The Rogue Prince

by Margo Maguire

But pretty words did not change the facts. She would never possess the sophistication she needed to maintain her affair with Thomas. She was relieved that continued private conversation between them became impossible when they went into the drawing room where Victoria introduced her young sons to Thomas.

  “Where are the other guests, Victoria?” Ranfield asked.

  Victoria looked at him quizzically.

  “I thought you invited Lord and Lady Westridge. And Clarebourne.”

  “Oh yes. They were previously engaged. All of them. It’s been just Maggie and I all week.”

  Ranfield covered his discomfiture and took Thomas to his room. He obviously realized the awkwardness posed by the presence of the two unmarried guests in the house.

  “I’ll order tea,” Victoria said to her husband as he left with Thomas, then sat back in her chair fanned her face with one hand, as though she needed a cooling breeze. When the two men’s footsteps had receded, she looked up at Maggie. “I don’t believe I’ve ever seen a man quite so…so…”

  “Potent” was the word Victoria was looking for, or perhaps “sensual.” But Maggie was not about to supply either of those descriptions to her friend. She looked down at her fingernails and tried to appear nonchalant.

  “Can you just imagine how it would be to—” Victoria stopped abruptly, frowning at Maggie. “Margaret Danvers, you know!”

  Maggie kept her eyes averted. She went to the piano and played a few notes as she stood there, trying desperately to create a diversion from the color in her cheeks. “What are you talking about?”

  Victoria came to her. “I recognize that expression on your face. You’ve done it…” She lowered her voice to a whisper. “You’ve shared his bed!”

  Tears burned at the backs of Maggie’s eyes. She had no choice but to admit it. “It all happened very quickly.”

  Victoria laughed. “I knew it! Something besides finances has bedeviled you all week!”

  “Hush, Victoria,” Maggie said, relieved that her friend knew the secret and did not revile her. “It’s over now. As much as I might wish it, I am not meant to be any man’s mistress.”

  “Oh bosh. With a man like the prince, how could you refuse?”

  “Let me assure you, it was not easy.”

  “You actually did it? Refused him?” Victoria asked. “Oh heavens, that’s why you came with me to Richmond.”

  Maggie dropped down onto the piano bench. She’d never wanted anything more in her life, and yet she knew her affair with Thomas was the worst thing possible for her. It ranked alongside her ruined finances and Shefford’s manipulations. Destined to cause her anguish.

  Victoria looked at her slyly. “Why do you think he came here with Ranfield?”

  “To get away from all his admirers in London, I suppose,” Maggie answered.

  Victoria sat down beside Maggie. “He is here for you, Maggie.”

  She swallowed back the irrational hope that welled up in her chest, and depressed one of the piano keys. B flat.

  “Oh no,” said Victoria. “You’re in love with him.”

  “No, I absolutely am not!” She practically flew off the bench. “He is just visiting England, and when his duties here are done, he will make his months-long journey back to Sabedoria, and I will never see him again. I would be a fool to fall in love with the man.”

  Victoria was quiet for a moment. “I understand.”

  How could Victoria possibly understand? She was married to a wonderful, decent husband who wouldn’t dream of hurting his wife.

  “It all started just after you told me about Julian and his…his…”

  “Mistresses?”

  Maggie nodded, folding her hands tightly together in her lap. “I was so upset and…and felt so betrayed.”

  Victoria put her arm around Maggie’s shoulders. “I don’t fault you, dear. After your lackluster marriage and everything you told me about the estate, I think you are entitled to a respite.”

  “That’s all it was,” Maggie whispered. “That’s all it will ever be.”

  Chapter 14

  Supper was served in a small dining chamber, not far from the library. It was a pleasant, intimate setting, and Tom had to set aside his imaginings of dining there in private, beside Maggie. He would pull her onto his lap and feed her morsels of something sweet, then lick the crumbs from the corners of her mouth.

  The restlessness he’d felt during the past week finally eased, though Maggie’s very nearness turned it into something altogether different. It seemed to be an attraction that would not be denied, no matter how many miles lay between them.

  It did not bode well for his plans.

  “How long will you be in England, Thorne?” Lady Ranfield asked. He’d given his hosts leave to call him Thorne, in spite of his cautions to his men. But he’d kept his Christian name private, for Maggie’s use alone.

  He shrugged, hoping his stay would be long enough to satisfy his thirst for Maggie Danvers. “I haven’t decided. We still have business to transact with Lord Marsden, and Mr. Ochoa has meetings scheduled this week and next with Lord Castlereagh.”

  “Then you might stay through the summer?”

  “It’s possible, Lady Ranfield.”

  She smiled. “I certainly hope so. Your presence has enlivened society this season.”

  Lord Ranfield turned to him. “There is a rumor that you will soon be dining at Carlton House.”

  “That is true. In just a few days, in fact.”

  “The regent has been away in Bristol,” Ranfield remarked to his wife and Maggie. “He only returns tomorrow.”

  “I do not hold the delay against him,” Tom jested, “since I arrived in England without giving advance notice.”

  Ranfield and his wife chuckled, but Maggie was conspicuously quiet, not eating, merely pushing her food around on her plate. Tom pressed his thigh against hers. She did not withdraw, but glanced at him with those clear gray eyes that had glowed with the intense pleasure of their lovemaking. Her gaze sent rivers of steam through his blood, but he somehow managed to keep his expression unruffled. She had spoken earlier of assumptions—but he could not fathom what she’d meant. Had she discovered any of the truth about him?

  “It seems quite strange that none of our explorers ever encountered your kingdom in the South Seas,” said Ranfield, partially distracting Tom from the considerable arousal caused by Maggie’s mere proximity. “How large a country is Sabedoria?”

  No bigger than his erection. “Roughly the size of England,” Tom managed to say. “But we’re well-hidden among a throng of smaller islands. It isn’t easy to navigate through our archipelago, which has served us well, I might add. The narrow channels are difficult to navigate, so they provide protection from invaders.”

  The geography of Sabedoria was a believable fiction, since Tom—and likely the British navy—knew there were many close-set islands north of Botany Bay. English ships hadn’t done much exploring in the area in the years since their discovery of Botany Bay less than fifty years before, so Tom’s fiction was safe. By the time an English ship could be dispatched to investigate, and then return home with information, Tom and his own crew would be long gone. And they would be nowhere in the vicinity of Botany Bay, thank God.

  But all their talk of Sabedoria failed to return his attention to his mission and his sole purpose for coming to England. He was far too engaged by the heat of Maggie’s body, so close to his and yet much too far away.

  Ranfield acknowledged Tom’s remark with a slow nod. “Aye. No telling how our navy would have reacted to finding a civilized country down below the equator. I should hope our commanders would show proper enthusiasm and respect upon meeting your people.”

  “I’m sure they would.”

  A few wisps of Maggie’s hair had escaped her coif, and curled softly near her ears and at the nape of her neck. Tom remembered the way she would tilt her head and shiver slightly when he put his lips to her ear. He could almost taste her warm skin, and kne
w that her velvet-soft nipples would pebble when he scattered kisses down her neck.

  She was the most incredibly responsive woman…

  He forced his attention back to Ranfield’s questions, even though his tongue felt thick and his brain had turned numb with desire.

  “What are your chief crops?” Ranfield asked.

  “We grow grains that are very similar to yours,” Tom replied, keeping his answer as simple as possible. He wanted the meal done, and the evening formalities finished so that he could seek out his lover in private. To touch her. Kiss her. Slide into her.

  Tom did an admirable job of holding up his end of the conversation, answering questions about his fictitious country while he thought of the night to come, of Maggie with her hair down, her body naked and straining against his in a fever of passion.

  They discussed growing seasons and the structure of the Sabedorian government. Fortunately, Ranfield did not pursue any detailed questioning. The superficial discussion allowed Tom the opportunity to view and appreciate Maggie’s delicate features, the charming freckles that raced across her cheeks and nose, and the endearing scar on her chin.

  “Shall we give the ladies a few minutes?” Ranfield finally asked, pushing back his chair and standing while Tom did the same. The earl addressed his wife and Maggie. “Would you excuse us?”

  He poured two glasses of brandy, picked up a couple of cheroots and led Tom from the dining room. Walking away from Maggie was the last thing Tom wanted to do, but he recognized the importance of gaining some control over his unrestrained lust. She had complicated his plans and he had yet to figure out what he was going to do about her.

  “Don’t be ridiculous,” Maggie said to Victoria. “He is not.”

  “I tell you the man is smitten,” Victoria retorted.

  They went into the drawing room, but Maggie did not sit down.

  “I observed him carefully,” Victoria said, “and you must believe me when I tell you his eyes never left you. Good lord, the man was consuming you with his glance.”

  The blood rushed to Maggie’s face, heating her cheeks. She’d felt his leg and then his foot against hers and knew the truth of Victoria’s assertion. She shook her head, not to deny all that she felt, but to reject the affair that could not be continued. “And when he sails away, what am I left with, Victoria?”

  “Sweet, sweet memories,” Victoria replied with a sigh. “What if he asked you to go to Sabedoria with him?”

  “He won’t.”

  “What if?” Victoria repeated. “You wouldn’t stay in England for your family’s sake, would you?”

  Maggie shook her head. Victoria was perfectly aware of the way things stood with her family. “There’s Zachary’s title.”

  “Which is practically worthless, if your solicitor’s assessment is correct.”

  “Such conjecture is all rubbish,” Maggie retorted. Her heart felt heavy as she put her assessment of the situation into words. “Can you imagine that a man like Thorne does not have a perfectly formed life in his own country? He is a prince with wealth beyond imagining and it is more than likely that there are laws regarding Sabedorian royal marriages, just as there are in England.” She did not add the obvious possibility that he might ask her to accompany him as his mistress or concubine.

  She did not know what she would do if that came to pass. Perhaps concubines enjoyed greater favor than wives in Sabedoria.

  The men rejoined them in the drawing room and Charles took Maggie aside and apologized for putting her in a dubious situation, having invited Thorne on the mistaken belief that others would be present at the house. At the same time, Victoria seemed determined to keep Maggie and Thomas together. She suggested a few hands of whist before they retired, and they had just begun to play their first hand when the nurses brought down the children to say good night.

  Nurse Hawkins set Lily on her feet, and as Maggie reached for her, the little girl went to Thomas and started to climb onto his lap. Stunned, Maggie watched as he lifted her daughter and clasped her against his broad chest. “Story, please, Mum,” she said.

  “Yes, please,” Zachary added. “Would you draw a story for us?”

  “Oh, I’m sure Lord and Lady Ranfield would rather—”

  “Not at all,” said Charles, ringing for the butler. “By all means, share one of your story drawings with us.”

  The butler was sent for drawing materials, and when he returned, the children gathered around Maggie. All but Lily, who stayed on Thomas’s lap, her thumb firmly in her mouth.

  Thomas did not seem to mind, and the sight of little Lily sitting so contentedly with him filled her with a longing that she knew would never be fulfilled. She could do nothing but turn her attention to the story.

  Daniel and Richard were as mad for horses as Zachary, so Maggie began to draw a tale about three young boys who looked remarkably like them, of course. They were English boys who had to capture and tame some wild horses in order to perform the heroic task of rescuing a princess. Maggie engaged Lily by drawing her likeness and making her the princess who was locked in a tower by a wicked duke. In the meantime, the boys had no end of trouble catching the wild stallions.

  She was just about to start drawing a scene that featured the little princess when Thomas spoke. “Do you suppose the princess might find a rope,” he asked. “And get herself down from the tower?”

  “Yes!” Lily cried out, clapping her hands.

  “How did you know that that was exactly what she did!”

  An intense, fiery emotion burst in Maggie’s chest when Zac turned to Thomas and grinned his approval. She could not allow her children’s fondness for Thomas to sway her. If anything, it was her responsibility to protect them from becoming too close and being heartbroken when he left. They might have missed a father’s affection, but Thomas was not the one who was going to provide it. No one was.

  She started drawing a picture of Lily, escaping the tower quite daringly, dangling from a thick rope that she tied to a spindle in the tower room. She glanced up and saw amusement dancing in Thomas’s eyes.

  “I think the little princess probably has her own pony, hidden away somewhere,” he said. “What do you think, Lily?”

  Maggie’s heart seemed to splinter a little bit more with each addition Thomas made to the tale, just as a father might do. Their banter in creating the story was far too appealing, and only fueled impossible wishes and desires.

  “How lovely!” Victoria said when Maggie closed the drawing pad.

  “I never knew how very gifted you were, Lady Blackmore, though Victoria has often remarked on your drawing skills,” said Lord Ranfield.

  Maggie felt pleased by the compliment, but then slightly concerned when Thomas picked up the drawings to look at them more closely. She hoped he did not make the connection between those quick pencil drawings and the Redbush caricatures.

  Victoria collected her sons and accepted a good night kiss from each. “Say good night to your father, and thank Lady Blackmore and Prince Thorne for the story.”

  The boys bid Thomas good night, and when the nurses arrived to take the children upstairs, Lily turned to him. “’Night, Torn,” she said. “Can we find some ducks in th’ morn?”

  Maggie saw a muscle in his jaw tighten momentarily, and he answered her earnestly. “I look forward to it.”

  If Thomas looked abashed by Lily’s attention, he was no less so when Zachary came to him and put his small hand on Thomas’s knee. “Will you show Daniel and Richard how to make paper boats tomorrow, Thorne?” he asked.

  He gave a silent nod, and Maggie’s throat thickened with concern. Thomas was more attentive than Julian had ever been, and yet he was not their father. He was merely the man who’d taken their mother to bed, the man who’d just given her a key to understanding what had gone so very wrong in her own life.

  All of society would eventually hear that Thomas had gone to Ranfield Park, and everyone would believe he’d made the trip to be with Lady Blackm
ore. Whether he bedded her or not, it would be assumed that they had become lovers. He wouldn’t need to add her to their Carlton House entourage in order to establish her reputation as a woman of loose morals. It was done. He had accomplished part of what he’d set out to do.

  So there was no need to go to her now. Absolutely none. The conclusions he’d aimed for would be drawn by his mere presence at Ranfield Court. Besides, she was obviously the artist who put his caricature in The Gazette every week, and he really ought to keep his distance. If she ever learned the truth about him…

  Thomas paced impatiently in his room until the house became completely quiet. Ranfield’s house was a large, comfortable residence, its style similar to the house Tom had built on his own estate. Ranfield Court was smaller and far less grandiose than Delamere House, but it still possessed extensive corridors, and the room that had been given to Maggie was only a few doors away.

  Dressed only in shirt and trews, Tom walked the short distance to her door and stood still for a moment, telling himself to return to his own bedchamber. There was nothing more to accomplish. He could keep his identity secret, and when she returned to London, her reputation would be in shreds.

  Her door opened suddenly, as though she expected him.

  Tom’s body ached with lust. He hadn’t intended to feel such a powerful need for her, for the taste of her mouth, or the slide of her body against his.

  Her hair was loose and her feet bare, and she was wearing the same thin chemise she’d worn the last time he made love to her.

  “You haven’t been to bed,” he said, trying to will some control into his wayward hands.

  She gave a shake of her head. “I knew I wouldn’t be able to sleep.” She looked up at him. “Not with you lying so near.”

  “Christ, Maggie, I missed you,” he rasped just before taking her into his arms.

  She raised up onto her toes and pressed her mouth to his, initiating a kiss that burned through his veins. Her breasts were unfettered, and Tom felt those soft curves and their hardened tips against his chest. He thought he might have groaned, but when she sucked his tongue into her mouth, he had no sense of equilibrium, and lost his ability to stand. He sat down hard on the bed and she took his face in her hands, kissing him as she straddled him. Tom lowered the small capped sleeves of the chemise down her arms until her breasts were exposed.