The Player (Rockliffe Book 3) (34 page)

At first, it seemed that his luck was in so he was
happy to agree when one of his new friends suggested raising the stakes. But
then the tide turned and the couple of guineas he’d won soon became a loss of
ten.
 
Suspecting that he’d been gulled
but not daring, in this company, to say so, he tossed the money on the table
and strode out, cursing under his breath.
 
It was almost half past two.

Having only recently risen from his sickbed, the
Reverend Marten at St Clement’s proved entirely unaware of the Earl of Sarre’s
presence in the district.
 
He did,
however, appear to think that Lord Sheringham would be interested in his
various ailments.
 
Lord Sheringham
stalked off, leaving the fellow still talking.

Next was the church of St Peter in the centre of
town.
 
Half-way there, he was forced to
leap back into a doorway to avoid being drenched in muddy water when a passing
cart rumbled through a puddle. Unfortunately, his manoeuvre wasn’t completely
successful and he was so busy swearing and trying to brush off the worst of the
damage, that he didn’t notice the plain black carriage that drove past in the
wake of the offending cart.
 

Reverend Conant listened to the mouthful of lies
Marcus used to camouflage his enquiry and didn’t bother to hide his
disbelief.
 
He said coldly, ‘How
unfortunate.
 
Had your lordship arrived a
little over half an hour ago, you would have been in time to witness the
ceremony.’

‘
What?
’

‘Am I not making myself clear?’

‘They’re
married?
’
There was a roaring in his ears and he shook his head to clear it. ‘No. It’s
not possible.’

‘If you doubt my word,’ said Mr Conant even more
frigidly, ‘you may see the Register.’

Marcus opened his mouth, then closed it again as
the vicar’s first words hit home.

‘
You
married them?
 
In this last hour?’

‘I did.’

Marcus spun on his heel, swearing violently.
 
Leaving the indignant cleric behind him, he
raced back to the inn to reclaim his horse and then swore some more when he had
to wait for it to be saddled.
 
There was
a red haze in his head.
 
Sarre had ruined
him … and he’d done it deliberately.
 
He’d taken the girl and her money and left Marcus with no option other
than flight.
 
In his saner moments, he’d
always known it might come to this.
 
But
now that it had … now that it had, there was no way in hell that he was going
to quit the country leaving Sarre alive to enjoy his victory.

Turning his horse’s head towards the coast, he set
off to do murder.

*
 
*
 
*

Bertrand swung the carriage into the yard in time
to see Mr Clayton rubbing down a pair of horses that hadn’t been there when
they left.
 
Jumping down from the box and
opening the carriage door, he looked at the Earl and said, ‘Visitors.’

‘So I see.’
 
Adrian stepped down and extended a hand to Caroline.
 
Then, leaving Mr
Bailes
to assist Betsy, he asked his caretaker who he was going to find in the house.

‘His Grace of Rockliffe, my lord.
 
And his brother.
 
Been here near half-an-hour, I reckon.’
 
He grinned at Caroline and said, ‘Mrs Clayton
and me wish you very happy, your ladyship.
 
Very happy indeed. And you, too, my lord.’

Aware that Adrian and Bertrand were exchanging
brief and hurried sentences in French, Caroline decided that, since she was now
a Countess, she’d better start behaving like one.

‘Thank you.
 
You’re very kind.
 
I hope that
later, when his lordship and I have greeted our unexpected guests, you and Mrs
Clayton will join us in the parlour for a small celebration.’

‘Very good of you, milady.
 
Very good indeed.’

She smiled and then looked around.
 
Betsy was disappearing into the kitchen
almost at a gallop with Mr
Bailes
in hot pursuit and
Bertrand was pulling off his driving gloves ready to help Clayton with both the
visiting horses and their own.

Adrian offered her his arm, his expression
enigmatic.

‘Don’t ask me why they’re here.
 
Nicholas, I might understand.
 
He’ll have prised everything out of
Aristide.
 
But Rockliffe?
 
True – his estate lies only about thirty
miles away but that’s not enough to put us on visiting terms.’

Having been hoping for a few precious minutes
alone with her new husband, Caroline repressed a sigh and said, ‘They’ll know
we’re here so we’d better go in.
 
Is
there anything – aside from the obvious – that I shouldn’t say?’

‘I should think what you call
the obvious
gives us enough topics to avoid, wouldn’t you?
Especially as they’re going to have to stay the night.’

They were walking now, towards the front of the
house but she stopped and said, ‘Oh.
 
I
should go and make sure rooms are being prepared and --’

‘I imagine Mrs Clayton already has that in hand.’
He glanced down at her, his eyes still unreadable in that disconcerting way he
had.
 
‘Or were you hoping to escape?’

Yes - but with
you.

‘Should I be?
 
Or are you calling me a coward, my lord?’

‘I know you’re not – so let’s go and face them
together.’

They found the Duke and Lord Nicholas comfortably
ensconced in the back parlour beside a cheerful blaze and nursing glasses of
wine.
 
As soon as they appeared, Nicholas
surged to his feet and crossed the room, one hand outstretched, saying,
‘Dev!
 
What’s this they’re telling
us?
 
You were only married this afternoon
when the notice was in the
Chronicle
two days ago?’

Sarre grinned and gripped his friend’s hand.

‘There was a slight delay.’
 
He drew Caroline forward and added, ‘But now
you may be one of the first to congratulate us.’

Nicholas shot him an odd look but immediately took
Caroline’s hand and, with both warmth and sincerity, said all the proper things
before immediately turning back to Sarre.

‘What do you mean – there was a delay?
 
You eloped, for God’s sake!’

‘Nicholas.’
 
The Duke of Rockliffe’s smooth, almost indolent tones saved Adrian from
having to answer. ‘I’m sure you have a great deal to say on this and many other
subjects … but perhaps it might wait until Lord Sarre has presented me to his
lady?’

 
Caroline
looked at the Duke, seeing not only the resemblances to his brother but also
the differences.
 
They were both tall,
black-haired and dark-eyed.
 
But where
Nicholas had a relaxed, loose-limbed posture and an easy, open smile, there was
something about Rockliffe that was very different.
 
Something that seemed to command the space
about him and which, despite his exceptional good-looks, made Caroline
understand why it wouldn’t be a good idea to under-estimate him.

He smiled, bowed gracefully over her hand and
said, ‘My warmest felicitations, Lady Sarre … and my apologies for our
lamentable timing in descending upon you on your wedding day.’

Caroline shook her head and said, ‘I’m only sorry
you didn’t arrive in time for the ceremony, your Grace. We would have been
delighted for you to have been there.’

‘And, if we’d had the least idea of what was going
on, we could have been,’ grumbled Lord Nicholas.
 
‘If it gets out that her ladyship has been
here with you for the best part of a week before you got round to tying the
knot --’

‘Since I assume only we two know of it,’
interposed the Duke smoothly, ‘there is no reason why it should.
 
As for her ladyship’s recent whereabouts, I
imagine the only other person who knows of them is Monsieur Delacroix … whose
lips are doubtless sealed. Lord Sarre?’

‘Aristide won’t talk. I also confided in Lily
Brassington and am hoping she won’t either.’
 
He paused, then added, ‘If your Grace will keep our secret, I’ll be in
your debt.’

‘Your lordship has a great many secrets, do you
not?’
 
Laughter gleamed in the night-dark
eyes. ‘Fortunately, I am the soul of discretion.
 
Nicholas, of course, is not.’

‘I can keep my mouth shut as well as you can,’
said his brother, affrontedly. ‘And I don’t gossip about my friends.’

Adrian said, ‘You don’t need to tell me that,
Nick.
 
But, though your visit is most welcome,
I’m not at all sure what prompted it.’

‘I’m staying at the Priors with Rock and Adeline –
so I thought I’d just ride over to make sure that everything was all right with
you.’

Adrian’s brows rose.

‘Did you have any reason to think it might not
be?’

Lord Nicholas cast a fleeting glance in Caroline’s
direction and then said, ‘Nothing definite.
 
Just … you know.’

‘Ah.
 
You’re
talking about Marcus Sheringham.’
 
He
smiled faintly. ‘It’s all right.
 
You can
speak freely before Caroline.
 
She isn’t
prone to the vapours.’
 

‘That is no doubt fortunate,’ murmured Rockliffe,
still with that glint of amusement.
 
Then, to Caroline, ‘I’m sure you’d like a few minutes alone with your
husband … so if there is somewhere Nicholas and I might remove the dust of the
road, perhaps we could absent ourselves for a time?’

‘Of course, your Grace.
 
I’ll have Mrs Holt show you to your rooms and
bring up hot water if she hasn’t done so already.’
 
She smiled.
 
‘And then – since the kitchen has been hard at
work since yesterday – I hope you and Lord Nicholas will join us for our
wedding-breakfast.’

When the Duke and his brother had gone upstairs,
Adrian looked at Caroline and sighed.

‘Not quite the celebration we’d planned with
Bertrand and Betsy and the rest of them.
 
Do you mind?’

‘Of course not.
 
It’s rather touching that Lord Nicholas was sufficiently concerned about
you to come here – though he’s fairly annoyed you didn’t tell him everything
before you left London. As for the Duke … you once described him as a very good
friend or an undesirable enemy.
 
It seems
that he’s decided to be your friend.’

‘For which I’m duly grateful, believe me.’

‘I imagine he could be quite … intimidating.’
 
She grinned suddenly. ‘But then, so can you
when you choose to be.’

‘Acting,’ he shrugged.
 
‘Something, as I hope you’ve noticed, that
I’ve been doing a lot less of recently. In a way, it’s --’

The door burst open and Mr
Bailes
appeared on the threshold with his hair standing on end.
 
He said breathlessly, ‘Beg pardon, m’lord –
but it’s Betsy.
 
I think somebody’s took
her.’

‘
What?
’

‘She went across the yard to ask Mr Clayton to
bring in some more logs for the fires and when she didn’t come back I wondered
what was keeping her.’
 
He stopped, then
ringing agitated hands, ‘Mr Clayton’s out cold on the stable floor and Betsy
isn’t
anywhere
.’

Before he’d finished speaking, Adrian was striding
across the hall, through the kitchen and out into the yard.
 
Caroline picked up her skirts and charged
after him with Mr
Bailes
bringing up the rear. Clayton
was sitting on the ground, clutching his head but when he saw the Earl, he
struggled to rise, saying weakly, ‘I’m sorry, my lord.
 
Somebody gave me a clout on the head and --’

‘Stay where you are.’ Adrian pressed the man back
down. ‘Where’s Betsy?’

‘Don’t know, my lord.
 
She was here when --’

Vaulting on to the top of the log-store, Adrian
scanned the beach.
 
Dusk was falling and
wisps of mist drifted over the marshy ground behind the dunes.
 
Some distance way to the right, he could just
make out the silhouette of a horse … and close by it, the shape of a man
grappling with a struggling woman.
 
Then
he saw the breeze catch a swirl of red skirt; the same red of the gown Betsy
had worn for the wedding.

Dropping back to the ground, he snapped, ‘Mr
Bailes
– saddle my horse in case I need him.
 
Caroline – send Bertrand after me but keep
everyone else inside the house.
 
And that
includes you.’

Then he left the yard at a run and took off along
the track.

Caroline wasted no more than a second staring
after him.
 
Useless to call him
back.
 
This was Betsy so nothing was
going to stop him.
 
Whirling round, she
spared a glance for Mr
Bailes
already grabbing his
lordship’s saddle and Mr
Claypole
staggering to his
feet.
 
Then she flew back towards the
kitchen door.

She was just pushing it wide and opening her mouth
to shout for Bertrand when she heard the shot.