The Player (Rockliffe Book 3) (16 page)

Damn
.
 

He’d told her to be careful – but plainly she
hadn’t listened.
 
On the other hand, she
didn’t know what he knew.
 
She didn’t
know that Marcus Sheringham had recently conducted a singularly rash raid on
Sinclair’s or that Aristide had that day sent him a politely-worded reminder of
both his debt and the date payment was due.
 
And she didn’t know that, right now, his lordship was prowling the
gallery on the far side of the Rotunda as though he was hunting for someone.

She ought to be safe enough, thought Sarre.
 
He wasn’t familiar with the building but,
from what he’d seen, the gallery probably didn’t run continuously – thus
placing Marcus on one side and his quarry on the other. But if he was wrong, if
there were passageways he couldn’t see and more than two staircases … and if Caroline
was roaming at will, the two of them could meet up at any time.
 

Hell
.

Very briefly, Sarre wondered why he didn’t want
that to happen and recognised that it was not just about keeping Marcus trapped
in the pit of his own making; it was also about feeling that the girl deserved
something better than to drop like a ripe plum into the clutches of a
fortune-hunter … and particularly
that
fortune-hunter.

All of which meant he’d have to do something.
 
Quickly.

Bloody,
bloody hell
.

All the time he’d been thinking, he’d carried on
walking in the direction that he guessed – and hoped – Caroline would have
taken.
 
His best chance was to catch up
with her before Marcus did.
 
He also
realised that the Pantheon itself offered him two options of how he wanted to
manage this.
 
One of them was safe and
easy; the other … wasn’t.
 
He considered
his options for a moment.
 
Then, with a
smile and a shrug, he made his choice.

Caroline, meanwhile, had arrived at the point where
a staircase led down to the main floor and the gallery narrowed to
circumnavigate the curve of the Rotunda.
 
It looked to be no more than a maintenance corridor, presumably little
frequented by guests; and her only other choices were either to return the way
she had come or to take the stairs down.
 
The latter was clearly not an option. She knew better than to appear on
the main floor, alone and without her mask.
 
But she didn’t feel like returning to the rest of the party just yet so
she chose the corridor.

She hadn’t gone more than a few yards when she
heard the sound of footsteps approaching from the other direction.
 
She hoped it was one of the Pantheon’s
employees.
 
Since her skirts were almost
brushing either wall, she also hoped he wasn’t carrying anything large because,
if he was, they were going to have difficulty getting past each other.
 
The idea of squeezing by anyone at all didn’t
sound like a good idea.
 
Caroline turned
round and retraced her steps to allow whoever it was a clear passage.
 
She had just reached the landing when a hand
was wrapped firmly around her elbow and a voice said, ‘Dear me.
 
This is fortuitous.
 
I was still trying to work out how to prise
you away from the Cavershams.’

Thoroughly startled and trying to pull her arm
free, Caroline said coldly, ‘I thought, my lord, that I had already told you I
dislike being mauled.’

‘In public,’ said Marcus, pulling her towards the
stairs.
 
‘This isn’t in public.
 
But we can soon mend that.’

As best she could, she dug her heels into the
carpet and tried to stand her ground.

‘Let me go!’

He continued dragging her with him. ‘No.
 
I don’t think I will.’

‘But this is stupid!
 
What on earth do you think to achieve?
 
I will
not marry you
.
 
How many times must I
say it?’

‘As often as you like.
 
Though I imagine you’ll stop quickly enough
when a goodly number of people downstairs see you leaving with me through the
main door.’

Alarm began to feather down Caroline’s spine.
 
Still struggling furiously, she said, ‘They
won’t see it because it isn’t going to happen!
 
I’ll scream my head off.
 
If you
don’t let go of me, I’ll start right now!’

By way of answer, Lord Sheringham twisted the arm
he held behind her back and, spinning her round, clamped his other hand over
her mouth.

‘You won’t, my dear.
 
By the time I get you down those stairs,
you’ll be semi-conscious. And I have a carriage waiting – though it won’t be
taking you home.’

Caroline bit his fingers, rammed her free elbow
into his gut and used her second of freedom to scream.
 
At the same time and from just behind them, a
furious, French-accented voice said, ‘
Merde
alors!
 
What is this?’

Marcus dropped Caroline like a hot brick and
whirled round to face a dark-haired fellow whose eyes, behind the black silk
mask, threatened imminent violence.
 
He
opened his mouth but before he could get a word out, Caroline said
breathlessly, ‘Thank God!’

The Frenchman glanced her way and said curtly, ‘He
has hurt you?’

‘No.
 
Not
really.’

‘Not
really?
’
 
The wild glare swung back to Marcus and its
owner advanced slowly, step by step until the two men were barely a foot
apart.
 
‘You will answer for this,
milord.’

‘Answer for what?
 
The lady is betrothed to me and --’

‘No I’m damned well not!’ shouted Caroline.
 
And, to the highwayman, ‘I’m not marrying
him.
 
I told him that – but now he seems
to think he can force me.’

‘Not,’ said Claude Duvall, silkily, ‘while I am
here.’

‘Look!’ snapped Marcus.
 
‘I don’t know who the hell you are, but --’

‘Clearly you do not.
 
Otherwise you would not risk meeting me over
a blade or a pistol.
 
I am a
master-swordsman and a deadly shot.’

Caroline knew a sudden insane desire to
giggle.
 

Marcus also suspected a bluff but didn’t feel
inclined to call it.
 
Drawing himself up
ramrod straight, he said, ‘I’ve no intention of meeting you at all, you
interfering bastard.’

‘Good,’ said Claude cheerfully.
 
‘Then we settle this now.’
 
And, without any warning, he delivered a
crashing blow to Lord Sheringham’s jaw.

Marcus careened into the wall and narrowly avoided
falling headlong down the stairs.

The highwayman flexed his knuckles, offered his
arm to Caroline and bowed.

‘Mademoiselle … allow me to restore you to your
friends.’
 
And, leaving Marcus clutching
his jaw and staring after them with suddenly narrowed eyes, he led her back
along the gallery.

She whispered, ‘Thank you. I’ve no idea how you
came to be there – but I was never so glad to see anyone in my life.’

‘Are you quite sure he did not hurt you,
mignonne?
’

‘Yes – though God alone knows what he had in
mind.’
 
Caroline suddenly realised that
she was starting to shake rather badly.
 
She said, ‘Claude … I think I would like to sit down for a moment.’

‘Of course.
 
I saw an empty booth … yes.
 
This one.’
 
He drew her inside a box which, though
littered with the debris of the evening and filled with the smell of recently
extinguished candles, was blessedly deserted.
 
Then, when she was seated, he said rapidly, ‘I should not stay.
 
Someone will surely be looking for you and if
you are found with me, it will not go well for you.’

‘I doubt,’ she replied lightly, ‘that anyone’s
even noticed I’m gone.
 
But you’re
right.
 
You shouldn’t stay – but for your
sake, not mine.
 
In a minute or two, I’ll
be perfectly capable of making my way back alone.’

‘I do not like this.’
 
Dropping to one knee before her, he clasped
both of her hands in his and placed a gentle kiss on each of them.
 
Then, seeming to frown at her ruby ring which
still adorned his little finger, ‘I do not like leaving you, knowing that
unpleasant fellow may try again to force you to wed him.
 
I do not like the friends who take so little
care of you.
 
Where is your family?
 
Have you no father or brother to protect
you?’

‘No.
 
Just
Mama and my sisters.’

‘
Ce
n’est
pas bon
.
 
Also, you have no affianced husband?’

She shook her head, wryly smiling.
 
‘Nor likely to, I’m afraid.’

Claude relapsed into brooding thought.
 

‘If this is so, I find it entirely inconceivable.’

‘Do you?
 
I
can’t imagine why.’

‘And I cannot say.
 
It would be to insult you.’

Caroline freed one of her hands to brush back the
rich, brown hair with its hints of copper and bronze and wished she dared pull
away the mask in order to see his whole face just one time.

‘I’m used to being insulted, Claude.
 
It happens nearly every day.
 
So say it.’

He shook his head slightly and pressed his lips
together. Then, on a ragged breath and as if the words exploded without
permission, he said, ‘
I
would marry
you.’

The chair on which she was sitting and the floor
beneath it seemed to drop away and Caroline felt as if she was falling from a
great height.
 
She said feebly, ‘What did
you say?’

His head turned and he came hurriedly to his
feet.
 

‘There’s no time.
 
I hear voices.
 
Tomorrow.
 
The sunken garden in the Kensington Park at
dusk.
 
Can you do that?’

‘Yes.’

‘
Bon.
 
À
bient
ô
t
, ch
é
rie
.’

And kissing his hand to her as he made a brief bow,
he was gone.

Caroline stayed where she was and waited for the
world to stop spinning.
 
From further
along the gallery, she heard two voices.
 
One belonged to Claude.
 
The
other, deeper, richer and with perfectly rounded aristocratic vowels was
unmistakably that of the Earl of Sarre.

Oh God, oh
God, oh God.
 
Of all people, why did it
have to be him?

Three booths further along was one whose only
occupant was dead drunk and snoring.
 
Adrian swiftly shed both domino and mask, dropped Caroline’s ring into
his pocket and freed the lace at his wrists which he’d tucked out of sight in
case she recognised it.
 
Finally, he reclaimed
his powdered wig from its hiding place beneath a chair … and, throughout all of
it, he conducted a conversation with himself in two different voices.

Part of him was fizzing with sheer elation; the
rest was still wondering what the hell had just happened and how come he’d lost
control of the script.
 
There was also
the question of whether that immensely satisfying punch hadn’t been a
mistake.
 
Up till then, he’d had Marcus
fooled; after it, he wasn’t so sure.
 
But
now wasn’t the time to worry about what Marcus might suspect or what had come
over Claude Duvall.
Now
was for
completing the illusion.

 
Praying his
wig was on straight and his whole appearance once more that of the ice-cool
Earl of Sarre, he concluded his brief exchange with the highwayman and strode
along to the box where he’d left Caroline.

Arriving in the curtained doorway and noticing
that her expression was distinctly wary, he said abruptly, ‘A French gentleman
has just told me that you have been assaulted.
 
Is it true?’

Not at all sure that she could rely on her voice,
Caroline nodded.

‘By whom?
 
Sheringham?’

‘Yes.
 
You
told me to be c-careful.
 
I wasn’t.’

‘Are you hurt?’

His tone suggested he didn’t care whether she was
or not.

‘No.
 
He –
he said he had a carriage outside.
 
I
think he meant to abduct me.’
 
And quite
suddenly the reality of what might have happened if Claude hadn’t appeared
struck her and she started to shiver.
 
Hugging her domino around her, she said, ‘Clau--
 
the French gentleman hit him.’ She thought
for a moment.
 
‘Did you know he was
here?’

Sarre pulled up a chair and sat down facing her.
Caroline became aware that, at some point, he had discarded his domino and
that, beneath the well-cut, dark-green coat, his vest was a riot of blue, green
and silver.
 
She stared at it, unable to
reconcile its exuberance with the Earl’s perpetual restraint.