The Player (Rockliffe Book 3) (22 page)

It was over an hour before Caroline entered the
room where Sarre lounged at the breakfast table.
 
Rising, he said, ‘Good morning.
 
I hope you didn’t hurry on my account?’

‘I wouldn’t cross the street on your
account.’
 
She stopped and then, tilting
her head, said with lethal sweetness, ‘I’m sorry.
 
I’m not sure how to address you.
 
Who are you this morning?’

And Adrian, who had slept hardly at all and was in
a mood every bit as precarious as her own, stepped completely out of character
and drawled, ‘Anyone you like, darling. If you want a manly shoulder to weep
upon, I daresay I can summon up Claude for you.’

Before she’d even recognised the intention,
Caroline slapped him so hard across the face that his head jerked back.
 
She froze, half-aghast at herself and
half-afraid of what he might do.

In fact, he did nothing though, for a long,
unpleasant moment, something dark awoke in the silvery gaze.
 
Then he said coolly, ‘You were entitled to
that, I suppose.
 
But from this point on,
it would be helpful if we could approach the situation in a more civilised
manner.’

‘
Civilised?
 
There’s nothing remotely civilised about any
of this!’

‘Perhaps not.
 
But I find that retaining at least the
veneer
of good manners usually helps.’ And, gesturing to the table,
‘Coffee?’

‘Yes.’
 
It
came out as a croak.
 
She cleared her
throat and added a mumbled, ‘Thank you.’

Sarre nodded and pulled out a chair.
 
Then, when she was seated, he filled a cup
for her and said, ‘May I get you something to eat?’

Caroline shook her head.
 
Swallowing the coffee was going to be
difficult enough. A glance at the barely-touched plate on the other side of the
table suggested he hadn’t had much of an appetite either.
 
She added milk to her cup and concentrated on
stirring it round and round while she waited for him to speak.

He took his time … partly because he couldn’t
decide where to start, partly because he had only the flimsiest grip on Sarre’s
habitual icy control and partly because it was painfully clear that she’d spent
half the night crying.
 
He tried telling
himself that she probably felt better for it; then was forced to recognise
that, if she did, it didn’t show.
 
She
looked perfectly wretched. This time he told himself, very firmly, that she’d
get over it.
 
He considered apologising
again but suspected it would be no more successful than it had been last night;
and there was a limit to how many times one might say one was sorry without
sounding witless.
 
But somehow he had to
salvage something from the wreckage, so perhaps conciliation was the key.

He said, ‘I am only too aware that I am at fault
in this.
 
But we have to deal with it.’

‘No.
 
We
don’t. I’m not spending a single second more than I have to with you. Truthfully,
I can scarcely bear to look at you.
 
So summon
the carriage and let me go home.’

‘It isn’t that simple.’

‘I don’t see why not.
 
You created a myth and I was taken in by it.
 
You did something unbelievably cruel and I – I
was unbelievably stupid.
 
So the best
thing now is for us to go our separate ways.’

Sooner or later he was going to have to explain
why that wasn’t possible but he didn’t feel ready to do it quite yet so he
said, ‘Would you mind if we digressed for a moment?
 
I’d like to ask you something.’

She glanced up at him warily. ‘What?’

‘I wondered what you hoped for out of marriage.
 
Not to me specifically – but in general.’

‘Why on earth would you want to know that?
 
I don’t see the point.’

‘Humour me. Please.’

She made a small sound of impatience and then
thought about it for so long he began to think she wasn’t going to answer.
 
But finally she said prosaically, ‘I never
expected to marry for love. Women like me rarely do. But mutual respect and
affection ought to be possible … I would have wanted those.’

‘Anything else?’

‘My mother has very little income so I hoped to
augment it from my dowry.
 
And I’d like
to do something for my half-sisters.
 
They’re good-hearted and much prettier than I … so I think they could
find suitable husbands if they were given the chance.’
 
She stopped, coloured a little and added, ‘And
children.
 
I’d like children to love.’

Adrian’s throat tightened but he nodded and,
without any particular emphasis, said, ‘I offered you all those things
myself.
 
I
still
offer them.’

She went back to stirring her coffee. ‘No.’

‘Is marriage to me so impossible to contemplate?’

His tone was as level and impersonal as ever.
 
Fleetingly, Caroline wondered what it would
take to raise any sign of real feeling in this man. He was the most emotionless
individual she’d ever met. He hadn’t even been angry when she’d hit him.

‘Now?
 
After
what you’ve done?
 
Do you really need to
ask?’

‘I suppose not.
 
But before that?’

‘You mean before I learned that you’ve been
deceiving me for weeks?
 
I suppose I
might have considered it then.
 
You don’t
have an ounce of warmth in you but at least you seemed honest – which of course
was just another lie.
 
You’re not honest
at all.
 
You made a complete fool of me
with your play-acting – which means you could do it again at any time.
 
And you’re so very good at it, I’d never
know, would I?
 
In fact, for all I know
to the contrary, you could be acting right now.’

‘I could be,’ he agreed mildly. ‘But I’m not.’

‘How am I supposed to know that?’ she
snapped.
 
‘I can’t trust you.
 
I’ll
never
be able to trust you.’

Aware of being neatly boxed in a corner, he
thought carefully about what to say next.

‘Can you at least accept that I didn’t masquerade as
Duvall out of any malicious intent?’

‘I might – if I had the remotest idea why you
did
do it.’

Sarre leaned back in his chair and eyed her
reflectively.
 
He found it interesting
that – even knowing that he’d been an actor and was part-owner of a gambling
club – she was still seeing the Earl. That frigidly unemotional fellow who’d
proposed marriage as if it was a business merger. He probably ought to make
that last.
 
If she got the idea that
there was a whole other person lurking beneath, she really would think him a
candidate for Bedlam.
 
He suspected that
there were days when, despite having known him for years, Bertrand thought the
same thing.

‘I’d be lying if I pretended it wasn’t partly
because I could and because I enjoyed it,’ he said coolly. ‘But I began it for
what I thought was a very good reason.’

‘Which was?’

‘I knew Marcus Sheringham was planning to marry
your money.
 
In all fairness, I hadn’t
originally intended to interfere.
 
But
when he proved to be no less vicious and spiteful than he was ten years ago, I
changed my mind – as much on your account as on my own.
 
So I decided I needed to know who you were.’

Caroline’s brows rose and she said dismissively, ‘You
could have discovered that in any ballroom.’

‘No.
 
I
couldn’t.
 
Everyone puts a social mask on
at such affairs and I’d already seen yours.
 
What I
wanted
to see was the
person behind it.
 
And I did.’
 
His mouth curled a little. ‘If it’s any
consolation, had I not done so I would never have offered you marriage.
 
It would be nice, therefore, if you could
accept that my offer was an honest one.’

‘I doubt very much if it matters to you whether I
do or not,’ she shrugged.
 
‘I just want
to go home and forget all this happened.’

And that, of course, brought them neatly back to
where they’d started.

Sarre repressed a sigh and prepared to conjure up
a storm.

‘I’m afraid that isn’t an option.’

Caroline finally abandoned her coffee and pushed
the cup aside.
 
Then, impaling his
lordship on a fiercely stubborn gaze, she said, ‘It’s the
only
option.
 
I can’t stay
here.
 
And though I’d sooner not ask any
favours of you, I need your help to get back to London.’

Since he couldn’t avoid the issue forever, he
grasped the nettle.

‘Mistress Maitland … it appears that certain vital
implications have escaped you. You left your home without female company.
 
You eloped with a man and spent a night – to
all intents and purposes, alone – in his house.
 
Your family expects you to return married.
 
If you go home unwed, your reputation will be
tarnished beyond repair.
 
In short,
you’ll be ruined.’

A flicker of doubt appeared in the expressive dark
eyes and he thought,
Good.
 
She’s thinking about it.
 
With luck, she’ll see reason.

Then she shook her head and said decisively, ‘Not
if I’m back by tonight.
 
No one knows
what I’ve done except for Mama and the girls.
 
So long as I go home as quickly as possible and explain, everything will
be all right.’

Sarre realised that this was undoubtedly his cue
to tell her of the three things he had done which made her theory unworkable.
 
All of them had been done to preserve her
good name from any breath of scandal and enable her to re-enter the polite
world
as the Countess of Sarre with
her head held high.
 
Unfortunately, he
hadn’t bargained for the stone wall of her refusal.
 
If he was forced to reveal what he’d done,
she wouldn’t see it as well-meaning measures designed to protect her.
 
She’d see it as a deliberate move on his part
to trap her.

Hell
, he
thought.
 
This is just getting worse and worse
.

‘What did you put in your letter to your mother?’

‘More or less exactly what Claude --’ She stopped
and clenched her hands until the knuckles glowed white.
 
‘What
you
told me to.
 
I said I’d met a gentleman
with whom I – I’d fallen in love and that, for reasons too complex to explain
in a letter, we were leaving Town to marry quietly elsewhere.
 
I told her not to worry for my safety … that
I was very happy and would write again as soon as I had news.’

‘I see.
 
And
if she or your sisters communicate this information to anyone?’

‘Communicate it whom?
 
The girl at the bakery?
 
Old Mr Parker across the street?’

‘I was thinking more of Lady Brassington – who
might call to enquire after your health.’

‘That’s not very likely.
 
And anyway, she wouldn’t spread gossip about
me.’

His brows rose, expressing mild disbelief.

‘And Lord Sheringham … who has probably still not
given up and will soon wonder why he hasn’t seen you lately?
 
I take it he
does
know where you live?’

‘Yes.
 
But
again, I don’t think he’d call on Mama.
 
Also – what possible reason would he have to blacken my name?’

‘The fact that you’d rejected him in favour of
someone else, perhaps?
 
Not that his
lordship needs a reason. Spite is usually sufficient.’ Realising that the
conversation was heading a direction he’d rather it didn’t take just yet, he
said flatly, ‘Let us be absolutely clear about this. If you have your way, you
run two risks.
 
I’ve explained the first
one.
 
The other is Sheringham.
 
I know him much better than you do.
 
I’ve also told you how desperate he is and
why.
 
If you stray into his clutches,
he’ll find a way of forcing you.
 
And if
he does that, you can forget about helping your family.
 
In fact, you can forget about pretty much
everything except being shut away in the country while he enjoys squandering
your money. Obviously, I have my own reasons for not wanting that to happen – quite
aside from feeling that he doesn’t deserve you. And one last thing.
 
If word leaks out that you eloped but didn’t
marry, the resulting scandal can’t be mended.
 
If it leaks out that you eloped with
me
,
I’ll be in the public pillory with you.
 
And since I’m doing my damnedest to persuade you to the altar, that
seems a mite unfair.’

Caroline looked at him, hating the knowledge that
most of what he said was true.
 
She
wondered whether, if her head and heart hadn’t been full of Claude Duvall, she
might have accepted Sarre’s proposal.
 
He
had plainly taken it for granted that she’d do so now. In fact, he’d gone to
great lengths to make it impossible for her to do anything else – which didn’t
make her like him any better.