“Well, I will leave you to it, then. Mother sent a note ‘round requesting my presence at dinner. I am loath to disappoint her.”
Grinning, Harry left the study, taking his levity with him.
“It’s done.”Millie had a habit of entering a room in stealth and announcing her presence with a statement. “If your bag is still there, it should be in your hands before dinner tomorrow. He’s agreed to take you.”
Stiff with anticipation, Haven stood and nodded. “Good. Thank you.” What else could she say? She didn’t like the idea of spendinganytime with ‘his grace’, but she had to get her bag back.
Exhaustion crashed over her. She closed her eyes, wished for a hot bath,Tylenol PM, and the promise of an uneventful tomorrow.
Millie moved to her side, touching a gentle hand to her cheek, infusing care, and warmth into her battered mind and body.
“You need rest, dear girl.” She led Haven to the bed, pulling the comforter back to pat the mattress.
Haven climbed in, and yawned. Her ears popped, and her eyes watered. “You’re right. I could use a nap. Actually, I could hibernate through the next two months and still have sleep debt.”
Millie plumped the pillows and heaped them in a welcoming pile. Languishing under the attentions of a truly darling woman, Haven felt more comforted in that moment than she’d been in a long time.
She snuggled beneath the warmth of the comforter, the cares of the day melted away, and her eyelids shuttered closed. Millie bent over her, placing a gentle kiss on her bandage.
“Sleep well.”
Chapter Seventeen
The fire smoldered to ashes, the light of dawn filtered through the last clinging shadows of night, and the woman in the bed hadn’t moved in hours.
Tick, tock.
The spirit hovered above the clock on the mantel and shimmered in anxious unease.
Tick, tock.
The plan was at an excruciating standstill until his first companion laid hold of the vessel again. The vessel lay in wait beneath the swaying leaves of a tree. It should be in her hand, should be empowering him to make strides forward. He should be using its power to set each piece of the plan in place.
Tick, tock.
Tick, tock.
Time was running out.
Time topush….
Bending low before a blazing fire,she busied in preparation. Her lush, rose red lips pinched into twin lines of hatred slashing through a once vibrant face.
Betrayed.
Revenge.
A deep, seething anger rose in her breast, burning as if the fires of Hell had made their home where her soul used to be. No amount of prayer or wise counsel made the fire abate. Neither heavy drink nor drug could make her forget the pain and anguish one man had brought upon her.
How dare he take her heart, use her body, and then leave her as if she were a flea-bitten mongrel? She was the most blessed of the Rom. She was beautiful, glorious, the most prized woman among her people! She could choose any man, but she’d been charmed, seduced, and thrown carelessly aside by the man to whom she’d given her love…and her innocence. Now, branded a whore, she’d fallen and faced pity from the people of her own tribe, her own family, her own father. Everything she held dear fell to pieces. She was Vengeance, a curse upon Earth.
He would pay. Would learn with whom he trifled. The silly man assumed her a simple young girl, but she was more than anyone knew, more than anyone could understand. She was a witch, sorceress, and an anathema to her own people. Her own family would turn against her if they discovered what she’d become. She’d practiced and toiled in secret with her hunger for more power, and now she had a focus for her wrath.
She wouldn’t kill him. The punishment she’d planned would take much longer to devour him than a slow, painful death ever could. It would be brilliantly, horrifically perfect. Death was too good a gift.
No mercy. No compassion. With soul-searing clarity she remembered his dismissal, his duplicity.
From her knapsack she pulled an ornate wooden box. The intricate scrollwork along the lid appeared to have been delicately crafted by the hands of fairy folk, lovingly carved and detailed by the hands of gods. Stained a rich mahogany and enhanced by the lighter color along the scrolling patterns, the dark wood sang. Book sized, but deeper to securely carry its contents, the sides held elaborate etchings of stars over stars. The hinges, fashioned from the finest gold, were each adorned with three crescent moons. The latch, a breathtaking marriage of wood and gold wrought together to form a lock, felt cold and hard beneath her fingers.
