The butler led her into the elegant home, informing her that Lady Yardley already had a guest. Millicent came to an abrupt stop when she entered the withdrawing room of Sothby Manor, one of the most aristocratic mansions in London, and saw a shape-shifting baronet lounging on the satin cushions. “Sir Harcourt!”

The were-lion rose from his seat next to Claire, where they had been sitting most inappropriately close together. The last time she’d seen him, he had bloody fur around his neck. Blood she had put there.

Harcourt gave her a low bow. “Lady Millicent. What a pleasure to see you again.”

She raised a brow in doubt, and turned her attention to Claire. “Your father may have an apoplexy, what with all the animals you choose to befriend.”

Claire smiled, her hazel eyes dancing with mischief. “I rather think my engagement may come as something of a shock… but Father has enough mistresses to comfort him from the upset.”

Millicent supposed if she had been raised aboveground she would have gasped at that shocking little speech. Instead, she wrinkled her brow. “Engagement? I thought you despised Sir Harcourt.”

“Her feelings have changed,” rumbled the golden-maned man, laying a possessive hand on Claire’s shoulder. “Obviously.”

“Do have a seat, Millicent,” interjected Claire, nodding at a wingback chair beside her, “and tell me what brings you here in such a state. For you do look rather… intense.”

The harp that stood in the corner of the room changed tune, a fluent string of harmonious notes washing the air. Millicent relaxed her shoulders, unclenched her hands from the handle of the black lace parasol that went with her bronze outfit. She also wore the little beaded hat and light green gloves, and found herself staring at the seams in the fabric covering her hands. She did not want to do this in front of Harcourt. They might be acting civil for Claire’s sake, but Millicent could feel the man’s resentment vibrating with the harp strings.

Lions did not like to be beaten in a fight… especially not by a female panther.

But Sir Harcourt resumed his seat next to Lady Yardley, and did not look as if he was going anywhere soon, and Millicent had no desire to dawdle. Well, then.

She raised her eyes and chin. “I am looking for Sir Gareth.”

“Ha,” said Claire. “It’s about time.” She leaned over and rang a golden bell sitting on a marble table carved in the shape of an upside-down bluebell. “You will join us for dinner, Lady Millicent, for we have much to discuss. You must explain where you have been the last few weeks, and what on earth you have been thinking.”

“There is nothing to explain. He is—what? What do you mean, dinner?”

Claire frowned, and Harcourt gazed at Millicent with a smirk on his handsome mouth.

Millicent backed up a step, turned, and glanced out the window. Time. “What time is it?” She had assumed it was morning, because she had been with Gareth no less than a few hours ago.

“She has always lived in the Underground,” said Harcourt, “and they have an odd sense of time down there.”

Lady Yardley shushed her fiancé. “What is it about the hour that disturbs you, Millicent?” She turned her head as a servant responded to her summons and waved the maid away, before placing her gentle gaze on Millicent once again.

Claire was a true friend, to accept Millicent’s odd history so readily… but Millicent could not give the thought the appreciation it deserved, for one thing kept bouncing about in her head.

If it was close to dinnertime, then Gareth…

“I saw Gareth but a few hours ago. It cannot be that late in the day.”

The were-lion’s handsome face altered, becoming gentler somehow, his scar making him appear more sympathetic than dangerous. “She does not know.”

“Know what?”

Claire smiled as she answered, “Sir Gareth has been released from his curse.”

The world spun. Millicent took a step, and fortunately managed to maneuver a chair beneath her when her legs collapsed. She could not believe it. The spell had been broken. But…

“Who? Who broke the spell?”

Claire shook her head. “It was not I. The bracelet would not tighten on my—”

“Then who?” interrupted Millicent. “I assumed he kept it—who did Gareth give it to the night we fought the dragon?”

“The queen took it,” replied Harcourt. His eyes widened at Millicent’s stricken face, and he hurried on to say, “But it would not tighten on her wrist, either, although I imagine she kept it for a time. That taste of Gareth’s blood kept her by his side for weeks. She even granted him a manor to go along with his title, ancient though it is—the title, not the manor. Although it is a rather old heap of stone—”

“Then who?” demanded Millicent. “Who broke his curse?”

“She sounds like an owl,” muttered Harcourt.

Claire gave him an indignant glance and crossed the room to kneel next to Millicent, placing her gloved hands over Millicent’s own. “You did, dearest. No, do not look so surprised. I was there when it happened, although I did not realize the significance of the moment until the queen explained it all to me later. The curse lifted when Gareth found out that you had given up the relic to me. I think… I think it broke his heart, to realize you had betrayed your promise.”

If Harcourt had not been in the room, Millicent might have felt inclined to cry at Claire’s words. But she stiffened her spine, and the tears barely burned her eyes. “I did not fully realize…”

“Hush, he knows.” She frowned. “Or at least, he had enough faith in you to hope you still loved him. Afterwards, of course.”

“After?”

“After he recovered from his heart being broken. I daresay, I heard it… although the queen says it was the sound of the gemstone in the relic breaking.”

Several things suddenly made sense to Millicent. Her heart felt like a bird trapped in a cage, threatening to break free. “Then the bracelet did not tighten on my wrist because the curse had already been broken.”

“Merlin was a crafty old coot,” interjected Harcourt. “He didn’t damn Gareth to find his true love. In fact, Merlin made it harder for him as the relic had no design for the women it chose. The only thing the relic had been enchanted to sense was Gareth’s broken heart. The Master of the Hall of Mages thinks Merlin cared only that Gareth should earn his freedom by feeling betrayed… the same way Merlin had felt when your knight had broken his heart by dallying with his Lady Vivian.”

“Gareth has more than paid for that crime,” retorted Claire.

Harcourt nodded. “Merlin made sure of it.”

Millicent bowed her head, the silly hat tugging at the shaggy coiffure Ambrose had managed to twist up for her. “I must go to him.” Had Gareth felt this way, when she had rejected him? She could not bear thinking of him in such pain. She would not shy away from him this time. She would confess her mistake and demand his forgiveness, and if he did not forgive her… if she had broken his heart as badly as hers had once been broken… then she would heal it. As her knight had healed hers.

Claire rose. “He is not in London. I heard he left for his estate this morning.”

“Where?” Millicent would follow him to the ends of the earth. Her resolve to be with Gareth… to reassure him that she loved him… to take away any pain she had caused him, overrode her feeling of dread at being alone aboveground. Of traveling beneath the sun, living a life in light instead of darkness.

She might even come to like it.

She would, for Gareth’s sake.

“Are you sure you want to rush off?” asked Claire. “Perhaps you should give yourself some time to let this all sink in.”

“I have already taken up too much time,” growled Millicent. She felt her beast waking, begin to start pacing inside her. She wanted her mate. “If I had not been so afraid of loving him… I never would have hurt him like this.”

“I shall loan you one of my carriages.”

“No, Lady Yardley. I will travel much faster on… paws. I am already several hours behind him.”

Claire gaped. “Millicent. You cannot go galloping through London in your were-shape. It is simply not done.”

Harcourt’s belly groaned. “Egads, Claire, let the woman go. She knows how to keep to the shadows. My meal has been delayed long enough.”

“You are unconscionably practical.”

“Which is why you adore me.” The were-lion rose and strode over to a secretary, pulled a sheet of stationery from the top drawer, and began to draw out a map with a fountain pen. “Here, Millicent. Take this road out of London, then take the left branch here. After that… if you cross country, which I rather imagine you will, head northeast. Hobover House is in the district of Ipswitch, right here.”

Millicent rose and studied the finished map he held out to her. She had developed a good sense of direction, a necessity when living underground. She would find him.

Claire reached out and pulled Millicent into a hug. Millicent had never noticed her friend’s short stature before, for Claire’s vibrant personality did not allow for it, but her auburn coiffure barely reached Millicent’s chin.

“Oh, Millicent. You will be careful, won’t you? There are dangers on the road… and through the forest. And our world is so unfamiliar to you.”

“It is less dangerous than the Underground. You forget my true nature, dear friend.” And Millicent shifted to panther.

Claire stepped back, and Harcourt wrapped one comforting arm about her shoulders, and she leaned into his embrace.

Millicent found the sight of the two of them together most astonishing. Her thought must have reflected in her eyes, for Harcourt smirked at her, but oddly enough, not in an unkind way. She leaped onto the windowsill, and threw her friend one last glance over her shoulder.