Emmanuelle's heart pounded as fear ran down her spine. The man standing before her was devastatingly beautiful, yet his presence held a power that made her tremble.
How could someone so exquisite be so terrifying? The mix of fear and awe left her breathless, torn between dread and a strange exhilaration.
If she had to die, perhaps there was some twisted beauty in his face being the last thing she saw.
She shook the thought away.
"Is that a no?" Sir Roderick's voice sliced through her momentary daze. "You're saying you had no part in the dark magic?"
It was a dangerous lie. If she hadn't been involved, how could she even know of its existence? Most would have been bewildered by the mere mention of such sorcery.
But Emmanuelle hadn't flinched, hadn't shown a flicker of confusion. Her calm was unnerving.
"I know nothing about dark magic," she replied, her voice emotionless, cold—like reciting facts from a book, detached and clinical.
