“What about the slave?” Tom asked quietly.
“I never regretted releasing him.”
Maggie had hoped that by taking charge of her affair with Thomas, she would be able to keep her feelings out of it. She repeatedly told herself that their liaison was just a temporary amour, a superficial merging of bodies that had nothing to do with hearts and souls, or creating a life together. But when she closed her eyes, she saw him patting Zachary’s head. Or kneeling behind Lily while he “helped” her bowl a game of cricket. Cheering when Zac hit the ball. Putting up with her awkward dancing.
Their intimate relations were only a part of what she’d experienced with Thomas, a small piece of the man she’d come to cherish. He had charmed them all.
And yet it was more than charm. He’d managed to draw out a side of Maggie that she hadn’t known existed. With Thomas, she felt calmer and far more confident than ever before, and found that she possessed an untapped well of strength and courage.
But he would soon be gone.
Maggie did not know how to contend with that surety. Continue their affair and have her heart broken? Or end it and suffer the same result.
She returned to London, aware that she still needed time to think, to sort out the emotions that choked her whenever she thought about life without him.
Maggie and Nurse Hawkins settled the children into the nursery for a nap after their long carriage ride, and when she went down to the study, Mathers sought her out to give her a note that had been delivered the day before. It was from Thomas.
The butler left the room and Maggie sat down at the desk and opened the missive. She read it, and then pressed it to her breast, willing her heart to slow. He wanted her to come out to the cottage.
Dear God, it was what she wanted, too. She craved the deep connection she felt when they were together. And she feared the horrible emptiness she would feel when he was gone. It was bad enough, knowing he was only a few miles away. And yet he would soon be oceans away from her. Perhaps it was better to retreat now, while her heart still had a chance to recover.
Mathers returned to the room before she could curb her emotions and gather her thoughts.
“My lady, Lord Shefford is here to see you.” Her stepbrother pushed his way into the study past Mathers, who looked aghast at the marquess’s rudeness. “My lord!”
“Stow it, Mathers. I need to see my sister.”
Maggie looked at him blankly for a moment, then remembered herself. As she stood and faced him, all her years as a second-rate member of the family fell away. Shefford was a bully and a manipulator, the bungler whose incompetence had put the final nail in Blackmore’s finances. He did not deserve her deference.
“To what do I owe this visit, my lord? Have you figured some way to repair the leaking roof at Blackmore Manor? No?” She knew she was goading him, but in her present mood, could not help herself. “How about a solution to the flooded fields in the southeast quarter of the estate?”
“Be serious, Margaret.”
“Oh, but I am,” she said. “I’m very serious. In fact, I wrote to Mr. Clements while I was in Richmond, asking him to petition the court for a new trustee. Because it is quite clear that you have not carried out your responsibilities very well.”
“Neither did your husband,” Shefford said derisively, “but you never petitioned anyone to remove him.”
It was amazing how composed she could be when she believed in herself, and did not allow him to intimidate her. “If I knew then what I know now, I might have found a way.”
“Don’t be impertinent, Margaret. I’ve come here with a solution to all our problems.”
“I assume it’s some scheme that has nothing to do with vigilant monitoring of property or careful investing?”
He squinted at her as though seeing her for the first time. “I’m serious here, Margaret.” He started to pace. “There is a huge opportunity here, and I intend to take it.”
Maggie started for the door, intending to point the way out. No doubt he was going to reiterate his demand that she somehow intervene with Thomas. Fortunately, Thomas could take care of himself. He would never fall prey to any of Shefford’s schemes. “I have no intention of becoming involved. Do what you will, but leave me out of it.”
“Everyone knows you’re the Sabedorian’s whore. You can find out which horse is his champion. And how well-guarded he keeps his stable.”
She refused to feel embarrassed or guilty. “No, Shefford. You will win or lose on your horse’s merit, not on whatever evil you can do to your opponent.”
He flushed deeply and grabbed her arm before she could step away. “It’s about time you did something for your family, Margaret.”
“Let go, Shefford, you’re hurting me.”
“You will feel a whole world of hurt if you do not hie yourself out to Delamere House and wheedle your way into the prince’s stable.”
Maggie tried to yank her arm away, but he had a solid grip. She gritted her teeth and told herself she was imagining the ominous gleam in his eyes. “We are at an impasse, Shefford. I will not help you.”
The reception at Carlton House was full of pomp and pageantry, and deadly dull. Thomas sat at a long, sparkling table among various lords and ladies, and three of his own men, listening to some surprisingly dull repartee. He had expected more from the prince regent.
At least there were no pretty young maidens in pastel here, batting their lashes and smiling coyly to gain his attention. Only the wives of Prince George’s chief friends and advisors were in attendance, dressed in their finery and bedecked with jewels. The Countess of Bennington was seated beside him, and took every opportunity to turn to him and brush her bosom against his arm.
It wasn’t that the lady was unattractive. Her hair was as black as night, and she had dark, seductive eyes to go with her fetching smile. Her deep cleavage flowed over her low-cut neckline. Her assets should have enticed him.
And yet they did not. While she flirted openly, giving him more than what was a proper view of her bounty, his thoughts turned to Maggie. To her loose gait as she danced in the Ranfield drawing room. Watching her laugh when Zachary and Ranfield’s sons played a trick on their parents. Soothing her weepy daughter in her arms.
He hadn’t asked her to accompany him tonight, for the damage to her reputation had been done. Countess Bennington had already hinted at some knowledge of his fondness for widows, suggesting that he try the charms of the more sophisticated ladies of the ton.
Tom cringed at the thought of bedding one of the women he met in Prinny’s ornate, gothic dining hall, far preferring the sweet, unpretentiousness of Maggie Danvers. He hadn’t seen her since his return from Ranfield Court, but not because he hadn’t tried. He’d sent her a note of invitation, but received no reply.
Tom’s mood darkened, her lack of communication a burr against his skin. He wanted to see her. Needed to touch her. And yet she had not agreed to meet him at the cottage.
She’d given no clear indication that she wanted to end their affair, though Tom had noted a subtle change in her demeanor during their last day together. Her lovemaking had been as fiery as ever, but her intensity almost seemed a kind of farewell. As though she knew his departure was nearing and she could not bear…
He gave himself a brisk mental shake and forced his attention toward that very departure. A great deal was still unsettled. The date of the horse race was fast approaching, and he had yet to hear anything from Sebastian Salim regarding his family.
He had always planned to abandon Maggie without a word of farewell. By the time he gathered his family and left England, it would be clear that Shefford was ruined, and Maggie would know exactly who had done it to him, although she would never know why. Tom doubted she would remember the long-ago incident in Hanover Square that had precipitated Tom’s incarceration and transportation. In the grand scheme of life in London, it had been an insignificant event.
But his stomach burned at the thought of the future
Maggie would face in London. Alone.
Then he reminded himself that it had been Maggie herself who’d instigated the episode that had ripped Tom’s life from him. If she hadn’t wandered into the stable yard at exactly the moment Tom had gone back to pick up the bridles the other groom had left there…
The thought of continuing his liaison with her should not even cross his mind. He’d done the damage he’d intended to do and now he could get on with the final components of his plans.
Then he would quickly get his family and himself onto one of his ships and safely away, before anyone could figure out how completely they’d been duped. He was quite certain the regent and his ministers would not be pleased.
He glanced over at Edward Ochoa, who was conversing quietly with Lord Perceval, and reflected on the American’s earlier remarks. Words of wisdom, perhaps…and of caution. A warning to Tom that he might regret his actions one day. That it might be better to let the thief get away with the horse than inflict an extreme punishment.
He slid a hand across the lower half of his face, then realized that the countess at his side was speaking quietly—discreetly—to him. He tipped his head slightly and gave her his attention.
“Our house is in Upper Grosvenor Street,” she said, leaning close enough to whisper in Tom’s ear. “Number twenty-one, not far from the park. And my husband will be at his club most of the night, playing cards.”
“I am quite flattered, Your Ladyship,” Tom said, feigning an affability he did not feel. “But I…ah…I promised that very man that I would join him later for cards.”
When supper was done, Tom sent the others home in a hired carriage. He allowed them to believe he was going to spend some time in Upper Grosvenor Street with the countess, but as soon as his men were out of sight, he did not have to think twice about his true destination. He wanted to know why Maggie hadn’t responded to his invitation to come out to the cottage.
At least, that’s what he told himself. It was a perfectly legitimate reason to call.
The house was completely dark, but that was no deterrent to his intent. He picked the lock quite easily, and let himself inside. In the shadows, he located the staircase and began his climb to Maggie’s bedchamber, the location of which he remembered very well.
It had been so much simpler at Ranfield Court, spending enjoyable days together, making love throughout the night, and leaving Maggie’s bed early in the morning before the servants came around. He felt a distinct desire for the same relaxed bond they’d shared there, and could almost imagine waking with her every morning at Thorne’s Gate.
The thought of it gave him pause.
Her door was ajar, and Tom stepped inside, inhaling deeply of the familiar, faint aroma of roses. The moon cast a brilliant glow across the room, catching Maggie in its dim light, sound asleep in her bed. She lay on her back, her face turned toward him. Her lips were slightly parted, and Tom’s entire body clenched in anticipation of tasting her.
One of her hands had found its way out from under the blanket and was resting haphazardly beside her head. It lay upon a loose braid of her thick, dark hair. She looked young and beautiful, and far more innocent than his mistress ought.
Tom forgot all about asking why she hadn’t replied to his letter. He wanted to touch her, wanted to kiss her lips as he slid into her. He could think only of holding her in his arms through the night, just as they’d done at Ranfield’s country house, and making love again in the morning, before anyone in the house stirred.
Tom untied his neck cloth and leaned forward with the intention of waking her gently, by tracing one finger down the length of her arm, curling his fingers with hers, then touching his lips to her mouth. But something stopped him all at once, some deep, internal warning signal that caused him to wait.
He listened intently for some noise or some cautioning undercurrent that would cause him to hesitate. But there was nothing, only a low pressure behind his eyes, and an insistent urge to reflect on what he was doing. All through the evening, Maggie had been a presence in the back of his mind, an insistent need that had beckoned to him unrelentingly. And yet…
She had known it was over, while he had assumed they would continue their affair in Town.
Tom unclenched his jaw and dragged a hand across his mouth as he tried to reconcile what he wanted to do with what he must do. He could change her mind. A few kisses and they would melt in each other’s arms.
He had to be a fool to complicate matters now. He needed to put Maggie Danvers and their affair into some reasonable perspective. She was the sister and widow of his enemies. That was what he had to remember, not the incredibly delicious hours they’d spent together.
He slipped out of her bedroom and let himself out the way he’d gone in, engaging the lock behind him. He took the long way back to Delamere House, so as not to arouse any questions about his activities after the fete at Carlton House. Because he had no answers. No answers at all.
Maggie had difficulty sleeping. She’d awakened some time during the night, missing the comfort and warmth of Thomas’s arms around her. She could almost feel his presence in her bedchamber, but knew it was pure longing that made her think he was near. No doubt he’d been in attendance at Carlton House until all hours of the morning.
She had trouble falling back to sleep, wishing he was there to soothe her jangled nerves. It was surprising how quickly she’d become accustomed to sharing her bed with him, sleeping together, when she’d never done such a thing with Julian. Her husband had come to her bed on occasion, but never stayed after his duty was done. Clearly, he had not understood—or perhaps hadn’t wanted—the sweet intimacy that was possible from a night spent in each other’s arms.
He had not realized what he was missing, and might not have cared for it, even if he had. Her husband had been nothing but a weak, pampered nobleman who’d merely done what he was told for his entire life. First his nanny, then his parents, then his friends. He hadn’t once entertained an original thought. She pitied him, and all at once knew that she had forgiven him, too.
She got out of bed and pulled on her wrapper. Shefford was not quite as easy to forgive. His threats were not going to persuade her to deceive Thomas. What could he do to her? Destroy the Blackmore estate? Expose her affair with Thomas? Both of those had already been done, so she had nothing to fear.
In any event, she would never take part in an underhanded plot that would give him an undue advantage. What he wanted her to do was wrong and she hoped he was not foolish enough to attempt some kind of sabotage, because she was sure that Thomas would not take such a thing lightly.
She sat in the chair near the fire and sketched Shefford’s face, and the cruel twist she’d seen when he’d grabbed her arm. Her return to Blackmore Manor could not come soon enough, and yet she knew that by the time she went back to Cambridgeshire, Thomas would be gone. Her eyes burned at the thought of his leaving, but she pressed her cool fingers to them and forced herself to pay attention to purely practical matters.
She still had to deal with Julian’s debt and try to come up with a theme for the next drawing she would make. She couldn’t allow herself to weep over what would never be. Nor would she allow herself worry over Shefford’s attempt to intimidate her. She had a drawing to complete, and she suddenly knew exactly what it would be.
When morning came, she went to Mr. Brown’s office and delivered it. Much to the editor’s delight, it depicted a short, corpulent Prince George in one of the gaudy military uniforms he was known to favor, dining with the handsome, stately Sabedorian prince. An empty money cask sat open on the floor behind the regent in his opulent dining chamber.
“I sincerely hope Randolph Redbush’s identity remains secret, especially after this,” Maggie said dryly to Mr. Brown. “I cannot imagine that the regent will appreciate this caricature.”
“Oh, but there have been many inquiries about Mr. Redbush,” said Mr. Brown.
Panic caught Maggie by surprise, but Mr. Brown r
eassured her immediately.
“Not to worry, Lady Blackmore. Redbush’s anonymity works in our favor. The mystery makes him outrageously popular.” He laughed as he held up the drawing to the light at the window and admired it. “Besides, Rowlandson has done far worse to the same subject, but not quite so well, if I do say so. Your drawing of the Sabedorian will sell papers as usual. Tell me, did you attend the reception for the prince?”
She shook her head. “No. Th-there is no reason why I would have been invited.”
Everyone in Town would soon know that the Prince of Sabedoria had not gone out to Richmond merely for the purpose of consulting with Lord Ranfield on agricultural methods.
Maggie knew her reputation was compromised. Ruined, actually. Nothing was ever going to be the same.
“Well, my lady, your drawing gives every appearance of authenticity,” said Mr. Brown, handing Maggie her payment in cash, wrapped in a sheet of fine vellum, as he’d done before.
She looked inside through a sudden blur of tears, then blinked them away, shocked. “My word, Mr. Brown!”
“Aye, it’s a pretty penny you’ve earned to date. I say, my lady, it ought to take you a long way toward…er, correcting your financial situation.”
Every rational part of Tom’s being knew that Maggie was right to let their interlude at Ranfield Park mark the end of their affair. But the thought of seeing her again only in the company of others…the idea that he could never touch her, never kiss her again…caused a spear of longing to pierce through his chest.
“You’re going to develop permanent lines in your forehead if you keep that up,” said Nate.
He and his friend had spent the morning watching six of the horses race, though Tom had been too preoccupied to fully appreciate Arrendo’s performance.
The Rogue Prince Page 24
