The Rogue Prince (18 page)

“Hello there!” called a woman's voice, shattering the spellbinding moment.

Maggie turned to see Charlotte and her friend hurrying toward them, both of them breathing heavily, as though they'd had to run to catch up. The two women came abreast with Maggie. Charlotte put her hand on Maggie's sleeve, smiling at her as she'd never done before.

Charlotte turned her back to her friend and confronted Maggie, and her smile fell from her face.

“What?” Maggie asked. Obviously something was amiss, or Charlotte would not have returned. “What is it?”

“Don't play the green girl with me, Margaret,” she whispered.

“What do you mean? W-we just came out for a bit of exercise.”

“I can see that, of course,” Charlotte retorted loud enough for her companion to hear. Her tone was superficially polite, yet her words were not quite civil.

Maggie glanced at Charlotte's friend, and took note of the sparkle in her eyes and her excited demeanor. Her stomach dropped as she comprehended Charlotte's unexpected return.

She said nothing to Charlotte, but walked toward Thomas, certain that her sister would be right behind her. “Prince Thomas, may I present my sister Charlotte, Baroness of Aughton. I'm afraid I don't know your companion, Charlotte.”

Charlotte curtseyed deeply, smiling as attractively as possible, then introduced her friend. When the formalities were completed, Charlotte deftly slipped her hand through the crook of Thomas's elbow and started to maneuver him away from Maggie. “It's such a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Your Highness. I cannot believe this is the first we've met!”

“I have not been in Town long, my lady.”

“My husband has many connections in the foreign office and is anxious to meet you.”

Maggie stood motionless—and powerless—as her sister drew Thomas away.

“I am sure we will encounter each other one of these days, then,” Thomas said to Charlotte.

“Lord Aughton is at home at the moment and I'm sure you would enjoy a visit to—”

Thomas extricated himself from Charlotte's grasp and returned to Maggie's side. When he placed his hand at the small of her back and steered her toward the children, she felt as though her soul had swelled and was burning a little hotter.

He turned back to give a quick glance in Charlotte's direction. “I don't believe so, my lady. It was a pleasure to meet both of you, but I've made a promise here…”

“But Aughton House is so close, and my husband—”

Thomas crouched down at the water's edge, ignoring Charlotte's entreaty as he picked up the newspaper and started making Zac's boat. “Go and find a long stick, Zachary.”

While Charlotte stood looking stunned by Thomas's rebuff, he finished making a series of complicated folds in the newspaper. Maggie glanced up at her sister and was taken aback by her wrathful glower. It was obvious that she intended to use Thomas to some personal end, perhaps not quite as Shefford did, but the thought of it made Maggie queasy anyway.

But at least her sister could have no doubt that her conversation with the prince was over.

Zachary returned, and Thomas set the boat into the water, showing her son how to push it with the stick while he stayed far enough away from the water's edge to remain safe. As Charlotte and her friend made a show of taking their leave of the prince, Maggie felt grateful for her children, for the two uncomplicated
young souls who wanted nothing but her love and affection.

Lily clamored for Nurse Hawkins to let her down, and when she ran to Thomas, he clasped her against him to keep her from getting too close to the water. He spoke softly to her and she giggled, then squealed happily when the ducks surrounded the boat. He sat down in the grass near the pond and Lilly hugged his neck happily.

And, as Maggie watched her lover charm her children, the earth shifted under Maggie's feet.

 

Thomas hadn't expected to see Maggie in the park, but the sound of her voice and the sight of her sweetly smiling face had been more than captivating. His hands had itched to pull her into his arms, but social convention prohibited it, just as it forbade him from insulting Lady Charlotte to her face.

But he had come close. He had disliked her instantly, mentally categorizing her alongside her officious mother and unscrupulous stepbrother.

He had not missed the way Lady Aughton slighted her sister, and he felt a particular satisfaction in declining her invitation. It was a retaliation of sorts on Maggie's behalf for her sister's direct callousness. Charlotte could not have been more obvious in her desire to draw him away from Maggie, as though her sister was of no consequence.

Tom stood near Maggie and resisted touching the wisps of hair that curled so prettily near her ear. Somehow, he managed to restrain himself
from taking her hand in his and pressing a kiss to its palm, from pulling her into his arms and feeling every one of her soft curves against him. He heard her shaky breath and knew she felt the same lust that tore at him now.

“Well,” she said, her voice low and a little bit breathless. “You'd already made a fair impression on Zachary and Lily. But I believe it's sealed now.”

“And what of you, Lady Margaret?”

“I believe you already know what I think of you.”

His throat thickened and he clenched his teeth with frustration. With impatience. “Did I say three o'clock?”

She nodded.

“I could not have been so foolish. It's far too long to wait.”

Maggie laughed. “Let's catch up to the children.”

It was a reprieve they both needed. They walked to the far side of the pond, keeping their eyes on Zachary and Lily. The children laughed as they chased after the newspaper boat, squealing with pure delight.

Lily came to Tom to be lifted into his arms, and Zachary called to him, asking if they could have one more boat. This time, for his sister.

And Tom suddenly realized he had not enjoyed such a simple pleasure in years. The children's utter glee felt like a breath of fresh air gusting through his lungs, and lifted the burden of vengeance from his shoulders, if only for the moment.

T
om had been loath to leave Maggie and the children, but Nate Beraza and Mark Saret would be waiting to report on their investigations.

He returned to Delamere House and joined Saret for lunch at the richly carved Italian mahogany table in the dining room, counting the hours until it was time to fetch the woman who occupied the majority of his thoughts.

“Where is Nate?”

“I haven't seen him yet this morning,” Saret replied. “I'm sure he has a great deal to do.”

Nate entered just then, and placed a folded newspaper on the table, turning it so that Tom could see the drawing in it. “Take a look at this.”

“It's a very good likeness, isn't it?” Saret asked with a grin.

“Look at all those women around you,” Nate said with a laugh. “This Redbush fellow has drawn their eyes to look like deer. Fawns. They're fawning.”

Saret laughed aloud, and Tom could not suppress
a small smile. The artist had caught his likeness very well, and his satire possessed a clever bite.

He set the newspaper aside. “Have you learned anything about Foveaux?” he asked Nate.

“Foveaux?
What?” Saret exclaimed.

“Aye. Our old commandant, right there last night in Lord Sawbrooke's music room with us,” Nate explained. “Tom spoke with him and the bastard never recognized him.”

Saret's expression remained incredulous. “Is it true, Tom?”

Tom nodded. The meeting seemed like ages ago. He hadn't given Foveaux more than a fleeting thought since the night he'd spent with Maggie.

A prickle of pure desire crept up his back at the thought of her lying naked and sound asleep under her thick, woolen blanket. He'd left reluctantly after touching his lips to that sweet spot where her neck met her shoulder. She'd stirred, but not awoken, for it had been exceedingly late when they'd fallen asleep, after their thirst for each other had finally been slaked.

But not completely. Their chance encounter in the park made it clear he'd come nowhere near to having his fill of her.

“Tom?”

He looked up and gathered his thoughts. “I don't think I was entirely unrecognized,” he said to Saret. “But it seemed that Foveaux just couldn't reconcile his memory of the young, scrawny boy he'd known on Norfolk Island with the wealthy prince who stood before him last night.”

And he hoped Foveaux's mind would never allow him to make the connection. At least, not until Tom had settled the score between them. Then, he wanted Foveaux to understand the full ramifications of his brutality in the penal colony.

Tom didn't understand how anyone could possibly believe his far-fetched story of Sabedoria, but he had counted on his vast wealth—along with the allure of cheap, high quality flax and an alliance with a rich nation in the South Seas—excusing a multitude of sins. He'd counted on the
haute ton
overlooking any shortcoming or discrepancy, as long as the perpetrator was rich enough. And he'd been right. No one had challenged the existence of Sabedoria, not even Foveaux, who'd spent many years in the vicinity where it was supposedly located. The ruse was successful purely because of the enormous wealth he and his men had flaunted since their arrival.

And yet one solid challenge could bring down their house of cards. Someone who'd known Tom or one of his men in years past could expose the charade. A word from Foveaux would not be taken lightly.

“Foveaux.
I can't believe it,” said Saret, who hadn't been with Tom and Nate on the island, but had experienced the commandant's cruel hospitality at Port Jackson. “After all these years! I thought he was killed in some mutiny.”

Nate made a disparaging sound.

“The rumors were inflated,” Tom said. “The
man was very much alive in Lord Sawbrooke's house last night. And he's a general now.”

Saret let out a long breath. “Will he say anything? What does this do to our plans?”

Tom suddenly wished he had not told Zachary to call him Thorne, after the care they'd taken never to use any of their real names. If anyone made the connection with Tom's true surname, it would take some explaining.

“We sting him along with the others,” he said. “See if we can relieve him of his commission. And find out about his finances.”

Saret's face brightened. “Aye. Brilliant!”

Tom gave a shake of his head. “This is a good reminder that we need to be very careful. No slips in our names or our story. We must use the utmost care in searching out information, and when dealing with the authorities. They are not complete fools.”

“Right,” Saret said gravely.

“Not to worry, Saret. Who would believe Foveaux if he said he knew us, anyway?” Nate laughed. “Even if he suspected, he didn't even believe it himself.”

“I hope you're right,” Saret replied.

Nate turned to Tom. “I met up with Andrew Harland last night,” he said. “He had a few hours off, and managed to get away from Shefford's house without being noticed.”

“Has he learned anything?”

“Shefford belongs to some club—they call it the S.C.H. club, and Harland says the members frequently meet in an abandoned building some
where on the east end and get on with whatever they do.”

“Which is…?” Tom asked.

“Unknown. But Harland is going to make sure he is the footman who accompanies Shefford on S.C.H.'s next outing.”

Tom's butler, an American ex-convict named Mickles, came into the dining room. He was a tall, dignified-looking fellow with white hair and a thin white mustache who had once actually served as a butler. He knew his duties and what needed to be done by the other servants—all sailors from Tom's ships—to keep the household running. And to keep it safe.

“A messenger just brought this, Your Highness,” Mickles said, his words and manner in keeping with the role he played. He carried a salver with a sealed scroll on it, which he placed on the table beside Tom.

“Well, well, well, what have we here?” Nate asked, though they all had a fair idea that it must be a royal pronouncement. They'd seen nothing like it to date.

Tom broke the seal and removed the encircling golden ribbon, then unrolled it. He read it quickly, then passed it to Nate as he spoke to Saret. “It seems the prince regent wishes to host a state dinner in our honor.”

Nate laughed as he read. “It will be in two weeks, when he returns from Bristol.”

“Good Christ, could you ever have imagined?” Saret said.

Tom smiled, gratified that his plans were falling directly into place. Recognition by Prince George would give him the final touch of credibility. Once the regent recognized Tom as a fellow monarch, it would be difficult for any Englishman to rebuff his Sabedorian claims. Neither Foveaux nor anyone else would want to embarrass Prince George in such a way.

“We're to reply as soon as possible, and send a list with the names of our entourage on it.”

“Add Lady Blackmore's name,” Nate said to Thomas. “Then it will be clear that she is your—”

“I'll consider it,” he said, cutting Nate off. It was exactly what he should do, take Maggie to Carlton House and expose her as his paramour. His whore. And yet the thought of it turned his stomach.

“Maybe we should get the regent to bet on the horse race,” said Saret.

“No!” Nate exclaimed. “We'll get Shefford to bring him in. Can you just imagine the kind of disfavor Shefford would—”

“Too dangerous.” Tom's tone brooked no argument. “Duping the regent is not part of the equation, no matter how well a huge royal loss would work to discredit Shefford. We do it the way we planned.” It was that kind of overconfidence that could get them all hanged.

Nate accepted Tom's decision and turned to Saret. “What about the tobacco plot?”

“Shefford is in,” Saret replied. “He fell for Roarke's scheme without hesitation.”

“Excellent,” Nate said. “His wager against Ar
rendo pushed him past his ready resources. What about his bank?”

Saret nodded. “I'm meeting Mr. Thatcham—of Thatcham's Bank—this afternoon. I'm hoping I'll find Blackmore funds there, because I haven't been able to learn much about them.”

The thought of taking Blackmore funds gave Tom a distinctly raw sensation in the pit of his stomach, but it was part of the plan. He could not bring himself to change it, even though…

“We've still heard nothing from Salim and your family,” said Saret. Tom had sent Sebastian Salim to Suffolk immediately on their arrival in England.

“He's only been gone five days,” Nate said. “It will take some time to locate your people, especially if they've left Suffolk.”

Tom knew that, of course. But he was anxious for his reunion with his parents and sister, though he steeled his heart against disappointment. Anything could have happened in seventeen years. His parents were much older now, and Jennie might have married and would no longer be a Thorne.

Tom had been raised to be an honest man, which made him more than a little uncomfortable with all his schemes and charades. But it was all necessary. The Sabedoria fiction was absolutely essential in order to take vengeance on the men who had wronged him and his family so grievously. He didn't think he would ever find peace without dealing with the fiends who'd come so close to destroying him.

He realized his emotions were raw. His night
with Maggie should have quelled his passions, and yet he felt even more restless than he had before bedding her. All his machinations had finally been put into motion, and he should feel a great deal more satisfaction than he did. But he found he could not concentrate on horse races, bank shares or tobacco smuggling.

He was preoccupied by thoughts of Maggie's tender expression as she watched Zachary and Lily at play, and even more by the innocent trust her children had shown him. He reminded himself on the ride back to Delamere House that he was allowing himself to be distracted by the woman who was a key component in his schemes. He could not allow himself to become sidetracked or to lose focus.

Tom left to go in search of Edward Ochoa, who'd had more contact than anyone with Judge Maynwaring. He found the American in the library, sitting beside a tall window, reading. Ochoa was generally a quiet man who kept to himself, but he was not aloof. Tom knew little of the man's history, only that he'd been a lawyer in Virginia, and convicted of some felony. But he fit the description of a dignified government minister, and was a valuable asset to the Sabedorian tale.

Tom could not fathom what Ochoa's offense might have been, for he seemed a fine and decent man. In need of funds, of course, or else he wouldn't have signed on for Tom's risky venture—one which would see them all hanged if they were exposed.

Ochoa looked up from his book when Tom entered the room.

“Thomas.” He started to rise from his chair.

“Don't get up,” Tom said. He joined the older man at the window and sat down in a nearby chair.

“You're wondering what I learned about Maynwaring,” said Ochoa.

Tom gave him a slow nod. “Anything?”

“He is unmarried and owns a large house in Kensington, not far from here. He is the younger brother of the Earl of Gosdale, and inherited a substantial fortune from his father, the previous earl. He does not frequent gambling houses, or play the horses.”

“No vices?”

“I didn't say that,” Ochoa replied. “Only that we haven't found them yet.”

“What were your impressions when you met him?”

“He's a righteous prig who believes he's the final word on jurisprudence,” said Edward. “He is courteous to me only because of my position as a Sabedorian minister, and he cannot quite understand the Sabedorian social strata. He is a snob, and had he met me as a mere lawyer, he would not have given me the time of day.”

“I don't remember him much. From my trial.”

Ochoa shook his head. “It was a long time ago.”

Tom looked out at the front drive and the sculpted lawns and shrubs. Meaningless accoutrements to his performance. He very much preferred
the open lands of Thorne's Gate, and yet he had the oddest feeling that his estate was not quite complete. Perhaps when he took his parents there…“My father petitioned the court for mercy. Repeatedly. Maynwaring had no interest.”

“He believed your accusers.”

“Aye. The sons of peers. They wouldn't lie, would they?”

“What did you do to offend them?” Ochoa asked.

“It all happened so quickly,” Tom said, frowning. “I'm not sure.”

“They might have taken a dislike to your looks, but I would venture to guess they took exception to something you said or did.”

Tom shrugged, thinking back to that monstrous day. “We'd gone to the house in Hanover Square to deliver the horses the previous Lord Shefford bought in Suffolk,” he said. “I was a groom…of no significance whatsoever.”

He'd been quiet and polite, just as his father had instructed, looking after Shefford's horses. He could not imagine how that would have offended the two boys.

“I never even saw Leighton's father, the marquess,” he said, remembering the day. “But Leighton and Julian were in their riding gear, getting ready to go out.”

“You were all of an age, I'd guess?”

Tom nodded. “I think Julian might have been a year younger. But yes. All about sixteen or seventeen.”

It had been raining, and the courtyard and gardens were a soggy mess, with deep tracks and puddles. The two boys had shouted for grooms to clean the mud from their boots, and Tom remembered thinking they were a pair of inept clods if they couldn't take care of their own gear. But he remembered someone else…

“There was a crippled young girl.” Tom struggled to recall what she looked like. “She came into the courtyard and stumbled. I happened to be close by and I caught her arm. Kept her from falling into the muddy carriage tracks.”