The Rogue Prince

by Margo Maguire

  The musicale could not end soon enough. Mr. Kimbridge might be dressed as a well-heeled gentleman, and he might be flush in his pockets. But he smelled like Old Rudy Mitchner, a Blackmore villager who spent far too much time in the public house. They both reeked of alcohol. And he had no sense of decorum, sprawling so that his legs splayed out unattractively and encroached upon her space.

  It was all she could do to keep from turning to Thomas and pressing her nose into his clean-smelling chest. Kimbridge was unbearable, and Maggie knew she could not possibly accompany him on his afternoon ride. She intended to inform him of a “forgotten” previous engagement before leaving the Sawbrooke House that evening.

  Thomas’s thigh also pressed against hers, but Maggie’s reaction to it was the complete opposite of her response to Kimbridge. And yet she was quite clear on how foolish it would be to pursue it. She recognized that she was not the kind of woman to engage in an affair, even if it was with the most striking, most mysterious man she had ever encountered.

  Whatever his reason for foregoing their planned assignation, their separation had given her a chance to breathe, to reconsider what she was about.

  Nor would she be used by Shefford. Whatever his wagers might be, they had nothing to do with her. She was going to take care of her own concerns and make two drawings a week, for as long as it took to get her family out of debt.

  She noticed General Foveaux’s direct gaze, and saw that it was leveled at Thomas. The man seemed to be just as puzzled by Thomas as she was, and it occurred to Maggie that it might be interesting to make a drawing with the general and Thomas as subjects together. It was clear that Foveaux believed he’d met Thomas before. But it couldn’t have been in Sabedoria, for no Englishman had ever visited there. Perhaps he and Thomas had had contact somewhere near Botany Bay, where General Foveaux mentioned he’d been stationed for several years.

  Or perhaps not. Thomas had denied knowing the general, and Maggie could think of no reason why he would lie.

  When the concert was finally done, Victoria leaned forward and spoke quietly to Maggie, and the two of them excused themselves. As everyone else in the room rose from their seats, she and Victoria headed to the ladies’ retiring room. Victoria said nothing as they walked, but Maggie could practically feel her bursting with questions.

  And Maggie had no idea how to answer them. At least Victoria was willing to wait for a private moment before asking what she wanted to know—about Thomas, of course.

  “You’ll come to Ranfield Court at the end of the season, too, Maggie,” she said as they left the music room.

  “What are you plotting, Victoria?”

  “Plotting?” she asked innocently.

  “The man won’t—he can’t possibly—stay in England.”

  “Who says a paramour must be permanent?”

  And Maggie had worried about shocking Victoria. “I cannot believe you are suggesting such a thing.”

  Vic locked arms with her and took a conspiratorial tone. “He’s clearly interested in you.”

  Maggie looked at her with surprise. “Vic—”

  “And you’re a widow…”

  They entered the retiring room, and since there were several other ladies present, Victoria had no chance to pursue the subject that had clearly taken her fancy. They went about their business, chatting about their children, and were ready to leave when the elderly dowager Countess of Dinsmore detained Maggie. Since she was grandmother to the earl whose estates bordered Blackmore Manor, Maggie had no choice but to exchange niceties with the old harridan.

  Lady Dinsmore tottered unsteadily, barely able to stand, and Maggie looked around for whoever had accompanied her. Seeing no one, she took it upon herself to look after the dowager until someone could be found.

  “Please take a seat, Lady Dinsmore,” she said, then turned to her friend. “Go on, Victoria. Ranfield will be waiting for you, and perhaps you can locate Lady Dinsmore’s family for her.” The last thing she wanted was to remain sequestered there with the countess, but she saw no alternative.

  Victoria was reluctant to leave, but she also saw that there was no choice.

  “I always liked you, Lady Blackmore,” said the wrinkled old dowager when Victoria was gone. The rest of the ladies cleared out right behind her, as if they were afraid they might get stuck having to talk to the old crone. “Couldn’t abide that milksop husband of yours, though, from the time he was in short pants.”

  A surge of surprise shot through Maggie at such an outrageous remark and she felt more than a twinge of indignation, in spite of what she knew of Julian’s character. It was not for anyone else to say what her husband’s shortcomings might have been.

  “Such a little cheat, even as a child,” the woman added brazenly. “Why, I forbade my late son from inviting him to my grandson’s birthday.”

  Maggie stood abruptly. “Lady Dinsmore, it’s not fitting to speak in such a way of the dead.”

  “Rubbish. You can’t have been happy with him. Sit down.”

  “No, thank you, my lady,” Maggie countered, horrified. “I—”

  “You’ll want the genuine article next time,” the woman said, smacking Maggie’s wrist lightly with her fan for emphasis. “A man with some backbone about him. Some fortitude and no dearth of bolloc—”

  A young woman bustled into the room, interrupting Lady Dinsmore just in time. “There you are, Aunt Philomena!”

  Maggie felt as though she’d been slapped. Learning about Julian’s recklessness from Victoria was bad enough, but this…It was the scene Victoria had feared—the reason she’d forewarned Maggie about Julian’s failings.

  “I’m not finished, Florence,” Lady Dinsmore protested as her niece tried to get her to stand.

  “Oh yes. Yes, you are.” Quite obviously chagrined, Florence turned to Maggie as she helped her aunt up. “I am dreadfully sorry for whatever my aunt might have—”

  “Nonsense!” Lady Dinsmore’s voice rose, attracting the attention of the ladies who had just entered the room. “I am forthright and honest, that’s all.”

  “I would say there’s quite a bit more to it than that. Come along now,” said Florence. “My most abject apologies, Lady Blackmore.”

  Feeling more than a little distressed, Maggie exited ahead of them and slipped down a quiet corridor in the opposite direction of the soiree, where she could regain her poise before returning to the music room.

  She let herself into a deeply shadowed room with a wall of mullioned windows. Taking a deep breath, she pressed one hand to the bare skin of her chest, right where the hollowness felt the worst. Julian’s betrayals were bad enough. The fact that Shefford and Beatrice had probably known of his failings at the time of their marriage galled her. They’d encouraged the match in spite of Julian’s poor character.

  Lady Dinsmore hadn’t liked Julian even as a child. She’d called him a cheat.

  The woman had been right. And Maggie was angry, so very angry now. Julian had cheated his wife and children of everything that mattered—his love and affection, his fidelity and reliability. She was furious, not just with Julian, but with Shefford, who’d foisted him on her. With Beatrice, who’d accepted everything Shefford had said about Julian, and with her sisters, all of whom were older and far more experienced, but none of whom had cared enough to raise any objections.

  Maggie had been a naïve little wife, trying to please her family, yet Julian had never attempted to be more than just an adequate husband. He’d shown no particular interest in her, even on the occasions when he bedded her. And though he’d said he wanted another child after Lily was born, Maggie suspected he’d only cared about siring a second son. The Spare, as was expected of him.

  She let out a shuddering breath as she recognized the broader scope of her disastrous marriage. Not only had Julian been an idler of the worst kind, her mother had encouraged her to wed him, merely because he’d been in possession of a title. Worse, neither her mother or sisters had cared about the kind o
f life she would be sentenced to, married to a fraud like Julian Danvers.

  She took a moment to calm herself, then swallowed hard, smoothed down her skirts and started for the door. She pulled it open and collided with Robert Kimbridge, who stepped into the room and shut the door behind him.

  “Lady Blackmore. I wondered where you’d gone. Been looking for you.” He had the same lanky build and narrow shoulders as Julian. His brows were as pale as his hair, making them almost invisible. His nose was long and somewhat hooked at the end, though at least his chin was passable. But as she did not care to see it any closer, she sidestepped as he approached.

  “I would have a word with you, my lady.”

  “This isn’t quite proper, Mr. Kimbridge,” she admonished, “and you must know it.”

  “Propriety is not strictly necessary for what I am about to say to you.”

  Maggie moved to the other side of a chair. “Then you can have nothing to say, because I do not intend to listen.”

  “You are the one who invited me to sit with you, my dear lady.” He stalked her, circling around the chair, and forcing Maggie to move to yet another piece of furniture to use as a barrier between them.

  “Sitting is one thing…”

  Kimbridge stayed between her and the door, and she began to feel a bit worried, afraid that she may have led him on. They were far from the rest of the party, and it was unlikely anyone would come looking for her. Perhaps—

  “Lady Ranfield will be right back,” Maggie tried.

  “No, she won’t. I saw the two of you leave the music room, but only she returned.” He moved suddenly then, and grabbed Maggie’s arm at the elbow, pulling her off balance.

  “Unhand me, sir,” she said, pushing away from him.

  “My dear Lady Blackmore, you should know that even widows—especially widows—are not allowed to tease and tempt a man, and then refuse him.”

  She tried to wrench her arm away. “Sitting beside you was certainly neither, Mr. Kimbridge. You had to sit somewhere,” she said harshly. “Now, let go.”

  Instead of releasing her, he sidled closer, holding tightly. “I never really noticed your lovely eyes before, Margaret.”

  She felt her pulse pounding in her throat as he lifted his free hand and feathered the backs of his fingers over her cheek.

  He allowed his gaze to drift down below her neck. “And I never saw you in anything that displayed your…attributes…quite so well.”

  His hand glided lower, and when he stroked the upper curve of her breast, Maggie slapped him. “Do not touch me again, sir!”

  She was shaking so badly, it was difficult to keep her balance and march away from him with any semblance of dignity.

  If only she had not been so foolish as to try to hide in this remote room to recover from Lady Dinsmore’s offensive words, the confrontation with Mr. Kimbridge would never have taken place.

  She gave a quick glance toward her exit and stopped short when she saw Thomas step into the room, his face a mask of fury. He seemed to be considering his choices when Maggie stepped in front of him. She stopped him from acting rashly, placing her hand against his chest. She hoped Sabedorians did not feel honor-bound to duel in such situations.

  Chapter 9

  “Take me away from here, please,” Maggie said, her voice sounding shaky.

  Tom weighed his options and decided he could not afford to thrash Kimbridge, at least, not here at Lady Sawbrooke’s house with so many ministers of state present. At the same time, it was obvious that Maggie could not return to the music room in her troubled state, or there would be talk. He drew her away to an empty room that was even farther from the party, away from Kimbridge.

  “In here,” he said. He took her inside and closed the door behind them, quickly gathering her into his arms. She was shaking. “Are you all right? He did not hurt you?”

  The room was dark but for a stream of faint moonlight. When she tipped her head back, Tom could barely see her. Only her glittering eyes, bright with barely contained tears. He ignored the tug in his chest, and allowed himself to take satisfaction in Kimbridge’s incensed expression.

  “No. It was only…” She took a shuddering breath. “O-only an inconvenience. I was thoughtless…”

  Tom held her until her shaking ceased. For all her bravado, it was obvious that she’d been distressed. Afraid.

  “We should get you back to the festivities before someone notices your absence.”

  “Only my friend, Victoria. Lady Ranfield,” Maggie said. “She will be concerned.”

  But she made no attempt to move from the circle of his arms. She pressed her face against his chest, and Tom reacted as he always did when she was near.

  This slow seduction was hell.

  He skimmed his hands across her back, wishing he could lie with her on the nearby sofa and do what he’d been thinking of for days. “I will come to you tonight.”

  “What?” she cried breathlessly. “What do you mean?”

  “Unlock your doors after your servants retire,” he whispered. He grazed her cheek with his lips and felt her sigh in response.

  “Thomas, I cannot—”

  “I want you, Maggie.” He let his hands drift to her sides, his thumbs caressing the sides of her breasts. He wanted them free of her gown and chemise so he could hold them in his bare hands. “Tell me you don’t feel the same.”

  She gave a frantic shake of her head.

  “Shall I climb up to your bedroom window?”

  “No! Of course not!”

  “No one will know I’m in the house,” he said quietly. “Send the servants to bed as soon as you get home.”

  His mouth touched her lips and she surrendered to his kiss. As difficult as it was, he broke away. “God, I want to taste you, Maggie,” he said. “But your lips will be swollen if we keep on.”

  She caught her breath and put one hand to her mouth. “I must be losing my mind.”

  “As am I. I would lay you down here in this room if it were possible.”

  “Oh God.” Her words were hardly audible, but Tom felt their vibration from her chest to his.

  “I’ll watch for a candle in a front window.”

  “I must be insane.”

  “Aye, Maggie. So must I.”

  The children were asleep when Maggie arrived home, and Nurse Hawkins said they’d behaved, even though they’d only had a book story to settle them down at bedtime. Maggie somehow managed to control her nerves, thanking the nurse and dismissing her, giving her leave to take to her own bed. She gave her son and daughter a kiss without waking them, then went downstairs to her own bedchamber. Tessa was waiting for her, and Maggie tapped her foot nervously while the maid unfastened her borrowed gown.

  “That will be all Tessa,” Maggie said, her head spinning with the complications of carrying out a secret tryst with a lover. She would prefer to meet him in the drawing room, fully dressed, and allow things to progress gradually.

  But she couldn’t very well send Tessa away without having the girl unfasten her gown and corset. Tessa would think Maggie intended to sleep in it, which would be lunacy.

  As if what she had planned was not lunacy.

  “Don’t you want me to take down your hair, my lady, and brush it?” Tessa asked.

  “No, thank you, I can do it,” Maggie replied far more calmly than she felt. Her hair was much too wild to leave it down…it might frighten him off. Perhaps she ought to frighten him off! “It’s late and you look sleepy. Go to your bed. And tell Mathers I won’t be needing anything more.”

  “Are you all right, my lady?” Tessa asked, frowning, and Maggie realized she must be acting strangely. Tense. Unsettled. Flustered.

  Because that’s how she felt.

  She softened her tone and tried to relax. “Yes, just fine. Tired, I suppose. Go, Tessa. Have a good night’s sleep. I’ll see you in the morning.”

  Only the three servants lived in, for the cook came in daily. Once Nurse Hawkins and the other two
retired, it would be all clear for Thomas.

  Maggie’s heart pounded at the prospect of her clandestine meeting. She knew she shouldn’t put the candle that Thomas expected in the window, but some other being seemed to possess her as she pulled a dressing gown over her plain, decidedly unalluring chemise. She clasped her hands together at her waist and tried to calm her nerves while pondering whether she was making the worst mistake of her life.

  The answer was no. Her marriage to Julian had been the mistake.

  Her train of thought was interrupted by the sound of wheels in the square, and she knew it must be Thomas’s carriage. She gulped nervously. Obviously, he would have his driver bring him here. Drop him off. Which meant that Mr. Garay would know the reason for his employer’s late visit.

  She looked up at the ceiling and pictured the dimensions of her children’s room. They were directly above her, with Nurse Hawkins at the back. Hawkins would not hear them if they happened to—

  “Oh God,” Maggie whispered to herself, hardly able to believe what she was contemplating.

  She started to leave her bedchamber, but saw her drawing tablets in plain sight. She grabbed them and quickly hid them under some clothing in her trunk. She had to keep them hidden, or Thomas would see his face on her pages. He might very well figure out who Randolph Redbush was, but beyond that he would realize how much his magnificent face occupied her mind.

  Taking a deep breath, she went down to the main floor to make sure Tessa and Mathers had retired. She told herself that she hadn’t yet decided whether to go through with it or not, but she moved through the house with a distinct purpose.

  The whole house was dark and still. Her body vibrated with arousal, with the need for one man’s touch. The arguments she tried to make against an affair with Thomas sounded feeble to her own heart.

  It was now or never.

  With the kind of friends Tom kept, he had learned early on how to pick a lock, so it would be no problem to get into Maggie’s house. He knew how to move undetected through a dark house, too, but tonight was Maggie’s choice.