My Ruthless Prince (2 page)

It still filled Emily with rage to think of how thin he'd been when she had first seen him, how he had jumped at the slightest noise.

Whatever his captors had done to scramble his wits, he'd had no recognition of his own mother or the country estate where he'd grown up.

The only thing he had remembered . . . was her.

While Lord Rotherstone, one of his closest friends in the Order, had guarded him at Westwood Manor, Emily had thrown herself into the task of healing her beloved childhood companion.

They had been making fine progress after a few weeks. She had slowly, gently, quietly, begun to lead him out of the dark storm he lived in. She had even claimed the victory of seeing him wake up one morning having slept the whole night through.

He seemed to be doing so well after a time that the last thing she had expected was for Drake to take matters into his own hands, escaping by taking her hostage, all so that he could return to his precious James and those who had abused him.

In the face of all evidence to the contrary, Emily still could not bring herself to believe that Drake had turned traitor. It was impossible.

No, she had an awful feeling that his real motive for coming back was to try to get revenge.

Which just went to show how unstable he still was.

The Order had been battling the vile Prometheans for centuries. One man was not about to take down the whole organization alone.
Mad or sane, though,
she thought,
leave it to Drake to try.

Whatever he had up his sleeve, clearly, he had not figured
her
into his plans.

"What the hell are you doing here?" he demanded in a low, taut voice as she ventured another step toward him.

"Aren't you happy to see me?" she attempted in an airy tone.

He looked at her in exasperation. "Not in the least."

"You know why I'm here, Drake," she chided softly, willing patience. "I've come to take you home."

He closed his eyes. Lowered his head. And scratched his eyebrow. Which did not bode well.

Then he flicked his jet-black eyes open again and glared at her. "Get the hell out of here. Now."

"No."

"I appreciate the gesture, Em, but you made the trip in vain. I'm staying here, and you are going home. Go on. Climb back into that cave and hide until we've pulled back to the castle. I'll cover for you."

"No! I'm not going anywhere without you! Do you think I came six hundred miles for nothing?" She glanced into the woods to make sure the others were not returning.

But she warned herself not to lose sight of the fact that she was dealing with a dangerous man who was no longer quite the master of his faculties. If she pushed him too hard, there was no telling what he might do.

She reached out her hand to him. "Come with me, Drake. Escape with me now, before they come back. I'll take care of you."

"Oh, Emily," he whispered with a fleeting, anguished wince.

"I already lost you once. I can't go through that again."

"They will kill you," he whispered. "They will kill us both."

"Not if we move right now. We can still get away. You know we can, you and I, together. These woods. It'll be just like old times. Let me take care of you, sweeting. You are confused. I know you don't want to be here."

He shook his head, turning away from her in agitation. "Why don't you ever listen? I can't believe you're here. I told you I have to do this!"

"But you don't. Whatever you think you're trying to do here, you're only going to get yourself killed. I can't allow that, Drake. You've bitten off more than you can chew this time, and you need to come home. Whatever James might have told you, this is
not
where you belong."

"You're the one who doesn't belong here!" he shot back in a fierce whisper, taking a large step closer. "How could you put yourself at risk this way?--and you say I'm the one that's mad!"

"Drake, denying what you've been through is not going to help you get better. You're not well! You need time to heal. Just be patient. You will get back to your full strength in time, then maybe--"

"I am back to my full strength," he growled.

"Physically, perhaps. But we both know you're not ready inside for any sort of mission. Come home with me. You've got to let me help you. You know you can trust me. Please, Drake. Let's escape now before they come back."

"No."

She paused, taking a new strategy. "So, you want to send me back six hundred miles all by myself?" she asked, for she could be as ruthless as he when the occasion called. "You know how dangerous it is in these forests. Wolves. Bears. Men."

He narrowed his eyes at her, well aware of what she was attempting.

He had killed the last man who had threatened her.

"You'd have me travel back through three war-torn countries alone? I'm out of money. I don't speak the language."

"It's a wonder you made it this far alive," he muttered. "You've never even been outside the shire."

"I followed you," she said simply, shrugging. "You and James. I thought you almost spotted me a few times."

He lowered his gaze. "I thought I was imagining it." Then he shook his head at her. "Why did you do this to me?"

"Not to you. For you. Because you need me." She took his hand in hers and pulled. "Come on, we'll talk later. We need to go right now."

He remained planted though his fingers lightly encircled hers. "I'm sorry, Emily. No."

"Drake, you're not an agent anymore!" she whispered in exasperation. "The Order fears you have betrayed them!"

"Maybe I have. Did you ever think of that?"

"Don't be absurd. If you turn yourself in, I know it'll be all right. I'll vouch for you. We'll go to them together and explain that you just made a mistake, you erred in judgment, thinking you could come here and take them down alone--"

"I did not make a mistake," he answered darkly.

Just then, the sound of male voices nearing through the woods made Emily suck in her breath.

"Come on, Drake! Please!"

"No! I am not going with you. Now get back in that bloody cave and hide right now--"

"Enough," she cut him off, resorting to her pistol.

He arched a brow as she drew her gun and aimed it at him.

"Let's go, now."

"What, you're taking me captive?"

"Come on, you idiot!" she pleaded.

He let out a low, cynical laugh. "Pull the trigger, please." He parted the neck of his shirt, presenting the top of his chest. "You might as well. I'd rather you do it than anyone else."

She glowered at him for calling her bluff, but grabbed him by his shirt with her other hand, prepared to drag him physically back to England if she had to. "I've had it with you. Come on, now!" she ordered, taking him captive at gunpoint. "Don't give me any trouble. Walk!"

He was laughing at her.

"You're coming with me. Blast it, Drake, I am trying to save you here!"

"What makes you think I have any desire to be saved?" He grasped her wrist where her hand clutched his shirt. "Let go of me, Emily." He looked deep into her eyes and repeated in a meaningful whisper: "
Let me go.
"

"No," she breathed, staring into his eyes as she shook her head. "Never."

"I already told you it's too late for me. I know what I'm doing, Emily. Now, go. You've got to do this for me. Nothing's worth it if you should die."

Her eyes welled with tears.

"Don't cry." He touched her face wistfully. "Don't make a sound. Just go back to that cave and stay out of sight. They're coming. Go on, now. I'll get them out of here. Wait till we're gone, then you run like hell down this mountain and go home. You've got to trust me. Tell the same to Max."

Emily refused to move. "It'll never be home again," she choked out. "I can't leave you here to die."

He looked over his shoulder. "If you don't run, you're going to die with me. Is that what you want?"

"Maybe. It's better than going back alone."

He looked taken aback at her answer, but she held his stare in defiance. Did the idiot still not know how she felt about him?

"You have no idea of what you've yourself gotten into," he uttered.

"I don't care, I can't let them hurt you again!"

"Damn it! I'm going to wring your neck for this," he muttered, then suddenly grabbed her by her wrist and yanked her to him, taking the pistol out of her hand and tucking it into the back of his waist. A second before the Promethean guards rushed into the clearing by the stream, Drake did something he had never done before.

Something that shocked her to the marrow.

He caught her up in his arms and kissed her, claiming her mouth with unabashed, lusty intent.

She was too shocked at first even to react. After all, his mother had made it very clear to her years ago, when Emily was as an awkward fifteen-year-old, that this must never happen, or her father would be sacked.

She had done her best since then not even to let girlish daydreams of kissing him play across her mind.

Not that her efforts had always been successful.

She was old enough to know now that she wanted him and to sense that he had often stayed away precisely because he thought about it, too.

But none of her daydreams had ever pictured their first kiss happening like this, with a dozen Promethean guards rushing into the clearing and surrounding them.

Terror mingled with intoxication: Both made her knees weak. She clutched his broad shoulders to keep from falling over, tentatively following his lead.

Drake ignored the men completely and went on kissing her, his tongue in her mouth, his fingers sensuously clutching her hips while the men jeered and shouted in surprise to find them thus.

When he finally ended the brash, rather rude kiss and released her, Emily saw stars.

"False alarm, boys," he drawled at last, sounding slightly breathless. He licked his lips and hungrily held her stunned gaze--though she noted his exasperation with her still simmering in the midnight depths of his eyes.

She could not look away, quite shocked at him and at the potent mix of fear and want pounding in her blood.

"What's this?" one of the guards demanded in English.

"This?" Drake cast the man one of his old, devilish grins. "
This
is my girl."

"Your girl?" they exclaimed in skeptical surprise.

"Aye. You boys nearly shot my favorite little servant wench. I'd have been
very
cross if any of you had so much as scratched her pretty bottom." He slapped her on the arse, and Emily gasped outright.

The men exchanged wry, humorous glances.

"Your servant,
Capitaine
?" a leathery Frenchman questioned, as though not quite buying it.

"Oh, yes. She's quite devoted to my comforts," Drake said slowly, with an innuendo that roused their laughter. "Aren't you, love?"

Emily could not manage an answer at first, blushing and tongue-tied. She knew she had better play along but was completely out of sorts and rather mortified.

Above all, she was stung by his insulting choice of terms for her--a servant wench, indeed?

The difference in their stations had long been a sore spot for her, as he knew full well, since that was obviously what had made his parents deem her unworthy of their splendid son. His pointed reminder of it now just went to show how furious he was at her for coming here. She quite believed His Lordship had just put her in her place.

Ungrateful villain.

"I had a feeling she might follow me. We've been doing this for years, haven't we, sweeting? Ever since she was old enough to know what to do with a man. But alas, she got addicted," he drawled, staring into her eyes. "Every time I try to set her aside, she just keeps showing up again."

"Hmmph," said Emily, lifting her chin, half-amused, half-outraged at his braggadocio, and well aware there was a grain of truth in it.

Indignation at his sly goading helped her find her spunk again. Very well, she could play along as brazenly as he if it meant the difference between life and death.

"If I'm the only one addicted, then why do you keeping sending for me--milord?" she countered with an arch look.

"Good question," he murmured, staring at her in lusty approval. "You are my dirty little secret, aren't you?"

That's what your mother's afraid of.
She grasped the lapel of his black coat and moved closer to him. "We both know you need someone lookin' after you."

"And we both know what
you
need, as well," he replied with an extremely wicked smile. When he ran his hands down her waist to her hips, she could not hold back a gasp; her eyes glazed over slightly.