EnchantingtheLadyExcerpt

                                                                   Enchanting the Lady
                                                        Relics of Merlin
                                                     By Kathryne Kennedy

                                                         London, 1882
                                              Where magic has never died…

                                                            Chapter 1

     Felicity should’ve known that her cousin would try to frighten her with one of his illusions on the most important day of her life. But when she opened the door to her room to fetch her wrap and saw the quality of the apparition before her, she gasped with astonishment.
     The wooden floor had cracked apart to reveal a gaping hole. Felicity leaned forward and peered over the edge, an odor of rotten eggs burning her nose. Her lavender-blue eyes watered as she looked down into an abyss that glowed from a river of lava flowing at the very bottom.
     Cousin Ralph’s magic had surpassed his rank, just as Uncle Oliver had predicted. As a viscount’s son, he shouldn’t have been able to create illusions, much less something this vivid.
Felicity swallowed and lifted her chin. Ralph’s illusions usually came to her in dreams, and it startled her that he’d become powerful enough to send her one in the daytime. Still, it could only be an illusion, no matter how well crafted, and she’d have to cross it in order to reach her white lace shawl. But she hated heights.
     Uncle Oliver’s impatient voice--loudly wondering what could be taking her so long to fetch a wrap--carried up the stairs. Felicity took the deepest breath she could within the confines of her corset, lifted the ruffles of her skirts and sprinted across the room, landing in a very unladylike sprawl atop her settee. Her heart pounded at an alarming rate and her hands shook when she reached for her wrap, but a smile of grim satisfaction spread across her face.
And then she glanced down.
     The settee shifted, slowly sinking into the chasm.
     “Blast!”
     Felicity rolled, thankfully hit a solid surface with her feet, and leaped across the room, catching the edge of the chasm with her fingers. Her feet flailed and she could feel the heat of the lava flow up her skirts and she swore she’d get even with her cousin.
     She’d never been caught up in one of his illusions to this degree. His magic kept growing stronger, and she had little to none of her own to counter it.
     “My goodness, Miss Felicity!”
     Felicity looked up into the freckled face of her newest lady’s maid.
     “I near stepped on ye! Whatever are ye doing?”
     Felicity wiggled her toes and glanced over her shoulder. The lava burped and a fresh wave of rot hit her nose. “What does it look like, Katie?”
     The Irish girl stepped back, her eyes wide, and crossed herself. “Yer laying on the floor, miss. Wiggling like a fish.”
     Felicity sighed. She’d lose another maid. Again. It was hard enough to get good servants, but when only she could see the illusions, they had a tendency to think she was a bit mad. But her fingers had started to slip, and her shoulders to cramp, so she had to ask. “Would you mind giving me a hand, then? I can’t seem to get up.”
     Katie nodded, the red hair that had escaped her cap bouncing along her flushed cheeks. Although tiny, she had enough wiry strength to flip Felicity right on her feet.
     “Now, then.” Felicity brushed at the dust covering the front of her white gown. “I think you should go straight away to the upstairs maid and tell her the floors must be mopped more often. Really, when one wants to wiggle like a fish, one should not be subjected to such filth.”
     Katie nodded again, backing down the hallway as if afraid to turn her back on her mistress. Felicity watched her bound down the stairs as if the hounds of hell were after her, and tried not to feel too sad.
     Sometimes Felicity thought she might be going a bit daft. For the umpteenth time she wished she could get away from magic, find some nice untitled, unmagical man who couldn’t light a fire without some ordinary matches…
     Aunt Gertrude passed her in a rush of whispering silk and lavender scent, spun to a halt and narrowed her eyes. “Is that you, Felicity? I’ve been looking for you everywhere. Lord Wortley has become most impatient with the wait, and you know how your uncle gets when he’s inconvenienced.”
     Lady Gertrude Wortley grasped her niece’s hand and towed her down the stairs, the feathers in her hat leading the way like the prow of a great ship. She swayed like one as well, the bulk of her thighs creating a rolling motion, her huge bustle a pendulum of silk. Felicity adored her aunt, who had been her surrogate mother since Felicity’s parents had died. But Aunt was plagued by headaches and she rarely left her personal chambers. They shared the same home but Felicity seldom saw her.
     Aunt Gertrude looked surprisingly well. Felicity could never see a resemblance to her aunt in the photographs of her mother. Aunt lacked the coal-black hair and violet eyes of her mother, and instead was gifted with mousy brown hair, watery blue eyes, and a plain face. If she’d been a beauty in her youth, it had faded with the years and her illness.
     When they reached the bottom of the staircase Aunt Gertrude bobbed her head at her scowling husband and ushered Felicity out the great door, down the marble steps and into their coach. Uncle Oliver and Ralph climbed in and sat in the opposite seat, both dressed in black top hats and double-breasted frock coats. At seventeen, Ralph looked like a younger version of his handsome father, his face just beginning to lose the fullness of a boy’s. Ralph’s mahogany brown hair was matched with similarly colored eyes, whereas Uncle Oliver’s eyes glittered an icy gray. And Uncle Oliver didn’t sneer at her with disdain.
     Aunt Gertrude finally let go of her hand. “Felicity, dear,” she whispered. “Your palms are so sweaty. Don’t tell me you’ve forgotten your gloves?”
     Felicity shook her head and pulled the lengths of satin from the pocket of her skirt, ignoring Ralph’s snort of contempt. While she struggled to pull the cloth over damp skin, she glared at him beneath her lashes. Let him gloat over the fright he’d given her while he had the chance. If he wanted to continue to behave like a child--even though he was due to reach his majority in a few months--she would accommodate him.
      Even though she had little to no magic, there were other ways she could get even. Like pepper in his soup, powder in his top hat, holes in his breeches. She’d had to get creative over the years, and even though his next illusion would be even worse because of it, she just couldn’t let him bully her without any consequences.
     If only Uncle Oliver would do something about it. But whenever she complained to him, Ralph would either lie, or point out that if Felicity worked harder on garnering her own magic, she’d be able to counter-act any of his measly spells.
     Felicity flexed her fingers beneath the satin. Perhaps Uncle Oliver viewed her as a kind of motivation to increasing Ralph’s magic. And she knew that nothing was more important to Uncle Oliver than gaining his deceased brother-in-law’s title.
     Uncle glanced at her and lifted an imperious brow, and Felicity quickly turned to look out the window, staring at her reflection in the glass. She admired the three white feathers in her hair, the way Katie had done up her black locks into twists and curls, then let the back fall in waves where it flowed over her bustle like a river of silk. Her pale face still had a flush of pink from her fright, and her black lashes outlined the bluish-violet of her eyes, so that even in her reflection they seemed to glow.
     She might have been vain, if anyone had ever noticed her. But she’d become so accustomed to people overlooking her presence, that she felt sure her features weren’t particularly extraordinary. Felicity knew that if she thought herself the tiniest bit handsome it was because she’d reached an age where she resembled the photographs of her mother…and who didn’t think that their own mother was beautiful?
     Especially when one’s mother was dead.
     “Do you think,” she asked no one in particular, “that if my parents had lived, I’d have inherited the power?”
     Stunned silence rocked with the coach over the cobblestones. Felicity never mentioned her parents; it always seemed to bring such horrible reactions from Aunt and Uncle.
     Uncle Oliver scowled and cursed beneath his breath. Ralph’s mouth dropped open in the most unbecoming way, and Aunt Gertrude rushed to fill the silence.
     “Lord Wortley, I’m sure it’s just her nerves. It’s most difficult to face a presentation, especially without the support of one’s parents.”
     Uncle Oliver looked ready to implode.
     “I mean,” stuttered Aunt, “When she’s likely to fail at the tests, it’s understandable…isn’t it?” She patted Felicity gently on the hand, but her eyes glinted with a warning. “We all feel the loss of the Duke and Duchess, dear. Especially when one reminds us of their absence.”
     Felicity tried not to flinch when Aunt mentioned her probable failure. But Uncle Oliver let out a gust of breath and his features relaxed back into their most handsome mask, and Ralph let out a smug giggle.
     “Just wait,” he boasted, “until my presentation. At least then the lands will stay in the family.”
     “Dear Ralph,” sighed Aunt Gertrude. She fingered her pearl necklace. “That’s something to be grateful for now, isn’t it, Felicity? If you don’t have the magic required to be the next duchess, at least your cousin might be the next duke.”
     Felicity tried to look grateful. She knew her lack of magic to continue the title had to be a great disappointment to Aunt and Uncle, and she shouldn’t begrudge her cousin because he carried it in his veins. But she’d been duchess-of-honor for her parents’ holdings for so long she felt they belonged to her. She didn’t care much for Stonehaven Castle, nor their London mansion, but Graystone Castle was home. It was her parents’ legacy to her…
     “Look at Lord Gremville’s new coach and four.” Uncle Oliver’s voice dripped with disdain.
     Felicity stared out the window. Marquesses’s powers were limited to illusions and the transfer of objects, so she knew that the white unicorns with golden horns weren’t real, that the gilded coach camouflaged a plain black finish. Still, the sight took her breath away, and she longed to stroke the foreheads of the animals.
     “Oh, yes,” said Aunt Gertrude. “Unicorns are at the height of fashion now. Such a relief! Much better than those ghastly gargoyles they had last season.”
     “Foolish of him, don’t you think, father?” Ralph’s lips thinned into a narrow line, making his handsome face look cruel. “How long can a marquesses’s powers last, a few hours or so? He’d have to renew the spell in the middle of the presentation, and the wards are too strong for him to get past them. It’ll be interesting to see the real condition of his nags.”
     “Perhaps. But perhaps it would be equally delightful to have a son that could hold his illusion for even that long.”
     Ralph shrank in his seat and Felicity couldn’t help feel a pang of sympathy for him. For some ridiculous reason Uncle felt her absence of power forgivable because of her gender. But Ralph lacked that excuse. She thought Uncle had unreasonable expectations for his son; after all, Uncle was only a viscount, his powers limited to alchemy and herbs. Yet he expected Ralph to attain the power of a duke, to go beyond illusions to the actual changing of matter. Ralph’s powers already entitled him to the expected rank of a marquess, or at the very least, an earl.
     Felicity gave Ralph a sympathetic smile, which only made him glare at her. Why did Uncle seem so confident that Ralph would become a duke? Surely Uncle’s ambitions were for her sake, so the family could keep the land her parents had left her.
     The coach lurched to a stop and Felicity blinked with surprise and a sudden panic. They had reached Buckingham Palace so soon? The door opened and just as Felicity descended from the coach the clouds cleared and the sun lit the palace. The diamond-studded walls threw prisms of color in her eyes. She squinted to admire the fanciful arches over the windows that had been shaped into mythical beasts and ancient battles of wizardry.
     Felicity averted her gaze from the warding spells that surrounded the walls. Although barely discernable, if she looked too long it always made her feel queasy.
     It would be several hours before her official presentation in the palace. She had to be tested first. The guards herded their group towards a small, unremarkable building. It didn’t look more important than the palace itself, but within those walls titles had been made or broken.
     As they waited in line, Felicity stared at the mosaic-tiled walk. If the wards of the palace could make her queasy, the ones surrounding the Hall of Mages would make her violently ill. Designed not only for defense, but to keep the magic released inside those walls contained, the wards roiled in dizzying motion.
     Aunt Gertrude patted her shoulder and murmured encouraging words of sympathy. Felicity lifted her chin and locked her trembling legs. They all expected her to fail. And she couldn’t blame them, since she could barely manage to light a candle with the magic she possessed. But she knew she had magic, it just always seemed to be hiding from her. And lately, she’d discovered a small secret.
     If she looked for her magic, it always evaded her. But if she relaxed a bit, she could feel it gathering from all the tiny crevices in her body, and she’d managed, just a few times, to use it.
Felicity prayed that she could accomplish that feat again today. She endured the agonizing wait by imagining how pleased Aunt and Uncle would be to realize that she did carry a bit of her parents’ power. Not enough to permanently keep her parents’ title, but at least enough to hold the title of honor until another qualified for the dukedom.
     “Lady Felicity May Seymour?”
She looked up into the face of a novice, his purple robes indicating his rank. He looked over her head at Aunt Gertrude, who shook her head with disgust and laid her hand gently on Felicity’s shoulder.
     “This is Duchess-of-Honor Stonehaven.”
     The novice blinked. “I apologize, I didn’t see you standing there. Would you follow me, please?”
     Felicity strengthened her resolve. She embraced Aunt and Uncle as if she’d never see them again…that she went to her doom instead of a testing of entitlement. Ralph’s sneer of disgust made her abruptly loosen her hold.
     She followed the novice down so many hallways and through such a myriad of corridors that without a guide she knew she’d never find her way out again. Strange sounds issued from behind several closed doors. Green lights and blue smoke bled through cracks in the frames and seeped into the halls. Felicity grabbed a pinch of the novice’s robe and held on.
     “Don’t worry,” he said. “Not enough can get out to harm you.”
     “Enough of what?” she gasped.
      He only chuckled and opened a door embellished with a golden crown. He pushed her through and closed it behind her, and when Felicity looked up she saw a half dozen white-gowned girls.
     One-by-one they’d be called out to face their test. She hadn’t thought about it, but experiencing this holding cell with other equally nervous, jittery, giggly girls felt like a subtle form of torture.
     She didn’t know any of the girls, but they all seemed to know each other, whispering words of encouragement and adjusting one another’s hair feathers. Felicity had never cared for the city, always preferring to live at Graystone Castle in Ireland. Aunt and Uncle had indulged her, though now she wished they hadn’t. It might be comforting to have a friend to talk to. But they all ignored her and so she just concentrated on relaxing. Which seemed ridiculous, considering her situation.
     Felicity fought against her corset to breathe as deeply as she could. Ralph’s illusions had taught her about fear from a very young age. When faced with a three-headed green monster slobbering noxious purple goo all over one’s bedcovers night after night for several years--she felt relieved when Ralph eventually chose to vary his repertoire--she’d learned to separate the fear from her brain.
     As she got older, and his illusions became more sophisticated, her skill at managing fear had only increased.
     So, she breathed, and acknowledged the pounding of her heart without thinking she’d die from it, and let the weakness in her knees flow out through her toes. She gave her body permission to be afraid, already knowing that the fear had a limit to what it could do to her. But she must let her mind relax. Must allow the little bit of magic given her to gather at her fingertips, so that when the time came she’d be able to--
     “Lady Felicity May Seymour, please enter.” Another novice held open a door from across the room and scanned the sea of white ruffles. His eyes slowly focused on her as she approached. “The prince is most anxious to meet you.” And he bowed aside, waving her through the door with an unnecessary flourish of his arm.

                                                            Chapter 2

     Terence Blackwell froze outside the prince’s private rooms, a frisson of anger curling up his spine. His nostrils flared and he inhaled deeply, recognizing the scent of evil power. Could it be?
     Relic magic.
     Here, in the Hall of Mages. And even worse, near to his crown prince.
     He shifted, claws scraping the tiled floor, fangs lengthening from the corners of his mouth, his muscles growing stronger and tensed to spring. A snarl of rage ripped from the back of his lion throat and he broke down the door with one mighty leap.
     His eyes scanned the room, looking for danger, while his nostrils flared, trying to catch the scent of relic-magic. The prince stared at him aghast, his eyes wide in his pudgy face, while noblemen scrambled behind furniture and women screamed. Two guards stood at the opposite end of the room, their swords half-drawn from their scabbards, and several hands waved and threw spells in his direction.
     “Good God, Blackwell, what’s the meaning of this?” demanded Prince Albert. The guards let their swords fall back into their scabbards, but several of the noblemen continued to wave their hands at him. The prince gave them a look of disgust. “Leave off, gentleman, your spells are useless.”
     Several of the men turned ugly shades of pink.
     Terence swung his heavy mane back and forth. Where had it gone? He couldn’t catch a trace of the scent anymore. His prince had been in the middle of a game of cards, which now lay scattered about the room, and two lovely noblewomen hung from each of his arms. The noblemen had scattered as thoroughly as the cards.
     Terence grunted in confusion. His prince’s expression had gone from annoyed, to decidedly amused. Terence shifted back to human, still alert for any sign of danger, but starting to feel a bit sheepish. He might’ve overreacted. A bit.
     “Are you going to explain, Blackwell, or continue to suffocate my guard?”
     Terence glanced down at his feet. He stood atop the fallen door, the wood at a slight angle, intermittently bobbing up and down by a man’s struggled breathing. He stepped off the door and lifted it, the guard beneath giving a sob of relief as he took a full breath.
     “My apologies,” muttered Terence. He looked up at his prince. “And to you as well, your royal highness. My most abject apologies.”
     The noblemen started to crawl out from their hiding places.
     “I assume you have a good reason for this,” said the prince, “and I’ll be interested to hear what it is. Now.” He motioned Terence from the room, through another side door, his pudgy hands shaking only slightly. The prince collapsed on a velvet settee as soon as Terence closed the door behind them.
     “You scared several years off my life, Baronet!”
     Terence lifted a golden brow. “I thought his royal highness was in danger.”
     “From what? My most trusted nobles? In my most warded of rooms?”
Should he tell the prince that he thought he’d smelled the scent of relic-magic? Albert already accused Terence of being obsessed, and since a relic-user had taken his brother Thomas’s life, Terence couldn’t deny it. Would Albert think he’d gone from obsession to foolishness?
     Terence glanced around the room, found a decanter of brandy, and poured the liquid into a jeweled-studded glass. He crossed the plush carpet, and handed it to his prince, who downed it in one gulp.
     “I apologize again,” said Terence, arranging his face into a look of embarrassment. “There are times when I find it difficult to control the animal part of my nature. When I sense danger, I have a tendency to…let my instincts take over.”
     The brandy had restored the prince’s color. He waved a hand dismissively. “Yes, yes. But something made you come charging into that room, Blackwell. Now, what was it?”
     Terence sighed. “I thought I detected the foul smell of relic magic.”
     “Ridiculous,” scoffed the prince, but his eyes dilated with fear, and the edges of his ancestor’s portraits that decorated the walls of the room whitened with frost. “The only time a relic was near the palace was when the usurper used it to take over the throne. It’s what I fear above all else…”
      Small wonder, since relic-magic was the only power that a royal couldn’t defeat. “I only caught a trace of a scent,” said Terence. “And it appears to be gone now.”
     “But here? How could that be possible?” Albert’s fear had turned to anger and the frost melted, running like tears down the walls of the room. Terence wasn’t sure if the prince was even aware of what his magic was doing. The water sizzled into steam, and the marble floor beneath his feet began to shimmer with a red glow.
      Terence quickly tried to reassure him. “It’s possible one of the novice’s crafted something that resembles the odor of relic-magic--or managed to burn something that carries a similar stench.”
     It sounded a bit flimsy, even to Terence, and the prince snorted. “You will find the source of it, Blackwell. I don’t employ you as my spy just because of your immunity to magic, you know. Some of my advisors think you shape-shifters are more of a threat to the crown than the relics. Only by proving your loyalty can I convince them that they are wrong.”
Terence’s amber eyes narrowed and he spun, striding over to the window. His lion-nature had reacted to the veiled threat within the prince’s words, and he fought for control while he stared out the window at the London skyline.
     The strange architecture of the noble’s mansions somehow blended with the buildings built by manual labor alone. Fanciful arches butted against tiled roofs, silver spires rose between brick buildings, and confection-like castles nestled among marble residences.
     The view didn’t help to soothe him as it normally would. Pall Mage looked congested, and he wondered what event caused the jam of carriages. Not that it mattered…
     “There’s not enough shape-shifters to overthrow the crown,” muttered Terence. “Nor could we hold the throne without any magic of our own. Most baronets cannot even support their title. Do you know how many I personally employ?”
     Terence heard a grunt as the prince stood, the rustle of his clothing as he crossed the room. Prince Albert clapped him on the shoulder. “Come now, man. I didn’t say that those were my sentiments. And if the other baronets were as good as your family at tracking down the relics, they’d be just as wealthy as you.”
     “Being a predator has its advantages,” agreed Terence.
     “Quite. Now, I assure you that I trust you with my safety, and that of the realm. Generations of your family have always served, and never failed, this house.”
     His voice rang with genuine honesty, and Terence felt his muscles loosen. When only a relic would threaten a royals’ absolute power over his kingdom, such trust must be difficult to give.
     If only they knew more about the relics! Each stone had been enchanted with a different spell, and they’d only found six of them so far. Legend had it that Merlin had crafted thirteen stones, each with a different spell, a different purpose.
     The prince dropped his hand from Terence’s shoulder and sighed. Terence strode over to the sideboard, unable to feel the magical heat that made the scattered oriental carpets steam.     He poured himself a small goblet of brandy and threw it down his throat, then stared at the empty glass.
     The first of Merlin’s stones to be discovered had been a sapphire imbedded in a goblet similar to the one he now held in his hand. Since it had been used by a usurper of the throne, they knew it had been designed to subtly twist other’s minds to the user’s purpose. And the stone…the stone that had inadvertently caused Thomas’s death had been used to suck the souls of living men, to make them zombie-like creatures that would follow the user’s commands. The diamond had been fashioned into a hairpin, and a woman had used it evilly, before Terence and his brother had tracked it down.
     The other four stones had been found before they could be used. One of lapis, in the headdress of an ancient Egyptian king; another of emerald, in the talisman of an India Mogul; a peridot in the center of a golden cross; and an African ruby embedded in a walking staff.
Even now, his cousin Colin worked to discover their purpose and how they’d been crafted. But Merlin had been the most powerful magician of all time, and the knowledge he’d used to create the relics had been long lost.
     “I would request attendance on your royal person,” said Terence, “for the rest of the day. Until I discover the nature of that scent.”
     “Yes, yes, of course. You needn’t even ask, you know. Although you might regret it. I oversee the testing today.”
     Terence couldn’t understand why the prince enjoyed overseeing the tests for power. He personally found it incredibly boring. But until he found the source of that scent of relic-magic, he’d stay by his prince’s side.
     “Come on Blackwell, let’s return to the others…you humiliated half the room, you know. Did you see the Marquess of Timberly push his wife in front of himself as a shield?”
     Terence shook his head. The prince still hadn’t caught on to the real reason for the rest of the aristocracy to despise not only him, but all of were-kind. Assured of their loyalty, the prince had no reason to fear the baronets. Their immunity to magic provided him with a useful tool.
     But it terrified the rest of the aristocracy. It not only threatened their power, but their feeling of superiority.
     Terence opened the door for his prince, and met the glaring hatred in the eyes of the Marquess, and the open fear in the rest of the nobles’ faces.
     Being the prince’s spy had given him a purpose for his life, a reason for being born an animal, something he’d been ashamed of until he’d realized that a shape-shifter’s unique abilities could sniff out and destroy a relic. Terence raised a golden brow and stared down Lord Timberly until he flushed and looked away.
     “Come now, we had a bit of a fright, but my faithful Baronet thought my person in jeopardy.” Albert sighed with dramatic flair. “If only all my retainers had such loyalty…”
That broke the silence of the room as they all rushed forward to assure their prince that they’d protect him with their lives. Terence received even more private looks of hatred. The hair on the back of his neck had just started to rise when a novice entered the room and announced that the testing would begin.
     Their party assembled on the dais, facing the warding chamber in the center of the room. Most of the nobles whispered amongst themselves, seemingly as bored as Terence. He wondered why so many of the male members of the aristocracy had come with the prince today, and had his answer when a novice announced the entrance of the Duchess-of-Honor Stonehaven.
     Terence could feel the nobles tense with anticipation. He overheard the whispered speculations regarding the availability of such a great title. He felt astonished when the lady in question entered the room and no one seemed to notice.
     But then, his entire concentration became so focused on the girl, that he no longer became aware of anyone else.
     Terence had never seen such a beautiful creature. The white feathers in her hair made it appear blacker than midnight, with a sheen that reminded him of the finest silk. Delicately arched brows of the same hue framed huge, liquid eyes of an unusual violet color. Her full, red lips contrasted with the pale complexion of her skin, and he wondered if her obvious nervousness might be responsible for her lack of color. What would she look like with a blush to her cheeks from a round of fevered lovemaking?
     Terence clenched his fists. He’d never had such an instant attraction to a woman. He could feel his were-self trying to form a husky growl of desire and he trembled with the effort of suppressing it. He’d already managed to allow his animal instincts to make him look enough of a fool for one day.
     But still, he could not take his eyes off the girl. She curtsied to the prince, a low sweep of such poise and grace he half expected the room to burst into applause. But the conversation of the prince and his nobles swirled uninterrupted around him, and it seemed that only Terence had the pleasure of the additional cleavage exposed from her bent position.
     Which suited him fine.
     When the Lady Stonehaven rose from her curtsy he thought he saw her glance from beneath her lowered lashes before she quickly looked down at the floor again. Her bosom heaved with a sigh, as if she’d expected no one would notice the elegance of her curtsy, and then her chin lifted almost defiantly.
     Terence’s nose started to itch. No, it had been itching for some time, but he’d been so intent on fighting his other bodily responses to the girl he hadn’t noticed. He inhaled deeply, and caught the scent of relic-magic again. It came from the Duchess-of-Honor Stonehaven.
If her beauty had held him spellbound before, the faint scent of relic-magic on her person held him in absolute thrall. Could she be a threat to the prince?
     He couldn’t be sure. The touch of relic-magic that she carried had been placed on her a long time ago. How, and why?
     Terence glanced at the noblemen who still hadn’t acknowledged the presence of the girl. Prince Albert stared straight at her, and didn’t appear to see her. The onlookers in the gallery fidgeted and whispered to each other, oblivious to the girl’s presence in the room.
     “Bloody hell,” muttered Terence, as the truth hit him. The girl carried a spell on her that made her nearly invisible. A powerful relic-spell that only a shape-shifter would be immune to. Anyone else would have to concentrate just to see her. Who would do such a thing to her? Or had she done it herself? And if she had, why would she want to hide behind a spell?
Terence grinned, exposing the fangs at the corners of his mouth. What an utterly fascinating creature, so full of puzzles and mysteries. What a wonderful turn of events, for the lovely girl to come here and bring him a lead to the relic.
     In the space of a few moments, the lady Stonehaven had not only managed to gain his admiration, but his suspicion as well. Although she appeared to be an innocent, he’d been fooled by a woman before, and he wouldn’t allow it to happen again.
     Terence threw back his head and almost allowed his were-self to let loose the howl of a hunter on the scent of his prey. He’d found a lead on another relic!
     Already he’d started to form a plan. A plan that involved not only his quest for a relic, but one that would allow him to sort out the contradictions that this girl presented. And would allow him to get close to the stunningly beautiful Duchess-of-Honor.
     Very, very close.

ENCHANTING THE LADY
EXCERPT