Parfit Knight (2 page)

The Marquis of
Amberley was rich, assured and thirty-four years old, with the
reputation of being a law unto himself; and, in addition, he was
possessed of a certain elusive charm which even his well-wishers
were inclined to regard as frankly disastrous.

Just now, his
careless dismissal of public opinion was causing his nearest
well-wisher a good deal of disquiet and, from his position at the
side of the room, the Honourable Jack Ingram stared irritably at
his friend’s face. As if aware of his scrutiny, the Marquis
suddenly glanced across at him, laughter tugging at his mouth and
brimming wickedly in his eyes. Then he lifted one brow in quizzical
sympathy and restored his attention to the game. Jack relaxed;
whatever else Amberley was, he was certainly not a fool.

‘Why so
thoughtful, my dear?’ asked a soft, drawling voice from behind him.
‘One would almost think you upset to see the bantling lose a few of
his feathers.’

Jack turned to
meet the Duke of Rockliffe’s mocking gaze.

‘Hardly,’ he
said. ‘Though I wish it was somebody else collecting them.’

‘Ah yes.’ The
Duke raised his glass with characteristic languor and levelled it
at Amberley. ‘But you can’t deny that it has a certain … poetry.
And he does it so well.’

‘Practice makes
perfect, in fact,’ snapped Jack sarcastically. ‘You have only to
add that both Amberley and Paris are expensive and you’ll have said
what everyone else is saying.’

‘Unworthy,
Jack.’ His Grace lowered the glass to make a haughty, sweeping
gesture. ‘I never run with the herd, you know.’

Mr Ingram gave
way to unwilling laughter.

‘I do, of
course.’ He paused for a moment. ‘Very well. If you don’t believe
Amberley is fleecing young Dacre in an attempt to recoup his
fortunes – what do you think he’s up to?’

‘The same as
you,’ replied his Grace, lazily amused. ‘He believes himself –
mistakenly, in my view – to be teaching the boy a useful and
well-deserved lesson. And the Honourable Robert, of course, joined
the table for much the same reason.’ He produced an enamelled
snuff-box and offered it. ‘Aurora, by Ravenet of Battersea. Quite
pretty, don’t you think? Though not, perhaps, best suited for
evening use.’ He sighed. ‘How vexing. More an afternoon box,
wouldn’t you say?’

‘Yes,’ agreed
Jack, used to and undeceived by this by-play.

‘Yes,’ repeated
Rockliffe with a faint smile. ‘Now … where was I? Ah yes. Friend
Robert, you must be aware, has neither forgotten nor forgiven
Amberley for succeeding where he failed with the so-delectable
Fanny. One cannot but see his point. But his dreams of retribution
– so melodramatic! – have gone sadly awry; for instead of breaking
Amberley’s bank, I’d estimate him to have lost some three thousand
guineas.’

‘Hell!’ said
Jack, startled. ‘As much as that?’

‘Oh – easily.
Experience, as they say, is never bought cheaply.’ The Duke turned
to go and then looked back to say blandly, ‘Amusing, isn’t it?’

The Honourable
Robert Dacre did not think so. And neither, if his expression was
any true guide, did the tall young gentleman in blue who stood
behind him, one hand resting on the back of his chair. Robert had
left sobriety behind him and with it any clear idea of his losses.
Only one resolve remained and that grew stronger with every bottle
– a fact which was beginning to dawn on his watching companion. The
blue-coated gentleman cast a dubious glance at the Marquis, unknown
to him before this evening, and encountered a look which made him
suddenly very angry. The fellow knew; he knew he had only to pass
the bank to another for Robert to stop playing – had known it all
along and yet done nothing.

His fingers
closed hard on his friend’s shoulder and he said urgently, ‘For
God’s sake, Bob – come away. Haven’t you lost enough?’

Robert shrugged
the hand off and over-bright brown eyes swivelled to meet worried
blue ones. ‘No. No, damn it. I haven’t,’ he replied thickly. ‘But
you don’t have to stay, Ver. Quite ca … cap … I can manage without
you.’

Captain Lord
Philip Vernon, late of His Majesty’s army, had more than one reason
to doubt this but nothing in his four-month experience of London
society had taught him what might be done to alter the situation.
He was, however, familiar enough with Mr Dacre to be fairly sure
that the morrow would see him seeking a loan to cover tonight’s
losses; and he was also uneasily aware that his betrothed might
well expect him to come to her brother’s assistance.

Philip was not,
as yet, very well-acquainted with his future bride. The match had
been hatched between her father and his uncle; and when Uncle
George had died, forcing him to resign his commission and take his
place as head of the family, Philip had decided that he could do
worse than follow the old gentleman’s wishes and offer for Isabel
Dacre. But Uncle George, he thought grimly, could never have
foreseen the possibility of Robert who – though pleasant enough in
the ordinary way – was wildly extravagant and bidding fair to
become a hardened gamester. Not that Robert’s excesses were any
excuse for the Marquis, whose honour should recoil from the thought
of winning large sums from a foolish boy.

Help was at
hand and from an unexpected source. Even as Lord Philip debated the
wisdom of appealing to Amberley’s better nature, always supposing
that he had one, the matter was taken out of his hands by a tall
and rakishly elegant gentleman in purple who strolled to the
Marquis’s side to gaze down at him out of mocking dark eyes.

Making a deep,
flourishing bow, he said, ‘My lord Marquis – your most obedient
servant!’

Grey-green eyes
laughed back at him as Amberley rose to respond in kind.

‘And yours, my
lord Duke!’ Then, raising one eyebrow, he said pleasantly, ‘Well,
Rock? You interrupt the game, you know.’

‘Indeed,’
drawled Rockliffe, flicking an invisible speck from one deep,
braided cuff. ‘Indeed. That was my intention.’

Somehow – and
Philip was not at all sure how he did it – the Duke was commanding
everyone’s attention. Gradually, the room’s companionable chatter
faded and died until every man there had his eyes fixed on the two
facing each other across the Hazard table. And, as Philip watched,
he was struck by a strange sense of likeness between them.
Something that had nothing to do with parity of height or age but
was more a similarity of type; of affinity in experience and
character. Then he shrugged the ridiculous notion aside. The Duke
was languid and smooth-spoken with, apparently, some sense of
honour; and at least his hair was conventionally powdered.

Amberley, it
appeared, was waiting with unabated good-humour for his Grace to
continue – and eventually he did so.

‘I’ve a mind,
if you will permit me, to try a throw for your bank.’

If the
atmosphere had been tense before, it was now positively electric.
Philip glanced down at Robert and perceived from his glazed
expression that he no longer had any clear idea of what was
happening.

The Marquis
spread eloquent hands and smiled.

‘For myself, I
have no objection. But perhaps these gentlemen … ?’ It was a
courteous appeal to the table and, one by one, as if some
master-puppeteer had pulled their strings, each signified his
consent. All that is, except Robert – who was fast coming to
resemble a glassy-eyed effigy.

Like all
moments of eagerly anticipated crisis, it was over in a flash,
leaving the company silent and faintly dissatisfied. And the one
man amongst them who ought, by rights, to show some disappointment
or shame, apparently felt neither.

‘Behold, your
Grace,’ announced Amberley, with what Philip privately considered
inappropriate levity, ‘the bank is yours.’

Amusement
lurked in Rockliffe’s eyes.

‘Behold also,’
he returned suavely, ‘that Mr Dacre has fallen asleep.’

As he glanced
quickly down to see that it was, alas, all too true, Philip heard
the Marquis give a tiny choke of laughter and say unsteadily,
‘
Pique, repique
and
capot
– and let that be a lesson
to you!’

This made no
sense whatsoever to Philip. He’d have liked to thank Rockliffe for
his intervention which, though it had turned out to be unnecessary,
he was convinced had been well-meant; but his acquaintance with the
Duke was almost non-existent and he therefore had no idea of how
such an overture would be received, so he gave a faint sigh and
turned his attention to the tedious task of getting Robert
home.

He was in the
vestibule, engaged in keeping his future brother-in-law upright
against the wall whilst waiting for the porter to summon a chair
when he heard a now-familiar voice say lightly, ‘Shades of Milo and
his ass. Do you need any help?’

It was the last
straw and Philip, his patience tried to the limit, cast the Marquis
a look of blazing scorn. ‘Thank you, no. I think you’ve left it a
little late, don’t you?’

Amberley met
the angry blue gaze sympathetically.

‘You would
naturally assume so. Have I quite spoilt your evening?’

‘Oh no! I
enjoy
watching a boy being fleeced by a hardened gamester
nearly twice his age,’ snapped Philip. ‘But that’s beside the
point. I don’t know if you make a habit of this sort of thing, but
– ‘

‘No, indeed.
How should you?’ enquired the Marquis cheerfully. ‘Forgive me but
I’m afraid I really have no intention of explaining myself to you –
nor do I have the remotest interest in your opinion of my
character.’ He smiled suddenly. ‘Permit me to point out that Mr
Dacre is slipping.’

Philip stifled
an oath, caught swiftly at Robert’s coat and jerked him upright.
When he turned round again it was to find that Mr Ingram had
appeared and was regarding them with mild anxiety.

The Marquis
strolled unhurriedly to the door, pausing to cast a knowledgeable
eye over Robert before addressing himself once more to Philip.

‘When your
friend has recovered what little sense God gave him, I should be
obliged if you will tell him to wait on me before noon the day
after tomorrow. Without fail.’

‘Duns after
you, my lord?’ taunted Philip before he could stop himself.

The grey-green
eyes surveyed him with resigned patience. Then, ‘You would do well
to acquire a little tolerance – and to recollect that you don’t
know me at all. This matter is between Mr Dacre and myself and your
interference in it does me no harm and you little credit. As for my
message – try to accept that it’s in Mr Dacre’s best interest to do
as I ask.’

No longer
amused, the voice held a crisp authority uncannily like Philip’s
erstwhile senior officers. Uncomfortably aware that his anger had
betrayed him into a gross lack of conduct – a fact which naturally
did nothing to improve his temper – he put a rigid curb on his
tongue and said coldly, ‘I doubt we are likely to agree on that,
sir. But you need have no fear. I’ll see to it that Mr Dacre is
made aware of your wishes.’

‘I’m glad to
hear it.’ The ice melted and, after a second’s shrewd appraisal,
the Marquis asked abruptly, ‘Hussars or Grenadiers?’

Philip’s jaw
dropped. ‘G-grenadiers. I sold out.’

Amberley
smiled. ‘I see. You should try persuading Mr Dacre to sign up for a
time. It would do him a great deal of good.’ And with a slight,
graceful bow he was gone, leaving Mr Ingram to follow helplessly in
his wake while Lord Philip stared after them in complete
bewilderment.

Strolling
across Chesterfield Street in the direction of Berkeley Square,
Jack caught up with the Marquis and began with the question that
took rather ridiculous precedence over all others.

‘How did you
know he was an army man?’

‘Impressed,
Jack?’

‘Very. I
thought you left omniscience to Rockliffe.’

‘And so I do,’
came the laughing reply. ‘No – I’m afraid it was merely something
in his bearing. That and the severity of his tailoring. Do you know
who he is?’

Mr Ingram shook
his head. ‘No. But I’ve spent very little time in town this winter.
Rock could probably tell you.’

‘Not a doubt of
it.’ Amberley paused and then said thoughtfully, ‘A pleasant enough
young fellow when he’s off his high ropes, I should think – but I
can’t imagine what leads him to spend time with Robert Dacre. Apart
from the fact that there must be five or six years between them, I
can’t imagine they’ve very much in common.’

‘No.’ Jack
thought for a moment and then said, ‘I suppose you know what
everyone was saying back there?’

‘Why, yes.’
Amusement rippled through the pleasant voice. ‘They think I lost my
fortune in the wicked flesh-pots of Paris and have come home to
repair it; that I’m a ravening wolf, preying on the innocent – a
villainous fleecer of youths – a leader of lambs to the slaughter.
And worse still, they’re not at all sure I’m not a Captain
Sharp.’

‘Don’t be an
idiot!’ snapped Jack, crossly. ‘No one thinks you cheated – though,
if they did think it, you’d have no one to blame but yourself. It’s
one thing not to care what’s said of you but quite another to
deliberately create a false impression. There are times when I
think you’re a candidate for Bedlam!’

The Marquis
eyed him with mischievous concern.

‘Calm down,
Jack – before you suffer an apoplexy. And you should know by now
that I never deliberately create anything. I simply let things take
their course.’

Grasping his
arm, Mr Ingram pulled him to a halt.

‘Nick - how
much does that young fool owe you?’

‘I’m afraid I
wasn’t counting,’ replied Amberley, his attention plainly
elsewhere. ‘If I promise not to run away, do you think you might
cease mauling my favourite coat?’

‘Rock thinks it
to be over three thousand,’ said Jack, letting go of the coat but
not of his argument.