My Ruthless Prince

by Gaelen Foley

  He kept to the cover of the tree line as he rounded the field, entering the woods as soon as he came to a dirt path on the far end of the meadow. It led into the forest from between a neat break in the trees.

  Drake ventured in, keeping his hand on his weapon in case of trouble as he scanned the darkness for Emily.

  Suddenly, she stepped into view farther down the path and beckoned to him. He picked up his pace as he strode toward her, a surge of warmth flooding through his body in response to her.

  When he joined her, she greeted him with a hug, throwing her arms around his neck. He wrapped his own around her waist. She felt wonderful in his arms though he suppressed a groan of want at the supple heat of her body against his.

  “Did anyone see you?” he whispered as he held her.

  “No. Did you have any trouble getting away?”

  “No, but if I had, seeing you would be worth it.” He captured her beaming face between his hands and bent his head to press a quick kiss to her lips. “Come on, let’s get farther away from the castle.”

  With a nod, she slipped her hand in his and let him lead her down the path.

  Slivers of moonlight penetrated the boughs, caressing her delicate face, as he longed to do. The darkness deepened as they walked hand in hand through the windy woods. The more they put distance between themselves and the castle, the better Drake could appreciate her wisdom in suggesting they meet out here. There was more to it than the practical need to avoid being discovered. Away from the enemy’s foulness, the battle smoke of his secret mission cleared until he was able once more to glimpse the bright new vision of a future she had planted in his mind. Out here, it was easier to hope that one day it could be real.

  All he knew was that the feel of her small, dainty hand in his meant more to him in this moment than all his years of loyal service to the Order.

  At last, they came to what he instantly recognized as a fine spot for a seduction: an agreeable scattering of large rocks amid the trees, at a distance from the castle that he deemed safe enough. They were nowhere near the guards’ posts and should be well out of earshot, even if they made some noise . . .

  Emily glanced at him in question because he had stopped. He smiled ruefully at her, then nodded toward a large, flat boulder. “Want to sit down?”

  She shrugged at him, wide-eyed.

  He turned to her, his expression softening. She was obviously nervous about what they had come out here to do; with a somber stare, she watched his every move.

  He took both of her hands in his own. “You trust me, don’t you?”

  “Completely.”

  “And I trust you. Don’t be afraid,” he whispered. “You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to do with me. You know that, right?”

  “I know,” she forced out, a fierce blush in her cheeks, while her voice trembled. “I’ve wanted this for a long time.”

  “So have I,” he murmured hoarsely, then he rested his hands tenderly on her shoulders and bent to press another kiss of gentle reassurance to her lips.

  A small moan escaped him as she parted his lips with the tip of her tongue and tasted of him freely, while her hand alighted on his chest, caressing him with innocent but barely restrained passion. God, this girl. Delight in her dissolved the darkness in his soul. He thrilled to her touch as her fingers tightened, clutching the lapel of his coat.

  She paused, breaking their kiss, her chest heaving; Drake stared at her, wretched with desire, as her lashes swept upward. She gazed into his eyes in dreamy hunger.

  “We might as well hurry,” she murmured. “We might not have much time.”

  He flinched with pleasure as she backed out of his arms gracefully, unfastening her woolen cloak as she sauntered toward the rock. He could not take his eyes off her as she spread it over the stone like a coverlet and sat, waiting for him, leaning back to brace herself on her hands.

  She cast him a roguish smile, the nymph. “So, what are you waiting for?”

  He shook himself out of the trance. “Sorry,” he forced out. “It’s just you’re the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.”

  “Why, thank you.” She held out her hand to him.

  He walked toward her, marveling, as though he were the virgin. No one in London would have believed that a former rakehell of his stature could have been rendered speechless by a milky-skinned beauty offering herself to him, heedless of the consequences.

  But he was done resisting temptation. He went and sat down beside her, laying his hand on her knee for a moment, caressing her, holding himself back.

  Staring hungrily into her eyes, he soon pulled her into his arms, then claimed her waiting mouth with hard, unbridled kisses. She returned them each with a soft moan, curling one hand sensuously behind his nape. The other hand skimmed down his chest once more. Then her dainty fingers began plucking at his neckcloth, loosening it. Unfastening the buttons of his shirt.

  Her hand slipped inside his shirt; he groaned as her trembling fingertips found and began to stroke his bare skin. Surely she could feel the thunder of his heart beating beneath that gentle touch he had so long craved. The need to be inside her stormed through him.

  “Ah, Emily,” he purred, when she finally released him. His voice sounded drunk in his own ears. “You could lead a saint astray.”

  “Fortunately, you’re no saint,” she whispered. Leaning back, she held his stare as she began unbuttoning her shirt. “Far from it.”

  He chuckled.

  Then he watched her with a dark smile as she slipped her shirt over her head. “ I could say the same for you.”

  “Which only goes to show how perfect we are for each other.”

  “It would seem so,” he breathed, as she bared her breasts. His eyes glazed over with unbridled want at sight of her offering. With her lithe, athletic figure, her breasts were not large, but they were perfect in shape, each a perfect mouthful. Her pink nipples, swollen in the hint of the balmy night’s breeze, teased him into a state of total, throbbing hardness. Her skin was white silk, her shoulders, alabaster elegance.

  Even her stomach was beautiful, soft and slim, velvety-smooth. He reached out and caressed it by her navel, longing to make it round and heavy with his child.

  Don’t do it, his conscience begged him. You’re going to die before this is over and she’s going to be left alone, ruined.

  But God forgive him, he could not hold back. He needed it too much.

  He reached across her waiting body, planting his left hand by her hip, then he leaned down and accepted all that she wanted to give.

  She closed her eyes and sighed with pleasure under his caresses. “Your hands are so warm. It’s lovely.”

  His member swelled; his heart pounded. Then he paid homage to her breasts. She arched her back to thrust the hardened tip of her nipple more deeply into his mouth.

  He sucked and fondled, shifting position, laying her back on the rock. It was easier that way to unfasten the rest of her clothes, especially the silly brown trousers that she actually thought made her look like a boy. Anyone who could look at her and mistake this luscious creature for a lad did not deserve, in his opinion, to be called a man. She was all girl, woman, wood nymph, princess . . .

  Then he had unbuttoned the placket at the waist of her little trousers and slipped his hand inside to stroke her womanly flesh, his fingers lustfully clutching one slender, feminine hip. But then, his heart pounding with unbearable excitement, he trailed his fingertips toward the center of her body. The first damp touch of her dewy core, so eager for him, inspired him afresh with the blinding need to strip himself. He quickly began unbuttoning his waistcoat.

  Emily curled upward to dote on him while he took off his coat. He paused to offer it to her as a blanket. She let it fall across her thigh, more interested in kissing his neck.

  He all but forgot what he was doing, savoring the softness of her lips, so sweet and safe against his jugular. He gradually remembered what he was about and pulled his wais
tcoat off his shoulders.

  She helped.

  “I can’t believe we’re doing this,” she whispered as she nibbled his earlobe.

  Registering a moment’s agonizing doubt, he went motionless. Was this a warning that she was considering backing out?

  But then he saw his worry was for naught. She reached down, uninvited, and squeezed his cock.

  He nearly laughed in sheer happiness, relief. Thankfully, she didn’t notice, preoccupied with exploring the instrument that would soon pleasure her.

  “You’re going to have to show me what to do,” she panted.

  “Don’t you worry, sweet, I certainly will,” he assured her in a husky murmur.

  She pulled back a small space to smile mischievously at him. “Are you sure you haven’t forgotten how?”

  “If so, I’m sure I can figure it out.”

  She giggled.

  She was just too adorable, he thought as he captured her face between his hands and kissed her for all he was worth. But he still had to take off his shirt. He wanted to feel her breasts against his bare chest.

  He ended the kiss and got on with it, lifting his shirt off over his head. A slight breeze blew, but arousal had him much too hot to feel the coolness in the air.

  Emily leaned closer, pressing her warm lips to his chest. He closed his eyes and let her do as she liked. He did not even flinch this time when she touched the ugly brand that she finally knew was not evidence of a betrayal on his part but a sign of just how far he was willing to go for the cause and the country that he loved, even to sacrifice his own body, his life. God knew he had already given up his sanity.

  His heart, on the other hand, had always belonged to her.

  She caressed his shoulders and his arms, while her lips lingered with silent sorrow at the place where they had seared their symbol into his flesh. The reminder of all that pain threatened to overwhelm him.

  He captured her chin with his fingertips and lifted her face so he could consume her mouth again. He poured all his determination to forget what had happened to him into that kiss. The dark world spun around them.

  Perhaps she felt it with him, or somehow carried a part of it for him, for he soon felt the tear that spilled from her eyes; it dripped hot and wet on his hand as he cupped her precious face in his palm. Already aware of the encroaching darkness, though he sought to focus only on her beauty, his heart, too, despaired.

  Maybe there was no hope for them beyond this place, but at least they had this moment. If it all went wrong, no one could ever take this night away from them.

  “I love you,” she whispered.

  The emotion was too tangled and too great. He couldn’t even speak. His throat burned with the tears he was too well trained to shed. Instead, he shut his eyes and kissed her all the more rapturously, as he had dreamed of doing since he was seventeen. She put her arms around him and met his kiss measure for measure, as if she knew that, forget her apothecary cures, this was her best medicine, the one she’d give only to him.

  Their kiss was a slow, soulful joining that deepened and quickened with escalating passion. It left them both trembling with want. He knew the time had come. She wanted him, needed him as much as he needed her.

  When she touched him restlessly once more through his black leather riding breeches, he licked his lips with wild anticipation but made a private vow that he would take it slow. Except for that night on the balcony with her, he had not been with a woman since his capture, and she was a virgin.

  He knew he mustn’t scare her. Hell, he’d be hard-pressed not to scare himself with the violence of his hunger. His want of her shook him to the core. She could have asked him for the moon, and he’d have promised it to her if only she would give him what he craved.

  He would never forgive himself if his control slipped, if his need ran away with him, and he got too rough. God knew he was out of practice and, worse, aflame with lust, but he swore, whatever happened, he would make it good for her. Vaguely he recalled that, long ago, he had once been an expert. He had no memory of the details, but he was aware that there had been an indecent number of women in his past. Now their faces blurred together, and their names, why, he had rarely bothered to learn them.

  Why should he? he remembered thinking. They weren’t Emily, so what the hell did he care? By contrast, every memory, every nuance of their years together since childhood remained vividly imprinted on his battle-scarred mind. His parents could have said she was not good enough for him until they were blue in the face, but he knew the truth. She was meant for him, and he loved her. Only her.

  That was why they could not stand her, and why they did not dare send her away. Until that night, Emily and he had played by the rules. He had never dishonored her; she had never tempted him to try. Odd as she was, adorably so, she was a girl of sterling character. Always pure, always a lifeline to him.

  So many times he had begun to lose his way. But whenever he needed to be set right again over the years, when the war began to get to him, he knew he could always go home and see her, and she would be there. Maybe not his wife, not his lover, but there for him, asking nothing in return . . . as if she knew deep down that she was the secret to how he kept going.

  God, he thought as he held her, the girl had saved his life in more ways than he could tell her—and now he would take her on the forest floor like an animal? She deserved so much better than this. Nevertheless, the drive to completion had taken hold of him.

  He could barely think, in a fog of desire. Excitement curled unbearably in the pit of his stomach, but he took pains to hold himself in check. He’d die if he overstepped his bounds, moved too fast, and frightened her. It was imperative to make sure she was truly ready. So he crept lower, mesmerized by her white skin, pearlescent in the moonlight as he inched lower, parted her thighs, skimming his lips across the smooth tops of them . . . and between.

  If he had no words, no speech, she must surely have known how much he adored her by the way his tongue touched her, the way he worshipped her with his lips and hands. The taste of her nectar transported him. The graceful undulations of her body fascinated him until she panted, “Oh, God, Drake, please.” He moved upward over her body until he covered her, resting his elbows on the unyielding rock beside her shoulders.

  He gazed sweetly into her eyes as he caressed her hair. “The first time is not without pain,” he whispered.

  Her only answer was to pull him closer, and her kiss, so sure and true, spoke to his wounded heart more deeply than any words could have reached him.

  He grasped her hip, kissing her face as he entered her, trembling with restraint; slowly, carefully, he moved, so as not to hurt her, even as he broke her maiden barrier with as gentle a thrust as he could manage.

  She groaned softly but seemed to welcome that particular pain, wrapping herself around him. She nestled her face into the crook of his neck, her arms draped around his shoulders. Drake was in a state of tantalizing bliss, buried deep inside her.

  They both were silent . . . reverently so.

  His heart slammed in his chest. He could feel her pulse pounding also. He held himself in check, kissing her, barely moving, until her body began to signal her acceptance of his taking. The tension gradually eased from her limbs. As he stroked her hair and kissed her cheeks and brow and eyelids, he felt her finally relax.

  Her hands alighted on his bared hips, a shy invitation to him to move again. Her tentative hold tightened when he reached between their bodies and rested the pad of his thumb ever so lightly on her core. The soft touch stoked the fire of her pleasure, and soon, whatever pain she had experienced in her deflowering was forgotten. He fought back a fierce surge of triumph to know that she was his; he watched her yielding to their passion.

  “Oh, Drake, it’s so beautiful. You’re beautiful,” she blurted out in a ragged whisper.

  His heart clenched at her innocent wonder.

  And then he loved her until she glowed.

  It seemed impossi
ble that joy could be born in the midst of the darkness that surrounded them, but as they gave themselves to each other completely, it leaped to life like a small flame.

  One light was all it took to illuminate the darkness. Surely the love that had never left them from their earliest years could defeat the evil that had engulfed them. He hushed her with fond, chiding urgency when her cries of pleasure grew louder.

  “Easy,” he whispered, pausing.

  “Sorry,” she mumbled, then added feverishly, “Don’t stop.”

  He obliged her, but soon, he, too, was incapable of muffling his own heady groans as he came inside her. Pleasure racked his body that had known so much pain.

  The all-consuming sweetness of release painted a new layer of memories, healing ones, on the dark canvas of his soul. He had known she cared for him, of course, but it was not until this moment that her pure love had pierced the cold stone walls around his heart until he could feel it, receive it, in his very core.

  He shuddered in her arms, kissing her with mad abandon. She ran her fingers through his hair and returned his kiss in a manner that told him without a need for words that she was his for the taking whenever and wherever he had need of her.

  It was possibly the best moment of his life. Certainly the calmest that he had known in years.

  She held him for a long time afterward in silence, until, quite out of the blue, she remarked: “This rock is digging into my back.” She chuckled wearily. “I’ve only just now noticed.”

  He moved aside so she could sit up. He glanced down at himself in the moonlight and noted the slightly darker smears of her maiden blood on him. It brought the precariousness of their situation back sharply to his mind.

  He picked up his discarded waistcoat and pulled his fob watch out of the small front pocket. It was just past 1:00 A.M. He was in no hurry to return.

  Meanwhile, beside him, Emily let out a sigh of deep feminine satisfaction and rose with a languid movement to dress. He eyed her naked body in open admiration. She was lithe and lean, and her sensual stretch inspired thoughts of a second round already.