My Ruthless Prince (13 page)

The soaring height of that balcony, jutting from the side of a mountaintop castle, added to her sense of teetering on the precipice. Ah, but she had fallen for him long ago. Meanwhile, he nudged her feet apart with his toe and discreetly slipped his thigh between her legs.

Emily moaned at the pleasant friction of the contact and closed her eyes with bated breath as Drake began unfastening her bodice. "Do you know how long I've wanted you? How hard I've fought this?" he breathed at her ear while his fingers plucked at the ribbons of her gown with an expertise that those blows to the head had not removed from his memory, the once-notorious lover. "Every time they told me not to touch you, it only made me want you more."

"I wanted you, too."

"I know," he murmured with a roguish smile in his voice.

She pulled back with a playful scowl. "You
know
?"

"I could see it in your beautiful eyes." He trailed his finger down her face. "The temptation was extreme. Now you appreciate my self-discipline."

"Pshaw. I was waiting for you to kiss me."

"I was waiting, too. For the right time. Funny it should come now."

She cupped his face adoringly. "Better late than never."

He turned to press a kiss into her palm, unlaced the final ribbon, and stared deep into her eyes. "May I?"

"I'm yours," she whispered.

Like a man opening a gift he had waited his whole life to receive, Drake took a delicate hold of the fabric at her bodice and freed her breasts gently.

Then he stopped, staring at her: her chest, her body, her blowing hair. With her loosened gown falling off her shoulders and her breasts exposed to the moonlight, Emily held very still. She could almost hear his heart pounding in the silence. He shook his head, and said in a strangled tone, "You are too good for me."

"I was meant for you," she informed him softly.

He swooped down without warning and kissed her, hard. He kissed her with a searing passion that amazed her, claiming her completely, his hot mouth branding her for his own. Her senses reeling, the next thing Emily knew, he was on his knees before her, his arms wrapped around her hips, his warm, wet mouth at her breast.

She embraced him, reveling in his possession, transported by his utterly male enjoyment of her. Raking her fingers through his silky black hair, she watched him exploring, tasting both of her nipples in turn; her body was on fire, her senses set ablaze by the enthralling tug and play of his burning kisses.

She was trembling with desire, and she felt him do the same. Stroking his head, gazing at him through heavy-lidded eyes, she wondered if she would still have the strength to say no.

The time to find out was suddenly upon her all too soon.

"Let's go inside," he rasped, tearing himself away from her breasts.

The freshly made bed beckoned from just inside the room as Drake swept to his feet, towering over her again.

She blinked away the rapture of his kisses as best she could and shook her head, trying to find some way to clear the hot haze from her mind. "I want to," she confessed in a breathy whisper. "More than you know. But--"

"But what?" he whispered with a cajoling little smile so gorgeously seductive that she actually flinched and bit her lower lip.

"We can't."

"Why not?"

"Because if I lie down with you, we will make love, and I'm not making love with you until we've left this place."

He furrowed his brow and shook his head uncomprehendingly, as if he had just been woken from a dream. "What?" he murmured.

She took both of his hands in her own. "Leave with me," she whispered. "Let's go back to England or anywhere safe. Then you can have me. Anytime, any way you want."

"Is that what this is?" He stopped, pulled back, and looked at her in shock. "You're manipulating me? This whole time?"

"Desperate times, love."

"Emily!" he said, flabbergasted.

"Drake," she answered calmly.

"I trusted you! Why--?"

"Because this is insane!" she retorted.

"You should have thought of that before you followed me!"

"I followed you because I love you, Drake. That is why I'm here."

He flinched at her calm, steady declaration, then shook his head with a growl. "I don't
want
you to love me."

"It's not your choice to make." She refused to wince at his lie. He wanted, needed her love, and he knew it. There was no denying it after all that.

Surely knowing he was discovered, he turned away in seething frustration. Looking increasingly angry, he dragged his hand through his hair. "I can't believe you would play these games with me."

"It's for your own good."

"For God's sake, cover yourself," he grumbled, but she just looked at him, lifting her chin in proud defiance.

"That's my offer," she said evenly. "Anytime, any way you want me. Anywhere but here."

He snorted. "And I thought the torturers were good," he taunted, glaring at her. He helped himself to one last, insolent look at her bare breasts, then met her gaze in reproach, shaking his head at her.

He pivoted and went stalking into the chamber, grabbing his coat off the peg on his way out.

Emily jumped slightly when the door slammed.

Only after he was gone did she let out a shaky exhalation. Warding off a twinge of humiliation, she slowly pulled up her sleeves again.

Well, her bold gamble hadn't gone perhaps as well as planned, she admitted, adjusting her bodice, covering herself again. But at least now she'd got the blackguard thinking.

Patience. Give the medicine time to work.

Assuring herself he'd be back, she picked up the now-cold cup of blackberry tea and took a sip, hoping it might help to soothe her. Her stomach had knotted up a bit at his reaction, but the tea was no help.

She made a face and poured it out over the railing.

All the while, her mind revolved on Drake. Had she pushed him too far? She was aware that his whole life had become a maze of mind games, living among the Prometheans. He would not have expected it from her. But what choice had she had?

The lunatic wouldn't listen to reason.

Don't worry,
she promised herself.
Falkirk's influence on him is nothing compared to yours, especially now.

If only she could be sure.

Well, she was nowhere near giving up hope.

He would come to his senses soon. Then they could leave this place, and as soon as they reached some safe haven, then she could finish giving him his reward.

Indeed, she could hardly wait.

Smiling to herself in spite of his bluster, she languidly pushed away from the railing and went back into his room, still savoring the pleasure of what they had just shared. She was no expert on men, but, oh, yes . . . she believed he would be back.

I
am
not
going back in there,
Drake vowed.

He'd find somewhere else to sleep. For if he had to see her looking that beautiful one more second, playing her games with him, trying to bribe him with her body, he was going to do something rash. Maybe he should just ravish her and be done with it.

But, of course, he would never force any woman, especially Emily. That would make him no better than bloody Lamont. But a man could dream . . .

Fuming with frustration, he stalked down the corridor, still throbbing, and not from simple fury. His body was beyond indignant at the denial when heaven had been offered up to him, waved under his very nose like a silver tray arrayed with the most delectable temptations.

Who would have guessed that his little, violet-eyed Emily would turn out to be crueler than a Promethean lord?

Virginal she might be, but she was not without her wiles. That conniving minx, with her soft hair and her yielding body and her impossibly stubborn will.

Good God, he hadn't touched a woman in so long, and the truth was, he had waited for Emily Harper all his life.

Well, she had got the best of him tonight.

He was surprisingly shaken by her brash move. The one person in this place he had thought could be trusted not to play games with his mind.

Of course, he understood why she had done it. But he still couldn't go. Not when he had just figured out how to destroy them.

Brushing her angrily out his mind, or at least trying to, he took refuge in the all-male sanctuary of the Guards' Hall, where the men who were off duty congregated at their leisure. If ever there was a time for a good German beer, it was now.

Jacques and five of his men were seated at one end of the hall, while the elite personal bodyguards of a few Promethean leaders sat at the other. The latter were Drake's counterparts, serving their high-ranking foreign masters in the same capacity in which he served James.

True believers, they were sure to be present on the night of the ceremony. They would have to be factored into the equation. He kept his distance from them, pouring himself a beer from the tapped barrel by the sideboard, then walking over to Jacques's end of the hall. The French mercenaries, some smoking, some playing cards, were seated casually around the fire.

Drake noted their surprise when he joined them; he rarely fraternized with them and only did so then because there was nowhere else to go.

For that matter, where the deuce was he to sleep tonight? He was not sure he trusted himself to go back into that room, and if he did, he was not at all sure he trusted
her
not to drive him mad.

Every man had his breaking point, and he was already walking far too close to the edge.

Joining the men, he gestured to one of the younger fellows to get out of the leather armchair where Drake wanted to sit.

He was particular about where he positioned himself in a room. He could not possibly sit with his back to the door, for example. He had to be able to see what might be coming at him. Especially with that collection of highly skilled Promethean bodyguards loitering at the other end of the vast room.

The lad launched himself out of Drake's way, and Drake settled a moment later into the chair. Then he attempted to calm his churning thoughts by simply focusing on the taste of the beer: earthy and rich, with a light foam.

Ahh.

Jacques was watching him with a curious quirk of his eyebrow.

"What?" Drake grunted.

"Is good?" the French sergeant asked wryly, nodding at his pewter tankard.

Drake conceded this with a wary nod. "Aye." Then he retreated into himself once more, but not for long.

"What the hell are you laughing at?" he asked the two fellows playing cards.

They were looking at him, saying something.

"Eh, nothing, sir."

He stared at them. "I thought so," he warned.

But Jacques smiled slyly. "
Capitaine,
we are just wondering why you are not with your servant girl? Did she tire you out already?"

The others laughed, tempting fate, but Drake decided not to take offense. Scowling, he gave them the only answer that came to him. One word: "Women."

"Aha!"

The Frenchmen laughed again more heartily, warming to their favorite topic and his rare receptivity.

"I knew it!"

"Did she throw you out already?"

He gave them a sardonic look, but did not really mind their jesting for some reason.

"Perhaps you need advice on how to handle her," one began.

And then all the helpful French fellows, ever the experts on the daughters of Eve--or so they thought proceeded--to advise him, their unromantic British blockhead.

Drake drummed his fingers slowly on the chair's arm as he listened to them, rather amused in spite of himself. He guzzled half his beer.

"Did you give her any compliments?"

"Did you make a conversation? Did you ask how is her day?"

"She's my servant," he retorted, playing along. "Why the deuce should I care how her bloody day was?"

"Oh, no, no, no! This is abominable!"

He grinned at their aghast responses to his apparent indifference to the chit, and shrugged off their advice with a nonchalant curse in their own tongue, smiling into his beer.

"No, I don't believe it," Jacques declared at last, noting the deviltry in Drake's eyes. "The
capitaine
is full of shit."

Just then, James appeared in the doorway, spotted Drake, and began walking toward him.

Drake rose slowly, but Jacques had not yet spotted the old man coming up behind him. "I think this
petite jeunne fille
means more to you than you let on, monsieur. Far more!"