London, 1811

“Driver! Driver! I insist you go faster!”

Lady Agatha Whumples turned a harried face to her niece in the somewhat cramped confines of her coach. “Whatever is the man thinking of, my dear? The Duchess will not await us for tea!”

Lilac Devere looked at her elderly maiden aunt and sighed. The woman was peering haughtily up at the ceiling through her lorgnette and pince-nez, as if the driver could see her disdain through the walls of the coach. Her aunt was a trial sometimes, but she loved her dearly.

“Auntie Whumples, if you hadn’t insisted that society arrive late, we would never have been in this position in the first place.”

Lady Whumples fluttered her fan. “Of course society arrives late—but not with the Duchess! Whatever will she think? I hope that dreadful Lord Byron won’t be there. Go faster, I say!” She whacked the roof of the carriage with her cane. “That driver has always been the most inconsiderate—”

“He’s been in your employ for fifty years!”

“Be that as it may, my child, his impertinence will not stand. It will not stand!” She thumped the seat for emphasis, dislodging several beads from the bodice of her day-dress. “And another thing—the man has beady eyes. I don’t like beady eyes!”

As usual, Auntie had gotten completely off subject. Lilac patted her hand. “Calm yourself, Auntie Whumples, surely—”

Without warning a brilliant flash of light filled the coach.

It was followed by a low, deafening rumble.

There was a loud thump! and the carriage shook.

Lady Whumples was tossed against the window. Lilac braced her hands against the sides of the coach to prevent herself from falling forward.

“What was—” Lilac started but never finished.

At the same time both Lilac and her aunt stared wide-eyed at the opposite seat.

A great black cat sat there, gazing speculatively at them even though his feline demeanor implied that this was his coach and that they were intruding upon him.

The strange animal had two different colored eyes.

Lilac’s mouth dropped open.

Auntie Whumples’s pince-nez fell off.

Then Auntie screamed—a high-pitched, extremely loud wail of pure terror. “It is a beast! A great beast which will surely kill us where we sit! I shall faint! Driver! Driver!”

The driver, with fifty years’ experience driving for Lady Whumples, ignored her and kept going.

Composing herself, Lilac tried to calm her aunt. “Hush, Auntie! Remember—we are women of logic. The poor thing probably jumped into the coach to get out of this chilling drizzle. It must have been here all the time, hiding under the seat and was just now frightened by the lightning. It’s just a cat.” A rather large cat. And those eyes…

“It’s a lion, I tell you! It will ravish us!”

As if it understood her words, the cat stared mischievously at Auntie Whumples and slowly licked his chops.

Auntie started screeching again, but Lilac laughed out loud.

It was a lovely trilling sound that pleased the senses. The young woman leaned forward closer to the cat, unknowingly displaying a goodly portion of bosom. “You have beautiful fur, kit, long and thick. It looks so silky. And you’re quite the adventurer, aren’t you? I like that. Perhaps I should take you in…”

Auntie Whumples gasped. “What are you saying? You can’t take that cursed beast into the house!”

The cat focused on Lilac, blinking slowly at her with those beautiful dual-colored eyes and Lilac made up her mind.

“I can and I will. You’re coming home with me.” Then she made a motion which sealed her fate: she softly stroked the fur behind its left ear.

The cat angled his head into her hand as if her touch was ecstasy itself.

“What do you say about that, cat?”

The Familiar known as Rejar closed his eyes and purred.

He was on a different plane of existence.

His senses told him that much. But where? One instant he had been hurtling through the Tunnels, cast about the eddies and currents; the next, a portal seemed to open beneath him (if beneath had any meaning in the space he was in), and he fell headfirst through the opening. In an attempt to protect himself, he had metamorphosed into his cat self.

The conveyance he was in rolled to a stop and the two females exited, with a great deal of fuss from the old one. She banged her walking stick several times, her face turning a fiery red. When the driver opened the door to let her out, she rapped him smartly on the side of his leg with her stick, screeching her way past him.

Oddly, the man only smiled.

The lovely younger one shook her head, muttering something under her breath, before following after her.

He distinctly heard the older one adamantly exclaim that the “beast” would not be in the coach on their return. The younger one firmly replied that if it was still in the coach when they returned, she was taking it home.

The “beast” would be here. At least until he learned where here was.

Thankfully, he could understand their language—at least most of it. Similar to the language of his brother’s wife, it had differences in cadence and syntax that puzzled him. Was he somewhere in Adeeann’s universe?

He closed his eyes as he remembered exactly how he had come to be in this predicament.

It had all started with the Shimalee, an ancient Charl icon which had the power to bend space and time. There were twelve Shimalees total, nine of which were linked throughout existence to form the matrix known as the Tunnels.

Now, thanks to him, there was a matrix of ten.

He had willingly sacrificed himself for his brother Lorgin’s happiness and would do so again. Lorgin had a right to remain with the wife he so loved.

Insistently, he had taken the icon from his brother, entering the Tunnels with it. He released it into the continuum so that it might be absorbed back into the matrix where it belonged.

A violent cosmic storm had resulted and he was flung helplessly about the corridor, lost in space and time…and maybe dimension as well.

What would be the effect of this new matrix he had created?

Would it open up more passageways, hitherto denied to them? Was that how he had come into this place; had the additional Shimalee opened up a new portal?

Not being a mystic, Rejar did not understand much in the way of the Tunnels, but, like everyone else, he knew they were a means of transport from world to world.

Provided one had use of a mystic who could call forth the opening.

Unfortunately, he did not have such abilities.

He sighed mournfully.

How long would he have to remain in this unknown place before the great mystic, Yaniff, found him? A week? A year? Fifty years?

There was little help for it.

He knew what he was doing when he had entered the Tunnels in lieu of his brother. At present he would have to bide his time and make the best of the situation he found himself in. For however long, this strange new world was his home.

Best that he see what it looked like.

Sitting up on his haunches, the large, black cat peered over the edge of the open window.

It was raining.

Not a very good sign for the likes of him.

He looked further. Trees! Flowers, grass, and shrubs! This was acceptable. The conveyance he found himself in seemed to be at the end of a long walkway. At the other end of the walkway was a large stone building reminding him slightly of his family home on Aviara.

Rejar decided to investigate further.

Gritting his teeth, he leaped from the coach, scampering quickly through the light rain to the side of the house. Like most Familiars, he detested getting his fur wet—although in his natural human form, he was fastidious about bathing. His kind could not abide uncleanliness. Besides, there was something about the feel of water sliding down his naked skin…

His attention was caught by laughter coming from beyond the window just above him. Particularly one soft, lilting laugh, which so pleased his senses.

He effortlessly climbed a nearby tree, lithely balancing himself on a limb close to the window. Several people were sitting in a very ornate room, drinking out of the most fragile-looking cups he had ever seen. It looked as if they were engaged in some kind of social ritual.

His feral gaze immediately sought out the women of the group.

What would he have done if he had come to a world without women? The horrid thought made him shudder. He tried to bolster his flagging spirits. Yes, it could have been worse. Much worse.

Women always had a soothing effect on him.

He observed the ones in the room now. They were all dressed in odd costumes. Some of them, a few of the older ones, he noted, wore fake hair upon their heads. Others had unnaturally white complexions. A few were quite stunning.

This looked promising!

His feline sights shifted to the young woman who had been in the conveyance with him. The one who said she would take him in.

He smiled slowly to himself. Mayhap she would.

Lilac. The old woman had called her Lilac.

To him, she stood out from the rest of the women in the room. There was a uniqueness about her he had immediately sensed. This one intrigued him.

Minutely, he examined her, fascinated by the little qualities which often go unnoticed by most men, but never by Familiars. The graceful way her hands moved as she spoke. The lambent shine of her eyes when she laughed. Her heightened senses which he knew were arousing as she became more and more interested in the topic being discussed…

The siren song of the pulse-flow of her female energy drew upon the Familiar like a magnet.

Here was an extremely sensuous being, he decided. Just like him.

Yes, she definitely would be taking him in.

Lilac sat down before the dressing table in her bedroom and began removing the pins from her hair. The long strands fell to her waist in a soft tumble.

Picking up her silver-handled brush, she pulled the bristles through the tangled mass in slow, meandering strokes, closing her eyes to the calming feel of the gentle tugging. AH, it felt so—

An odd feeling suddenly came over her.

The hairs on the back of her neck prickled. Someone was watching her.

Her eyes snapped open.

In the large, gilded mirror that graced over half of her bedroom wall from floor to ceiling, she caught sight of the cat sitting square in the center of her favorite chair. He was making himself quite at home!

He stared at her intently with those strange dual-colored eyes of his half shut.

How had he gotten in here?

He certainly wasn’t in the room when she had gone into her dressing room earlier to change into her night rail. In fact, she hadn’t seen him since they had returned from tea at the Duchess’s. As soon as the coach had stopped, he had leapt down, disappearing into the underbrush.

At the time, she was certain she had seen the last of him, which saddened her. Lilac had been so happy to see the animal still in the coach when they returned to it. No matter how her aunt fussed, she had been determined to take the poor beast home.

Lilac had always wanted a cat.

Unfortunately, Auntie had always vehemently refused.

She suspected her poor aunt negated her desire for a cat as a last-gasp effort to prevent her niece from having the trappings of “old maid” hung upon her. After all, she had just turned twenty. An unmarried woman with a penchant for cats often spelled the term “tabby” to the ton—a “no-hope-for-her” old maid.

For some odd reason, today had been different. Today, for the first time in her life, she did not let Auntie have her own way during one of her fits. She had held firm in her desire to keep the cat.

Shrugging her shoulders, she smiled. So, did it really matter how he came to be here? Here the puss was. She turned on the stool to face him.

“You have the most interesting habit of suddenly showing up, cat.” She grinned at him.

The cat, of course, did not reply.

Lilac observed the regal black feline, who was sitting on her chair as if he were upon a throne deigning to command his loyal subject! I guess that would be me, she mused.

He swished his tail.

There was something about this particular cat that struck a chord within her. Probably its sheer bravado. No one with an ounce of intelligence would dare waste their breath trying to tell this cat what to do. It was obvious he would do exactly as he pleased.

Not like unmarried misses who had to bow to the dictates of society and gossipy women!

The recurring dismal subject depressed her anew. Lilac worked her big toe into the thick pile of the Turkish carpet beneath her feet, sighing wistfully.

She didn’t care what her aunt said—what dire prophecies of gloom and doom she claimed would befall her if she stayed on the shelf. She had no intention of ever putting herself on the marriage mart!

And why should she?

As far as she could tell, the woman had nothing to gain and everything to lose. Her property. Her money. Her independence. Her intelligence.

When a woman entered into the blissful state of holy matrimony, she became nothing but chattel. Indeed, men often referred to women as “baggage.”

Well, she had no intention of becoming anyone’s baggage—even if the alternative was becoming a dreaded “Ape Leader,” the charming verbiage used to describe an unmarried woman. So what!

Oh, she knew her aunt meant well by trying to dissuade her from her set course. After all, Auntie Whumples was an Ape Leader herself and was only trying to spare her from the type of censure she had endured for a great part of her life.

But it wouldn’t be the same for Lilac; she knew it wouldn’t. She was a woman of means, her father’s estate having come into her aunt’s keeping until she reached her majority next year. She could spend her days following her own pursuits, not existing as someone else’s property!

Her quest for knowledge and her penchant for reading already had her labeled as something of a bluestocking. Unfortunately, even that dreaded concept—a woman with a brain—was easily overlooked by avid suitors with an eye to her fortune.

Lilac shuddered. It was just not going to happen!

She would be like this cat here. Master of her own fate. Yes, just like the cat.

Impishly, she grinned at him. “We make strange bedfellows, don’t we?”

The cat’s blue eye seemed to wink at her.

Lilac snorted at the silly notion, thinking she was sleepier than she realized. Yawning, she stood up to stretch tired muscles. The glow from the fire backlit her, illuminating her nightgown and silhouetting the curvaceous form beneath.

“I’m really glad you’ve come to stay, kit; I don’t think I shall be half so lonely with you for company. I’ll have to think of an especially good name for you,” she mumbled distractedly as she ambled toward her canopy bed. Throwing back the heavy counterpane, she snuggled beneath the covers.

The Master of His Own Fate watched her with a predatory gleam in his golden eye. Then, at a deliberate pace, he followed her to the bed.

Lilac was just leaning over to turn down the lamp on her bedside table when she felt the mattress dip. “Oh!” She grinned at the cat. “Have you come to sleep with me, then? I’d like that on this damp night.”

She turned down the lamp and burrowed under the covers, smiling contentedly when she felt the reassuring bulk of the animal settle in next to her.

“You and I are going to be great friends,” she whispered in the darkened room. “I can tell.”

The cat nudged his face against her thigh as if in agreement and Lilac drifted off to sleep.…

Like silent lightning, a glow shimmered about the bed and was quickly gone.

Leaning on his side, the naked man gazed down at the sleeping woman beneath him.

Silken lengths of gleaming black hair shifted forward off his powerful shoulders in an unconsciously seductive slide.

If Lilac had been awake and looking at the large mirror on her wall, she would have seen a man in her bed so beautiful as to take her breath away. He had an eye of blue and an eye of gold.

Pensively, the man watched her as she slept.

Her skin, he noted, was a mixture of tones: gold, rose, and cream. Inexplicably, he suddenly ached to feel the supple smoothness with his lips and tongue. Thinking he might do just that, he bent closer to her.

A strand of her long hair brushed against his arm.

He examined it curiously. Like her skin tone, it was a tumble of shades: ash, brown, dark blond. He couldn’t decide what to name it, which fascinated him all the more. To a Familiar, nothing was so interesting as that which could not be named.

He continued his visual exploration.

Her large, expressive eyes, closed now, were the deepest, darkest green. They brought to mind the leaves of the mystical Towering Forest on his home world of Aviara. The sensitive comparison made him long to brush his lips across the thick gold-tipped lashes, to feel them flutter against his mouth.

The sweet curve of her small ear was most enticing…

His heated gaze drifted across her face.

Ah, those lips! Full and soft, a deep rosy pink reminding him of the sweet inner flesh of—

A low growl of desire rumbled from his throat.

Like most male Familiars, he was susceptible to the female.

In the past, he had never given it much thought, accepting who and what he was; he had simply enjoyed the many pleasures which came his way. Still, he seemed particularly susceptible to this female. Why?

He had seen countless beautiful women before; indeed, he had had them for most of his adult life, but this unusual, delicate beauty beneath him tugged at him in a way he had not experienced in his past.

Moreover, he had sensed it the instant they met.

It was as if there was an essence to her which beguiled him like some intoxicating drug. More potent even than the drugs Oberian slavers used to capture his kind.

He was entranced.

He was hungry.

He was almost powerless to break from the pull of her.

The realization caused a shiver to race down his spine. Could this woman make a slave of him? Ensnare him as surely as any captured beast?

No!

She intrigued him more than most, it was true, but that was all. Admittedly, he had been restless for some time, feeling strange and out of sorts. Even before the incident with the Tunnels, he had gone longer than his usual wont without the pleasure of a woman.

Too long.

It would account for his unprecedented reaction to her.

Convinced he was right, that it was only his prolonged abstinence speaking, he shook off the last remaining vestiges of the unwanted premonition. Yet, helpless to do otherwise, he ran his forefinger gently down the length of her exposed arm, testing the texture of her skin.

It was as he expected. Like the finest krilli cloth under his touch. So tender! He imagined his teeth barely grazing against—

Lilac’s eyelids fluttered but she did not awaken. He withdrew his stroking finger for the time being, his mind made up. Unlike his other past encounters with women, he would relish this particular chase—slowly.

Very slowly.

For the ultimate pleasure, a delicacy must be savored.

It would begin now.

The hunt must start by giving her something of himself.

Deep in his senses, he lay back down next to her, drawing her close to him. “Rejar,” he murmured low in her ear as he twined around her. “I am called Rejar.”

He slept with the scent of her. Dreaming of capture.

She felt wonderful!

Lilac opened her eyes and languidly stretched beneath the covers. Simply marvelous! She couldn’t remember when she’d had such a peaceful night’s sleep. For some reason, she had been utterly warm and cozy the entire night, even though it had been terribly cold and damp. It was strange, but she had felt protected, cared for in a way completely alien to her.

During the night, she imagined she was enfolded in a cloak of warm, spicy scent, rather like cinnamon and bayberry and something else totally exotic yet altogether enticing.

An image flashed across her mind.

There was a man.

A dream? When she tried to recall more of the vision, nothing else came to mind, neither who the man was, nor even what he looked like. Now why would she dream about some strange man holding her?

Out of the corner of her eye a flare of movement captured her attention.

Lilac turned over on her side and grinned.

Of course! The cat. She had momentarily forgotten about him.

He must’ve slept beside her all night! No wonder she had felt so cozy. She leaned over to thank the winsome animal for the comfort he had given her throughout the long, raw night.

“Good morning, and how are you this morning?” She scratched behind his left ear.

The big fellow seemed to really like it. Would he want his belly rubbed as well? Perhaps when he got more used to her.

“Its a beautiful morning, isn’t it?” Sun was streaming in through the open windows, falling across the two of them lying on the bed.

The cat purred his agreement, wedging his head against her hand to coax her into more petting. Lilac didn’t even realize she was doing his bidding as she continued to stroke his exquisitely soft fur.

“Let’s see what Emmy brought us this morning.” Taking the tray from the bedside table, Lilac carefully balanced it across her knees.

Every morning for the past ten years, Emmy had been bringing the same thing to her. A pot of tea, a little pitcher of cream, a biscuit, lemon curd, strawberry jam, and a bowl of sliced fruit. But for her new pet’s entertainment she made a great show of examining the contents, holding up each item to his curious gaze.

She suddenly realized he must be very hungry.

Taking the saucer from beneath her teacup, she carefully poured a goodly portion of the cream onto the plate and placed it before him on the mattress.

“That’s for you—but be careful; don’t spill any on the linens. Emmy would have our heads.”

Rejar eyed the plate of liquid warily. He was hungry; it was true. However, he preferred eating in his natural form. Not a possibility at this moment.

Resigned, he began lapping at the rich nourishment, not doing a very neat job of it.

“Oh, my.”

Rejar looked up, cream dripping from his whiskers.

Lilac put a hand to her lips, giggling. “You’re something of a piggy, aren’t you?”

Rejar narrowed his eyes at her.

Unaware of his glowering look, Lilac picked up her cloth napkin. “Would you let me wipe your face?” Very gently, she blotted the cream off, tapping his nose with a linen-covered finger when she was done. “There; you’re quite handsome again.”

The cat swished his tail.

“You may say thank-you.”

Thank-you. Looking slyly up at her, he quickly licked her hand.

“How sweet! You know, I really do need to name you. Let me see…” She tapped her chin. “How about…Rejar?” She pronounced the strange name: ray-jkar.

Lilac blinked. Where on earth had that come from?

The cat purred loudly.

Hmm. He seems to like it. What an odd name to think of…Well, it seems to suit him. “I guess Rejar it is.”

Replacing the tray on the stand, she threw back the covers and walked over to the window overlooking the garden, delighted by what she saw. “Auntie’s lilacs have bloomed! Come look, Rejar!”

As if he understood her, the cat jumped down from the bed, crossed the room, and leapt onto the window seat.

Rejar noted the alternating clusters of purple and white flowers blooming on the large bushes which rimmed the walled-in garden. Lilacs. So, she was named for a flower. Would they smell as sweet as she? He doubted it.

“Aren’t they beautiful?” She sighed.

You are well named, he agreed.

“Let’s spend the entire morning in the garden! You can lie in the sun on your fat belly and I’ll read to you from James Weatherby’s Introduction to a General Stud Book.”

Stud? Adeeann had once referred to him in such a way. Perhaps he would find out what she had meant.

In any case, he would stay close by Lilac until he felt more comfortable with his surroundings, at which point he would begin to explore. Familiars always liked to thoroughly know their territory before venturing forth. Besides, staying in the garden sounded like a good way to—

Fat belly?!

Rejar was incensed. Did the woman not recognize solid muscle when she saw it? he grouched, pacing.

Eager to be outside, Lilac dashed over to her dressing room, completely missing the fact that the hair on the cat’s back was standing straight up in the air as he padded across the floor.

And his ears were down flat.

Lilac raced down the hallway, book in hand, looking forward to spending time in the garden with her new pet. She sprinted to the stairs. The frisky cat playfully scissored back and forth between her legs.

His frolicsome sport caused her to laugh out loud. What a tricky little imp!

She was still laughing when they reached the downstairs hallway, both of them skidding around a corner together.

“Lilac.” Auntie Whumples stood just outside the sitting room door.

Discretely wagging an admonishing finger at her niece for her very unladylike behavior, she continued on in a louder voice, “Look who has come to visit with you—it’s our Lord Creighton.”

Lord Creighton stepped into the foyer from the sitting room.

The smile instantly died on Lilac’s face.

“Good morning, Miss Devere.” Executing a perfect bow, the obnoxious lordling proceeded to examine her with his ever present quizzing glass.

Lilac frowned. Lord Creighton examined everything with his quizzing glass. The insufferable boor!

What was he doing here? She thought she had been quite obvious in denouncing his attentions. Good lord, she had turned down every single invitation the coxcomb had issued to her! What more did it take?

Always in fashion, Lord Creighton was dressed in the blue coat and buff-colored waistcoat that Brummell had decreed was de rigueur for gentlemen’s morning wear. His mousy brown hair was cut fashionably short with the curb in the front tousled just so over his forehead. His cravat was perfectly tied and so stiff, it seemed he was having trouble seeing over the foolish thing. Lilac sighed forlornly.

Who is this interloper? Bristling, Rejar observed the dandy before him. He snorted derisively at the man’s short hair. What kind of eunuch cut off his hair? Where was his masculine pride?

He did not seem like much of a man to him.

Did he not know that the hunt had begun and a Familiar had already marked his “prey”? Lilac had taken him in. Now she was his to capture.

If the foolish man thought to interfere between a Familiar and his…

Well, he did so at his own peril.

Besides, he did not like the way the flug was peering at her through that tiny piece of glass!

“And what have we here?” Lord Creighton made the unfortunate mistake of kneeling down to get a closer look at the cat through his quizzing glass.

Rejar arched his back, emitting a low, threatening growl at the man, his blue and gold eyes flashing. Lord Creighton jumped back, his face going deathly pale.

“Zounds! Miss Devere, is—is it dangerous?”

Lilac looked speculatively at her cat. Hmm…Maybe it can accomplish what I apparently cannot.

She bent toward Lord Creighton in a confidential mien. “Only if provoked, my lord. You won’t provoke him, will you?” She spoke as if frightfully concerned for his welfare.

Lord Creighton’s tiny eyes almost popped to normal size. “What—” he ran a finger around his tight collar, swallowing—“what exactly provokes him, Miss Devere?”

Lilac bit her lip as if she were pondering the dilemma. “We haven’t quite figured that out yet.”

His lordship gulped at Lilac’s words but bravely stood his ground. Lord Creighton considered himself a Man of the World. T’wouldn’t do to appear squeamish in front of the miss.

Rejar chuckled to himself. So, his little minx was trying to be rid of the flug. Too obvious, my Lilac. I will have to teach you about subtlety. He almost purred aloud at the enticing idea.

At that moment, Lilac turned a beseeching gaze to the cat, hoping against all hope that her pet would help her out by being obnoxious to the dandified twit.

You want me to help you with this one? Rejar made a great show of yawning.

Why, oh why, did a cat never do what you wanted him to? Lilac rolled her eyes in disgust. She’d just have to handle the coxcomb on her own. “Lord Creighton, I was just going into the garden—”

“Without your parasol?” Auntie Whumples tittered at her disapprovingly.

“I quite agree.” Lord Creighton shook his head firmly. “We wouldn’t want to spoil this lovely complexion, would we?” Surprising Lilac, Lord Creighton ran a clammy finger down the curve of her cheek.

Rejar cocked his head to one side. Ah, so the flug believes he has the right. I think not. You give up on me too easily, Lilac…

The cat suddenly hissed, surprising everyone.

Whereupon he stood calmly watching as his lordship leapt three feet in the air.

Upon landing, Lord Creighton glared at the wretched beast from a safe distance of several feet. Trying to recover his composure, Creighton then affected what he considered a strong, masculine pose, making him look as if he had swallowed a bad piece of mutton.

“We should retire to the sitting room, my dear. I fear the strong sun might be too harsh for your frail constitution.”

Frail constitution? Rejar let his expert gaze skim the voluptuous lines of Lilac’s curvaceous form. The man was a half-wit. He would wager this constitution would go all night long with him.

This time he did purr at the very thought.

Lilac was fuming. She was not going to get rid of him! Her shoulders slumped as she followed “his boorishness” into the sitting room.

Giving the appearance of extreme feline boredom, Rejar made a great production out of stretching before he finally got up to follow.

His blue eye twinkled. This should prove most amusing.

Lord Creighton sat sprawled in the middle of the old-fashioned Queen Anne settee.

To Lilac’s irritation, the dandy never failed to sniff disdainfully at the outmoded decor of the sitting room. So what if their furnishings were not “all the crack”? She liked the way the room looked and felt! Bother Lord Creighton and the rest of the ton with their silly expectations!

“More tea, my lord?” Auntie Whumples’s voice came from somewhere in the shadows of the room. While proper behavior decreed she must chaperone, she didn’t want to appear to be too intrusive.

“No, thank you. Lady Whumples. I’m quite finished.” He fastened his small eyes on Lilac. “Miss Devere, I was wondering; will you be attending the Stanhopes’ soiree?”

“When is it?” As she spoke, Lilac noticed the cat jump onto the back of the settee behind Lord Creighton’s head. He settled himself comfortably across the rim, half-leaning against the man’s shoulders.

Lord Creighton froze the instant he realized the wretched beast was actually leaning against him. The position brought the animal frightfully close to his throat. He gulped nervously.

“Lord Creighton?” Lilac prompted.

“Ah…yes. It’s the Friday after next.”

The cat began swishing his tail. Up. Down. Up. Down. Lord Creighton gave her a sickly smile.

“I haven’t been invited,” she replied. Thank God.

“Yes, well, that can be remedied, you see, I—” A bushy tail draped across the top of his head, hanging down over his forehead.

Being a gentleman, Lord Creighton was obliged to ignore it.

“I—I thought I might—”

The tail began to seesaw atop his head in an undulating motion. Up. Down. Up. Down.

“That is, if your—”

Lilac tried her best not to laugh. She truly did.

But when the tip of the cat’s tail reared up to wave at her from the vicinity of Lord Creighton’s eyebrows, she was undone. She clutched her stomach, peels of laughter issuing forth.

“Miss Devere,”—Lord Creighton looked concerned—“are you quite all right?”

“Yes, yes, I’m fine.” She wiped the comer of her eye, trying to regain her composure. From the corner of the room, she thought she heard Auntie Whumples stifle a few titters of her own.

“You were saying, my lord?”

“Perhaps you would care for some snuff to calm you?” He reached into his coat pocket with his left hand and held a little enameled box out to her.

Lilac detested snuff. She thought it the most disgusting of habits. “No, thank you. I do not partake of snuff.”

“May I?”

She waved her hand, indicating he should please himself.

Lord Creighton began to prepare himself for the fine show he was about to perform to impress her.

Carefully, his left hand held and opened the tiny box. With a movement Lilac knew he must have practiced before a mirror for hours to accomplish, he let the dainty lace of his sleeve flutter against his pampered right hand as he ever-so-carefully raised a pinch to his quavering nostrils for a delicate snort.

Rejar was stupefied.

His mouth parted in disbelief as he watched the bizarre ritual. What was the zorph-brained fool doing? Did he actually think to impress a woman with this ridiculous display?

Wait. What if the powder had magical qualities of some kind? It could even be…an aphrodisiac. This required research.

Rejar leaned over Lord Creighton’s shoulder to get a better look at the mysterious powder. He stuck his head close to the still-opened box to see what curious secret he would uncover.

Lord Creighton, suddenly noticing a huge cat head looming over his shoulder, gave an involuntary jump, sending a cloud of snuff into the air and all over the inquisitive kitty’s face.

Lilac winced as the poor cat instantly reared off the couch howling and sneezing.

“Oh my goodness!” Lilac jumped up.

Bedlam ensued.

Making a dash, she just missed the sneezing cat as he careened against a side table and sent one of Auntie’s vases crashing to the floor.

Auntie Whumples wailed in the background, screeching at Lilac, “Stop that beast!”

Lord Creighton stood by helplessly, uttering meaningless lilting phrases of apology while she chased willy-nilly after the cat, who was snarling his head off.

By the time she had finally cornered him, the poor thing had sneezed himself silly and had collapsed, gasping for breath beneath a chair.

Lord Creighton came running over. “Do accept my apologies, Miss Devere. To make up for my deplorable behavior, I insist that you attend the soiree. I will stop by the Stanhopes’ this very day to ensure an invitation is sent to both yourself and Lady Whumples.”

Ever the opportunist. Lilac grimaced. “That’s not necessary, Lord Creighton. If you’ll just—”

“Oh, but I insist!”

Leave. Lilac bit her tongue. There was no way she could possibly refuse without appearing churlish. She sighed, willing to say anything at this point just to be rid of him. “Very well, Lord Creighton.”

Now that he had gotten what he came for—Lilac’s presence at the soiree—Creighton quickly made his farewells.

Exasperated, Lilac plopped into a chair. “Zounds,” she said imitating Lord Creighton’s nasal voice. “What a coxcomb he is!”

The corners of Auntie’s mouth twitched. “Be that as it may, child, his lordship did provide us with a much coveted invitation to the Stanhopes’.”

Lilac looked at her aunt askance. “Coveted by whom?”

“Coveted by me for you. It’s an excellent opportunity for you to meet all the right gentlemen, my dear. We mustn’t waste any opportunity.”

“But Auntie Wh—”

“No buts, my child. I have been entrusted with your welfare by your late father, God rest his noble heart, and I shan’t fail him. We will be at the Stanhopes’ soiree.” So proclaimed, Lady Whumples left the room.

Damn and blast, but her aunt could be stubborn!

Rejar, still gasping from his ordeal with the mysterious powder, listened to the conversation between the two women with interest. This soiree they spoke of seemed to be some kind of social gathering.

The old one had spoken of the men she wanted Lilac to meet.

It was time he began to view more of this new world of his. He would do what Familiars had been doing for the wizards of Aviara throughout the ages; he would investigate the situation.

Rejar decided he would begin immediately. Discretely, he exited the house, heading into the streets of London.

What he eventually saw staggered him.