tongue over the creamy skin, relishing the salty-sweet taste of her.