The Rogue Prince (5 page)

Tom barely looked at the drawing, but touched a fine curl at the base of Maggie's neck. He felt her shiver in response, but she did not move away. Bending slightly, he touched his lips to the spot.

He felt her sigh, and when she tipped her head to give him better access, he obliged her.

“You are so very lovely.” He turned her slightly and lifted her hand to his mouth. It was a gentle kiss, delivered to the thin kid glove she wore—nothing at all like the kisses he wanted to share with her. Now.

Her lips parted in surprise, and her eyes grew large. He could not help but notice the pulse thrumming at the side of her neck, and sensed that she would not refuse further intimacies.

The need to taste her, to feel her enticing, feminine body pressed against his was nearly overwhelming. He drew her away from the gallery, searching for a private niche or an alcove where he could show her how much he wanted her. He pushed through a closed door and found a staircase in a deserted back hall. Slipping into a small nook behind the stairs, he pulled her inside and took her into his arms. “I've wanted to touch you from the moment I saw you.”

Tom kissed her lips and he felt a shudder course through her. Encouraged by her response, he encircled her waist and took full possession of her mouth.

She melted into him, returning the kiss with innocent ardor. He felt her breasts push against his chest, and the sensation was nearly Tom's undoing. He pressed his hips against hers, then slid his tongue across the seam of her lips, desperate to be inside her. He was hard and ready, and did not think he could wait much longer.

 

It felt like lightning shooting through her when his tongue touched hers. Julian had never kissed her like this, had never seduced her with his mouth and the low pressure of his manhood against her pelvis. He'd never called her lovely.

The ability to think escaped Maggie, and she let herself be caught up in the enticement of this man's arms, his mouth, his obvious arousal. He cradled her face in the palms of his hands, then touched her shoulders, and moved farther down. When he cupped her breast and slid a finger over her taut nipple through the layers of her clothing, she thought she might melt in his arms.

“Leave here with me.” His voice was a purely male rasp that reached deep inside her core and stoked the intense storm that was stirring within her. She felt breathless and wobbly, and yet more powerful than she'd ever felt before.

“Yes,” she said, hardly aware that she had spoken, but she wanted to taste more of what he
offered, wanted to experience more of the sensations he wrought so easily in her.

He released her breast, slipping his hands around her and kissing her hard, sucking her tongue into his mouth while he ground himself against her. Maggie thought her knees would buckle with the excruciating pleasure of his touch.

Dear God, was this what she'd missed during all the years of her marriage?

“Come on,” he said, breaking away abruptly. He took a few deep breaths, then stepped away from their private little alcove. Maggie tried to appear perfectly proper and composed, and she assumed he did, too. He quickly led the way back through the gallery and outside, signaling to his carriage. In less than a minute, they were inside the conveyance and it started to move.

The prince pulled her into his arms again, but Maggie held him in check, her hands against his chest, suddenly uncertain. As much as she wanted more, she was a staid and settled country widow, with no knowledge or experience of such wanton conduct. She ought to demand that he take her back to Hanover Square.

“I don't even know your name,” she said breathlessly, her body betraying her better judgment.

He was already unfastening the buttons at her throat and pressing his mouth to her bare skin, moving lower and lower until her pelisse was gone and her bodice fully open.

“Thomas. Tom,” he said harshly.

She should put a stop to his seduction now, but
reason flew in every direction when he pushed her chemise down, baring her breasts to his gaze. To his touch. And then to his mouth.

Maggie shuddered with the most exquisite sensations she'd ever known. She let her head fall back as he licked and sucked her breasts, feeling a desperate pull of pleasure deep inside. She slipped her fingers through his hair, and bit her lip to keep from crying out. Julian had never failed to leave her unfulfilled and vaguely aching, yet she could not believe the same would happen with Thomas.

He kissed her mouth, keeping one hand on her breasts, stroking, teasing her nipples with a light, feathering touch.

Maggie's breath caught when she felt his other hand at her ankle, sliding it under her skirts. The rough surface of his fingertips glided against her calf, then teased the back of her knee, climbing higher as her pulse pounded in her throat. She should grab his hand and stop him, but every cell in her body craved his touch, cried out for the completion he could provide.

Maggie nearly came off her seat when he reached her feminine folds. He touched her gently at first, then opened her and slid a finger inside, even as his tongue speared her mouth.

She did not recognize the whimper that came from the back of her throat, but clearly it was she who'd made the sound. Pure, carnal sensation thrummed through her, enlivening a part of her that had been unfulfilled all through her marriage.

Julian had never done such a thing to her. His
habit had been to press a few dry kisses to her mouth, then lift her gown and shove himself inside her. The process had been vaguely pleasant until he entered her, and then it became uncomfortable. Even hurtful. Maggie had come to dread their marital encounters.

Clearly, there was more to intimate relations than her husband had ever shown her. There could be tender caresses that perhaps only a lover would share. Not a spouse.

“Open for me, sweet,” Thomas said, looking into her eyes, while his fingers continued their intimate caress. Maggie should have felt mortified, but the passion in his gaze held hers. “Ah, that's it.”

And suddenly, she felt the breath sucked out of her lungs, and a burst of savage pleasure overtook her. Her womb contracted, and her internal muscles quivered in utter bliss. She felt as though she were coming apart, and only the strength of Thomas's arms kept her intact.

“Yes. Come for me, love.”

Maggie could not have stopped the flow of feelings, even if she'd tried. She clamped her legs around his hand as the wild sensations flashed through her like a flood over a dam, and held on to his shoulders as though she would fall away into nothingness if she let go.

 

She went limp in his arms and spoke so quietly that Tom couldn't quite hear the words she whispered. Nor did he know if he was going to be able to walk once they reached his newly purchased
house just north of Town. He tried to compose himself as he smoothed down her skirts, but his arousal continued to rage, the evidence of which was painfully obvious.

He let his hands drift to her breasts, his thumbs caressing their pebbled peaks while he tortured himself with the promise of an intensely carnal interlude with her in his bed. He leaned his forehead against hers as her breathing returned to some semblance of normal.

His own was still out of control.

“Are you going to…” she started dubiously, though Tom did not doubt she could feel him hard and ready against her hip. “Do you need to…”

“Bed you now?” he replied with some difficulty. “Not here in the carriage. We'll soon arrive at the house.”

Tom pressed his hand against her mound as the last few shudders of her orgasm took her. Her breath caught, and her eyes were glazed. He could hardly suppress his need to be inside her.

“House?” she whispered, her eyes shooting open, her gaze suddenly clear.

“Yes. I bought a house yesterday. It's not far.”
Thank God.
Because he didn't think he could wait much longer. He was ready to explode.

Her face went pale and she started to pull the edges of her bodice together. “Oh, but—I didn't think…I cannot—”

He kissed the side of her neck.

“We will be completely alone,” he whispered, moving her hands away from the plump, feminine
flesh she was attempting to cover. “There will be no servants there yet, besides Oliver. My coachman. But he—”

“It's not that. I…I've never…”

“Of course you haven't.” He circled one of her pretty, pink nipples with his tongue, aware that she was as innocent as a virgin. She might have borne a child, but her husband had obviously never made love to her, for it was clear she'd just experienced her first orgasm.

He took her hand and placed it upon the placket of his trews. She pressed her hand against his hard length, sliding it up and then down, shivering, her nipples tightening even more than before. She seemed to forget her objections, losing herself in his kiss, but then breaking away suddenly.

“Thomas…”

She removed her hand from his swollen member and pressed it to her chest, and a mounting wave of pure frustration came over him.

“I'm not…” She closed her eyes and tried to gather herself. “I have an appointment this afternoon that I must keep.”

She looked into his eyes, her disappointment and confusion clear. “But tomorrow. I will meet you anywhere you wish. Tomorrow.”

M
aggie saw one of her stepbrother's footmen standing at the front door when she exited Thomas's carriage at the far end of the square. She did not want to face Shefford now, not with her obvious flush and disheveled appearance, for he would surely grasp that something had happened.

And she did not want to share any part of it with him.

What she'd just experienced was far beyond anything she'd thought possible, and she shuddered with an eager anticipation of her tryst with Thomas upon the morrow. She refused to feel any guilt at all.

Somehow, she managed to keep her legs working after entering the house. She walked quietly to the stairs, anxious to get to her own bedchamber, hoping to avoid Shefford and whatever reason he had for coming for her so early. Her stepbrother could just bide his time until they had to leave for their meeting with Julian's solicitor.

The house was quiet, but for the sound of voices in the drawing room, and as Maggie crept past the
closed door, she heard Shefford's voice, in discussion with another man. She kept walking until his words stopped her cold.

“She never bothered Julian,” he said. “Can't imagine she'll be a problem for you, either, Kimbridge.”

“If only the old dog didn't insist,” said Shefford's companion. “Then I wouldn't have to look for a wife just yet. Or ever.”

“If I understood you correctly,” Shefford said, “your father told you to get a
respectable
wife, or there would be no allowance.”

Maggie tried very hard not to jump to any conclusions, but then Shefford spoke again.

“Look here,” he said. “You need a well-regarded wife, and Margaret is just the thing. God knows she cannot refuse your fortune, and your paterfamilias will surely be satisfied with a decent, reputable, country widow.”

“I'm starting to believe you have a point, Shefford.”

“Of course I do. Margaret will be as biddable a wife to you as she was to Blackmore. And you know she's a decent breeder. Blackmore got two children off her in the few years they were married.”

“Dash it all, Sheff. I know you're right. I…When shall I begin the courtship?”

Maggie felt the burn of bile rising to her throat. She did not stay to hear Shefford's reply, but hurried on to her bedchamber, her mind raging between shock and disbelief.

 

Tom's first nine years away from home had been an exercise in painful hardships. The forced labor and brutality of the island guards were the least of it. The prisoners had known hunger on Norfolk Island, and every other kind of privation. Illness ran rife among the weak, and Tom had taken a few of the more vulnerable convicts under his wing to protect them. He'd stood up to the bullies who would have taken Duncan's food from him, and buried far too many children who'd been too weak to survive their seven- or ten-year sentences.

After four years on the island, he and Nate had been transferred to the mainland where they worked for a free landholder. It was hard labor, but their masters were not as harsh as Major Foveaux and the guards on Norfolk Island. There, Tom's whippings had been less frequent, and when he and Nate finally served out their sentences, they'd signed onto a whaling ship in the belief that it was the only way they'd be able to earn their way home. They had not been able to turn their backs on Port Jackson soon enough.

Tom spent every waking moment thinking of the time when he would be able to return to Suffolk and resume the life that Shefford and Blackmore had interrupted. He and Nate worked the whaler, planning to make their way toward the Antilles where Duncan's island was located, for there would be no harm in seeing if there was any truth at all to the man's ramblings.

But their whaling endeavors ended when their ship was attacked by the pirate Jacques Butcher.
Tom could not help but question his luck at escaping with his life when he and Nate were taken as slaves on
Butcher's Blade
. His years in the penal colony paled compared to the horrors he witnessed during his captivity on the pirate sloop. Major Foveaux was a babe in arms compared to Captain Butcher.

It was two long, unspeakable years before Tom could take no more. He instigated a mutiny among the pirate's slaves, and somehow managed to rally all of them against Butcher. A long and bloody melee resulted, but Tom and the other slaves had prevailed, killing and tossing overboard the vicious pirate captain and every last member of his depraved crew.

During the first nine miserable years away from home, Tom managed to live through the agonies inflicted upon him only by dreaming of the day he would bring Shefford and Blackmore to their knees before him. When he finally located Duncan's treasure and realized the power it gave him, he'd turned his plan for revenge into reality, and mastered the skills he needed to carry it out. He'd cultivated patience, unwilling to act precipitously and ruin everything.

And yet the daylong wait for Maggie was proving to be a surprising challenge to his oft-practiced self-denial. She was no shrinking virgin, and yet she was an innocent, a woman who was clearly without knowledge of the pleasures of the bedchamber. Her husband must have been a fool.

Tom took a deep, tremulous breath as he
watched to be sure she entered the house safely, his gaze lingering on her retreating figure as she went inside. He'd learned how to put away his wishes and desires and turn his attention to the things he could control.

He finally forced himself to leave the square, but felt far too restless to return to his hotel. He decided to drive up to the Delamere property, just as he'd planned to do before happening upon Maggie in the street. He knew it would be much more productive to assess the floor plan of his new house before taking her there on the morrow, and be sure everything was as he wanted it. There should be a fire crackling in the master's bedchamber, a tray of refreshments on a table nearby, and a bottle of wine beside the bed when he laid her upon it.

It did not take very long to reach Harrow Road, and from there Oliver drove onto a side track that led to the house, a Palladian mansion, suitably ostentatious for a visiting prince. Saret had been authorized to pay Delamere up to twice the value of the property, just so that Tom would have the perfect location for his horses. It was close enough to London to make the trip easily, and there were more than enough acres to create the race course he needed.

At the time of his arrest, Thomas had had a promising future in breeding and raising thoroughbred horses alongside his father. The stables in Suffolk had been his life in those days, and he'd returned to his earlier vocation in recent years. He'd gone to America with Duncan's treasure, and
formulated his plans while building up Thorne's Gate, his beautiful, sprawling horse farm in New York.

But no one in England would ever know that. Tom just had to convince them that Sabedoria existed—an isle in the South Seas, hidden within the clutter of islands north of Botany Bay. He was gambling that with his immense wealth and ostentation, no one in England would challenge his veracity.

Ollie pulled the carriage to one side of the massive front staircase of Delamere House, and when Tom got out, he was greeted by Nathaniel Beraza, Ted Careaga, and Mark Saret. They might be three of his most trusted friends and allies, but their presence made him realize he needed to plan his assignation with Maggie more carefully. There was no need to subject her to their scrutiny.

“Good. You're finally here,” said Nate. “We've been looking over the property. Will you walk out to the stable with me?”

Tom put the morning's interlude behind him. Maggie was a distraction he desperately needed, but he could wait. And somehow, he would get her into the house and his bed without all of his friends taking note of their every move.

“What's happened?” Nate asked, scrutinizing his face.

“Happened? Nothing,” Tom replied, clearing his face of anything but curiosity. “Why?”

“You have a look about you.”

Tom figured it was no different from the expres
sion worn by any number of sexually frustrated males. He shrugged as though naught was on his mind, and continued on toward the stable. “What needs to be done here?”

“Not much. A week's work, perhaps.”

They walked into the stable and Tom examined the stalls, noting there was plenty of room for his own twelve horses, and another dozen, besides. “What about Arrendo?” he asked of the thirteenth horse, his champion. His ringer.

“There's a barn some distance from the house, with living quarters for a groom or two,” Nate replied. “We'll keep him there.”

“He'll be out of sight?”

“Aye,” Nate said. “It's on the other side of a copse of trees near your huntsman's cottage.”

“There's a huntsman's cottage?”

“Not that we'll have any use for it.”

Perhaps not that Nate would ever know. The huntsman's cottage was a fine solution to the problem of how to bed Maggie without making all his friends aware of their liaison.

They left the stable and ambled toward the paddock where workmen were already repairing a few broken wooden slats on the fence.

“With the thick woods between Delamere House and the huntsman's barn,” said Nate, “we can get Arrendo out early every morning and run him without anyone ever seeing him.”

They walked across to Delamere's second stable which also had its own paddock. “We're ready to proceed, Tom. I've ordered enough grain for
all the racers and the carriage horses. And Ted has already sent for Mickles and the rest of the sailors who will function as your house servants and grooms.”

“What about riders?”

“We've got Arrendo's rider, but Saret and Careaga are looking up some old friends for the others.”

“Excellent,” Tom replied, aware that both men had connections in the racing circuit. “Send someone out to the ships and have Lucas Reigi bring them in. I want to get the horses settled as soon as possible. What about the race course?”

“I think we've found the best spot,” said Nate. “It's out this way.”

It was a short walk, past an elaborate garden of sculpted shrubs and stone pathways. They passed a stately row of poplars and eventually came upon a large, relatively flat stretch of land. Much of it was covered with low shrubbery and grass. Thomas looked it over and knew that Nate was right. This was the perfect spot for his race course.

“Excellent. I'd like to get work started on it right away,” he said.

“I expected you would,” Nate replied. “Careaga's already hired workmen to clear out the brush and shrubs, starting tomorrow.”

“What about the house?” Tom asked, though he was far more interested in how well the huntsman's cottage would suit his more immediate purpose.

“Delamere kept a surprisingly small house staff.
They're already making the changes I requested on your behalf, but I'll pay them off and send them on their way tomorrow.”

Tom nodded. “Have our trunks brought here from the hotel today, all but our clothes for the Waverly ball.”

Tom reined in his preoccupation with Maggie and focused his thoughts on his first encounter with Shefford. That was his purpose there. A tryst with a desirable woman was not going to interfere with the execution of his plan. He would have to work around it.

 

If Maggie had thought her morning extraordinary, the afternoon was no less so. She twisted her hands in her lap, shocked, unable to credit what Julian's solicitor had just told her. It was too much, coming so soon after learning of her husband's mistresses, and then her astonishing interlude with a complete—
nearly
complete—stranger.

“You are saying that Julian…” she swallowed thickly, “…that he
mortgaged
the lands that were not entailed?”

Mr. Clements looked down his nose at her. “And the note is due at the end of the month, my lady.”

Maggie turned to her stepbrother. “Shefford, you never said—”

“Margaret, it's not for you to worry about,” Shefford said offhandedly.

“I beg your pardon!
How is it
not
for me to worry about?” she demanded. “Blackmore Manor is Zachary's birthright! Not to mention our living!”
No wonder her monthly allowance had dwindled so dramatically since Julian's death. “What of my dower portion? My inheritance?”

“As your guardian, Lord Shefford agreed to a settlement on the occasion of your marriage, rather than a dower portion,” said Mr. Clements. “And your husband borrowed against it. It's gone.”

“Gone? I do not understand. The settlement was mine.
Is mine
.”

Shefford turned to her. “Maggie, Julian had to—”

“He had to give me what was rightfully mine! How could you allow this to happen, Shefford?” She pressed her fingers against her temples and tried to understand. As Julian's widow, she was entitled to some portion of his wealth. And Shefford should have safeguarded that portion.

“What of the tavern in the village?” she asked. Julian's father had leased it to the tavern keeper, and to her knowledge, that circumstance had not changed.

“Also mortgaged,” the solicitor remarked calmly, as though Maggie's world was not coming apart, and all because of Julian's perfidy and gross negligence. She knew what he'd been doing on all those trips to London, and it had nothing to do with taking care of estate business.

“The paper mill?” she queried, though she already knew the answer. She felt like the worst kind of idiot. Naïve and foolish during her marriage, then far too trusting of her stepbrother, the man who now intended to push her into marriage with yet another scoundrel.

“Julian sold off his interest in the mill a few months before he died.”

She could hardly believe her ears. The mill that had provided income for decades was no longer theirs. And there were a number of expensive improvements that needed to be made to Blackmore land. How was she to be expected to take care of her tenants and keep the lands in good condition for Zachary when he reached his majority?