The Rogue Prince Read Online Free Page B

into the shape of an eagle. After only an hour of exploration, they’d found that old Duncan’s unlikely tales of riches beyond belief had been true.
    Duncan’s treasure could not ease the restlessness inside Tom, but they made all of his plans possible. It had been seventeen years since he’d known peace. Seventeen years since he’d felt any kind of contentment or satisfaction.
    Until two days before, when he’d looked into the soft gray eyes of Zachary’s mother.
    He tossed aside the beautifully penned invitations from the scions of society and pulled on his coat. He was going back to Hanover Square. But not to wallow in his memories of past events at number nineteen. He’d put off seeing the woman again—Maggie—for too long.
    He knew it wasn’t prudent. She was married,and he was a man with a mission that had nothing to do with any women at all, much less the flawed gray-eyed matron who’d touched his arm and sent a firestorm of awareness through him. She was no conventional beauty, but she was exactly the kind of woman who appealed to him. Unpretentious, and down-to-earth, her emotions had been heartfelt. She was no stuffy English noblewoman with the practiced airs of those he’d encountered since his return home, but a sweet woman with a hint of vulnerability lurking in her magnificent eyes.
    Tom had not been able to stop thinking of the many pleasurable hours she must provide her husband in their bed, a ridiculously unproductive thought process.
    â€œTommy Boy?”
    His nerves on edge, Tom looked up sharply at Nathaniel, who’d entered the room silently. He went right to the pile of invitations and picked up the one on top. “This one is it, my boy,” Nate said, holding it up for Thomas to see. “Your moment is about to arrive.”
    â€œAye,” Tom replied quietly. It felt so strange to be back in his native land, under such changed circumstances. He’d shared his treasure with Nate, of course, and now the two of them were far richer than the prince regent himself. With an exceedingly careful orchestration, with flags and credentials and documents of authenticity, the English authorities believed he was a foreign dignitary who had treaties to be signed and a superior product to trade.
    It was all a foil for the vengeance he would wreak against Leighton and Julian.
    â€œThis is the event we should attend,” said Nate.
    â€œI agree. Duchess Waverly’s ball will give us entrée to the cream of society.”
    â€œLeighton Ingleby—Lord Shefford, now—will be there. You can make his acquaintance and begin to draw him into your web.”
    Nate harbored a deep hatred for the “toffs” who’d sent him away from London in chains, away from his pregnant sweetheart. Nate had learned that the poor mot, a rookery girl of sixteen, had died in childbirth only a few days after Nate’s incarceration. So had the child.
    Thomas understood Nate’s hatred, for he harbored his own. And he had started on the only course that could satisfy his need to even the score. It was early in the season, and the Waverly ball was the most important event thus far. Shefford would surely attend a ball given by the most prestigious matron of society. That was where Tom would introduce himself to the man, and draw him into the trap he would use to destroy him. He only wished Julian still lived, and could be hurt as grievously as Tom had been.
    He would like to send both his accusers and his judge to Norfolk Island to suffer the same pain and indignities Tom had endured. That was impossible, of course, but he could take away what was most important to them. He had the resources to make their lives hell.
    â€œHas there been any word from Saret or Salim?”Tom asked, using the fictitious names his cohorts had chosen for themselves. They were two former convicts who’d returned to England with Tom as part of his entourage. All