The Rogue Prince (25 page)

He might have laughed at the absurdity of that. He couldn't even get her to respond to his note. Besides, she was a viscountess, and had a place here in England. She would never consider leaving, would never deprive her son of his title.

“I've naught to think about,” said his father. “Your mother and I will be coming with you.” He looked at Jennie and her husband. “You and John will have to make your own decision, of course. But think of the past few years in Suffolk. Brutal weather and bad crops. And next year, more of it.”

John gave a curt nod. “Your father is right, Jennie.”

Tom felt a wave of relief, and smiled broadly. “You can do anything you wish in America. Farm the land or raise horses. Start a business. It's a new country, open to any venture you might want to try.”

“Aye,” said John. “If you can put us on track—”

“Of course,” Tom said. “Whatever you need.”

“Then I think we'll be joining you, Tom,” John said. “What do you say, Jennie?”

His sister smiled at her husband. “Aye.”

And the coil came close to being completely unfurled.

 

Maggie left her mother's house and directed her driver to take her up to Hampstead Heath, to the
little cottage hidden away behind Delamere House. She needed to give Thomas fair warning. Shefford was not to be trusted.

She had not responded to Thomas's request that she meet him at his cottage, and yet there she was. She'd come back to the place where they had made love, from where she'd fled that day, before she could risk her heart.

It was too late for that now.

She hadn't come for any romantic purpose. On the contrary, her business was utterly serious. She had to tell Thomas that Shefford most certainly intended to harm his horses, but she could not merely send a messenger. She would never know if Thomas had received it—or if he'd taken it seriously. She had to be sure he understood the danger her brother posed.

She waited impatiently inside the cottage while her driver went to Delamere House for him. Her heart beat significantly faster when she heard his footsteps on the path. Maggie clasped her hands together, mastering her intense desire to run out to meet him. All she wanted was to feel his capable arms around her.

She was obviously the fool Shefford had called her.

The door opened and he ducked slightly to enter. “Maggie?” He wore the same horseman's clothes he'd had on the last time he'd come to her here. Maggie's hands tingled with the memory of the texture of his trews and the heat of his body, and how quickly he'd shucked those trews and
climbed into the bath that had been made ready for him.

He started for her, but when she closed her eyes and took a deep, bracing breath, he stopped. She
could
talk to him without reaching for him, even though her heart was crumbling inside. “I need to talk to you, Thomas.”

He took hold of the back of a chair and Maggie saw a muscle in his jaw clench tightly.

“I—I apologize for not responding to your note…” She bit her lip.

He stayed perfectly still, and when he shuttered his eyes, she knew he understood. They had no future together, so it had to be over between them.

“I came to tell you…” she started quietly. “Shefford is going to do something. He's going to try to affect the outcome of the race.”

“Go on.” His voice was hard, and she sensed something very different about him…. She'd been a coward not to respond to his oh-so-tempting invitation. But she was not being cowardly now.

“I don't know what his plan is. H-he asked me to use my…my…” Her voice quavered and she stopped to compose herself. She hadn't realized how difficult it would be to face him and know that he would never again touch her. “He wanted me to use m-my influence with you to find out…”

“Find out what, Maggie?” he asked, his voice low and impassable.

She shrugged and tried to summon the same kind of righteous might she'd felt when speaking to her mother and Shefford. But her heart was splinter
ing and her knees buckling as she faced Thomas. She knew she couldn't have what she wanted, even though he stood no more than three feet from her.

“He wants to know which horse is your champion. And whether you have sentries guarding your stable.”

“Anything else?”

She shook her head, looking directly into his eyes. “I don't know. I refused before he could say any more.”

He started to speak, but gave a her a quick nod instead. “We assumed he would try something.”

Her eyes widened. “You did?”

“Aye.” He watched her reservedly, as though a huge chasm lay between them. They were perfectly civil, the heat and passion of their earlier assignation nearly impossible to imagine.

Maggie wished he would ask her to go away with him. She didn't care if Sabedoria was at the farthest corner of the earth. Their parting was going to damage her heart irreparably.

He remained silent.

“There is a great deal of money involved in Shefford's wager.”

But it was about more than the money. She knew Shefford, and knew it went against his grain to allow anyone, especially this foreign prince, to best him. “I fear my brother has done some terrible things in the past…”

“I am not surprised,” he said. He tapped his fingers against the back of the chair. “His reputation here in London is not exactly sterling.”

Maggie could easily believe that, if he went about making forty thousand pound wagers while he neglected his management of Julian's estate. And it upset her to know that the rest of her family was hardly any better.

Tears burned the backs of her eyes, but she refused to let them fall, aware that once Thomas was gone, her only sanctuary would have evaporated.

She reminded herself once again that he could not be her refuge. She'd stood up to her mother for once, and she was correcting the damage Julian had done to the estate. “I do not excuse him, Thomas. I'm just glad that you are prepared for whatever he might do. My family wants me to…they are not the most…” She looked down at the floor to say her next words. “I hope you understand I am no part of them.”

 

Tom did not move as Maggie went past him, and holding on to the chair was the only way he managed to keep from reaching out to her. He'd seen the sheen of tears in her eyes and hated not being able to pull her into his arms. But it was clear she'd made her decision. When he heard the carriage door close, he let go of the chair and jabbed a hand through his hair while he cursed under his breath.

Her carriage drove away, and Tom walked outside. He took a long, shuddering breath as he watched her disappear, fully aware that he would always want her.

She'd been far more sensible than he, ending
the affair before it could progress any further, any deeper. But Tom had never understood how painful their separation would be. She possessed a depth of character he'd known in few others, and, in spite of her connection to Shefford and Julian, he realized it was too late to protect his heart. She had already taken a piece of his soul.

Resigned to what he must do, he walked through the woods back to Delamere's stables and made sure his guards were fully alert. Whatever Shefford tried to do, at least they would be prepared for it.

M
aggie had an abysmal day. The children were out with Hawkins, leaving her feeling unbearably alone, but unfit for company. She swallowed the miserable loneliness that welled up in her throat, and picked up her sketchbook. She sat down in the drawing room and pressed the pages to her breast.

With the money Mr. Brown had given her, the servants' wages both at Blackmore Manor and the London town house were now up to date. She'd paid several of Julian's outstanding bills, and had a list of his unpaid debts. She hoped to earn enough by the end of the season to resolve those. Then she could concentrate on Lord Ranfield's recommendations for some steady, sensible investments and things that could be done to improve the estate, although it was hardly a prize for Zachary to inherit.

In spite of her relief that Shefford might soon be removed from the oversight of Zachary's inheritance, Maggie could not let go of her anger with
him. It wasn't just the money. It was his expectation that she should be just as willing to try to trick Thomas as the rest of her family seemed to be. Just as Julian had always done. And his good friends, Kimbridge and Ealey, no doubt.

At least she'd made sure Thomas knew of the threat, though their encounter had given her little peace of mind.

She took out a sheaf of foolscap and started to draw her next caricature for Mr. Brown, but her pencil seemed to have a will of its own. Thinking of Shefford's unscrupulous demands, she started drawing him as she remembered him years ago, when she'd first had an inkling of his true character. He'd falsely, cruelly accused the young horseman of thievery, and when Maggie had learned of his deceit, he and Julian had laughed at her tears.

She started sketching the poor, accused boy, his features coming back to her as she drew. Remembering that horrible day, the scene came easily to her. She recalled how her heart had tripped in her chest at the attention paid to her by the handsome, strapping boy, with his nearly black hair and his…

Maggie's hand stopped. She closed her eyes and pictured his broad shoulders and capable hands. He'd had bright, green eyes and a strong, square jaw, and a smile that…

Oh God. It was Thorne. Thomas Thorne.

And yet it could not be. Her memory had to be playing tricks on her. She'd been only ten or eleven
years old at the time, far too long ago for her to recall—

She got up from her chair and went upstairs to her bedchamber. Pulling open the doors of the armoire that stood in the corner of her room, she knelt down and reached into the shelves at the bottom. She dug through all her old sketchbooks, the ones she had stored and forgotten over the years.

They were not marked in any particular way, but Maggie remembered each one from the drawings within. She quickly found the book that she sought, and began turning the pages that were a record of that fateful summer.

When she came to the picture she'd drawn of her young hero, she knew it was true. It was Thomas Thorne. Her prince.

She squeezed her eyes shut against the sure knowledge that somehow the innocent boy had become staggeringly wealthy and returned to England. He had to know it was Shefford—and Julian—who had accused him, resulting in his unjust conviction. Oh lord, how he must hate them for what they'd done.

The scars she'd felt on his back—he'd dismissed them as a childhood accident. Maggie cringed at the realization that they were very likely scars from floggings. She could not imagine what he'd gone through.

Shefford and Julian had callously accused him, an innocent boy, and even
she
had played some part in his destruction. She wondered if he realized that she was the girl he'd helped in the stable yard.

He would be completely justified in exacting retrib—

Dear God, the horse wager…

Maggie pressed one hand against her mouth. Thomas had allowed Shefford to make his ridiculous wager, and she knew now that her brother would not win, no matter what mischief he might try. She was as sure of it as she was of her own name. And she was equally certain that the loss would ruin him.
Exactly as Thomas intended.

Maggie felt shaken to her core, but she had to admire Thomas's audacity. He'd come into England with a flourish, fielding invitations and courting ministers at the highest levels of society and government while he lured Shefford into his trap. No one would ever suspect that the lauded Prince of Sabedoria had once been a humble stable boy from England's horse country, a former convict who'd been transported to…to God knew where. They would never guess that his purpose here was to lure his enemy into…

A sudden thought struck her. Shefford was not the only perpetrator of Thomas's downfall. Julian was equally to blame.

She felt light-headed at the implications of that. If Thomas was out to wreak vengeance on Shefford, he must feel the same about Julian. Or Julian's family.
Herself, and even her—Julian's—children.
A hollow chill came over her at the thought of having been used, and betrayed yet again. First Julian, and now Thomas.

Could her time with him have been nothing
more than a master manipulation? While she'd been falling in love with him, had he been making his enemy's wife—and sister—pay for their misdeed of years ago?

She left her bedchamber and returned to the drawing room, feeling dazed and upset. Everything she thought she knew about Thomas was erroneous, and even their affair had been contrived.

Maggie sat down again and started sketching, quickly drawing Thomas's features, portraying him in his Sabedorian finery, but putting him in shackles. Then she drew a grim prison hulk in the background, his obvious destination.

Maggie knew that if she added a pointed caption and exposed the Sabedorian prince for who he really was, Mr. Brown would be beside himself with joy. And, considering how much money her previous work had earned, such a drawing would bring in enough to absolve her debt and allow her to begin improvements on Zachary's estate.

No one would care that Thomas had been unjustly accused and convicted. His ruse as the Prince of Sabedoria—did such a place even exist?—would be over. No one would welcome him into their drawing rooms or ballrooms any longer. Maggie didn't even know if it was legal for him to return to England or if he might be arrested again just for coming back.

She could not believe how well he'd duped society. His money and regal bearing had fooled everyone. And his English…She had actually believed his
nonsense about learning the language from some pirate—but so had everyone else, apparently.

Maggie wondered where he'd been sent. She had no doubt that it had been an unspeakable place, and that he'd been consumed by a very justified hatred for the two callous boys who'd put him there. Why wouldn't he despise the two rascals who'd torn him from his family and his country on a cruel whim?

Tears of confusion and hurt rolled down her cheeks, but she dashed them away as she picked up the old sketchbook and looked once again at the drawing she'd made so many years before, of the boy who'd kept her from falling in the puddle. He'd been so sweet then, telling her that she was not clumsy, but that anyone might have tripped on the uneven cobbles. Maggie had held him in her heart for months, savoring thoughts of him as the handsome hero who would return for her one day, fall in love with her, and take her away from her hateful family.

It had all been a young girl's foolish fancy, and yet some perverse version of it had come to pass. He'd returned, and seduced the poor lame girl who'd been a part of his terrible downfall.

How pathetic was it that she still loved him? That she still ached for his touch?

The front door slammed shut, startling Maggie.

“Lady Blackmore!”

She set her drawings aside and rose abruptly from her chair, alarmed by Nurse Hawkins's panicked voice.

“It's the children!” the nurse bawled, meeting Maggie halfway to the drawing room. “He's taken them! Grabbed them from me!”

Disbelief, and then horror stabbed through Maggie, worse than anything she'd ever felt before. “Who, Hawkins?” she cried. “
Who
has taken the children?”

Hawkins sniffled and wiped her tears, but she could not keep herself from wailing in distress. “Lord Shefford. He said to tell you that you'll see them after you find out what he wants to know!”

 

The Thornes were settling in at Delamere House, and Tom ought to have felt content. His parents were older, but still in good health. It pleased him to know that he could provide them a life of ease in America. His wealth assured that they would never again face the hardships they'd known at home. They would all be together again, finally, after all these years.

But as satisfying as it was to think of his parents and sister at Thorne's Gate, it was not enough. He needed more.

He needed Maggie.

The vengeance he sought felt hollow now, especially without her. He'd known it at the cottage, but her demeanor had made it quite clear that she did not wish to continue their liaison. He'd felt the wall she'd put up between them, a self-imposed barrier that defied any attempt to pass through it.

Tom swore quietly. He was a blockhead. Of course she'd ended it. She was a respectable woman who'd never expected to be seduced, and he had taken advantage of her innocence and her vulnerability. He'd promised her nothing beyond a few weeks' pleasure, when he knew he wanted nothing less than a lifetime.

He did not care that she was Shefford's sister or that she'd been Julian's wife. None of that mattered.

The only thing that did matter was that he loved her. He'd seen the sheen of tears in her eyes at the cottage, and hoped it meant there was a chance that she cared for him, too. Cared enough to leave England and sail with him to Thorne's Gate.

It was a great deal to ask of a viscountess whose son would be a member of England's elite. But he had to try.

He sent Andrew Harland to get the carriage ready for a trip down to Hanover Square to collect her and the children, then he went in search of Nate.

“I've decided to call off the race,” Tom said when he found his friend in the library, conversing with Edward Ochoa and Mark Saret. “Have the men take the horses to the ships.”

Saret grinned, and Nathaniel nodded. Ochoa sat quietly, with a knowing expression on his face. He'd been right. Vengeance did not necessarily equal satisfaction. Taking his family home, winning Maggie…that was the satisfaction Tom needed.

“Aye. There's no point in running the race now,” said Nate. “One word from Harland and Shefford hangs. There isn't a judge in the country who would let him off with a witness to his crimes.”

“You don't mind, then? Giving up the race?”

Nate shrugged. “I wouldn't mind going home. You've accomplished everything you wanted—there's no need to risk discovery now.”

Tom agreed. It should have been a letdown after all his meticulous planning, but he didn't need to be the one to destroy Shefford. The scheming bastard had done it to himself.

“It's been quite a lark,” said Saret as Ochoa gave a slow nod. “But we're finished here.”

“Send word to Lucas that we'll be leaving the day after tomorrow.” Two days would have to be long enough for Maggie to tie up her affairs in Town, or appoint someone to do so. He intended to have her and the children home, at Thorne's Gate, within the month.

He started for the door. He should never have let Maggie leave the cottage without telling her how he felt, but his stupidity was not going to continue.

Turning as he left the room, he looked at his old friends and begged one last request. “See if any of you can find me a dog somewhere. A pup.”

 

“Where would he have taken them?” Maggie asked, trying to control her alarm. She realized she hardly knew Shefford at all, and his behavior the past few days did not garner her confidence. He could be mean and violent, and—

“I don't know!” Nurse Hawkins whimpered. “He just yanked them away before I knew what he was about. They knew him, of course, but Lily was wailing and Zachary fighting him, and so he had to force them into his carriage.”

“Mathers.” Maggie tried to remain calm as she pulled on her coat. Dissolving into a panic would not serve her now. “Go to Berkeley Square and see if my mother has any idea where Shefford would have taken the children. Hawkins, send Tessa to Lady Ranfield and tell her what's happened. I'm going over to Shefford House to see if he's there.”

She pulled open the door and her knees buckled when she saw Thomas standing on the other side. All at once, he swept her into his arms and kissed her deeply. “I'm not letting you go, Maggie Danvers,” he said when he released her. “You're mine.”

Maggie's heart clenched in her chest, her joy at seeing him tempered by dread. “Thomas, Shefford has taken Zachary and Lily!”

“Where?” he asked, pulling her tightly to him.

Maggie didn't care that they stood in plain sight of everyone in the square. The security of Thomas's arms and her confidence that he could recover her children were all that mattered. She looked up into the kind, green eyes that she should have remembered for all these years. “Hawkins had them in the park and he took them from her. We don't know where they are!”

He let her go, but kept her hand in his and
squeezed it as they went into the drawing room. “Why did he…What did he say?”

Hawkins answered Thomas's question. “He said we would see them only when Lady Blackmore told him what he wanted to know.”

“The horse race, Thomas.”

“Aye. You warned me, but I never thought—”

Maggie had forgotten the drawings until that moment. Thomas looked at them for an instant, then seemed to dismiss them. Moving quickly, he returned to the front door. “Harland!” he called.

His footman jumped down from the carriage and came to the house. “Yes, Your Highness?”