The Rogue Prince

by Margo Maguire

  “I am appalled at Shefford, although that is nothing new. He is…” A worried frown crossed Victoria’s brow. She looked earnestly at Maggie. “You will not do it, will you? Marry Kimbridge?”

  “Absolutely not. I am through with men.”

  “Oh, my dear. I am so sorry that things turned out so badly with Julian.”

  Maggie returned to her chair. “Julian was a handsome charmer with very little character. And I let him pull the wool over my eyes. I let myself believe that we had a normal, comfortable marriage.”

  “What else could you do once you were married to the man? Divorce was out of the question, of course. And if he did not abuse you—”

  “No, never.” But he’d never treated her well, either. Not as Thomas did.

  “Well then, you were trapped, weren’t you?”

  Maggie rubbed her arms and nodded. She’d had no idea what her husband had withheld from her—the intimacy of intense lovemaking, the gentle caresses a man should give the woman in his bed.

  He’d saved those for his mistresses.

  “Perhaps there is something that can be done about the estate,” said Victoria. “What does Shefford say about it?”

  “That he is not to be held responsible for Julian’s debts.”

  Victoria frowned. “He is the trustee, is he not?”

  “There might as well have been no one, for all the good Shefford did since Julian’s death.”

  Victoria pressed a hand to her breast and tried to cover her dismay. “Oh my. When Ranfield arrives, will you speak to him about it? He is very good at investing and I’m sure he would be happy to advise you.”

  “I’m not sure he can help. There is little left but debt, and the house and lands are in dire need of attention.”

  “Oh Maggie, I had no idea things were so bad.”

  Maggie sighed. “Neither did I, until I came to Town and met with the solicitor.”

  There was far more, but Maggie could not bring herself to speak of Thomas and the confusion she felt about her affair with him.

  Escaping London was the best thing Maggie could have done, for she knew she could not resist him, even though further contact with him put her heart ever more deeply at risk. It had been nearly impossible to leave their bed in the cozy cottage in the woods, and she’d tossed and turned that night and every night afterward, longing for the pleasing comfort of his arms.

  “Whatever the situation, I feel certain Ranfield can help you,” said Victoria. “Please ask him what he thinks.”

  Maggie nodded. “I will.”

  “Would you like to walk with me to visit our tenants?” Victoria asked. “It might help to take your mind off your troubles.”

  “Yes, I would like that very much,” Maggie replied.

  “The Blackmore estate is in serious trouble,” said Mark Saret.

  “What do you mean?” Tom asked. He should have felt a good deal more satisfaction in Maynwaring’s public disgrace, but all he felt was a cold hollowness inside. He remembered his own ignominious arrest and could not prevent an absurd feeling of sympathy for what the hateful judge was going through.

  “The entailed estate is intact, but in poor condition,” Saret said. “And some of the properties are mortgaged.”

  “Do you have details?”

  Saret nodded. “No, but I will soon.”

  Tom dragged a hand across his face. “Let me know what you find out before you do anything.”

  “Of course,” Saret replied. “On a far more interesting—and disturbing—note, Andrew Harland accompanied Lord Shefford and his friends to their S.C.H. assignation last night.”

  The skin at the back of Tom’s neck prickled. “And?”

  “The letters stand for ‘Seventh Circle of Hell.’ The members are daredevils.”

  “They do what…?” Tom asked, trying to grasp what Shefford might possibly gain from such an association. “They dare each other to—”

  “No. They perform feats of daring that involve innocents. They put unsuspecting people at risk.”

  “How?”

  “They commit outrageous acts of some small skill and a great deal of daring. Last night, they plucked a young man from the east end and took him to a cellar of the abandoned shop they favor—unwillingly, of course—where they secured him to a wall, spread-eagle. They blindfolded each member of the club, who then took turns throwing knives at the lad. The loser was the one who cut the boy.”

  Tom’s stomach roiled. He could only imagine the lad’s terror. “I’d say the boy was the loser.”

  “Harland says they paid him well and set him free when they were done.”

  “What, enough to pay a surgeon to stitch up his wounds? How generous of them.”

  Saret shrugged.

  Tom tamped down his disgust. “It’s not enough. We’ll need evidence of some more serious wrong-doing.” Which Tom believed would not be difficult, considering the kind of game Shefford and his gang seemed to enjoy.

  “Aye. Harland has arranged to be the footman who accompanies Shefford on all his S.C.H. jaunts.”

  The urge to go down to Hanover Square and throw a few knives at Shefford was nearly overpowering. It was just like Shefford to victimize those he believed were his inferiors, and their death or dismemberment would mean little to the arrogant bastard.

  “Any news of my family? Have we heard from Salim?”

  “Not yet,” Saret replied. “But I expect either a message or Salim himself to appear any day.”

  “Keep me apprised.”

  “Of course,” Saret said.

  Tom should have felt greater contentment. Maynwaring had been put away, and Shefford would soon follow. His family would be found and brought to London. But he felt restless and agitated, his impatience entirely out of character. During his years away, he’d learned to bide his time, to wait for opportune moments and situations. To do whatever was necessary to survive.

  But now he knew Maggie Danvers’s touch. He knew the taste of her skin, and how it felt to be inside her.

  He knew what it was to miss her.

  Tom did not delude himself into thinking she’d gone away with Lady Ranfield just for recreation. She’d done it to get away from him. Hell, the last time he’d been with her, she couldn’t have gotten out of his bed and away from the huntsman’s cottage quickly enough. And yet nothing had gone wrong between them. If anything, it had all been frighteningly right.

  Tom knew he should be exceedingly glad that she had seen fit to leave him. All she did was complicate matters, arousing him to a fever with barely a touch of her hand or the whisper of a kiss on his lips.

  He wanted to see her. He did not examine his reasons why—he only knew that a week without her was far too long.

  So when Lord Ranfield invited Tom to visit his Richmond estate for a small house party, he readily agreed. Even though there were still questions about his family, and he didn’t know enough about Maggie’s estate in Cambridgeshire, he was settling scores. Events were progressing exactly as he’d planned. But Tom knew he would have gone to Richmond, even if that had not been the case. Maggie was there.

  Tom liked Ranfield, a man of reason and good sense, proof that not every English nobleman was a wastrel or a scoundrel like Shefford. The trip to Richmond took only about an hour, and Tom found that he was finally able to breathe easily. He enjoyed the ride, something he’d done too little of since leaving New York. He missed his farm and the freedom he enjoyed in the American countryside. Lying, and playing the role of a prince had started to wear on him.

  “Lady Blackmore is one of my wife’s childhood friends,” said Ranfield as they rode at a trot along the northern road. “They came out together eight years ago.”

  “Lady Blackmore is lucky to have such a friend. Your wife is a very welcoming woman,” Tom replied, though he found Lady Ranfield altogether too conventional for his taste. She was quite pretty, but possessed none of the fire that he saw in Maggie’s eyes, none of the sizzle of her touch. But it
was obvious that she suited Ranfield quite well. “You must be very happy.”

  Ranfield nodded. “Aye. I am a very lucky man. My wife had a great many offers during her first season,” Ranfield said. “I am fortunate that she waited a year and finally accepted mine.”

  “And Lady Blackmore?” he asked.

  “I believe she married her husband quite soon after her first season began,” said Ranfield, his visage darkening. “If she’d waited, I’m sure there would have been other offers. I wouldn’t have wished that bounder Viscount Blackmore on any woman.”

  Tom felt his bile rise as he imagined every possible abuse. “What do you mean?”

  “I should not speak of the dead…”

  “I shall assume the worst, then,” said Tom.

  “If by worst, you mean that he was a lying, cheating scoundrel, led around to the darkest corners of London by his old friend, Shefford—then you’d be correct.”

  Tom guessed Julian would have been a member of Shefford’s club, but Ranfield did not mention it. It was likely a man like Ranfield wouldn’t know of it.

  “He was a prodigious gambler,” Ranfield added. “And a very bad one, at that.”

  “He lost heavily, then?”

  “Rumor has it that everything he owned is gone or mortgaged beyond its worth. Except for his entailment, of course.”

  “Then Lady Blackmore—”

  “Is just next door to destitute.”

  Knowledge of Julian’s family’s downfall should have given Tom the utmost satisfaction. And yet his mind raced with thoughts of Maggie’s straits.

  Of course she had said nothing to him. She was a proud woman who would somehow manage to take care of her family, though he could not imagine what she would do, since Shefford would soon be destitute as well.

  “Has she any money to invest?” he asked.

  “My wife was planning to broach that delicate question this week. If Lady Blackmore is willing to accept my help, I will do what I can to advise her.”

  “Doesn’t her brother oversee her affairs?”

  Ranfield gave a laugh. “Shefford is no better than his old chum, Julian. You’d do well to stay clear of him.”

  “Too late,” Tom said, feeling deflated and oddly defeated. Maggie was destitute.

  “What do you mean?”

  Tom managed to speak with a level voice. “He’s got a horse he wants to run against one of mine. He and some of his friends have already wagered quite heavily against my ambassador, Mr. Beraza.”

  “He’s got some good racers,” said Ranfield. “And some bad friends. They’re involved in some sort of club…”

  “You know about it?” Tom asked, surprised.

  “Not much. Only that it’s unsavory. I am sorry to say that it’s not the only one of its type in London.” Ranfield shot him a sidelong glance. “A word to the wise, though. Do not trust him, no matter what the situation.”

  Tom gave a quick nod. “I don’t intend to.”

  “It’s a blessing the man has never married, for his wife would eventually find herself in Lady Blackmore’s situation. I’m hoping his peerage will one day fall into more responsible hands.”

  Tom wondered what effect Shefford’s destruction would have on Maggie, and whether she had to rely upon him for her livelihood.

  He felt the blood drain from his head. Christ, he’d wanted her ruined, too. He’d intended to have absolutely no regrets when he sailed back to America. And yet it rankled to think of leaving Maggie behind, penniless.

  And with that thought, Thomas knew he must be losing his mind.

  Victoria’s two sons ran ahead with Zachary, laughing and chasing one another as they all walked back from the village. Lily was tired after all their visits to the tenants, so she rode in Victoria’s little pull cart among the empty baskets they were bringing home.

  The weather was fine and Maggie felt at ease there in the country, with her children. She pulled off her bonnet and smiled happily, for the moment forgetting all her cares. “Thank you for inviting me out here, Victoria,” she said. “It’s exactly what I needed.”

  “I know you love the country, Maggie. Why don’t you take the children and go back to Cambridgeshire?”

  “I wish I could,” Maggie said. “But I must stay in Town to…to sort things out.” Even though Thomas was there, and she wouldn’t be able to avoid him forever.

  Not that she really wanted to. Every fiber in her body screamed out for him, and some irrational corner of Maggie’s mind wished she could ask him to stay in England with her. She had developed a dangerous infatuation, one that was certain to cause her pain. Thomas was going to return to his country one day, and Maggie could not allow herself to think of the wretchedness she would certainly feel when he left.

  She had children to raise and an estate to run, and yet just the thought of him made her mouth go dry and her heart race. She became the same weak-kneed dimwit she’d been when Julian was alive.

  Maggie raised her face to the sun. She knew she would never again know the kind of passion she’d shared with Thomas. But it had to end. She’d done the right thing by leaving his little cottage the other night. She’d taken the only steps possible to keep him from stealing her very soul.

  To keep from handing it to him herself.

  “Look,” said Victoria, smiling happily as she pointed to her house in the distance. “There’s Charles’s carriage. He must have arrived.”

  Maggie liked Charles, and could not help but wish she had waited as Victoria had done, for an equally loving, dependable bridegroom. Though Julian had derided Charles as a pompous prig, Victoria’s husband was no such thing. He was a caring, responsible gentleman who took care of his wife and family.

  Maggie decided she would do as Victoria suggested, and speak to him about her finances. She couldn’t trust Shefford to do any better than he’d already done, and she was waiting to see what Mr. Clements would say about removing him as the children’s guardian and trustee of Julian’s estate. Perhaps Lord Ranfield would agree to take that post.

  The three little boys ran circles around the two women as they walked the path to Ranfield Park, and when they all arrived at the house, Maggie lifted her sleepy daughter from the wagon. Two grooms came around to take charge of the cart and move the carriage away as the butler stepped out of the house and quickly descended the stairs.

  He spoke to Victoria. “My lady, we received word that Lord Ranfield will be arriving shortly. He decided to ride, and so sent the carriage ahead.”

  “I don’t blame him,” said Victoria. “It’s a beautiful day.”

  “Also,” said the butler, “he is bringing a guest. We have made the yellow and gray room ready.”

  “Thank you Godfrey. Who is it?”

  “A prince, my lady,” he replied. “A foreign dignitary, I understand.”

  Maggie barely had time to recover from the news that Thomas was coming to Ranfield Park when they heard horses’ hooves on the drive. As she set Lily on her feet, part of her was tempted to flee. The other part wanted to wrap herself up in Thomas’s arms and pretend they could remain there together, forever.

  As the men cantered to the house, the three small boys went running toward them shouting with glee. “Papa!” cried Victoria’s sons.

  “Thorne!” Zachary cried happily at the sight of his hero, and Maggie felt a twinge in the center of her chest.

  Zac had never run toward his father with such excitement, and when Thomas smiled at Zachary as though he was just as happy to see him, Maggie’s heart slid to her toes. She would not be the only one disappointed when Thomas left the country.

  The two men dismounted, giving their horses over to the grooms, and Zachary pulled Thomas’s sleeve and showed him something he’d collected in his hand. Thomas gave it due respect, then ruffled Zac’s hair. A second later, he looked up at her, his dark green gaze cutting through the air between them like lightning.

  He was angry.

  Maggie wished she could ret
reat, but she forced herself to stand still. She had done no wrong in leaving so abruptly. There had been no promises between them, and surely he had no expectations beyond their few carnal encounters.

  Walking beside Ranfield, Thomas approached Maggie and Victoria. Charles kissed his wife’s cheek while Thomas bowed over Maggie’s hand with excruciating formality.

  Which was exactly as it should be. Chewing her lip, she turned away and started up the steps to the house, trying not to think about spending the night under the same roof with him, about lying alone just a few doors away from his gray and yellow bedchamber.

  “Your Highness, it is a surprise to see you,” said Victoria, leading the way beside Charles as the children’s nurses came for them.

  “I could not refuse your husband’s gracious invitation,” he said, escorting Maggie as they followed their hosts into the house.

  Her heart beat a little faster at the possibility that he’d known she was here. That he’d come for that reason.

  “You left London rather precipitously,” he said quietly.

  There was nothing she could say, because it was true. And she’d done it in order to get away from him. “I’m sure London fares well without me.”

  “How would you know if you are not there to see?” There was an edge of anger to his words.

  “Since it has stood for two thousand years, I’ll assume all remains well.”

  “One should never make assumptions.”

  “Surely there are some givens in life. Certain facts that will always be true.” Paramours were temporary, for example. And simple country viscountesses needed to be careful around men who would charm them into bed with a bit of kind attention.

  “No one in England knew of Sabedoria’s existence before, so that particular assumption was not quite true.”

  He was right, but they were not speaking of geography. “We can only act on what we believe is true, based on what is known.”

  He hesitated momentarily. “Though you might believe London is the same without you, nothing could be further from the truth.”

  Maggie’s heart stumbled in her chest.