The Rogue Prince

by Margo Maguire

  “I cannot believe you would suggest such a thing.” Or that he would consider somehow trying to bilk Thomas, who was clearly a man of consequence.

  “Don’t be so picksome, Margaret. None of the ladies at the Waverly’s ball seemed to find the man distasteful. I don’t know why you should.”

  “This discussion is over, Shefford. Do not count upon my cooperation.”

  Maggie busied herself with the ribbons on Lily’s bonnet and tried to understand what had just happened with Thomas. The afternoon had made no sense. She’d been in a state of constant awareness, and the brush of his hand, even his slightest glance, had set her heart palpitating in her breast. He’d kissed her senseless while Lily napped, as though he had no intention of delaying their tryst. He’d been so caught up in their kiss that he’d even forgotten Lily’s presence in the room.

  Even now, Maggie’s skin tingled with frustration, her womb tight with desire.

  But after Shefford’s arrival, Thomas could not have spared her the time of day. Maggie was no petulant girl, but neither was she a fool. Thomas had taken her to the heights of arousal, then let her fall back to earth in a state of extreme frustration.

  He was toying with her, amusing himself with the poor widow whose husband had not respected her, either. Not that he could know anything about Julian’s duplicity, but Maggie wasn’t going to allow herself to become vulnerable again.

  The prince of Sabedoria could find some other likely woman to tease with the promise in his eyes and in his kiss. Clearly, she was not meant to engage in an affair, for it was much too complicated for her inexperienced heart.

  Besides, her decision to engage in an illicit romance had been a hasty one. It had been the direct result of her anger and hurt over Julian’s disloyalty. And Thomas had come along just then, and muddled her senses with his incredible kisses and his intimate touch.

  She pressed her hand to her breast and forced herself to erase the memory of all that he’d done to her while riding in his carriage, and the passionate kiss they’d shared while Lily slept in his sitting room. Such sensations were much too intense to sustain, and besides, Maggie had much more urgent matters to think of. With her life in chaos, she needed to deal with it without complicating it. She could not allow a foolish flirtation to make matters worse.

  There was no room for the frustration she felt. She had lived without a man for the past two years—no, it had been the entire duration of her marriage. For Julian had hardly been a husband to her. And the prince of Sabedoria was only a distraction, who wouldn’t even tell her how long he planned to remain in England.

  She had to get another picture to Mr. Brown by week’s end, and it would require that she attend another social event in order to acquire some subject matter. Maggie realized she couldn’t possibly draw a satirical tableau from every affair she attended, or someone would surely figure out the identity of Randolph Redbush.

  Which meant she would have to attend more than two social occasions every week. Just the thought of so much socializing tired her, or perhaps it was the afternoon’s letdown that had worn her out. She’d been so very keen to be with Thomas again…

  No. It was because she was accustomed to country hours and country activities in Cambridgeshire. Now it would be necessary to miss the children’s bedtime while she stayed up until the wee hours, far too often. With the schedule she’d need to keep, her morning jaunts to the park with Nurse Hawkins and the children would be out of the question. She would have to dress in stylish—

  Her heart sank. She had no gowns appropriate for what she must do, and it was going to be a long time before she could afford any new clothes. It was certain she could not go out repeatedly into society wearing the one gown her sister had already loaned her.

  Though she had no desire to ask her family for any favors, she resigned herself to what she must do.

  “Shefford, would you please take me to Stella’s house?” Maggie did not imagine that her sister would be pleased at her request.

  “But Mama,” Zachary protested, “I want to go home and tell Nurse Hawkins about my pony ride.”

  “I’ll take him back to Hanover Square,” Shefford said.

  Maggie felt a frisson of unease at his devious glance. She didn’t want Zac or Lily to spend any more time with their unscrupulous uncle than was absolutely necessary. “No, the children will come with me. Thank you kindly for the offer, though.”

  “You and I will talk again, Margaret. I am quite serious about what I said.”

  “And I am serious about the answer I already gave you. I don’t know what you can possibly be thinking, Shefford.”

  A few minutes later, Maggie and the children entered Stella’s house and discovered her mother having tea with her three other daughters in the drawing room. As Beatrice looked up at her, she resisted the urge to smooth back her hair, and check to be sure that her buttons were fastened correctly.

  She wished it was not necessary to come here for help. If there was any other option, she would have taken it. But she was capable of swallowing her pride for her children’s security.

  She took Zac’s hand, raised her chin and held Lily against her breast as they walked into the drawing room.

  “Good heavens,” Charlotte drawled. “Must you dress like a governess or an upstairs maid when you go out, Margaret?”

  This time, she did glance down at her plain attire, which was all she had. “I—”

  “Well!” said Beatrice, ignoring her eldest daughter’s blatant insult. “I’m surprised you deign to visit us.”

  “What do you mean, Mother? I’ve only been in Town a few days.” She crouched down to unfasten Lily’s coat and decided they would not bother her today. No matter what they said—

  “Never mind, Margaret,” said Stella. “Tell us what happened.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “You know perfectly well.”

  “Don’t be coy, Margaret,” said Charlotte, whose husband, the wealthy baron of Aughton, seemed to absent himself from most family gatherings that Maggie could recall. He was significantly older than Charlotte, and a widower with children when she married him. Any number of Beatrice’s tirades included the complaint that it had been difficult to secure good marriages for the girls after the Chatterton scandal.

  Lord Aughton was no duke, but he was a well-heeled and well-respected gentleman. Charlotte could have done worse, but it was quite clear she did not see it that way.

  “We heard you went out to Delamere House with the Sabedorian!” Elizabeth said. “Do not tell us nothing happened.”

  It was beyond annoying that it was only Thomas’s notice that had piqued their interest.

  “Is Delamere’s house as grand as they say?” Elizabeth asked as a maid came in and took Maggie’s pelisse and gloves from her.

  Maggie sent Lily and Zac along with the maid to the kitchen for a cup of milk and something to eat, aware that she would have to satisfy her sisters’ curiosity. She needed their cooperation. “Yes, it’s beyond grand.”

  “And so is the prince,” said Elizabeth. “I never got a chance to dance with him at the Waverly’s.”

  “I heard that he only danced with the girls on the marriage mart,” said Charlotte, and Maggie wondered if that was true. She felt a twinge of jealousy toward all those fresh young ladies. Clearly, their mothers hoped Thomas would favor one of them, judging by the way they’d flocked around him at the ball.

  “I wouldn’t know,” Maggie said.

  “But he went to your house this morning,” said Elizabeth, who did not bother to hide her astonishment.

  Maggie took a seat and tried not to clench her teeth. “He only wanted to see if Zachary was truly unhurt after—”

  “Oh, Margaret, don’t be simple!” Stella said. “He took a specific interest in you.”

  “You’re mistaken,” Maggie said quietly but firmly. “And I would appreciate it if you would not mention such nonsense again.”

  She did not miss the con
tinued calculating expressions in her sisters’ eyes, but she ignored them. “I’ve decided to go to Lady Sawbrooke’s musicale tonight.”

  “Well, that’s a piece of good news,” said Beatrice. “I am pleased to see that you’ve finally come to your senses.”

  Maggie gave her mother a puzzled look.

  “Clearly, the prince isn’t thinking about making you his wife,” said Stella, and Maggie swallowed her shock—and hurt—at her sister’s blunt statement. It might be true that a man as attractive and desirable as the prince of Sabedoria wouldn’t want to marry her, but he’d found her appealing enough to make love to her.

  It was a piece of information she had no intention of sharing with her sisters.

  Beatrice nodded, agreeing with Stella. “A suitable, English husband will not just appear out of thin air.”

  Unless his name happened to be Kimbridge, Maggie thought. She blinked back the sudden sting of tears at the back of her eyes, and wished her family did not have such power to wound her.

  She did not bother to correct Beatrice’s misconception that she’d decided to seek another husband. She was through with men and their confusing ways, and needed to get out into society for another reason altogether. “I wonder if I might borrow another gown, Stella. For the musicale.”

  “Did you not bring any decent clothes to Town?” Stella asked petulantly.

  “I had not really planned on staying more than a few days,” Maggie replied, even-toned. “And in any case, I haven’t been to a party in years. I have nothing suitable.”

  “You will have to order some new gowns, Margaret, if you intend to go out into society,” Beatrice said. She turned to Stella. “Clearly, she cannot wear your blue crepe again so soon.”

  The silence in the room was palpable, but Stella finally spoke. “I suppose I can find something for you to wear.”

  “Well, you needn’t sound so keen on it,” Maggie retorted. “I’ll just go and see if Victoria Ranfield can spare something.”

  “Don’t you dare,” Beatrice hissed, aghast.

  “She’s much taller than you, in any case,” said Elizabeth.

  “You don’t know how much wheedling I must do in order to get Horton to put up funds for a new gown,” said Stella, her whine grating on Maggie’s nerves. At least she had a reputable husband who could give her the funds she needed.

  “I’m sorry,” said Maggie, curbing her frustration. “If I cannot borrow from Victoria, I suppose I’ll just have to ask Shefford if he will pay for—”

  “Oh twaddle,” said Beatrice, standing abruptly. “Margaret needs clothes if she’s to catch another husband. She cannot wait to have new ones made.” She turned to Elizabeth then. “You’re all of a size now. Elizabeth, you must have a few suitable gowns to contribute.”

  Elizabeth kept her eyes down and sipped her tea, while Maggie thanked God that her mother hadn’t yet learned of the dismal state of her finances. Nor would she.

  Maggie had no interest in speaking to her family of Julian’s betrayals. There was a very good chance they knew of his affairs, but Maggie didn’t care to share his financial failings with them, too.

  “It’s not as though I’m asking for your dowries,” said Maggie, restraining her frustration. She hoped her own children would not grow up to be such selfish, petty adults. “If it’s any comfort, I’m sure I’ll tire of society very quickly.” Which was true, except that it didn’t mean Maggie would be free of it. But at least she could set aside some money to have a few of her own gowns made.

  Without the least bit of enthusiasm, Stella put down her teacup and pushed up from her chair. “I have the apricot satin that I wore last season to Lady Dartwood’s party.”

  “I should think that would do nicely,” said Beatrice.

  “Thank you, Stella,” Maggie said tightly. She could hardly wait until the moment she had the funds and the wherewithal to return to Blackmore Manor. Perhaps she should bet on Shefford’s horse, too.

  “He took the bait nicely, did he not?” Nate Beraza said with a grin.

  Tom washed his face and hands, wishing he could cleanse away his sense of having been sullied by the marquess. And he had not enjoyed handing Maggie into the carriage with him. He would have preferred to keep her with him at Delamere House. Or at least to have been the one to drive her home.

  Yet she had been dealing with Shefford a great deal longer than Tom had, and nothing untoward had happened to her. He gave himself a mental shake and recollected that Maggie’s well-being was not his concern. He needed to keep everything in perspective.

  “Aye, he took it,” Tom said. “But forty thousand pounds? I can’t believe he’s so reckless.”

  “It was too great a temptation for the grasping toad,” Nate said.

  “You’re right.” Shefford hadn’t changed in all the years since Tom’s youthful encounter with him.

  When he met him at the Waverly ball, Tom had sensed the same old edge of malice in the marquess, the meanness that had prompted him to toy with Tom’s life and probably others. The bullish bastard liked playing some twisted games of fate, but only with the odds tilted in his favor.

  “Roarke will have no trouble luring the bloody bugger into his smuggling scheme.” Nate laughed. “I wish I could be there to watch.”

  “No. As satisfying it would be, he knows you. And he’ll see the rest of us here and there. I even want Saret to stay out of sight.”

  Nate’s satisfied expression was contagious and Tom finally gave some credit to his years of planning. His scheme might actually work.

  “It’s all going according to plan,” said Nate. “When Saret returns from Town, he’ll have Shefford’s first ten thousand pounds in his possession. We know the marquess only has about twenty thousand total—besides his lands—and you’ve figured a means to relieve him of every shilling he possesses.”

  True. And he would have to sell off all of his unentailed properties and possessions, and borrow Blackmore funds, before Thomas was finished with him.

  Yet it wasn’t about the money for Tom or any of the others. They cared only about exacting vengeance against the miserable scoundrel. Tom wished he could put Shefford aboard the prison hulk where he’d had first been incarcerated. And then personally shackle him to the pillory for his first flogging.

  “Lady Blackmore does not resemble her brother in the least,” said Nate. “Are you certain they are siblings?”

  “Saret learned that he is her stepbrother,” Thomas said. It should not have made any difference, but he was mightily pleased she was not related by blood to the bastard who’d put him in shackles. It was bad enough that she’d been married to his accomplice.

  “I saw how you looked at her. You aren’t by chance forgetting our purpose here?”

  Tom skirted the question altogether. What happened with Maggie was none of Nate’s concern. “We still need to see if we can draw Maynwaring into some scheme or other.” He didn’t want to think about the actual purpose of his affair with Maggie. Sending her back to Cambridgeshire in shame with her fortunes ruined did not sit well.

  He wished the thought of it did not rankle. He forced aside his unproductive ruminations and went out to the stable and mounted Marcaida, his riding mare. He rode the short distance to the land that was being cleared for the racing course and checked on the workmen’s progress, then headed to Arrendo’s isolated barn.

  Dickie Falardo was inside, brushing him down. He tipped his hat as Tom came inside and dismounted.

  “How is he?”

  “Restless,” Falardo replied.

  Tom had been considering his stallion’s need for activity and exercise, and thought he might have a solution. “Can we paint his stocking? Turn it as brown as the rest of him?”

  “Paint him?”

  Tom nodded. “There’s got to be some compound that can cover his white leg—disguise him—until race day.”

  “Aye. I’ll look into it,” Falardo said. “It would be best if we could run him against the ot
hers, especially Sarria. He needs to keep his competitive edge.”

  “I agree. See what you can find.”

  Tom left the barn and led his horse to the nearby cottage. It was a thatch-roofed house in excellent repair, with a garden in back, and a cobblestone walk all around it.

  He tied the horse and let himself inside, finding it fully furnished with comfortable furniture. He walked through the sitting room in front, found a kitchen in back, and a workroom on the west side, with a wall of windows facing a dense woods. It must have been cleaned recently, for Tom detected no musty odor or dust. He climbed the wooden stairs to the second floor, and looked into the two bedchambers.

  The first was small, and contained two soft pallets. A room for the huntsman’s children, perhaps. The second bedchamber was only slightly bigger, and held a large bed, piled with soft blankets and quilts. It also faced the woods to the west, above the workroom. It was perfect for what he intended with Maggie.

  He left the cottage and mounted Marcaida, then took the long route back to the road. It was possible to reach the cottage from the road, without going past Delamere House. None of his men ever need know she was there.

  He returned to the main house and prepared for an evening of diplomacy with Nate and Edward at a well-known club in town, and then a social event at the home of a prominent earl. He chuckled to himself as he pulled on his cloak.

  “What?” Nate asked.

  Tom gave a shake of his head. “Here go the son of a Suffolk horse breeder, a rookery brat and an American felon to meet with the prime minister of England and his chief foreign officials.”

  Nate grinned at the audacity of their actions. “Aye. Ain’t life grand?”

  They took three separate carriages in order to keep up their opulent façade, and because opportunities might present for each of them to pursue their end goals separately.

  They rode into St. James’s street, down to Brook’s Club where each carriage was greeted with utmost courtesy by a doorman. Their drivers took their coaches away, and the three men were ushered into the building.