The Rogue Prince by Margo Maguire Page A

chin. “They are bland and uninteresting. They have no fire inside.”
    Not like the woman in his arms, who responded so unreservedly to his sensual attentions. He captured her mouth fully, kissing her deeply, intruding with his tongue, hardening with her avid reaction.
    â€œTouch me, Maggie.” Ever since her explosive orgasm in his arms, he was desperate to feel her hands on him, and when she slipped her fingers through the hair at his nape, he groaned with pent-up need. He took one of her hands and lowered it to the placket of his trews where he was hard and straining for her touch.
    With a tentative stroke, she slid her fingers over the length of him, and he could not hold back a quiet growl of arousal.
    â€œI want to be inside you, Maggie.”
    She let her head fall back and he nibbled his way to the plump mounds of her breasts, partially exposed by the low cut of her gown.
    â€œTomorrow is too long to wait,” he said.
    â€œNo, I—”
    â€œI will come to you.”
    â€œNo. There will be talk.”
    Her words jerked him back to reality. His mission, his purpose was clear. The intense lust he felt had no place in his plans.
    At the moment, he didn’t care. “It’s all right. I will send for you at noon.”
    â€œOh, dear God,” she whispered.
    â€œCan you get away?”
    â€œI’ll think of something.”
    â€œAye.”
    Â 
    Supper was unbearable.
    Thomas broke protocol and took a seat beside Maggie, in spite of the butler’s quiet insistence that he go to the head of the table.
    â€œThank you, no,” he said simply, and the butler had no choice but to retreat.
    Of course no one made any fuss over it, for he was a foreign dignitary, and couldn’t possibly know every social nuance here. Besides, he seemed to possess more wealth than anyone in Britain—or all of Europe, for that matter. No one wanted to alienate him.
    But Maggie knew there would be talk of the grand prince who supped beside a widowed viscountess. And quite possibly some remarks would be made in The Times for all to read.
    Victoria sat on Maggie’s other side, and leaned forward to address Thomas. “Tell us about Sabedoria, Your Highness. Where, exactly, is it?”
    â€œIt’s a faraway land on the southern half of the globe,” he replied, “and it’s much the size of your own Britain.”
    His thigh settled alongside Maggie’s as he spoke,and she knew it was not accidental. She should have shifted to avoid his touch, but when his hand drifted down to touch her leg, she found herself powerless to move.
    While he spoke of Sabedorian ships and seaports, flax plantations and trade opportunities, Maggie felt the heat of his body scorch through hers. He was priming her for their rendezvous on the morrow.
    Not that she needed any more priming.

Chapter 5
    I f Maggie had been able to sleep that night, she might have felt better the following morning. It was early, and not even the servants were stirring. Yet she was wide-awake, and pacing the length of her bedchamber, her body still humming with eagerness for Thomas’s touch. There had been no more kisses in the dark, remote rooms of the Waverly house, no further light flirtations in the ballroom.
    It had been a complete and utter seduction.
    Maggie feared she had become a wanton. Anticipation of her assignation with Thomas had become all-consuming. He’d filled her dreams, and during her many wakeful moments she’d been hot and trembling, impatient for his touch.
    An affair was the least sensible thing she could possibly contemplate. She should be grappling with all the troublesome aspects of her life, not dreaming of a man who would eventually sail away from England’s shores, leaving her behind. But the thought of a few hours’ pleasure in his bed had robbed her of her common sense.
    Maggie had never been the object of such single-minded attention or admiration, and it was