My Ruthless Prince (17 page)

She was now trapped inside his nightmare.

Chapter 11

A
s the days passed, the cult's high-ranking members, known as the Hundred, continued arriving from all over Europe, drawn by James's summons. From Naples, Paris and Madrid, from Brussels and Glasgow, Vienna and St. Petersburg, their traveling coaches with guards and outriders kept rolling in, all the occult conspirators and oligarchs with a lust for tyranny in their hearts, the castle's remote mountain setting providing them with the secrecy they required.

Drake could hardly believe he was in the thick of it, but any triumph he might have felt as an agent was overshadowed by his grim, constant worry over Emily.

They hadn't talked or been alone together since the night he had foolishly stormed out of the room, outraged by her attempt to lure him away from this place with the promise of her body. He wished to God he would have listened to her while he'd had the chance.

Instead he was up to his neck among countless circling sharks, and it was Emily's blood that chummed the water.

She had been locked away in her fine new bedchamber, kept under guard.

He had not been permitted to see her, lest he do something "rash," as James had said with a fond, chiding smile.
Sick bastard.
Drake knew now he had somehow lost sight of the old man's true evil, lulled into some degree of complacency by his amiable manner and the fact that James had once saved him from the dungeon.

That spell had been sharply broken, however. James's willingness to do such a thing to innocent Emily had pulled away the veil of what the old man truly was.

A creature without a soul.

Drake maintained his obedient facade. Although it was harder to hide his true feelings, he no longer had any qualms about including James in the massacre he had planned for the night of the eclipse.

His own, ever-hardening ruthlessness didn't bother him.

The only thing that mattered to him was Emily's safety and well-being. He would find a way to save her; no other option was possible. But he probably wouldn't come out of this alive himself, and what his death might do to her, he couldn't bear to ponder.

Whatever physical torture he had endured in the depths of Waldfort Castle was nothing compared to his inward anguish, frustration, and bewilderment over how she could have devoted herself to such a lost cause as he.

As much as he wanted to love her, it all seemed too late for that. At this point, his primary objective was simply to save her life.

His only comfort was that at least
she did not know
the horror they had planned. He could not bear for her to know.

Hopefully, she was up there enjoying her comfortable room and fine food and the pretty gowns they had brought her, no doubt puzzled and probably bored out of her mind; but at least for the moment, he didn't have to be quite so frantic over her.

James finally gave him permission to speak to her after several days. Drake thanked him, but was wary of the old man's strange fascination with their relationship.

Emily's unselfish devotion to him, her blind faith in love, seemed to perplex old Falkirk, but then, Drake had to admit, it rather perplexed him, too.

Eager to see her and to verify for himself that she was all right, he marched into the upper hallway and informed the two guards posted there that James had given him permission to visit her for a quarter hour.

Drake hid his frustration with this absurd time limit, though, in truth, in his rakehell days back in London with the Inferno Club, this would have been enough time for him to ravish a willing lady in secret. He didn't like to rush, but sometimes the occasion called for it . . .

He reminded himself firmly these were not his intentions toward Emily as the guard knocked on the door and informed her she had a visitor.

She called at once to come in; Drake braced himself, doing his best to assume a calm, reassuring demeanor; he swiftly reviewed the lies he intended to tell her that might help allay her fears about why she had been moved and what was really going on.

Then the guard opened the door.

Drake stepped in--and his eyes widened as he came face-to-face with the refined young miss standing in the middle of the room, with her hands demurely tucked behind her back.

"Emily?" he asked in a quizzical tone, shutting the door behind him.

Egad, if he had passed her on Bond Street looking like this, he might not have even recognized her! His strange, fey, little forest girl was transformed into a delicate young lady, of whom even his mother could not have disapproved. Ribbons tamed her neatly upswept hair. Ivory lace edged the sleeves, hem, and neck of her luxurious silk day gown.

He scanned her in amazement, charmed but rather disoriented. Startled by the whole new facet of sweetness this refined presentation brought out in his dearest childhood friend, he started to grin and say something teasing--but then he noticed the expression in her wide, violet eyes, and his stomach plummeted within him.

Frozen, terrified desperation.

She knew?

"Emily?" he asked softly, taking a step toward her.

"Stop. Please, stop right there and don't come any closer," she forced out, holding a hand up as if to ward him off. "I need to know the truth."

Tears rushed into her eyes.

"I've been in this room for days trying to hold on to my faith that you're not a traitor. That you're still
you.
That you'd never let them hurt me. I so want to believe that," she whispered in a voice that shook, "but you did take their mark on your chest. You said the Prometheans understood pain. And it dawned on me that every time I've asked you if you were really with them, you never once denied it."

He stared at her, the blood draining from his face. His body went ice-cold.

"The other morning, I was bringing a poultice down to the Hall of Arms--for that man you hurt in practice," she continued. "I heard voices. Followed the sound. Drake, I overheard the whole thing. I know what they're planning to do to me. And I heard you agree to it."

Then she broke down crying.

He crossed the room to her in three swift strides and pulled her into his arms, distraught with guilt for every lie he'd told. "I'm sorry, I'm so sorry," he whispered over and over in her ear, stroking her hair, holding her up as she wept against his chest.

The terror and grief that came pouring out of her slim, shaking body melted such a thick, hardened layer of ice within him that he felt the sting of tears threatening behind his own eyes, as well. "I'll never let them hurt you. I'm still me, Emily. Please forgive me for this deception. I didn't dare tell you the truth. I didn't think you'd be able to lie to them."

She breathed his name amid her tears and wrapped her arms around his waist, sobbing with an exhaustion that he knew came from the depths of her heart. She had fought so hard for him in her way. She had come so far.

Only to wonder if he had betrayed her.

But he never would. If only he had known she was suffering! He had had no idea that she had overheard the other day's confrontation.

His conscience burned for putting her through so much pain.

It was time to make everything right. He shook his head slightly to himself as he held her in fierce tenderness. "Your first guess was right from the beginning," he breathed in her ear, knowing they must hide this conversation from the guards outside her door. "I know who I am, I got my memory back, and I came here for revenge. I mean to kill them all. And I know now how I'm going to do it, too," he whispered. "I've figured out a way."

Lifting her tear-stained face from his chest, she met his gaze with startled innocence in her reddened eyes.

He cupped her damp cheeks between his hands and with his thumb, brushed away the next tear that fell. "I didn't want you to come here," he reproached her in the gentlest of tones. "Perhaps I panicked. But there was no way that I could have told you the truth. I lied to try to keep you out of it. But I never meant to scare you, my darling. Back in England, you helped me more than you know. You gave me back my strength to continue the fight. I'm the only one who can now. The Order hasn't had a chance like this in centuries. No one has ever infiltrated the cult at this level, but the bond I've developed with Falkirk gave me the chance. I didn't want to go. I wanted to stay with you, but I had no choice. That's why I'm here. To do what needs to be done. But never doubt I'm on your side, my dearest Emily, and I always will be."

"Oh, Drake." She stared at him in tender loyalty.

He shook his head, comforted as always by her softness. "They had me cornered in that chamber. I had to say what they wanted to hear or they'd have shot me where I stood. I'm a former agent of the Order," he reminded her. "I've had to go above and beyond to make them believe they really succeeded in turning me. If they suspected it's a ruse or that I have regained my memory, they would force me to tell them everything I know. They'd torture me again to get it out of me, and this time, I know I'd break. Emily, I can't go through that again. I'm sorry if that makes me weak, but you have no idea . . ."

"It doesn't make you weak. I will not let them hurt you, either!" she whispered.

A pensive smile curved his lips at her protectiveness. "Well, that is why I couldn't tell you what was really going on. You are hardly the world's best liar, my dear. I feared you might give me away--unintentionally, of course--and then they'd kill us both. I'm doing all I know to keep us alive."

"Oh, Drake." She hugged him. "I knew it couldn't be true. I knew you'd never let them hurt me. You almost had me fooled, but I understand now why you had to lie. I won't give you away," she added, glancing up again to stare soberly into his eyes.

He was glad to see she had regained her composure. And then he noticed that he, too, suddenly felt a great weight lifted off him just by telling her the truth.

It felt wonderful to touch her and drink her in with his gaze. The fifteen minutes they'd been granted were moving much too fast.

When she reached up and caressed his cheek with an expression full of thoughtful care, he savored her soft touch. "I hate being separated from you," she whispered.

"I hate it, too."

"Wouldn't they let you come sooner?"

He shook his head. "They don't trust the two of us together. If I had known you were aware of their twisted plans, I would have found a way. You must have been terrified all this time, and here I thought you were all right."

"And I thought
you
were staying away because you were angry at me about the other night. I have to apologize, Drake. I shouldn't have tried to manipulate you," she whispered.

He shook his head. "It's all right."

"No, it was wrong of me to try to do that. I didn't realize till afterward how much you probably needed at least one person who wasn't trying to play games with your head."

"You were only trying to help me."

"I thought if I could persuade you with my kisses, then we could leave, just escape, the two of us--"

"Emily-girl, you could persuade the sun to fall out of the sky with
those
kisses," he told her, and smiled fondly as she blushed. "Not bad for a neophyte."

"Well, at least they were sincere."

"Mmm," he said.

"But I see now you can't leave," she continued, getting back to business, though her violet eyes shone with the same hungry attraction he was feeling at the reminder of that night on the balcony. "After what I overheard, I know why you need to stay here and defeat them. They are truly evil."

He nodded in full agreement.

"Now that I understand," she said sternly, "you have to let me help you. Don't argue with me," she added as she clutched the lapels of his jacket with both dainty hands.

She gazed up at him in earnest determination. "You will stop shutting me out. The time has come for us to work together. No more secrets, no more lies. You can't do this alone. There are too many of them for one man to handle--even you."

He gave her a rueful smile, taking her adorable insistence on helping him only halfheartedly. "You help me more than you know just by being here."

"I can contribute more than that, if you'd stop shielding me. Just tell me what to do!"

Regarding her with a skeptical eye, even though he frankly adored the chit, he began to wonder if she was right. Perhaps there was some assistance she could provide. True, he was accustomed to having battle-hardened warriors as allies, but God love her, this little slip of a girl had the heart of a she-wolf. She was going to have to do.

Besides, Drake saw that it would be cruel of him to continue insisting that she simply sit alone in her room and do nothing, just trust him. Anyone would go mad, knowing she was slated for a gruesome death, and being forbidden to do anything to try to save herself.

That was too much to ask, he conceded. He'd already put her through enough by lying to her. All she wanted was to help. She was a capable person, loyal and smart. Hell, back in their childhood days, she had beaten him at many a contest though he would deny it till the day he died.