His mind raced as Waverly and Lord Branford continued discussing the issues that would soon be debated in Lords, and how Waverly intended to introduce a bill of alliance with the wealthy principality of Sabedoria. There would, of course, be mutual benefits, not the least of which would be Britain’s exclusive right to trade for Sabedoria’s highly superior flax.
Tom gave a noncommittal nod as he watched Maggie enter the ballroom on Shefford’s arm. She kept her eyes straight ahead as she moved through the ballroom, following in the older woman’s wake, and Thomas guessed that Lady Shefford was her mother.
If so, it meant that Maggie was Shefford’s sister.
Tom refrained from jabbing his fingers through his hair in consternation. But Good God, the woman he desired more than any he could ever remember was in the thick of it.
Maggie almost asked Lord Horton to turn his carriage around and take her home. But the thought of seeing Thomas had kept her firmly seated on the plush squabs of his carriage, in spite of Stella’s disapproving glare and her mother’s continued harassment.
Shefford was getting out of his carriage as they arrived, and insisted that Maggie take his arm to enter the ballroom. It was her first social event since Julian’s death, and a fair number of people took note of her entrance and seemed to be whispering to their companions as they looked her over.
She hated this, feeling as though she were on display like one of the young debutantes, only this time, as the brunt of some harsh gossip. For once she was grateful for Stella’s reluctant help. Dressed in her sister’s lovely blue gown, she hoped everyone in the duke and duchess’s ballroom would recognize what a fool Julian had been.
She tried not to be too obvious as she scoured the crowd for the tall, dark-haired man she intended to make her lover. On the morrow, she would know all that she’d missed—all that Julian had deprived her of—during her marriage.
It had been a taxing and bewildering day, and she should have stayed home that evening, if only to collect her thoughts. She was still angry with Shefford for his lack of care in agreeing to her feeble marriage agreement with Julian, and his subsequent poor stewardship of her late husband’s estate. He couldn’t have been more negligent if he’d tried.
And then there was Thomas…
She took her hand from Shefford’s arm and moved ahead without him, her stomach roiling with nerves. How did one approach a man—a near stranger—who had touched her so intimately, setting her blood on fire in a way her husband had never done?
“Margaret!” called Victoria, Lady Ranfield, and Maggie was relieved to see her friend’s smiling face.
“Hello, Victoria,” Maggie replied as the young woman took her hand and drew her away from her family.
“Are you all right?” Victoria asked in a confidential tone. “I was so worried about you after…you know.”
“No, no. You were right,” Maggie replied in a confidential tone. “Julian’s been gone two years. Whatever he might have done happened a long time ago and signifies naught anymore.” In Mr. Clement’s office, she had come to the realization that Julian’s past infidelities were the least of her worries. Her family was essentially destitute. Somehow, she was going to have to turn Blackmore into a productive estate, or else Zachary was going to inherit a worthless title.
She knew little of agricultural innovations and not much of estate management, beyond her own paltry duties. The steward that Shefford engaged was supposed to have taken care of everything. And yet Maggie now knew that he had not.
“You’re taking it rather better now,” said Victoria.
“Yes, well. I’ve had time to think about it.”
Victoria slid her arm through the crook of Maggie’s elbow and started them toward the refreshment table. “So, you’ve begun your hunt for another husband?”
“Good heavens, no,” said Maggie. “You sound like my mother.”
“God forbid. Is she still throwing Chatterton in your face?”
Maggie shrugged. “If not for me, Beatrice would be the honored aunt of an eminent duke, and Charlotte would be his wife. As it is, she only got Aughton for Charlotte, a lowly baron.”
“Bosh.”
“Anyway, how could I compete for a husband here with all these debutantes? Young, innocent, beautiful, rich…”
“Maggie, you are—”
“I am going to take a lover, I think.”
Victoria gasped with shock. Then her face broke into a smile. “Oh, you. Having a jest at my expense.”
Maggie allowed Victoria to believe so. Her decision to engage in an affair with Thomas was probably best left unspoken. “Where is Lord Ranfield?”
“Hobnobbing with his parliamentary peers. They are all atwitter with this foreign prince.”
“Of Sabedoria.”
“Yes. Have you seen him?”
Maggie swallowed. She’d certainly seen him, touched him, melted in his arms. “He happened into Hanover Square two nights ago, and saved Zachary from being run down by a carriage.”
“What?” Victoria said, pressing a hand to her breast. “You never said anything! Is Zachary all right?”
Maggie nodded, the shock of the incident having receded, replaced by a sense of anticipation and longing unlike anything she’d ever known. She couldn’t believe she’d met Thomas only forty-eight hours ago. “Zachary is fine, but only because of the prince and his quick action.”
“Good heavens, Margaret. I cannot believe…” She put a hand upon Maggie’s arm and turned to look at the crowd. “You know that he is here?”
“Oh?” She hoped so, since it was the only reason she had decided to attend.
“It’s said he is unmarried,” Victoria remarked, bringing Maggie up short.
It had not even occurred to her to wonder if he had a wife and she was appalled at her own lack of consideration. After what she had just learned about Julian, it should have been her first thought.
“Perhaps he intends to take a bride back to Sabedoria with him,” said Victoria.
Maggie swallowed. She’d been an utter dolt in her dealings with him. Having intimate relations with a man who was actively seeking a wife was obviously not a prudent course of action. And yet—
“It seems impossible that he doesn’t already have a wife.” Victoria clasped her hands to her breast and sighed. “He is Apollo with dark hair, Prometheus with gorgeous green eyes, Atlas with the weight of his country on his shoulders. I don’t believe I’ve ever seen such a remarkably handsome man. And when he smiles…” She fluttered her lashes and rolled her eyes in a feigned swoon.
Maggie would have laughed at her friend’s antics, but she caught sight of Thomas just then. He certainly was as beautiful as Apollo, and Victoria seemed to be right about the weight on his shoulders. A fierce crease split his brow, giving him the appearance of a man who carried a heavy burden.
She hadn’t given any thought to his reasons for coming to England, but as he stood conversing with the most powerful men of the realm, Maggie knew there was a great deal more to him than the little bit—as earth-shattering as it was—that she’d experienced.
And she realized how foolish it was to think he would turn his entire attention upon her. She’d been reeling over Victoria’s revelation when she’d encountered him that morning in the street, and he’d done nothing but attempt to comfort her. He’d been purely gracious at the tea shop, until she announced that she was a widow.
She took the proffered glass of ratafia and drank it down.
“Maggie, what is it? Are you…?” Victoria asked, and Maggie realized her faux pas. Thank heavens her mother hadn’t seen her gulping down the sweet, surprisingly potent drink, but she felt her cheeks burn, anyway.
“I’m fine,” she said. “Perhaps a little rattled. I haven’t been part of a crush like this in years.”
“It’s certainly crowded. There is naught to compare to a Waverly ball. I’m so glad you came.”
“Here comes your husband,” said Maggie.
; Lord Ranfield arrived at Victoria’s side, took Maggie’s hand and made his bow over it. “Lady Blackmore, it’s been much too long. I hope you are well.”
Victoria did not give Maggie an opportunity to answer. “Are the gentlemen going to monopolize the prince all evening discussing the price of corn, Ranfield? Maggie and I would like to meet the man.”
“The dancing will soon begin,” he replied, smiling down at his wife, at her mockingly petulant tone. He had always been a thoroughly engaging man, and Maggie knew that her friend had married him for love. Hers was a very different history than Maggie’s and no one would ever believe Ranfield strayed from his wife’s bed.
He turned to Maggie. “Will you do me the honor of a dance, Lady Blackmore?”
“Oh, I…”
“Maggie doesn’t dance, Charles,” Victoria said quietly.
“I beg your pardon, my lady. Perhaps you’ll sit with us at supper?” he asked, and Maggie warmed to him as he recovered seamlessly from his blunder. He’d obviously forgotten about Maggie’s lame leg, and she liked him all the more for it. “We would enjoy your company.”
“Thank you. I would be pleased to join you,” she replied. She knew how to dance, but her badly mended leg prevented her from moving gracefully, so she preferred to avoid dancing in public. It was bad enough having to walk with a limp before the elegant company here.
“The prince first, Ranfield,” said Victoria.
“Yes, my love,” said Ranfield, turning to scan the room for a sight of him.
“This way.” He took his wife and Maggie on each arm and started through the crowd as the musicians began to take up their instruments.
“Perhaps we should wait until later,” Maggie said, with a sudden shyness at seeing Thomas again. She feared she would somehow betray the private, sensual interlude they’d shared.
“Nonsense. You’ve already met him—in a strange way,” Victoria said, then recounted the incident in Hanover Square for her husband.
Thomas towered over a buzzing hive of female admirers and their mothers who swarmed around him. His frown was gone, replaced by what seemed to be a tolerant smile for all the hopeful young ladies.
He looked past all his pretty followers and let his gaze rest upon Maggie, as though he’d sensed her presence without even seeing her. She felt the same shimmer of excitement she’d known at his touch. He started toward her, excusing himself as the women stepped aside for him. He came directly to Maggie and took her hand.
“Lady Blackmore,” he said, giving her a nod, over which she knew the entire crowd would soon be speculating. She hoped her family would dispel rumors by relating their earlier meeting. Or perhaps she should just enjoy the novelty of the ton’s admiration for the moment. “It’s good to see you again. Your son is well, I trust?”
Maggie felt breathless, but managed to give him the same pat answer as she’d done when they sat together in the tea shop. He was poised and collected, betraying none of the pure, sexual heat they’d shared in his carriage. She introduced him to Victoria and her husband, and Victoria fairly gushed over him.
“Your Highness, it’s such a pleasure to meet you. You are a true hero in our district! Thank heavens for your quick intervention with little Zachary.”
“All that matters is that the boy is safe and sound.” He looked at Maggie. “I have only to wait for an invitation from Lady Blackmore to meet him properly.”
Victoria turned a pair of incredulous eyes on her. “Margaret?”
“Ah, y-yes. Perhaps at week’s end.”
“Does the boy like horses?” Thomas asked.
Maggie could only nod, unable to imagine what he was thinking.
“Then he might enjoy a visit to my stables.”
“You have stables here?” asked Victoria.
“Yes. A bit north of the city,” he said. “I bought Mr. Harvey Delamere’s estate.”
“Delamere’s estate?” Ranfield exclaimed. “Why, the place is—”
“Yes?” Thomas asked, his tone pleasant, his dark brows raised.
Ranfield seemed rather discomfited. “It’s fit for a king.”
“I do enjoy the countryside,” Thomas said simply. “And the place suits my needs.”
The first dance began just then, and Maggie had no further chance to speak of visiting his stables. She had not thought of drawing her children into her affair with Thomas, although perhaps he believed that involving himself with her children would make their assignations easier to accomplish. Maggie did not see how that would be possible.
One of the pretty young women who’d remained standing on the fringes near Thomas moved forward, inadvertently knocking Maggie off balance. Thomas reached out quickly to steady her as the girl curtseyed. “Your Highness…” she said. “It’s the first dance.”
“Ah, yes. Miss…uh…”
Giggling, she reminded him of her name, and took his arm. Maggie watched as he—dare she hope reluctantly?—drew the girl away and blended into the group of dancers.
“Imagine that!” said Ranfield.
“What?”
“The Delamere place up in Hampton! It rivals Wynard Park for size and grandeur,” he replied. “The grounds are superb. And the stables—there are two or more, as I recall. We were there once, Vic, don’t you remember?”
“We’ve been many places since our marriage, Charles,” she said, slipping her hand through the crook of her husband’s arm and leaning toward him.
Maggie felt an intense pang of pure longing at their exchange. She and Julian had never had any such affection or easy banter between them. But at least she’d cared for him as any wife should do, while he’d deceived her.
She looked toward the dancers, surreptitiously watching Thomas perform the steps of the dance, while she wished she could be his partner. If only she were one of the fetching young women here, a pretty girl who could flirt and step back ever so gracefully to look into his smiling, green eyes. Perhaps touch his hand when they moved close.
“Lady Blackmore! Margaret!”
She turned to see another old friend coming toward her, a young woman who’d married the same month as Maggie, to one of Julian’s peers. Maggie had not seen her since the funeral. “Nettie, it’s good to see you.”
And it was. Nettie had spent a goodly amount of time beside Maggie at every dance that season, waiting in vain for dance partners to approach them. But Nettie had been a sweet girl who’d eventually attracted a quiet gentleman. She hoped her earl had done better for his wife and family than Julian had done for his.
They wandered away to catch up on the years that had passed since they’d seen one another, and Maggie was grateful for the distraction from her disordered thoughts. She was insane for thinking of pursuing anything further with Thomas—His Highness. What did a man like the prince of Sabedoria want with a woman who could not hope to compare to the pretty young thing who smiled up at him so blissfully on the dance floor?
Maggie feared it had been a mistake to come, to sit on the fringes of the ballroom with the old women and young matrons, so acutely aware of every move Thomas made, every smile he bestowed upon his eager partners. It only made her deficiencies more apparent.
“Have you met the Sabedorian prince?” Nettie asked.
Maggie nodded.
“They say his English is nearly perfect. That he learned our language from English pirates! What do you think?”
Shefford rudely broke in, interrupting her conversation with Nettie. “Come and dance with me, Margaret.”
Maggie did not fool herself into thinking he was trying to do her a kindness, for he barely looked at her as he gave her the order to dance. And he was not gentle in taking her arm as he drew her away from Nettie.
“No, Shefford, you know I don’t—”
“Just this once won’t hurt you.”
Loath to make a scene, she gave Nettie an apologetic bow and stepped away with Shefford.
“I understand the prince acknowledged you quite familiarly, Marg
aret,” he said as they moved around the periphery of the room toward the dancers.
“I suppose so.”
“And he asked if your son would like to visit his stables?”
“Shefford, I’m not sure we should make anything of—”
“Are you out of your mind?” he hissed. “It’s fabulous! They say he brought his Sabedorian horses with him and he intends to race them.”
“How can he possibly—?”
“Unsanctioned, of course,” he replied, then spoke directly into her ear. “There is money to be made here, Margaret. Don’t muck it up for us.”
She pulled away. “Us?”
“Never mind. Just get a solid invitation for you and Zachary. I’ll come along to chaperone you.”
Maggie stopped in her tracks, bristling. “I no longer need a chaperone, Shefford.”
He looked down at her as though she’d just grown wings. Or perhaps horns.
“Julian is dead, if you recall,” she said quietly. “I am an independent woman now.”
“But penniless. And the prince is stinking rich,” said Shefford. “Mark my words, he is in England to do more than establish trade relations with us. Did you see that emerald hanging from his neck?”
Maggie had not noticed. She’d only seen his eyes and the fine cut of his thick hair while she remembered the heat of his touch and the hunger in his kiss. And yet when she looked up just then and met his eyes, he was frowning again.
Maggie held back, feeling uncertain about joining the dancers. She was too clumsy to fare well on the dance floor, and Shefford knew it. She should have told him to go to the devil, along with her inheritance and Zachary’s birthright, but she was still so angry—
“Try to smile,” he said.
“Why? Who are you trying to impress? The prince, I suppose.” Though she could not imagine how Shefford thought he could profit from Thomas’s good opinion. Somehow, her brother intended to draw Thomas into a horse race. With his charm, perhaps. And he would do whatever it took to win.
“A dance with my sister isn’t going to impress anyone,” he said dryly as they joined the two lines of dancers.
As angry as she was, she found it difficult to keep even a neutral expression, much less smile at him. Thomas was at the opposite end of the line, his features transformed to a mask of indifference. He did not seem to be enjoying himself at all.
The Rogue Prince Page 7