The Rogue Prince (8 page)

“Perhaps we should wait until later,” Maggie said, with a sudden shyness at seeing Thomas again. She feared she would somehow betray the private, sensual interlude they'd shared.

“Nonsense. You've already met him—in a strange way,” Victoria said, then recounted the incident in Hanover Square for her husband.

Thomas towered over a buzzing hive of female admirers and their mothers who swarmed around him. His frown was gone, replaced by what seemed to be a tolerant smile for all the hopeful young ladies.

He looked past all his pretty followers and let his gaze rest upon Maggie, as though he'd sensed her presence without even seeing her. She felt the same shimmer of excitement she'd known at his touch. He started toward her, excusing himself as
the women stepped aside for him. He came directly to Maggie and took her hand.

“Lady Blackmore,” he said, giving her a nod, over which she knew the entire crowd would soon be speculating. She hoped her family would dispel rumors by relating their earlier meeting. Or perhaps she should just enjoy the novelty of the ton's admiration for the moment. “It's good to see you again. Your son is well, I trust?”

Maggie felt breathless, but managed to give him the same pat answer as she'd done when they sat together in the tea shop. He was poised and collected, betraying none of the pure, sexual heat they'd shared in his carriage. She introduced him to Victoria and her husband, and Victoria fairly gushed over him.

“Your Highness, it's
such
a pleasure to meet you. You are a true hero in our district! Thank heavens for your quick intervention with little Zachary.”

“All that matters is that the boy is safe and sound.” He looked at Maggie. “I have only to wait for an invitation from Lady Blackmore to meet him properly.”

Victoria turned a pair of incredulous eyes on her. “Margaret?”

“Ah, y-yes. Perhaps at week's end.”

“Does the boy like horses?” Thomas asked.

Maggie could only nod, unable to imagine what he was thinking.

“Then he might enjoy a visit to my stables.”

“You have stables here?” asked Victoria.

“Yes. A bit north of the city,” he said. “I bought Mr. Harvey Delamere's estate.”

“Delamere's
estate?” Ranfield exclaimed. “Why, the place is—”

“Yes?” Thomas asked, his tone pleasant, his dark brows raised.

Ranfield seemed rather discomfited. “It's fit for a king.”

“I do enjoy the countryside,” Thomas said simply. “And the place suits my needs.”

The first dance began just then, and Maggie had no further chance to speak of visiting his stables. She had not thought of drawing her children into her affair with Thomas, although perhaps he believed that involving himself with her children would make their assignations easier to accomplish. Maggie did not see how that would be possible.

One of the pretty young women who'd remained standing on the fringes near Thomas moved forward, inadvertently knocking Maggie off balance. Thomas reached out quickly to steady her as the girl curtseyed. “Your Highness…” she said. “It's the first dance.”

“Ah, yes. Miss…uh…”

Giggling, she reminded him of her name, and took his arm. Maggie watched as he—dare she hope reluctantly?—drew the girl away and blended into the group of dancers.

“Imagine that!” said Ranfield.

“What?”

“The Delamere place up in Hampton! It rivals Wynard Park for size and grandeur,” he replied.
“The grounds are superb. And the stables—there are two or more, as I recall. We were there once, Vic, don't you remember?”

“We've been many places since our marriage, Charles,” she said, slipping her hand through the crook of her husband's arm and leaning toward him.

Maggie felt an intense pang of pure longing at their exchange. She and Julian had never had any such affection or easy banter between them. But at least she'd cared for him as any wife should do, while he'd deceived her.

She looked toward the dancers, surreptitiously watching Thomas perform the steps of the dance, while she wished she could be his partner. If only she were one of the fetching young women here, a pretty girl who could flirt and step back ever so gracefully to look into his smiling, green eyes. Perhaps touch his hand when they moved close.

“Lady Blackmore! Margaret!”

She turned to see another old friend coming toward her, a young woman who'd married the same month as Maggie, to one of Julian's peers. Maggie had not seen her since the funeral. “Nettie, it's good to see you.”

And it was. Nettie had spent a goodly amount of time beside Maggie at every dance that season, waiting in vain for dance partners to approach them. But Nettie had been a sweet girl who'd eventually attracted a quiet gentleman. She hoped her earl had done better for his wife and family than Julian had done for his.

They wandered away to catch up on the years that had passed since they'd seen one another, and Maggie was grateful for the distraction from her disordered thoughts. She was insane for thinking of pursuing anything further with Thomas—
His Highness
. What did a man like the prince of Sabedoria want with a woman who could not hope to compare to the pretty young thing who smiled up at him so blissfully on the dance floor?

Maggie feared it had been a mistake to come, to sit on the fringes of the ballroom with the old women and young matrons, so acutely aware of every move Thomas made, every smile he bestowed upon his eager partners. It only made her deficiencies more apparent.

“Have you met the Sabedorian prince?” Nettie asked.

Maggie nodded.

“They say his English is nearly perfect. That he learned our language from English pirates! What do you think?”

Shefford rudely broke in, interrupting her conversation with Nettie. “Come and dance with me, Margaret.”

Maggie did not fool herself into thinking he was trying to do her a kindness, for he barely looked at her as he gave her the order to dance. And he was not gentle in taking her arm as he drew her away from Nettie.

“No, Shefford, you know I don't—”

“Just this once won't hurt you.”

Loath to make a scene, she gave Nettie an apologetic bow and stepped away with Shefford.

“I understand the prince acknowledged you quite familiarly, Margaret,” he said as they moved around the periphery of the room toward the dancers.

“I suppose so.”

“And he asked if your son would like to visit his stables?”

“Shefford, I'm not sure we should make anything of—”

“Are you out of your mind?” he hissed. “It's fabulous! They say he brought his Sabedorian horses with him and he intends to race them.”

“How can he possibly—?”

“Unsanctioned, of course,” he replied, then spoke directly into her ear. “There is money to be made here, Margaret. Don't muck it up for us.”

She pulled away.
“Us?”

“Never mind. Just get a solid invitation for you and Zachary. I'll come along to chaperone you.”

Maggie stopped in her tracks, bristling. “I no longer need a chaperone, Shefford.”

He looked down at her as though she'd just grown wings. Or perhaps horns.

“Julian is dead, if you recall,” she said quietly. “I am an independent woman now.”

“But penniless. And the prince is stinking rich,” said Shefford. “Mark my words, he is in England to do more than establish trade relations with us. Did you see that emerald hanging from his neck?”

Maggie had not noticed. She'd only seen his eyes
and the fine cut of his thick hair while she remembered the heat of his touch and the hunger in his kiss. And yet when she looked up just then and met his eyes, he was frowning again.

Maggie held back, feeling uncertain about joining the dancers. She was too clumsy to fare well on the dance floor, and Shefford knew it. She should have told him to go to the devil, along with her inheritance and Zachary's birthright, but she was still so angry—

“Try to smile,” he said.

“Why? Who are you trying to impress? The prince, I suppose.” Though she could not imagine how Shefford thought he could profit from Thomas's good opinion. Somehow, her brother intended to draw Thomas into a horse race. With his charm, perhaps. And he would do whatever it took to win.

“A dance with my sister isn't going to impress anyone,” he said dryly as they joined the two lines of dancers.

As angry as she was, she found it difficult to keep even a neutral expression, much less smile at him. Thomas was at the opposite end of the line, his features transformed to a mask of indifference. He did not seem to be enjoying himself at all.

Maggie would soon be paired with him, would touch his hand and link arms with him. Her nerves seemed to shudder with apprehension, with expectation, while at the same time, the cunning expression in Shefford's eyes put her on edge.

“Try to enjoy the dance, sister dear.”

How could she, when she suspected that Shefford had some nefarious scheme in mind?

Shefford circled around her, then they locked arms and made their promenade down the center aisle between the two rows of dancers. When they passed Thomas on Maggie's right, the music and all the rest of the dancers seemed to melt away, and she was alone with him. He did not speak to her, but his eyes followed her as she came to stand opposite him, or rather, opposite her partner, Shefford.

But Thomas was right beside him, and Maggie's skin prickled in response to his intent gaze. She wished they could leave the ball now, wished she could lose herself in his embrace, and follow up on her promise, now. Tonight.

She would not be the first woman in her circumstances to engage in an affair, but Maggie feared she did not possess the sophistication necessary to carry it off. She had no idea how to manage the logistics of it, and there was no one whose advice she could solicit. Surely not her mother or sisters. The very thought of it was ludicrous. But how could it possibly work? How could she get away from the house without her maid or a footman with her?

They continued the set, and when she looked down the line at Thomas again, she saw that his eyes were trained on her, their expression unreadable. Maggie hoped his gaze would have been somewhat warmer, given all they'd shared, all they intended to share. Unless he'd reconsidered.

And why wouldn't he,
Maggie wondered with a
sinking heart. With such avid attention from all the sparkling ladies at the ball, Maggie's appeal could do naught but fade. She knew her limitations, and realized that Thomas must have thought better of it, now that the diamonds of society were paying homage at his feet.

The dance ended and the ladies surrounded Thomas again. He did not seem to mind their attention, and she was obviously forgotten.

Her stepbrother stood beside her, looking over at Thomas with frustration. “I want you to introduce me.”

“Perhaps later,” she said, her heart sinking. “He is well occupied now.”

He clenched his jaw. “Maybe you ought to think of how you can be of use to this family for a change.”

“Not now, Shefford.”

 

The dancing was unrelenting, and Thomas could not imagine a more tedious way to waste his time. The dullness of his young partners was nearly as painful as a flogging, and the process of discouraging a few wayward wives from trying to seduce him was tiresome.

He was there only to gain entrée into society, and it certainly seemed that he'd managed it nicely. He'd received more invitations than he could handle in a month, and all the mothers had shoved their marriageable daughters into his path—without even knowing what kind of man he was.

Clearly, the prospect of wealth and status
trumped every other consideration, including the fact that he would obviously return to his own country at some point. Any one of these people would consider it a triumph if their daughters married a foreign prince and left home, never to return again.

Tom shuddered at the reality of that. He'd experienced it, and it was not a fate he'd wish upon anyone. Except perhaps the Marquess of Shefford.

Tom kept an eye on the man, Shefford's color rising as the marquess spoke in earnest to Maggie. Tom muttered a quiet curse as her complexion paled and her brother stalked away from her. Left alone, she turned abruptly and slipped out of the ballroom toward what had to be the servants' area.

He still wanted her with a passion that had not diminished in the hours since he'd last touched her. But he cursed the fates that had connected her so intimately with the objects of his contempt, and tried to reconcile his desire with what he knew he must do.

Nate returned to Tom's side after dancing with Waverly's daughter. “It's unbelievable.” He gave a nod toward Maggie's departing figure. “She is the link between her husband and Shefford. Sister and wife.”

“Aye.”

“You can destroy their families in one fell swoop. Blackmore might be dead, but you can ruin his line.”

Thomas swallowed.

“She is quite…striking, is she not?” Nate asked. “In an unconventional sort of way. She's not like the other women here.”

“No,” Tom said. “Not at all.”

Nate smirked. “You can shred her reputation while we destroy the Shefford and Blackmore finances. You can witness Shefford's helplessness as his family crumbles before his eyes.”

It was all true, and Tom knew he needed to adjust his point of view. Now that he knew who Maggie was, he had to view her as a mere means to an end, and nothing more.

Nate frowned. “What is it?”

“Naught,” he replied. As he drew Shefford into his web, he could eliminate Maggie's respectable reputation with a very public exposure of their affair. And with Tom's sham investment schemes and the race, the Sheffords and Blackmores would lose their fortunes as well as their fine, upright standing in society.