The Player (Rockliffe Book 3) (13 page)

‘Yes.
 
But
--’

‘No buts,
petite
.
 
Not tonight.’
 
And, sliding an arm about her waist, he drew her into his arms and
kissed her.

It was not like the last time.
 
Caroline felt no shock or confusion; just a
sweet, dizzying pleasure that made her melt against him in a way that, had she
but known it, was both offer and invitation. Her fingers tangled in his domino,
holding him as close as she could and wanting only to prolong the moment.
 
But he, seemingly conscious that they might
at any moment be seen, released her mouth with obvious reluctance and, looking
directly into her eyes, said, ‘I do not wish to leave you but I will not
tarnish your reputation.
 
And so …
au revoir, ma ch
é
re
Caroline.
 
Until we meet again.’

‘Will we?’ she asked unevenly. ‘
Will
we meet again?’

‘Of course.’
 
He stepped back, smiling and held up his hand so the light glinted off
the ruby.
 
‘Have you forgotten?
 
I still have your ring.’
 
And, with that, he slid back into the shadows
whence he had come.

‘Caroline?’

A faintly irritable voice pulled her back into the
present and was just in time to stop her trying to see where her highwayman had
gone.
 
Spinning quickly to face Lord
Sheringham who stood framed against the light spilling through the tall
windows, she said, ‘I’m here.’

He stepped out on to the terrace, a glass in each
hand.

‘What on earth are you doing outside?’

‘I – I wanted some air.’
 
Her heart was beating erratically at the
knowledge of just how close she and Claude had come to discovery.
 
‘Is that my wine?
 
Thank you.’

He gave her the glass, considered ushering her
back inside and then thought better of it.

‘It’s a very clear night … though somewhat chilly,
perhaps.’

‘Just a little,’ she agreed, taking a fortifying
gulp of her wine. ‘But a relief after the heat in the ballroom.’

‘Indeed.
 
You shouldn’t really be here alone, however.
 
A man finding you unaccompanied might be
tempted to take advantage.’

‘So Lady Brassington told me.’
 
Another gulp.
 
‘But you’re here now – so I’m perfectly safe, am I not?’

Most women would have made that sound like a
challenge or even an invitation.
 
Caroline managed to make it sound as if she thought him the dullest, most
stultifyingly staid fellow in creation.
 
He wondered what had happened during the course of the evening in his
absence.
 
Whatever it was, he didn’t find
this sudden transformation an improvement.
 
Still, it might be possible to turn it to his advantage.

His tone nicely threaded with amusement, he said,
‘Not
perfectly
safe, perhaps … but
safe enough, considering I have offered you my hand.’
 
He paused, allowing her a second to think
about this.
 
Then, ‘Have you an answer
for me yet, by the way?’

Caroline wished she’d had the sense to walk back
inside the instant she’d seen him.

‘Not quite yet, I’m afraid.
 
But I have been giving it a lot of thought.’

‘How very kind of you.’
 

‘And
necessary
,’
she said firmly. ‘I appreciate the honour you’ve done me.
 
But it’s a decision that will affect the rest
of our lives. So --’

‘I am aware of that.’
 
Marcus moderated his tone.
 
‘Am I correct in assuming that your main
concern is that we are not sufficiently well-acquainted?’

It wasn’t – but it was simplest to let him think
so.
 

‘Yes.’

‘Then there is an easy way to remedy it, don’t you
think?’

Belatedly seeing where this might be going,
Caroline said cautiously, ‘Time.
 
Surely
that is the only answer.’

‘It’s
one
answer.
 
I wouldn’t say it’s the
only
one.’

He set his glass on the parapet of the terrace and
reached out to take hers from her.
 
Caroline tried to hold on to it but let it go when wine spilled over her
hand.

‘Lord Sheringham, I don’t think --’

‘Marcus,’ he said, fastidiously drying the wine
from her fingers with his handkerchief. ‘My name is Marcus.’

‘Yes.
 
I
know.
 
But --’ She stopped when he raised
her hand to his lips and placed a lingering kiss in her palm.
 
Then, trying again, she said, ‘I should
return to the ballroom.
 
Lady Brassington
will be wondering what has become of me.’

‘Then she can wonder for a few minutes longer, can
she not?’
 
And he reached out to pull her
into his arms.

Caroline rammed both hands against his chest.
 
At the back of her mind was a bubble of faint
hysteria caused by the thought that, having two men kiss her inside ten minutes,
was a far cry from being the least desirable girl in the room.
 
But she didn’t
want
Lord Sheringham to kiss her.
 
In fact, she actively wanted him
not
to.
 
So she turned her face away, pushed
harder and said, ‘Please, sir – this is neither appropriate nor helpful.’

‘How do you know?
 
And why so prudish?’
 
Marcus
managed to grasp both of her wrists and hold them at her sides.
 
Smiling, he said, ‘Be still, my dear.
 
I’m hardly about to ravish you.
 
And if you give yourself the chance, you may
even enjoy it.’

‘I said
no!
’
 
She wrenched her hands free with a strength
that surprised him and simultaneously stamped hard on his foot, making him
grunt.
 
Then, stepping back, she said
coldly, ‘We are not betrothed
yet
, my
lord.
 
And this kind of behaviour is
unlikely to persuade me.’

His lordship promptly forgot his company
manners.
 
He said, ‘
Persuade
you?
 
Why should I
need to do that?
 
Who else is there, do
you think, who will want you?’

His words produced a sudden silence broken only by
the distant sounds from the ballroom.
 
Then, from much closer, came the sound of a series of slow hand-claps.

‘Bravo,’ said a cool, sardonic voice.
 
‘Bravo, indeed.
 
With such a magnificent display of charm, I’m
surprised the lady isn’t swooning at your feet.’

Taken unawares, Marcus swore.
 
Equally surprised, Caroline recognised the
voice of her intriguing and unknown partner who now stood a few feet away, his
mask hanging loosely from one careless hand and his body blocking the view of
the crowded ballroom.

‘Go to hell, Sarre!’ snapped his lordship
furiously. ‘This is no business of yours.’

Sarre?
Caroline
stared
. He’s the Earl of Sarre?
And
finally recognising him,
Of course he is.
 
The man at Lady Linton’s who took one look
and dismissed me out of hand.
 
Then tonight…
oh God.
 
How long has he been watching?
 
Did he see Claude?
 

Her mouth went dry at the mere thought.

‘None whatsoever.’
 
The Earl advanced a little way towards them. ‘But one can’t help
wondering if you’ve decided it might be quicker to simply compromise Mistress
Maitland into marrying you. You know how that works, I’m sure.
 
A supposedly secret embrace in a place where
it’s bound to be witnessed?
 
If that’s
the case, I can understand why you find my arrival untimely.’

‘Untimely, unwelcome and wholly unnecessary!
 
I
 
--’

‘Did you?’ asked Caroline sharply. ‘
Did
you try to kiss me because you hoped
to compromise me?’

‘What?
 
No,
of course I didn’t.
 
My feelings overcame
me – for which I apologise.
 
As usual,
Lord Sarre is just trying to make mischief.’

‘Not at all,’ drawled the Earl. ‘I was merely
expressing a very natural concern for a lady’s reputation.’

‘
This
lady’s reputation,’ said Marcus, in a tone that could have cut bread, ‘is
perfectly safe with me – as is her person.
 
A lot safer, shall we say, than it would be with you.’

‘And there it is again,’ sighed Sarre, boredom infecting
every syllable.
 
‘How very predictable
you are.
 
But I seem to recall having
advised you to take care … and warned you of the consequences if you don’t.’

‘You don’t frighten me, Sarre.
 
Why should you?’
 
Making a slight, contemptuous gesture in the
direction of the other man, Marcus turned to Caroline and said, ‘You should
avoid his lordship if you value your health.
 
It’s said he pushes innocent girls from rooftops.’

Caroline’s eyes widened but she said nothing, only
too aware that whatever was brewing between these men needed no third party.

‘Girls?
 
Plural?
 
That implies a habit, does it not? And said by whom?’ came the mocking
reply.
 
‘Ah yes.
 
Said by you, Marcus.
 
Only by you.’

‘One accuser is enough.’

‘One slanderer is
more
than enough.’ The Earl’s brows rose but his gaze remained
disconcertingly impenetrable.
 
‘Shall I
take you to law?
 
I could, you know.
 
And the difference between us now is that I
can afford it, whereas you can’t.’

‘I doubt that,’ scoffed his lordship. ‘Your
family’s money was gone before you were born.’

‘Unlike yours,’ agreed Sarre.
 
‘But then, unlike you, I’ve neither wasted
the last decade nor spent it squandering every penny I could lay my hands on.’

For the first time, Lord Sheringham looked less
than certain.
 
He scowled and said
nothing.

The Earl, by contrast, appeared perfectly at ease.

‘If not a court-case – how about payment in
kind?
 
Shall I follow your example and
tell this young lady that she should consider carefully before allying herself
with a man who has no compunction in bedding unmarried, gently-bred girls …
even those who are already promised elsewhere?’
 
He paused, an unholy glint in his eyes.
 
‘But there.
 
I appear to have
already done so, don’t I?
 
Poor
Marcus.
 
Unless you can repair the
damage, you may have to look elsewhere for your fortune.’

‘You bastard,’ said Marcus, clenching his fists.
 
‘You think I’ll tolerate that?’

‘You’ll have to, won’t you?
 
I doubt, since you’ve no idea how I might
retaliate, that you’re about to hit me.
 
And, having avoided my challenge ten years ago, it’s hardly likely
you’ll rise to it now – though, as I said a few nights ago, it still stands.’
 
Sarre waited, somehow making every second an
insult. ‘Well?
 
Any time or place of your
choosing.
 
You have only to name your
friends.’

Appearing to recall a degree or two of propriety,
Marcus said, ‘Caroline … go back to the ballroom and find Lady Brassington.’

‘It’s a bit late for that, isn’t it?
 
If you were going to spare the lady’s
sensibilities, you ought to have sent her away ten minutes ago.
 
On the other hand, if you’d rather she didn’t
hear you playing the coward again, I suppose now is as good a time as any.’

‘Excuse me,’ said Caroline, re-inflating her lungs
and deciding it was time to take part in this duel of words.
 
‘I don’t need either one of you to tell me
what I should do … and having listened to all these taunts and insinuations,
I’ve a piece of advice for the pair of you.
 
If this quarrel is still unresolved after ten years, one or both of you
must be mildly deranged.
 
Eight year old
girls
can manage their squabbles
better.
 
Upon which note,’ she said,
gathering her domino about her, ‘I’ll leave you to insult each other in
private.’

~
 
*
 
*
 
~
 
*
 
*
 
~

On the following evening, Adrian sat in his
parlour staring moodily into a glass of claret.
 
Last night’s confrontation with Marcus Sheringham had been satisfying in
some senses but a total waste of time in others. And Caroline Maitland, most
surprisingly, had not only shown more spirit than he’d have expected but also
managed to make him feel just a little ridiculous.
 
The only consolation was that Marcus, due to
his pressing need to marry the girl, probably felt worse.

The scene that Adrian had witnessed suggested that
Lord Sheringham’s chances of winning the heiress weren’t high.
 
Indeed, after the insulting way he’d spoken
to her, he was lucky she hadn’t hit him.
 
Adrian wondered
why
she hadn’t.
 
He also wondered why Marcus was apparently blind
to the warmth in those velvety dark eyes and oblivious of that beguiling
dimple. Perhaps he couldn’t see past the awful gowns … or perhaps he was dazzled
by the hundred thousand pounds. Either way, he couldn’t ever have really looked
at her.

Adrian frowned, plagued by an oddly uncomfortable
sensation that he decided was best not investigated.
 
Then, shrugging Caroline Maitland aside, he
turned his thoughts to more practical matters.
 

He considered strolling round to Sinclair’s and
then decided against it.
 
The morning’s
post would have acquainted Lord Sheringham with the news that his line of
credit had been terminated and his current debt called in.
 
This probably meant that his lordship had
already called at the club, tried everything he knew to get both decisions
reversed and been met with the brick wall that was Aristide at his most
impervious.
 
As far as Adrian was
concerned, the details of what had occurred could wait until tomorrow.
 
He drained his glass, re-filled it and
reached for a pack of cards.

He dealt five hands face-down, then a sixth one
face up and placed the remaining stack to one side, flipping over the top
card.
 
Then he let his mind move beyond
what he could actually see, to the probabilities those things suggested to
him.
 
Usually, when he sat alone doing
this, time passed without him even noticing it.
 
Tonight for some reason, the sound of the hall clock chiming every
quarter hour set his teeth on edge.
 
Eventually, when he couldn’t stand it any longer, he pushed the cards
aside and stood up.

Unfortunately, he realised that he had no idea
what else to do to pass the evening.
 
He’d declined an invitation to a ball and another to a soir
é
e.
 
He didn’t regret either one.
 
As far as balls went, he’d accomplished
everything he’d hoped to last night at the Overbury masquerade.
 
And the mere idea of a soir
é
e, with all those
amateurs trotting out their party pieces, made him shudder. If he went to Sinclair’s
he’d have to restrict himself to the Hazard table because he couldn’t play
cards without giving himself a headache; and, though his membership of White’s
had apparently been approved, he’d yet to show his face there.
 
He supposed the latter was his best
option.
 
He just didn’t feel very
enthusiastic about it.

In short, he felt both edgy and restless … and
didn’t have to think very hard to work out why.
 
Firstly, the two things guaranteed to relax him were not currently
available.
 
He couldn’t play cards and he
no longer had a mistress.
 
He recognised
that the second of these could be remedied – though perhaps not
immediately.
 
He didn’t patronise whores;
he hadn’t been in London long enough to become acquainted with any pretty young
widows; and the notion of a business arrangement with a courtesan wasn’t
particularly appealing.
 
He wanted to
spend time with a woman he actually liked … not merely one who could provide
physical release.
 
He thought
nostalgically about Angelique to whom he’d said goodbye in Paris.
 
Then he banished the thought before it became
pointlessly enjoyable.

Of course, he’d told his mother that he intended
to marry and he realised this was a matter he ought to address.
 
He’d also said it didn’t matter who his bride
was as long as she was fertile – but that wasn’t entirely true.
 
Birth was of no particular consequence.
 
But the thought of being tied for life to a
stupid woman or one lacking both kindness and humour was more than he could
tolerate – which meant it wasn’t going to be an easy decision, even supposing
he managed to find a girl who didn’t shy away from balconies in case he pushed
her off.

In addition to everything else, he missed acting –
which was ridiculous, considering that he’d been doing little else since he
landed at Dover.
 
One role with his
mother, another with Nicholas, a third with Aristide and Mr Lessing … and the
impersonal, sophisticated aristocrat he showed to everyone else.
 
Of his recent incarnations, Julius von
Rainmayr had been particularly amusing.
 
It was always fun watching well-bred men trying to hide their impatience
or guessing which of them would pick up his cane and how many times he could
get them do it.
 
None of this, however,
was any substitute for the chaos and camaraderie of theatre. It made the hollow
space inside him emptier still and left him feeling as if half of his life was
missing.

Adrian swore beneath his breath, first in French
and then, even more irritably, in English.
 
Then he swept out of the room and headed for the stairs.
 
Bertrand, just emerging from the kitchen,
said, ‘Going somewhere?’

‘Yes.
 
White’s,
probably. I’ll have to make my debut there sometime or other – so it might as
well be tonight.’

‘You’ll need to change your clothes, then.’

‘Oddly enough, I was on my way to do that very
thing,’ came the irritable reply. ‘Is there anything else you think I might not
manage to work out on my own?’
 

Bertrand shrugged.
 
‘Yes.
 
Do something about your
mood before you walk into White’s.
 
Unless you want to pick a fight with somebody.’

And he sauntered back into the kitchen.

*
 
*
 
*

At around the time the Earl of Sarre was walking
into London’s most exclusive club, Lord Nicholas Wynstanton was abandoning Pharaoh
for the Hazard table.
 
He made a few
casts, lost and decided he was bored.
 
A
hand of piquet with Lord March alleviated this sad state of affairs for a time
but when March suggested joining the basset table upstairs, Nicholas – who enjoyed
cards as much as the next man but was by no means a gamester – laughed and
shook his head.

‘No, no – from what I hear, the play up there is
too deep for me.’

‘Keep me company and watch for a time, then.
 
Or we could take supper.’

Nicholas grinned.
 
‘Supper sounds a good idea.
 
Perhaps I’ll finally get to meet Delacroix’s sister – who I’ll swear
he’s been keeping hidden from me.’

‘Dear me. Just how much of a Lothario does
Aristide think you are?’

‘One of epic proportions.’

‘Really?’ drawled March.
 
And then, ‘You must have been boasting
again.’

The two gentlemen enjoyed a leisurely and exquisitely-prepared
meal but were denied any sign of Mademoiselle Delacroix.
 
An idle enquiry produced the information that
Mamzelle toured the rooms before service began and again later in the evening
but generally occupied herself with other matters unless there was a problem or
they were exceptionally busy.
 
Lord March
took the news philosophically and went off to lose some money at basset.
 
Lord Nicholas elected to finish a bottle of
particularly good Chambertin and promised to re-join his friend in due course.

It was just as he was leaving the dining-room and
passing the stairs that led to the offices and private quarters above when he
caught a drift of smoke.
 
Nicholas
stopped.
 
Smoke?
 
He sniffed the
air.
 
Yes, smoke.
 
No question of it.
 
And not pipe-smoke, either.
 
As for the kitchens, they were two floors
below.
 
If something was on fire down there
and he could smell it here, the whole house was going up – which, since there
were no sounds of mayhem downstairs, it clearly wasn’t.
 
He set his foot on the stairs to Aristide’s
office, hesitated and then, hearing a crash and a muffled cry, went up them two
at a time.
 
By the time he reached the
manager’s door, smoke was curling beneath it.

Nicholas put his hand on the latch, took a moment
to bellow ‘Fire!’ at the top of his lungs and then, opening the door as little
as possible, slid inside and shut it behind him.
 

The room was swiftly filling with smoke through
which Nicholas saw a situation that was bad but not catastrophic.
 
Someone appeared to have tried to burn great
quantities of paper, some of which had fallen from the grate and set the rug
alight.
 
Amidst this, a woman was tossing
burning papers back on to the hearthstone whilst simultaneously trying to stamp
out the flames around her feet.
 
She was coughing,
in imminent danger of setting her skirts alight and neither of her efforts was working.

The only useful skill Nicholas had retained from
his flirtation with the military was that of quick thinking.
 
Admittedly, he only normally needed it where
bedrooms were involved – but the principle was the same.
 
He ran across to the window and, with one
savage tug, brought down the curtains.
 
Then, wheeling back to the hearth, he caught
the woman’s arm and swung her out of the way while he used the curtain to
smother the fire.
 
He was just hopping
about on top of it as he tried to extinguish any remaining sparks when two
burly footmen stormed into the room and grabbed his arms.

‘Mamzelle!’ said one of them.
 
‘What’s this fancy-arsed bugger done to
you?
 
If ’e’s laid a bleeding ’and on
you, me and Dick’ll cut ’is bleeding fingers off.’

‘Now wait just a minute,’ objected Nicholas, also
coughing and trying to shake off hands the size of giant hams. ‘If I hadn’t got
here when I did,
Mamzelle
would be burning like a
damned beacon by now.’

‘Shut it, you,’ said the other bruiser, using his
free hand to cuff his lordship about the head.
 
‘If you was trying to burn the place down --’

‘He wasn’t,’ said the woman between bouts of
coughing, as she threw the window open. ‘Let him go.’

‘What?’ This time both footmen spoke in unison.

‘Let. Him. Go.’
 
She spoke very clearly as if to extremely young children.
 
‘Do. It. Now.’

The crippling grips relaxed, allowing Nicholas to brush
down his coat and frown at the creases in his sleeves.
 
With what, for him, was rare acidity, he
muttered, ‘My pleasure, Mademoiselle.
 
Think nothing of it.’

She impaled him on a withering stare.
 
‘What are you talking about?’

‘I assumed you were going to thank me for my
assistance and was saving you the trouble.’

‘Oh – for God’s sake.’
 
She turned her attention back to the two
muscle-bound idiots.
 
‘Go and fetch my
brother.
 
I don’t care where he is or
what he’s doing – I want him up here immediately.
 
Have you got that?’

‘Yes, Mamzelle.’

‘So
move!
’

They moved.
 

Nicholas, meanwhile had recovered most of his
usual good-humour.
 
He had also become
aware that the lady was uncommonly beautiful.
 
Unfortunately, though he had naturally noticed the glowing hair and
clear green eyes, he was primarily bewitched by the effect that trying to drag
some clean air into her lungs had on her delightful bosom.
 
By the time he managed to tear his eyes away
from her
d
é
colletage
,
the lady’s expression would have made hell freeze.

Colouring slightly, he said, ‘Mademoiselle
Delacroix, I presume?’

She nodded carelessly.
 
Then, as if she didn’t know perfectly well
who he was and hadn’t spent more time than she’d ever admit watching from the
shadows of the gallery as he played Hazard or strolled with his friends on the
floor below, ‘And you are?’

‘Nicholas Wynstanton.’
 
He gestured to the mess on the hearth and
added, ‘In future, perhaps you should try burning your papers a few at a
time.
 
Or possibly in the kitchen?’

‘I would if I had.
 
But I didn’t.’

‘I’m sorry?’

‘It wasn’t I who tried to burn the papers,’ she
patiently. ‘My room is just through there.
 
By the time I smelled the smoke, the damage was already under way.’