The Player (Rockliffe Book 3) (15 page)

Marcus opened his mouth and then closed it
again.
 
Finally, he said stiffly, ‘I was
angry – though not with you.
 
Lord Sarre
has an unfortunate --’

‘Please stop.
 
I realise that there has been bad blood between yourself and the Earl
for a long time but that is nothing to do with me.
 
And you made that unfortunate remark before
you knew the Earl was there.’

Blast the
girl
. He could feel his temper beginning to rise in earnest.
Did she have to be so cursed literal?
 
He said sulkily, ‘You also stamped on my
foot.’

‘In dance slippers, my lord,’ she mocked.
Be grateful I was wearing too many
petticoats to make my knee effective.
 
‘I don’t like being mauled in public.’

‘We weren’t
in
public.
 
No one was there.’

‘Lord Sarre was.’

Marcus wanted to shake her until her teeth
rattled. He said grittily, ‘We seem to have strayed from the point. You are
refusing my offer for reasons that exist only in your head – or so it seems to
me.
 
I have no right to ask, of course …
but is it possible that you have formed an attachment for some other man?’

It was unexpected and Caroline immediately felt
her cheeks grow hot.
 
She hoped his
lordship would mistake that for embarrassment or annoyance … or anything other
than what it was.
 
She said tartly,
‘You’re right.
 
You
don’t
have any right to ask.
 
But since you have … the answer is no.
 
There isn’t any other gentleman.’ And that, she reflected, had the
virtue of being true unless a Gentleman of the Road counted.

‘You were not, then, considering an offer from
Ludovic Sterne?’

She stared at him, suddenly as angry as she
suspected he was.

‘You go too far, my lord.
 
And since this conversation appears to be at
an end --’
 

‘No.
 
Wait.
 
I beg your pardon.’
 
With an enormous effort, he hid his fury
behind a smile.
 
He couldn’t believe that
this plain little nobody could actually dismiss him as if he was of no
account.
 
Who the
hell
did she think she was?
 
He wished to God he didn’t need her money; but, since she was his only
way out of the quagmire that threatened to engulf him, he said softly, ‘You
think I have no feelings for you?
 
It
should be clear by now that I have.
 
Very
strong ones, as it happens.
 
So could we
not turn back the clock and start again?
 
Take time to get to know each other better?
 
I’ve made mistakes.
 
I recognise that.
 
But doesn’t everyone deserve a second
chance?
 
Can you not take a few more days
to reconsider?’

He sounded so convincing that Caroline had to
remind herself that he lied nearly all the time.
 
She said, ‘I don’t believe that would serve
any useful purpose.’

‘I disagree.
 
Do you really mean to be so cruel?’

‘I’m not being cruel.
 
I’m being truthful and practical. I won’t
marry you, my lord.
 
And – and I would be
obliged if you would put an end to the current rumours that we have an
understanding – because we don’t.’
 

She started to move past him on her way to the
door only to freeze as his hand grasped her wrist.

‘What rumours?’ he snapped.

‘The ones you started when you began dropping
hints to your creditors,’ retorted Caroline.
 
‘Please let go of me.
 
I wish to
return to the ballroom.
 
And I really
don’t think we have anything more to say to each other.’

Marcus let his fingers slide from her wrist and
made a silent, sardonic bow as she left the room.

Don’t
you?
 
Well … we’ll see about that.

If he could deal with Sinclair’s, he could deal
with little Miss Halifax.
 
He needed a
plan and he needed it quickly. But first, he needed information … and he knew
where he could get it.
 
Purposefully but
without obvious signs of haste, he left the library and strolled off to have a
seemingly idle conversation with Lily Brassington.

~
 
*
 
*
 
~
 
*
 
*
 
~

Lady Elinor Caversham’s party arrived at the
Pantheon in three separate carriages but at much the same time.
 
Having cross-questioned Harry, Sarre knew who
his fellow-guests would be.
 
Philip and
Isabel Vernon, Jack and Althea Ingram, Nicholas Wynstanton, Cassandra Delahaye
… and Caroline Maitland.
 
The latter,
said Harry, had been added at Cassie’s request and because Nick’s belated
desire to join the fun had made the numbers uneven.

Sarre wasn’t sure it was going to be fun.
 
Philip, Jack and Harry had accepted him but
their ladies, none of whom he had previously met, might feel differently.
 
He prepared himself for cold looks and even
colder shoulders … and was relieved, less for his own sake than for those of
the men who had befriended him, when he was met with neither.

Isabel Vernon was an attractive women whose manner
was one of quiet confidence; Althea Ingram, a stunning blonde seemingly
afflicted by shyness ; and Lady Elinor’s dark eyes sparkled with laughter as
she immediately demanded to be told what the ladies of Paris were wearing this
season.

If the wives were a surprise, the interior of the
Pantheon was a greater one.
 
Newly-built
since he had last been in London, the Rotunda housing the supper-boxes and the
dance-floor was of massive dimensions and set beneath an enormous dome with a
glass cupola.
 
Even in Paris, Sarre had
never seen anything like it.
 
A
surreptitious glance at Mistress Maitland told him that she hadn’t either.

She was wearing the tiny gold mask and bronze
domino she’d worn to the Overbury ridotto.
 
Beneath it, however, was a gown of bright turquoise taffeta which didn’t
suit her in the least and caused him to wonder if the girl had any colour-sense
at all or was just cursed with execrable taste.
 
His opinion, for what it was worth, was that she ought to stick to
either end of the spectrum;
 
pale gold,
midnight blue … possibly even certain misty shades of green?
 
He reined in his wandering thoughts. What the
hell was the matter with him? The girl could wear a sack for all the difference
it made to him.

Lady Elinor decreed that everyone should take to
the floor before supper was served.

‘Oh God, Nell!’ groaned her brother.
 
‘Have some pity, can’t you?’

‘I don’t see why I should.
 
You knew there would be dancing, Nick – yet
you still more or less invited yourself and I’m not having one of the ladies
being forced to sit tapping her toes just because
you
have two left feet.’
 
She
turned to the rest of her party, a diminutive General ordering her troops.
 
‘And no husbands dancing with their wives!
 
You can do that later.
 
In fact, just this once, I think the ladies
should choose their own partners.
 
And I’m
claiming Lord Sarre.’

With the merest hint of surprise, his lordship
bowed.

‘Willingly, my lady … so long Harry has no
objection.’

‘He hasn’t,’ she said firmly. And to Harry, ‘Have
you?’

‘I wouldn’t dare,’ muttered Harry, gloomily.
‘Down-trodden and truly under the cat’s paw – that’s me.’

Lady Elinor laughed, stood on tiptoe to kiss his
cheek and then dragged Sarre away, saying, ‘He’ll dance with Thea – just see if
he doesn’t.
 
And I expect Nick will foist
himself on poor Cassie.
 
That means Jack
will lead out Isabel … leaving Mistress Maitland to Philip.
 
Excellent!’

‘Do you always organise your guests so
efficiently, my lady?’ asked Sarre.

‘Usually.
 
It’s one of the privileges of being married.’
 
She smiled up at him. ‘And Harry’s friends
are permitted to call me Nell.
 
Also, you
didn’t finish describing the latest styles.
 
Harry has promised to take me to Paris in the spring and I refuse to be
behind the mode.’

Once in the private box, everyone discarded their
masks and sat down to supper.
 
This was a
cheerful affair with a good deal of teasing and laughter and, as often as not,
several people talking at once.
 
Sarre
was reminded of post-performance gatherings at the C
o
m
é
die
Fran
ç
aise where
evenings like this were commonplace.
 
Waging an internal war with nostalgia, he listened more than he talked …
and was therefore aware that, beside him, Mistress Maitland said even less.

After a while, he looked thoughtfully at her and
said, ‘You are very quiet, Mistress.’

‘Yes.
 
I
feel a bit of an intruder, you know. Oh – please don’t misunderstand.
 
It’s not the fault of anyone here.
 
They’ve all been very kind.
 
It’s just that I wouldn’t normally be invited
to private parties like this one and am only here now because of Cassie.’

His expression remained inscrutable as ever but
the Earl bent his powdered head towards hers and murmured, ‘I’m not generally
invited to them myself.’

‘No?’ Caroline half-wondered if he was making fun
of her, then decided that this man probably never made fun of anything. She
also got the uncomfortable feeling that those unreadable eyes missed as little
as they revealed – which made her wonder what was going on behind them. ‘But
you’re an Earl.’

‘Oddly enough, that’s not a universal passport.
 
There are certain … expectations.
 
And, as I’m sure you know, appearances are
everything.’

‘Oh yes.
 
I
do
know that.’
 
She paused and then said tentatively, ‘But
someone – Lord Philip, I think – said you’d been abroad for a number of years?’

Long elegant fingers, bare of even the plainest
signet ring, toyed idly with his glass and his gaze drifted past her in the
direction of the opposite gallery.
 
Caroline couldn’t decide whether he was deep in thought or she had
simply lost his attention.
 
Then, still
without looking at her, he said, ‘Ten, to be exact.’

Suddenly the pieces dropped into place and her
eyes widened.
 
She thought of three
things to say and wisely discarded all of them.

Lord Sarre’s eyes returned to her face and his
mouth curled in a sardonic half-smile.

‘Putting two and two together, are you?’

Caroline flushed a little. ‘I beg your pardon.’

‘For what?
 
You are guessing that my departure from England was somehow connected with
my … what did you call it?
 
Ah yes.
 
My
squabble
with Lord Sheringham.’

This time she decided to be daring.

‘And was it?’

‘Yes.’
 
He
waited, as if giving her the chance to ask something else.
 
Then, when she said nothing, ‘My turn, I
think.
 
Rumour has it that you are to
marry his lordship.’

She eyed him speculatively.
 
‘Do you think I shouldn’t?’

‘Do you
care
what I think?’

‘Not at all.
 
But I imagine you raised the subject because you want to know whether or
not the rumour is true.’

‘And why would that be of any interest to me?’

‘I don’t know.
 
Because of the ill-feeling between yourself and Lord Sheringham, perhaps?’

Sarre looked at her for a long moment, thinking
that she was quicker-witted than he’d supposed.
 
He said quietly, ‘Congratulations.
 
You’ve side-stepped my implied question very neatly.’

‘As you have avoided my very direct one.’

His expression didn’t vary by so much as a hair’s
breadth but his voice contained a distant note that might, just possibly, have
been amusement.

‘
Touch
é
.
 
Very well.
 
Since you ask, I would advise against marriage with Lord Sheringham …
but not for the reasons you may suppose.’

‘Why, then?’

He shook his head.
 
‘No, no.
 
As I said before – it’s
my turn.
 
So?’

Caroline sighed and then smiled.

‘Rumour lies.
 
I will not be marrying
 
his
lordship.’

The chilly gaze sharpened slightly.
 
‘And presumably he knows that?’

‘It would hardly be proper of me to tell you if he
didn’t,’ she said primly.

‘Of course.’
 

Sarre rose, shook out the folds of his black
domino and then seemed to hesitate.

Caroline waited for a moment before prompting him.

‘You were going to say something else?’

‘No.’ He half-turned away and then, with an
irritated breath, looked back at her.
 
‘Yes.
 
Be careful.’

*
 
*
 
*

After supper came more dancing but this time Lady
Elinor gave her guests
carte blanche
to please themselves.
 
Caroline took to
the floor with Lord Harry, then Mr Ingram; and finally with Nicholas – when it
was proved, beyond any shadow of a doubt, that his lordship hadn’t been making
excuses when he’d said he couldn’t dance.
 
By the time the music stopped, Caroline was
breathless with laughter and Nicholas, grinning back at her, said, ‘You took
that better than most girls do.
 
Shall we
try it again later?’

‘You c-can’t mean that,’ said Caroline, still
giggling.
 

‘Can’t I?’ he replied.
 
And managed a menacing leer.

Not far away and partnering Cassie Delahaye, Sarre
found his eyes drawn to the source of that infectious laughter and noticed how
animation improved the little heiress.
 
It was also interesting how the candlelight seemed to be finding glints
of amber and deep gold in that usually nondescript hair. She would never be a
match for Nell Caversham or Althea Ingram, of course.
 
But there was something rather attractive
about her unaffected enjoyment. Something that made him want to continue
watching it.

Meanwhile, Isabel Vernon had discovered that Dolly
Cavendish was hosting a party only three booths along from their own.
 
Since, with the exception of Caroline and
Lord Sarre, everyone knew each other, the two groups began to merge and migrate
between boxes.

Two of Dolly’s guests turned out to be Mr Edward
Chatham and his wife.
 
Sarre accepted an
introduction without the merest flicker of recognition, then watched Louisa
Chatham’s face freeze in open dislike before she turned away, drawing her
husband with her.
 
His expression
becoming even more enigmatic than usual, Sarre gave a mental shrug and moved
away to exchange greetings with Lord March.

Caroline, being ignored by two ladies from the
Cavendish party who were chattering determinedly to Cassie, watched it
happen.
 
Earl or not, it seemed that – to
some people – Lord Sarre was unacceptable company.
 
Of course, he’d implied something of the sort
but, if she hadn’t seen it with her own eyes, she wouldn’t have believed
it.
 
She wondered what exactly had
happened ten years ago and why it hadn’t been forgotten.
 
What had Lord Sheringham said?
 
‘
He
pushes innocent girls from rooftops
.’
 
That was a particularly nasty allegation … but then, Lord Sheringham
often lied.

And he could
well have lied about that
.
 
I wouldn’t put it past him.
 
But if other people also remember and believe
it … then, equally, it could be true.

Nicholas and Philip Vernon wanted Sarre to join
them in a game of ombre.
 
He begged them
to hold him excused and slyly suggested they invite Mr Chatham instead.
 
Then, when the three of them had settled
around a table, he leaned against the wall, apparently content to watch either
the game or the dancers on the floor below.

Caroline was hot and bored.
 
Despite Cassie’s attempts to include her in
the conversation, the other ladies continually shut her out again by talking
about people she didn’t know.
 
She
endured it for another few minutes and then, rising from her seat, murmured an
excuse and slipped from the box.
 
The
corridor stretched out in both directions and felt definitely cooler.
 
Fairly certain that no one would miss her,
she decided there could be no harm in walking the length of the gallery.
 
She glanced into the Cavendish box as she
strolled by.
 
No one noticed her.
 
Relieved to be alone for a little while,
Caroline continued on her way.

His attention having been largely fixed elsewhere,
it was a while before Lord Sarre noticed that Mistress Maitland was
missing.
 
He told himself this was no
cause for concern.
 
Althea Ingram wasn’t
there either and he’d seen the two of them conversing earlier in the evening.
In all likelihood, they had transferred to Dolly Cavendish’s box.
 
Sarre glanced at the card-players.
 
Despite a sheen of perspiration and a
tightly-clenched jaw, Mr Chatham was already several guineas to the good.
 
The Earl felt a distant sympathy.
 
Aristide had plainly dropped a word in his
ear and the poor fellow was trying. Watching him do it might have been enough
to keep Sarre amused had it not been for the other thing. Without anyone
appearing to be aware of it, he left Lady Elinor’s box for the other.
 
Althea Ingram was there, along with her
husband and Isabel Vernon.
 
Of Mistress
Maitland, there was no sign.