My Ruthless Prince (27 page)

"Gentlemen," Falkirk whispered, "I give you Drake Parry, the Earl of Westwood. You saw his performance this night. It was he who killed Malcolm. He is the one we have awaited for an age."

Emily held her breath, immobilized as her blood ran cold.

"He is one of us now. He knows the enemy's ways. Listen to me," James insisted, as their shocked whispers flew around the room. "We were defeated under Malcolm, a corrupt financier concerned only with lining his own pockets. He was bound to fail, and for myself, I am just a humble scholar, old and weak. But Drake is a warrior. He is what we need right now. Look at him! Strong, fearless. Unbreakable, though our torturers did their best. He proved his loyalty tonight with his sword, and I tell you, he is the key. Now, my brothers, I urge you with the lifeblood I have left to accept this man who has saved my life three times as your new head of the Council, and the fulfillment of Valerian's greatest dream."

Emily was horrified, but Drake appeared blackly serene.

"What say you?" Falkirk urged, scanning them.

"A-are you willing, Lord Westwood?"

Drake turned, expressionless, to stare at the man who had asked the question. "I am willing."

"Well, I'm not!" Emily cried, pushing away from the wall and shoving through the crowd so he could see her. "Are you truly mad?"

"What is she doing in here?" someone protested.

"Who let her in?" another huffed.

"You cannot do this. I will not let you!"

They ignored her.

"Mind you, this girl is no longer an acceptable sacrifice for the night of the eclipse," Falkirk told them sharply. "She killed three men tonight."

"She did?" someone muttered in shock.

"This disqualifies her as an innocent. Miss Harper, please leave."

"I will not!"

"Emily, go," Drake ordered.

She stared helplessly at him, but was forgotten again before she could decide whether she was inclined to obey.

"You must put it to a vote among yourselves. Quickly, now," Falkirk urged the others. "I have told you my will. My strength is nearly gone."

"James, is this really the counsel you would give us? To make this creature of the enemy our ruler?"

"He is no enemy! I swear by dearest blood that what Valerian recorded centuries ago has come to pass. Drake is the only one who can bring our great struggle to a victorious end, at last."

Somber glances were exchanged. Grim nods.

"Very well, then. Let the brethren vote."

"So be it."

"All in favor?"

Emily watched, shaking her head and overwhelmed at this calamity, as bloodied hands were raised, one by one, around the room.

"It is unanimous, old friend," a distinguished gentlemen near the front informed James. "Your successor has been chosen."

Drake nodded in acceptance of their lauds and raised his chin. They pledged their loyalty to him.

Falkirk eased back against the divan, tension easing from his ashen face, as though he had just accomplished some great feat.

Then the frightened, wounded men began asking Drake's instructions on a dozen matters all at once; but Emily, who had still refused to leave, could only stare at him in disbelief. She could not wrap her mind around it. This
had
to be a ruse, though she did not see how.

So much for taking him home safely.

Her beloved Drake had just been made the terrifying new leader of the Prometheans.

Chapter 18

J
ames was dead, his body burned in accordance with the creed. Malcolm's followers had also been disposed of, and the eclipse was just three nights away.

Bizarre as it was to find himself in that position, Drake knew he had to act like a proper ruler of the Prometheans. And somehow he found this alarmingly easy to do.

No sweeter revenge could have been offered up to him than to be given total power over his enemies. He loved more than he cared to admit having them bow and scrape to him. None of them dared cross him.

Those who had tortured him in mind and body now found themselves at his mercy. With a word, he could order everything done to them that had once been done to him, and worse.

He enjoyed seeing them quake when he walked into the room. They tripped over themselves to grovel to him, and the fear he read in their eyes when he spoke to any of them was highly gratifying.

After all, their fear of him was key to his security, and Emily's.

Likewise, it was only Drake's fear of what Emily would say that stopped him from using his delicious new power as he might have wanted to.

But God knew he was tempted . . .

Strange that after James had undergone a deathbed conversion to the light, his own views were trending darker.

Head of the Prometheans . . . What would his old friends in the Order think of him now?

He was well aware that he was playing a game more dangerous than any Order agent before him had ever attempted. The Promethean secrets open to him were wider and farther-reaching than any agent had ever gained access to, as well.

Sitting at a large oak desk in the study that very afternoon, he had before him a full list of the Promethean safe houses throughout Europe, the locations and suppliers of their ammunitions stores, the names of their agents embedded in foreign governments and universities, and, most importantly, the information James had been waiting for--the far-flung bank accounts where Malcolm had stashed the fortune the Prometheans had amassed through their deviltry in the stock exchange.

He was leaning on his elbow, musing on all the secrets exposed to him, when Emily came in.

He looked over. Despite everything on his mind, he was glad to see her. Unfortunately, there was no missing the uneasy look in her violet eyes. It had been there ever since the battle in the great hall. They had not really discussed the events of that night. What was he to say after what she had seen? He did not know how to account for himself.

She had known, at least intellectually, that he was trained to kill. Now she had seen it for herself, and she had killed, as well.

He had never wanted her to experience such a thing, but she had done what she had had to do. It was a curse she had brought upon herself by following him there.

As she sauntered toward him, in any case, they were doing their best to carry on with some shred of normality.

Drake was just happy there was no more sickening talk of her as the sacrifice. He was now the Promethean leader, and she was his woman, his concubine. She was safe in this position. They both were, for the moment.

But three nights from now came the ritual of the eclipse, and when they all were gathered in the mountain temple, then what?

Emily drifted over to stand beside his chair, put her arm around his shoulders, and bent to kiss him lightly on the head. He loved her smell, breathing her in as she leaned near. Her wholesome beauty pleased him. Her ivory muslin gown with a charming print of muted purple flowers hugged her lush, alluring curves. He closed his eyes, absorbing the guileless love that she poured out on him so lavishly.

James's words from their final conversation haunted him.
I have never seen anything like it, her unselfish love for you.

Drake wondered what he could do if she ever figured out he didn't deserve it. But for the moment, she was still his, and the light caress of her lips eased the tension from his brow.

"How are you today?" she whispered. "You seem so burdened."

"Hmm," was all he could reply as she straightened up again and withdrew to lean against the window near the desk. He shrugged away the question. "How are
you
?"

She shrugged in return; he wondered if she knew the gauzy muslin of her gown turned just a little bit transparent in the sunshine streaming in.

At least it looked that way from where he sat in shadow.

"More men just arrived out in the courtyard," she informed him. "I think they are from Denmark."

"Then our number is almost complete."

" 'Our'?"

" 'Their' number is almost complete," he muttered, correcting himself.

She studied him warily.

"I wish you wouldn't look so frightened," he said, irked by the uncertainty in her eyes. "I've kept you safe thus far."

"I just can't believe we're still here. That you of all people have been chosen as the leader of the Prometheans. It is, to say the least, a bit ironic."

He couldn't argue that.

She shook her head and looked out the window, sunlight glimmering along her delicate profile. "We were so close to escaping! Just when we almost got away, the evil of this place reeled us in again, and now we're trapped. I don't think we're ever getting out of here."

"Why do you say that?"

Her shoulders lifted. "Just a gut feeling."

He gazed at her for a long moment. "At least we still have each other."

She glanced over and met his gaze. "Do we?"

"I'm right here, aren't I?" He dropped his gaze to the ledger book for the secret accounts laid out before him, the words on the tip of his tongue pushing to get out, though he barely dared admit what he was thinking . . .

Millions sterling at his disposal.

Houses around the world.

An army at his beck and call.

Influence in nearly every government on earth.

He looked up calmly from the ledger and met her gaze. "Perhaps it's not so bad."

H
is soft words sent an icy chill down her spine.

Indeed, if the dark stranger sitting there before her had not been her childhood companion, Emily would have been scared to death of him.

Outwardly, he looked the same, for the most part. He was dressed in the all-black clothes he usually wore, an ominous yet striking outfit, with his black hair and brooding, jet-black eyes.

He seemed larger somehow, she wasn't sure why. He couldn't have grown taller in the past few days, but perhaps he'd added muscle.

His black coat lay snug and sleek across his broad shoulders. His mother would have said he needed a haircut, she thought, her gaze following the length of glossy sable locks curling over the back of his collar. But for herself, Emily found his wilder look appealing.

If only he weren't so distant. He'd been so remote for the past two days, keeping his thoughts to himself. But she saw the new, stony hardness in his eyes, a ruthlessness he no longer bothered hiding and no longer tried to fight.

She feared that the battle in the great hall had affected him worse than he let on. He was not hurt in body, warrior that he was. But inwardly, he seemed to have ranged into a dark territory where she could not follow.

"What's wrong, for God's sake?" he murmured in annoyance. "Why are you staring at me like that?"

"I am worried about you," she confessed.

She saw that he hated the words as soon as she spoke them. He looked away with a scowl, flames of defiance flickering in his eyes. Nevertheless, she could not help herself. "Why won't you talk to me? I know that you are suffering--"

"Don't start that again! I'm fine."

"But James--"

"Is dead. So be it."

She shook her head and stared beseechingly at him. "This was not supposed to happen. We were going to get away."

"We have to play the hand we're dealt," he answered in a softer tone.

"What are we going to do?"

"Leave it to me. You do still trust me, don't you?"

"Yes, of course, but--"

"Come here, sweet." He held out his hand to her.

A thrill ran through her body as she noticed the smolder in his eyes. Reluctantly, she left her perch by the window and accepted his invitation. He pushed his chair back from the desk and drew her onto his lap.

She closed her eyes when he kissed her temple. "You smell like flowers," he breathed against her hair. "Don't be afraid. You know I'm not going to let anything happen to you, don't you, darling?" He nuzzled her cheek, cuddling her. "Everything's going to be all right."

"I'd feel better if I knew what was going on in that head of yours."

He was silent for a long moment, stroking her hair. "Do you really want to know?"

She nodded.

"Very well . . . I've been thinking . . . what if it could be turned to good somehow?"

"What do you mean?" she murmured.

"The Prometheans. They've already got the machinery in place to make an impact on the world. Perhaps in the right hands, it could be used for good . . ." His words trailed off when she turned and looked at him in cold horror.

"What?" he asked, stiffening.

"Listen to yourself," she breathed, appalled. "You don't know what you're saying."

"No, actually, I do. It's all right here in these books and papers. I can do whatever I want with it. They're prepared to follow my orders--"

She shot up off his lap and walked away.

"Where are you going?"

She stopped and turned around slowly. "I can't be a part of this. I won't. You must not contemplate this. If you do, you're on your own."

He glowered at her.

"Drake, if you have ever listened to anything that I have ever said, heed me now. Do not be tempted by this power they've placed in your hands. It will destroy you."

His lips twisted bitterly. "Tempted? Who wouldn't be? You can hardly think me a saint after the things you've seen."

"No, not a saint. But a knight of the Order. It's all you've wanted to be since you were a little boy. And now you are actually considering accepting this role? As head of the Promethean Council? Your archenemies?"

He shrugged, watching her, his chiseled face a mask of cold amusement. "A boy doesn't always grasp the way of the world, love."

She shook her head, at a loss. "Do not say such things. You must not even think them!"

"Why not?" He stood abruptly. "Open your mind! Of course I'd have to be careful. But what if I could use this power somehow to stop the sort of thing that happened to me from ever happening to anyone else again?"

"Oh, Drake."

"You can't stop me."

She swallowed hard. "I'll leave you."

"No, you won't." With a dark, devilish smile, he rounded the desk and slowly stalked toward her. "You couldn't bear to. Look at the lengths you've gone to to be with me. We both know you'll follow where I lead . . . even into darkness."

She swallowed hard, her heart pounding, but refused to admit to herself or to him that he could be right.

He came to stand before her. "We all have our price, my angel. Even you." He cupped her cheek, a storm of tender passion raging in his onyx eyes. "If I choose to rule them, you'll be by my side. You are mine, and you always have been, just as I have always been yours, no matter who has tried to keep us apart."

She quivered as he caressed her, her senses beginning to reel at his nearness. If Drake could be corrupted by the hunger to hold total power over those who had tormented him, perhaps she could be corrupted, too, by her sheer, mad love of this man.

He was her obsession. Her fatal flaw. Why else would she be here, risking her life for a madman? If he were not her greatest weakness, she would have married some country yeoman years ago rather than holding out hope that she, a commoner, could someday win the earl.

But her want of him had nothing to do with his title or even his deadly male beauty. She needed him like he was the other half of herself.

Even so, she knew that she could not allow this. If he really did accept Promethean corruption, he would be much too dangerous . . . to the Order . . . and the world.

She lifted her chin, meeting his gaze with whatever courage she had left. "I'll kill you myself before I'll let you betray yourself and all you once believed in."

"Would you now?" he purred. "I'd like to see you try."

He called her bluff with a knowing half smile.

"Then I will leave you," she forced out, issuing her second warning. "You'll be left alone."

"My angel, you know I could never allow that." He tilted his head and kissed her, his hand lightly cupping the back of her head so she could not pull away.

Emily tensed, though his lips were silky-warm, all too enticing. He felt her resistance, and his mouth curved against hers in a wolfish smile.