“You both attended the Waverly ball last night?”
She nodded.
He chuckled. “Hence the picture. I can only imagine the mob of matchmaking mamas that descended upon him. No—not only imagine it.” He picked up the drawing and perused it carefully. “I can actually see it.”
“Lord Castlereagh was there, too. And Lords Branford and Windham.”
Mr. Brown rubbed his hands together. “What are you asking for this drawing?”
“What I’m asking is for a chance to provide you with many more caricatures besides this one.”
He raised a brow.
“The season has only just begun, and there will be many events to which I’ll be invited. I would like to provide The Gazette with many additional illustrations.”
They talked of agents and representation and percentages, and Maggie was very careful in her negotiations. She’d kept her head in the sand for too many years, and knew she needed to pay close attention to her instincts. They finally came to an agreement that would net her a good deal of money from the drawings she provided to Mr. Brown, twice every week, and he agreed to send each one to an agent who would have it printed and put up for sale in the fashionable bookshops in the west end.
The arrangement was agreeable to both of them, but Maggie’s new venture required that she remain in London indefinitely.
Thomas had accomplished all he needed to do at the Waverly ball. He—the son of a Suffolk horse breeder—had garnered the awe and respect of England’s haut ton, just as he’d planned. All it had taken was a display of wealth and a few haughty manners, and they’d as much as bowed at his feet.
He could barely wait for the day when he exposed them for the shallow jellyfishes they were. Especially Lord Shefford, whom he had met only briefly. Just enough to take his measure.
Mark Saret had learned a great deal about Shefford’s risky investments—the poor marquess was out on a limb and was likely looking for some easy money somewhere. He was going to fall directly into Tom’s trap, and they hoped he would use Blackmore funds to cover his risky investments.
Work had already begun on the race course, a final arrow in the quiver he had assembled to use against Shefford. Thomas was pacing back and forth across the plush carpet in the drawing room of Delamere House while Nate Beraza and Mark Saret sat in a pair of expensive chairs near the windows that overlooked a side garden. The place was sumptuous beyond anything Tom had ever seen, in spite of having been invited into a number of prestigious homes in America. Delamere House presented exactly the kind of impression he’d had in mind when they’d gone looking for an appropriate estate to purchase.
“We found Lord Shefford in Garraway’s Coffee Shop, just as Lord Ealey told you he would be,” Saret said, turning to Nate.
“How did you deal with him?” Thomas asked. “Did it all go as planned?”
Saret nodded. “I sent in a few of my old mates. They were dressed for business and played it out the way you wanted.”
Thomas didn’t allow himself the smallest hint of a smile of satisfaction, for he knew how much could still go wrong. “So he bought it? Shefford is in?”
“Aye. Five thousand shares in the Manchester canal scheme. Ten thousand pounds altogether. I’ve got a man who will take the stock certificates to his man of business this afternoon.”
“He will pay for them then?”
“Aye,” Saret replied with a grin. “I think your old friend Lord Maynwaring will go for the canal scheme, too. He’s reputed to be a risky investor.”
“Good. Do whatever is necessary.”
Saret nodded. “In the meantime, I’ve managed to locate another old mate of mine, Roddy Roarke. He’s the one to lure Shefford into the tobacco plot. As this will be, er, an…illegal transaction, I think we’ll keep Maynwaring out of this part.”
Nate laughed, but Tom took it dead seriously. “You obviously trust Roarke.”
Saret took no offense at Tom’s question, for they all knew the consequences of failure. “He’s the best in the business. Taught me more than I’ll ever remember.”
“What’s the plan, then?”
“Roddy and his mates will follow the pigeon—Shefford—when he leaves his club tomorrow,” said Saret. “They’ll set up wherever Shefford goes and lure him into the conversation. When the time is right, they’ll hook him.”
“Roarke is well versed in the smuggling trade?”
Saret smiled, his fair skin going pink with satisfaction. “Roddy’s middle name is ‘Free Trade.’”
Tom considered the plan. He’d counted on Shefford’s greed and the man’s belief in his own superiority. They were the two traits that would finish him.
“Has he seen you?” Tom asked.
“No,” Saret replied. “Garraway’s was full of investors, but I kept out of sight, anyway. And I won’t be anywhere near when Roarke plays his part.”
“What about Maynwaring? Have we figured out how to get to him?”
“So far, only with the canal scheme. But I’ve got a man watching his comings and goings. We’ll know his inclinations soon enough.”
“All right,” Tom said. “Almost as good as planting a footman in his house. Perhaps Mr. Ochoa can be useful with the judge.”
“Perfect idea. Both versed in the law…Ochoa is a natural.”
Now all Tom had to do was lure Shefford to Delamere House and interest him in the horse races. As much as he wanted to bring Maggie to the estate and spend the day making love to her, he could not. Their affair would have to proceed on a new timetable, and with a new purpose.
“Can we see about borrowing a riding pony from somewhere, gentlemen?” Tom asked.
Changing his plan for the afternoon, it was just a few minutes past noon when he arrived in Hanover Square. The butler admitted him to the house and Tom had barely stepped inside when he encountered Maggie coming down the stairs. She stopped halfway down, her expression stunned at the sight of him.
The instant wrench of arousal shouldn’t have taken him off guard, for this woman seemed always to have that effect upon him. Knowing how responsive she was to his touch had made it sheer torture to sit beside her at the Waverly supper. Even then he’d known that he needed to stay in complete control of their affair, and use it to his advantage. Yet, watching her descend the stairs set off a fierce need in him.
Her gown wasn’t particularly alluring, but her pale green skirts hugged her legs as she descended each step. Her bodice was made of some kind of delicate ivory cloth that framed the pretty breasts he’d touched and kissed far too long ago.
Christ, he wanted her now. He shoved his fingers through his hair before he could manage to paste a pleasant smile on his face.
She seemed discomfited as well, and Tom accepted the blame for it, for he was sure she had not expected him to step into her house openly, for anyone to see.
“My lady…” said the butler.
Tom gave Maggie a regal nod, quite aware of the butler’s puzzled gaze. “Lady Margaret. I am pleased to find you at home.”
She recovered and descended the rest of the way down the stairs, offering him her hand with a dubious smile.
“What brings you to Hanover Square today, Your Highness?” she asked. Though she kept her voice level, her expression belied her calm manner.
“At the duke’s ball, we spoke of an outing to visit my estate,” he said. “I’d hoped it would be convenient for you and your children to accompany me there this afternoon.”
“The children? And me?” She flushed deep red and placed a hand on her breast, but did not dispute his words, not with the butler present and other servants presumably nearby.
“Aye.” It was not what he’d led her to expect, nor was it what he’d originally planned. But he realized his purpose would be better served by engaging her entire family. He’d planted enough seeds with Shefford during last night’s ball to pique his curiosity about Sabedorian horses. When Shefford learned that his sister was visiting Delamere House wi
th her children, he would surely make his way there. It was the best scheme for getting the marquess out there without a direct invitation.
Maggie’s indecision lasted only a moment. She glanced at the butler. “Mathers, would you please have Nurse Hawkins prepare the children for an outing?”
“Of course, my lady.”
There was a row of buttons spanning from her high waist to her throat. Tom felt a keen urge to unfasten them, to touch the smooth skin he knew lay beneath. Rich, soft curls framed her face and he clasped his hands behind his back to keep from reaching for her when Mathers started up the staircase.
“This is a surprise, Your Highness,” she said. “I didn’t think you meant for the children to come out today.”
“I believe it would be best.”
He thought there was confusion in her eyes, but she turned away so quickly he could not be sure. She led him into a drawing room and Thomas closed the door behind him. Then he took her into his arms. “Do not think it’s because I do not care to have you alone.”
He tipped his head down and grazed her mouth with his lips. “I do. Very much.”
He felt her swallow just before she stepped away. Standing several feet from him, she folded her hands tightly at her waist, and bit her lower lip, taking a moment to compose herself.
Tom knew she had no idea what a pleasing picture she made, hesitant and uncertain, and completely unaware of her own appeal. He had to remind himself that the situation was completely changed from the day before. She was the apex in his triangle of revenge.
Later. He would think of it later.
He started to close the distance between them, but before he could take her into his arms again, Lady Beatrice Shefford opened the door and pushed into the sitting room. “Maggie, there you are. I’ve decided you must pay a visit to—”
“Mother—”
“Have you nothing better to wear, Margaret? You are in Town now and there are certain stan—”
“Mother.”
Tom intervened, and made his presence known to Maggie’s mother. “Good afternoon, Lady Shefford.”
“Oh!” she cried, whirling to the sound of his voice. Her face altered dramatically, her harsh, authoritarian mask changing into a vision of soft femininity. “Your Highness! What a surprise to see you here!”
The older woman made a polite bow, then started removing her gloves and coat. “It’s chilly today, is it not? I hope you do not find our climate too damp, Your Highness.” Like a strange dervish, she turned quickly away from him and spoke sharply once again to her daughter. “Maggie, where is Mathers? Why hasn’t he brought the—”
“He is doing what I asked him, Mother,” Maggie said as the butler hurried into the room to serve his mistress’s demanding mother.
“Bring tea, Mathers,” Lady Shefford said firmly. “And have someone see to this fire. Maggie,” she added, softening her tone to one that seemed deceptively sweet, “you must give more specific instructions to your staff. You cannot expect them to know how you want your rooms kept.”
“Mother, I—”
“What is the occasion of your visit, Your Highness?” Lady Shefford asked, smiling up at Tom.
“Mother, will you please be seated?”
Tom felt more than a small degree of sympathy for Maggie, whose mother seemed to have no respect for her daughter’s position in her own house. He wondered if the woman had always been so overbearing.
“Only if Prince Thomas sits beside me,” Lady Shefford said with a coquettish smile that might have been appropriate for a woman half her age. She took a seat on a worn leather sofa and patted the cushion next to her.
“I’m afraid I will have to decline,” he said, perversely enjoying thwarting the woman for Maggie’s sake. “You must excuse Lady Blackmore and I…We were just about to leave.”
Margaret could have kissed Thomas for that. She’d never seen her mother so politely rebuked by such a handsome, high-ranking gentleman, especially after turning her most potent charm upon him.
But his request to take the children with them that afternoon confused her. It certainly did not suggest the possibility of an intimate assignation, and Maggie could not help but think he must have changed his mind about their affair. About her.
And yet he’d taken her in his arms only moments ago.
She went to the door to catch Mathers and tell him to cancel the tea her mother requested, but as the children descended the stairs with Nurse Hawkins, she took Lily from the nurse’s arms and smoothed Zachary’s dark auburn hair.
“Are we going to the park, Mama?” Zachary asked.
“No, darling.”
“Hello, young man,” said Thomas, coming up behind her.
“You’re the captain!” Zachary cried, and Maggie cringed inside. It would be beyond awkward if Zachary told Thomas about the drawings and the tale she’d woven about him for the children.
“No, sweetheart. You remember—this is the man who rescued you in the street. And it would be a very nice gesture if you thanked him for it.”
Zachary was prevented from saying anything more by the entrance of his grandmother. She went directly to Lily and pulled her hand away from her face, glaring at Maggie. “You should not allow her to suck her thumb, Maggie. It’s a terrible habit.”
Maggie set Lily on her feet and took a deep breath, afraid that it would be her mother who embarrassed her, and not her children. “Shall we go?” she asked Thomas. “Mother, may we drop you at home?”
“No,” Beatrice replied sourly. “I have my carriage.”
“Well then, Mathers will see you out,” Maggie said, allowing the butler to assist her with her pelisse. “Hawkins, I do hope you will enjoy your afternoon’s holiday.”
As she started for the front door with Thomas right behind her, she basked in the warmth of his presence, which overrode her mother’s cold, irritating conduct.
Maggie knew she shouldn’t allow Beatrice to bother her, but she’d hoped her mother’s resentment might have relented. After all, it had been years…
She sighed. With her new, secret employment with Mr. Brown, she was going to have to accustom herself to living in Town. And, if the past few days were any indication, seeing her family on occasion.
“Margaret, you must take the nurse with you,” Beatrice called out.
“Not this time, Mother,” she said with the utmost civility.
“Why, see here. It’s entirely improper—”
“The children and I will be just fine,” she interjected before her mother’s diatribe could really begin. “Would you mind going ahead?” she asked Thomas. “I need a quick word with my children before we go.”
Thomas escorted Beatrice out of the house and Maggie turned to the children, admonishing Zachary especially, not to mention the story about the captain. She would be mortified if Thomas ever learned she’d drawn his likeness and made up a heroic tale about him.
“Because he is a true hero, you see,” she explained. “And heroes never like to speak of their brave deeds.”
Zachary seemed to understand, and promised not to mention either the tales or the drawings Maggie had made. Lily just jabbed her thumb into her mouth again and nodded.
Satisfied that they would not humiliate her, she trundled the two into Thomas’s carriage and followed them inside. A minute later, they were on their way.
Maggie’s mother was a shrew, and that description was kind. Tom did not understand how such a woman could have borne a sweet, unassuming daughter like Maggie.
“My mama said I should thank you for saving me in the square.”
“You are quite welcome,” Thomas replied. The boy was just like any other English child, energetic and curious. It was hard not to like him. “I trust you will not be running into the street again any time soon.”
“No, my lord.”
Maggie placed her hand upon the boy’s knee. “‘Your Highness,’” she corrected.
“No,” said Tom. “You must call me…Thorne. I
t’s an old family name.”
“Oh, but—”
“I insist,” he said, countering Maggie’s objection. The kind of formality followed by high society seemed out of place here. And Thomas felt like a perfect buffoon with a five-year-old calling him Your Highness.
“Nurse Hawkins said you are a prince.”
Tom did not respond, finding it difficult to lie outright to the boy. It should not matter. The brat was Julian’s offspring, even though he looked nothing like his pale-skinned, blond sire. Zachary favored Maggie with his robust coloring and intelligent eyes.
“Are you like Prince George?” the boy asked.
Thomas laughed, enjoying his direct, ingenuous gaze. God, he hoped not. “No, nothing at all like Prince George. Will you introduce me to your sister?”
He could not help but admit that the little girl was charming, clinging to her mother shyly, with large gray eyes like her mother’s and the same dark, auburn curls. Thomas didn’t think she could be much older than two, and realized she must have been an infant when her father died. She’d put her thumb into her mouth immediately after leaving her grandmother’s company, and Maggie had not corrected her.
Tom admired her for that.
Zachary was lively without being unruly, and Maggie was quite clearly attached to both children. She wasn’t a mother who would willingly send her daughter off to Sabedoria to wed a prince, no matter how wealthy he might be.
“Where are we going?” Zachary asked, after he’d made the requested introduction. Lily had looked away pointedly, clutching her mother even more tightly at the mention of her name, and Maggie mouthed the word, “shy.”
“We are going to visit the house I just bought,” Tom said.
The boy’s face fell and Thomas knew it was exactly the way he’d have reacted at that age to such news.
“I have several horses there,” Thomas said.
“You do? How many?”
“Twelve.”
“Are they…Thoro-Thoro-”
“Thoroughbreds, Zachary,” Maggie corrected gently.
“Papa had some of those horses. He used to take them away from Blackmore Manor and race them, didn’t he, Mama?”
The Rogue Prince Page 9
