The Player (Rockliffe Book 3) (21 page)

Caroline had expected to find Claude waiting to
greet her.
 
The fact that he wasn’t made
her uneasy.
 
Reluctantly following the
maid up the stairs, she said, ‘Is Monsieur Duvall here?’

‘Oh yes, Miss.
 
Don’t you fret about that.’ The girl’s voice quivered oddly. ‘He’ll be
waiting in the best parlour when you’re ready.’
 
She opened the door of a pleasant, if shabbily-furnished
bedchamber.
 
‘Here we are.
 
There’s hot water in the jug and here’s Mr
Didier with your things.’
 
She waited
while Bertrand set the portmanteau at the foot of the bed.
 
‘I’ll unpack so you’ll be able to change your
gown – and I can tidy your hair, if you like’
 

Caroline didn’t want to change her gown.
 
She wanted to run and find Claude because
something didn’t feel right.
 
But the
pink silk was horribly crushed, her hair was escaping its pins and she felt
distinctly grubby.
 
Sighing, she gave
herself over Sally’s ministrations.
 
And
thirty seemingly endless minutes later, she was clean, tidy and had exchanged
the ball-gown for an afternoon dress of poppy-red damask.

‘I’ll show you down to the parlour, shall I, Miss?’
asked the girl. ‘There’ll be a bite of supper waiting, I reckon.’

‘Thank you.’

Caroline managed a tense smile. She told herself
to relax.
 
Eloping was bound to be a
little nerve-racking, after all and the moment she saw Claude everything would
be all right again.
 
She followed Sally
back down the wide oak stairs and across the slate floor of the hall.
 
The house was very quiet with no sign of
other servants but the parts she had seen so far looked clean and well-tended. Then
the maid tapped on the door, opened it so Caroline could step through and
closed it quietly behind her.

He was standing in the shadows at the far side of
the fireplace, so the first thing she noticed was the severe elegance of his
clothes.
 
A dark coat,
beautifully-fitting but under-stated to the point of plainness.
 
The second thing was the absence of a mask;
and the third, his hair … a thick, rich brown lit with shades of cinnamon and
copper and bronze.

She said, ‘Claude?’
 
And hated how uncertain her voice sounded.

Turning, he moved unhurriedly out into the
merciless light of two strategically-placed branches of candles.
 
Slowly … much more slowly than seemed reasonable
… she became aware of an exotic scarlet and gold vest; of the dramatic slash of
cheekbones, previously always concealed by a mask; of the fact that he wasn’t
smiling and that his mouth appeared to be set in a rather grim line. And
finally, she saw silver-grey eyes, fringed by long sable lashes.

Her stomach lurched and she grabbed blindly at a
chair-back to steady herself.
 
There must
be some mistake.
 
This couldn’t be
happening. She whispered, ‘You aren’t Claude.’

There was a long, very frightening silence during
which he neither moved nor spoke.

Then, ‘No,’ replied the Earl of Sarre, a distant
note of apology filtering through his impenetrable composure.
 
‘I’m afraid I’m not.’

~
 
*
 
*
 
~
 
*
 
*
 
~

This time the silence was positively deafening.
 
Sarre stood very still, watching Caroline
closely and, when she swayed slightly, he was across the room in three strides ready
to catch her if she fainted.

She didn’t.
 
She rammed the heels of both hands into his chest and, in a voice of
mingled tears and rage, said, ‘Where is he?
 
What have you done to him?’

‘Nothing.’
 
She hadn’t understood yet.
 
Of course she hadn’t. How could she?
 
Stepping back, he said, ‘Perhaps you should
sit down.’

‘No!
 
Do you
think I’m spending one more minute in this house?
 
How
dare
you carry me off in this way?’

‘It isn’t quite as it seems.
 
If you’ll just listen for --’

‘I’m not listening to
you
.
 
You’re no better than
Lord Sheringham!’

Sarre winced inwardly.
 
‘I --’

‘
Where is
Claude?
’
 
The terrible seething in
her chest was threatening to choke her.
 
‘He – he was there when we stopped to change horses but I didn’t see him
after that. What have you done? Oh God. If you’ve hurt him …’ She stopped,
trying to breathe.
 
‘Tell me where he
is!
’

‘I’m trying.’
 
He let his voice sharpen into command. ‘Sit down and listen.’

Caroline sank bonelessly into the chair.
 
‘Well?’

‘The man you know is not Claude Duvall.’

‘Of course he is!’

‘No.
 
Claude
Duvall went to the scaffold over a century ago.
 
Your highwayman merely … borrowed his name for a time.’

‘Why should I believe that?’
 
A small kernel of doubt started to grow
amidst all her other emotions.
 
‘What
difference does it make, anyway?’

‘Since Duvall doesn’t actually exist, quite a
lot.’
 
Sarre paused and decided that the
sooner this was over the better.
 
‘I take
it that you want to see him?’

‘Of
course
I want to see him!
 
What do you think
I’ve been saying?’

‘
Eh bien
.’
 
With a smile, he slid smoothly into character.
 
His posture, his accent, the timbre of his
voice, his entire manner … everything changed.
 
‘Caroline,
ch
é
rie
… I am so sorry.
 
Never did I mean to
cause this distress.
 
I am, as you see,
quite unharmed.’
 
And, with the merest
suggestion of a shrug, ‘But – just as I tried to warn you – a disappointment, I
think.’

Caroline stared at him, her eyes were huge and the
blood drained slowly from her skin.
 
She
wanted to say that this wasn’t possible … but she couldn’t.
 
She couldn’t say anything at all.
 
She wanted to be sick.

In front of her, Claude Duvall vanished as easily
as he had appeared, leaving only the Earl of Sarre who, with apparently
unruffled composure, turned away to pour a glass of wine and set it on the
table beside her.

He said, ‘I can only apologise.
 
It was never meant to go this far.’

Caroline wet her lips and tried, again, to find
her voice.
 
She said unevenly, ‘It was
you.
 
All the time … it was you.’

‘Yes.’

‘
Why?
’
 
The word cracked in the middle.

‘Not, as I said, to bring us both to this.
 
For the rest, does it matter?’

Something inside her chest seemed to be breaking
into pieces and her brain was sluggish with shock. ‘Who
are
you?’

Good
question
.
 
One I’ve frequently asked myself
.

‘Altogether?’ he asked dryly. ‘Well, then …
Francis Adrian Sinclair Devereux, seventh Earl of Sarre.
 
Also, until recently, a player known to Paris
as L’Inconnu.
 
There have been other
similarly defunct incarnations which need not concern you.’
 
He waited and then said gently, ‘Drink some
wine.
 
It will help.’

For a moment, she looked at the glass as if she
didn’t know what it was and when she finally reached out for it, she discovered
that she was shaking so badly she needed both hands to steady it.
 
Then she drained half the wine at one swallow
and said tonelessly, ‘I don’t understand how … how anyone could play such a
cruel trick.
 
Why anyone would want to.
You are either evil or insane.’

‘As it happens, I’m neither.
 
Though I can see why you might think so.’

‘How generous of you!
 
But now you’ve lured me here under false
pretences, what do you intend to do with me?’

‘Nothing at all terrible, I assure you.’

Caroline pushed aside everything except the need
to think.

‘But I can’t be assured of anything, can I?
 
Everything you’ve ever done or said has been
a lie. Everything – both as yourself and as C-Claude. So how am I supposed to
believe a single word that comes out of your mouth?’

‘Just at present, I understand that you
can’t.
 
But in time, when --’

‘Not,’ she snapped, ‘in a
lifetime
.
 
I don’t know who
you are.
 
And since you appear to be able
to be anyone you want, I never will.
 
So
I’ll ask you again.
 
What are you
planning to do with me?’

It was going no better than he had expected and,
short of a miracle, he didn’t know how to improve it.
 
Sighing, he said, ‘I am hoping that you will
marry me.’

Her laughter was sudden and harsh, almost but not
quite hiding the fact that she wanted to put her face in her hands and howl.

‘Of course.
 
The money
again
.
 
Well, you can forget that, my lord.
 
I wouldn’t marry you if you were the last man
on earth.
 
God!
 
Marcus Sheringham’s a liar, too – but at
least I knew he was doing it.
 
I’d be as
well off with him as with you, it seems.’

‘No.’ His voice was tight. ‘You wouldn’t.’

‘Really?
 
I
suppose you’re going to tell me that while you were acting the role of Claude
Duvall you accidentally fell in love with me?’

‘I’m going to tell you that the proposal of
marriage I made to you on Friday morning was completely sincere and true in
every particular.
 
I don’t need your
dowry.
 
I honestly believe we can be as
happy as most other couples.
 
I --’

‘Yes.
 
I
remember what you said.
 
I also remember
telling you that I didn’t want to marry you.’

‘No,’ he agreed blandly. ‘
You
wanted to marry a man who doesn’t exist.’

‘And whose fault is that?’

‘Mine – though I neither intended nor expected
it.’

‘So why did you propose to me?’

‘As myself?
 
For the reasons I gave you at the time.
 
As Duvall?
 
Because you were so
clearly infatuated with him that I couldn’t be sure you’d recover your senses
sufficiently to accept my own offer if he walked away. And unless you were
happy to risk being abducted by Lord Sheringham --’

‘To prevent which, you’ve abducted me yourself?
 
Yes.
 
Forgive me if I say I don’t find that an improvement.’
 
Hoping her knees didn’t let her down,
Caroline set the wine-glass aside and stood up, needing to get away before she
started to cry.
 
‘I don’t see the point
in continuing this conversation.
 
Since
it’s the middle of the night and you’ve allotted me a bedchamber, I’m going to
retire.
 
But first thing tomorrow, I shall
expect you to make arrangements to convey me back to London.’

Aware that he was unlikely to make any useful
progress while she was still so angry and hurt, Sarre chose not to argue.
 
He said carefully, ‘I am truly sorry to have
upset you and I’ll do my best to make matters right.
 
But, for now, try to get some rest.’

She looked at him as if he was a complete
imbecile.
 
Then, without a word, she
walked out, letting the door slam behind her.

Adrian let out a long, exhausted breath.
 
His stomach was in knots and every bone in
his body ached.
 
Some of this, he knew,
was to do with the four-hour ride from Town … but most of it wasn’t.
 
He wondered how much chance there was that
tomorrow would be any better and came to the depressing conclusion that there
was very little.
 
Even if Caroline got
over the worst of her shock, the news that her good-name wouldn’t withstand
returning to London unwed wasn’t likely to be well-received.
 
He’d thought he had known how bad the moment
of confession would be.
 
He realised now
that he’d had no damned idea.

Bertrand walked into the room, took one look at
him and said, ‘It went well, then.’

‘Brilliantly.
 
In a nutshell, I’m a bigger liar than Sheringham, she wouldn’t marry me
if I was the last man on earth and she’s going back to Town tomorrow.’

‘Ah.
 
She
hates you.
 
I told you she would.’

‘She hasn’t actually said that yet … but I daresay
she’ll get round to it tomorrow.’

‘When you tell her she’s not going anywhere, you
mean?’

‘Probably.
 
And a few more times after that.’

‘Grovel,’ advised Bertrand, reaching for the wine
bottle and glasses.
 
‘Women like that.’

‘Earls don’t,’ retorted Adrian.
 
‘They start as they mean to go on.’

‘I’d have thought that, by now, you’d be sick of
digging pits for yourself.’

‘Christ.
 
You have no idea.’

*
 
*
 
*

Caroline, meanwhile, locked her door, threw
herself fully-dressed upon the bed and gave way to helpless, agonising
sobs.
 
She cried for Claude, who had
never really existed; for herself – poor, stupid Caroline who’d thought a man
like that could actually love her and given her own heart away without a
second’s hesitation; and she cried for the irretrievable mess she’d made of her
life and the damage it was going to do to her sisters.
 

As for the Earl, she was still finding it almost
impossible to believe what he’d done or that he’d managed to fool her so
thoroughly.
 
But of one thing she was
perfectly certain.
 
After deliberately
practising such a wicked deception, she’d bleed to death rather than give him
what he wanted.
 
And if he tried to lay a
hand on her, she’d very probably kill him.

She awoke, groggy and disorientated, to the sound
of someone tapping on the door.
 
Her gown
was twisted around her legs, her hair was falling down her back and her eyelids
felt as if they had been glued together.

‘Go away,’ she muttered, shoving her head under
the pillow.

The tapping grew louder and a voice said,
‘Miss?
 
Miss!
 
Are you all right?’

No.
 
But why should you care?

‘Go away!’

‘I’ve brought the hot water, Miss.
 
And some tea.
 
If you’ll just unlock the door?’

Caroline groaned and heaved herself upright.
 
She supposed the day had to be faced sooner
or later.
 
Feeling as if she’d aged ten
years overnight, she hauled herself off the bed and over to the door.

The maid took one look and narrowly avoided
dropping her tray.

‘Oh Miss!
 
Whatever’s happened?’

‘Never mind.’
 
She went to the window, pulled back the curtains and found herself
gazing across a narrow sand and shingle beach to miles and miles of empty grey
ocean. ‘Sally … where in God’s name
are
we?’

‘Sandwich, Miss – well, nearly.
 
The town’s a mile or so along the coast and
inland a bit.’

Caroline shut her eyes and then opened them
again.
 
If one were searching for the
bleakest most deserted spot one could find, this should surely qualify.
 
Turning her back on it, she said, ‘Where is
he?’

Sally opened her mouth to answer and then thought
better of it. ‘Who?’

‘Don’t play games.
 
We’re done with that. Lord lying, cheating devious Sarre,’ said Caroline
between her teeth. ‘Where is he?’

‘I think … w-waiting for you to join him at
breakfast, Miss.’

‘Is he?
 
Good.
 
Let him wait.’
 
She paused, considering demanding a bath and
then decided that putting a safe distance between herself and that clever,
manipulating devil downstairs was more important.
 
‘Help me out of this gown and then press it,
please.
 
I’ll need to wear it again
today. I can manage everything else by myself.
 
And don’t argue with me Sally.’
 
This as the maid would have spoken. ‘In case you haven’t noticed, I’m
not in the mood to be either tactful or polite.’