The Player (Rockliffe Book 3) (10 page)

‘Well, of course, sir.
 
Delighted to oblige, I’m sure. Girls – take
the tray back to the kitchen but you can leave his lordship’s cake in case he
wants it a bit later.
 
Go on – out with
all of you.
 
And no listening outside the
door, mind!’

Slowly and with great reluctance, Caroline
followed her sisters from the room.
 
She
half-considered trying to get a discreet word with Mama before it was too late
but recognised that there probably wasn’t any point.
 
Lord Sheringham was going to say his piece
and there was nothing she could do to stop him.
 
As for Mama’s reaction … it was pretty much pre-ordained.

As soon as the door closed behind the girls and
deciding that subtlety was a waste of time, Marcus came directly to the point.
 
He said, ‘Madam, I wished to inform you that I
have formed an attachment to Mistress Maitland and intend to offer her my hand
in marriage.
 
I am presuming that such an
offer would not be displeasing to you?’

‘Well I never!’
 
Mrs Haywood pressed both hands to her ample bosom and beamed up at
him.
 
‘I had no idea.
 
Caro’s not said a word about you, my
lord.
 
Not one word, the secretive little
puss.
 
And if she’s told her sisters,
it’s more than I know to.
 
So how it’s
all got this far without none of us having any idea, I just don’t know!
 
Or perhaps Caro
herself
don’t know.
 
I
suppose that could be it. If --’

‘I imagine the fact that I have been paying her
marked attentions for some time now, coupled with my presence here today will
probably have led her to guess,’ he observed dryly.
 
‘However, I am still waiting to hear if the
match would have your approval.’

‘Oh – no doubt about that, my lord.
 
Not that – what with Caro’s expectations and
all – I wasn’t hoping for a Viscount or even an Earl … but there.
 
If you’ve a fondness for my little lass and a
house in Town so as she’ll be able to launch her sisters into society, the rest
don’t matter one whit.’
 
She sighed.
 
‘Our Caro, a Baroness.
 
I reckon her Grandpa’ll be right pleased with
that.’

Marcus didn’t give a fig whether Grandpa was
pleased or not and was positively furious that this vulgar female dared suggest
that his rank fell below her expectations.
 
Also, if she thought for a moment that he was going to foist her other,
extremely
farouche
daughters on the
ton –
let her go on thinking it.
 
He’d bleed to death before he wasted money
that way or gave his friends the opportunity to snigger behind his back. He wanted
the heiress and her fortune … and, once he had it, the rest of her family could
go hang.

But he smiled, bowed and said smoothly, ‘One would
certainly hope so.
 
But I have yet to pay
my addresses to Mistress Maitland.
 
Perhaps I might be permitted to do so now?’

‘Of course.
 
Of course, your lordship.’
 
Mrs
Haywood rose and reached out to clasp his unresponsive hands.
 
‘You just wait here and I’ll send her in to
you directly. Not that there’s any question but that she’ll say yes.
 
No girl in her right mind’d turn down such an
handsome gentleman.
 
And our Caro’s no
simpleton, I can tell you.’

Marcus said nothing in the hope that she’d stop
talking, fetch the girl and allow him to get this business over with.
 
Managing to prise his hands from hers, he
raised one enquiring brow and waited.

‘Just give me a minute, my lord.
 
No
more’n
that, I
promise.
 
And try the plum cake while
you’re waiting.
 
I made it myself only
yesterday and, though I say it as shouldn’t, I don’t reckon you’ll taste finer
anywhere.’

Mrs Haywood left the parlour with a brisk step,
shut the door behind her and tracked her daughters to the kitchen.
 
Lavinia and Sylvia were agog with curiosity.
 
Caroline looked as tense as a coiled spring.

‘Well, Mam?’ asked Lavinia eagerly. ‘What did he
say? Has he really come to ask our Caro to marry him?’

‘Yes.’ She shook her head at her eldest daughter
and said rapidly, ‘Later on, you can explain why there’s been not a hint of
this afore today and how come you’ve let it drop on us out of the blue like
this.
 
And for the Lord’s sake, stop
looking as though you’ve lost a shilling and found sixpence.
 
He’s younger and handsomer
 
than I’d thought you’d find – you not exactly
being a beauty. And he’s got a title.
 
Not the best sort, maybe – but a title for all that. What more do you
want?’

‘I – I don’t know.
 
I’m just not sure I like him very much.’

‘God, Caro – you must be addled,’ said Lavinia.
‘He’s
gorgeous
.
 
I’d take him in a heartbeat.’

‘It’s not as simple as that.’

‘Yes,’ said her mother flatly, ‘it is.
 
It’s you he’s after and it’s you’ll he’ll
have – unless you’ve got another iron in the fire.
 
Have you?
 
Is there somebody
else
you
haven’t told us about?
 
Somebody
higher-ranking than this one or somebody you like better?
 
If there is, you can tell the Baron you need
time to think.
 
If there isn’t, you’ll
snap his hand off if you’ve any sense.
 
Well?’

Caroline shook her head, feeling doom closing in
all around her.

‘There’s only Mr Sterne.
 
He’s related to Lady Brassington.’

‘That’s all well and good but it’s no answer.
 
Your Grandpa’s settled a fortune on you so as
you can catch a title and you’ll do more good for Lavvy and Syl as Lady
Sheringham than you would as Mrs Sterne.
 
There again, as Lavvy says, his lordship isn’t exactly hard to swallow,
is he?
 
I’d have had my doubts if you was
being sought by some old goat – but you’re not.
 
So it’s time to cut your coat according to your cloth, our Caroline.
 
Now pinch your cheeks and put a smile on your
face.
 
You’ve kept him waiting long
enough.’

Marcus had spent the time scowling through the
window, making sure that the urchin hadn’t left his horses unattended.
 
He decided that, once he was in possession of
Mistress Caroline’s hundred thousand pounds, one of the first things he would
do – after settling with his tailor – was to buy a new carriage and bring his
stables back to full strength. He supposed he’d also better pay off his gaming
debt at Sinclair’s so he wouldn’t lose his membership and the loan in Watermark
Lane before some hulking brute was sent to break his legs.
 
As to the rest … well, it would depend on
which matters seemed most urgent.

He turned when Caroline came in and bathed her in
the smile that had been known to melt even the coolest heart.
 
He said, ‘Your Mama has kindly allowed us a
few minutes alone together and I don’t wish to exceed what she would consider
proper.
 
But perhaps we might sit down?’

‘Yes,’ replied Caroline colourlessly. ‘Of course.’

She perched on the edge of a chair, thus
preventing his lordship from sitting as close to her as he’d hoped. Hiding the
fact that the girl never failed to irritate him, he said gently, ‘Don’t be
nervous, my dear.
 
There really is no
need, I assure you.’

‘Yes.
 
I
mean – I know.’

Bloody
hell.
 
Is that the best she can do?

He’d considered going down on one knee.
 
Now he concluded that, since she clearly had
the social graces of a cabbage, it wasn’t worth it.
 
He drew a nearby chair up beside her, sat
down with due deference to the full skirts of his coat and took one of her
hands in both of his.
 
Then, lowering his
voice to a deliberately seductive level, he said, ‘I have come to the
realisation that you are the lady I had begun to think I might never find.
 
In short, Mistress Maitland, I am hoping that
you will make me the happiest of men by allowing me to keep this little hand.’

He waited.
 
Then he waited some more.
 
Finally, wondering if she really was so dense that she’d failed to
understand him, he said patiently, ‘I am asking if you will do me the honour of
becoming my wife.’

‘Yes.
 
I – I
know.’

Oh good
.
 
‘And?’

‘And naturally I’m very flattered.’

You should
be.
 
And
I
shouldn’t be sensing the word ‘but’.

‘It’s just that I hadn’t expected … that is to say,
we have only known each other for a few weeks, sir.
 
It all seems … forgive me, but it seems a
little sudden.’
 

Caroline wished he would release her hand and move
away. She also wished he’d stop pretending to be in love with her when it was
perfectly clear that he wasn’t. She felt crowded by him and weighed down by the
expectations of her mother and sisters.
 
She didn’t want to say yes but was miserably aware that – since this
might be her only chance of any marriage at all, let alone a remotely suitable
one – she couldn’t just say no.
 
And all
the time, hovering at the back of her mind and still refusing to be completely
banished, was the memory of infectious laughter, a beautiful voice stealing its
way through her senses and finally, a kiss in the moonlight.

It occurred to her then that Lord Sheringham
hadn’t tried to kiss her.
 
Perhaps that
meant he didn’t want to … or perhaps he was waiting until she said yes.
 
She had the distinct feeling that the notion
she might
not
say yes hadn’t crossed
his mind.
 
She also had the uneasy
suspicion that he might not take very kindly to a refusal.

Repressing a sigh and reminding herself about Duty
and Making the Best of Things, she said hesitantly, ‘Perhaps if you could allow
me some time in which to consider ..?’

Marcus retained his clasp on her hands so he
wasn’t tempted to shake her.
 
He said,
‘If that is what you need, my dear … and if you will at least offer me a little
hope in return.
 
Do you think you could
do that?’

Caroline saw the trap but couldn’t think of a way around
it.
 
Telling him he could hope was as
good as accepting his proposal – just not quite as final. Or so she told
herself as she prepared to bow to the inevitable.

‘If you wish it, sir.’

‘Thank you.’
 
He rose, drawing her up with him.
 
‘You won’t keep me waiting too long?’

‘No more than I can help.’
 
She wished he would let her go.
 
He was standing much too close and not
knowing what he might do next was making her nervous.
 
‘A few days.
 
A week at the very most.’

A week?
 
Oh no, my dear.
 
You’ll say yes before then.
 
I guarantee it.

Instinct told him that kissing her wasn’t going to
advance his cause.
 
She looked ready to
bolt as it was.
 
So he captured her other
hand and raised each in turn to his lips, murmuring, ‘A week can seem like
eternity but I shall be patient … and await my reward.’

Caroline stared out across the top of his head,
her eyes wide and blank and her heart a lead weight in her chest.

~
 
*
 
*
 
~
 
*
 
*
 
~

While Lord Sheringham was doing his best to settle
his financial future, Lord Sarre bought a sleek, grey gelding, promised to meet
Lord Nicholas that evening at the Cocoa Tree and walked to Sinclair’s to find
out what Aristide wanted.

He arrived in the manager’s office in time to hear
Madeleine Delacroix saying crossly, ‘I need another footman.
 
A
real
footman – one who can serve at table – not one of those clumsy idiots of yours
that I trip over every time I turn around.
 
And the upstairs wine-store needs replenishing.
 
Last night, Lord Shrewsbury asked for two
bottles of Chambertin and I had to send downstairs for them.’

‘I’ll see to it,’ said her brother.

‘Today, if you wouldn’t mind.
 
Also, that other matter we spoke of.
 
If you can’t spare Cameron from the main
floor for more than ten minutes at a time, you’ll need to come up with another
way of dealing with it.’

‘I already have.’ Aristide directed a wry grin
past her to where Sarre was lounging in the doorway.
 
‘You can come in.
 
In fact I wish you would.
 
She might turn her guns on you instead.’

Madeleine turned round and fixed his lordship with
a long, cool stare.

‘Ah,’ she said.
 
‘Adrian.
 
Of course.
 
I might have known.’

He smiled at her. ‘Madeleine.’

She tilted her chin.

‘I wasn’t aware I’d given you permission to make
free with my name, sir.’

‘My apologies.’
 
He managed to make his bow faintly ironic, despite experiencing the
inevitable male reaction to her pale red hair, translucent green eyes and
perfect body.
 
‘Mademoiselle
 
Delacroix … as beautiful and razor-edged as
ever, I see.’

‘And Milord Sarre,’ she retorted, ‘with his arsenal
of clever tricks.’

They’d been friends once – or, at least, he’d
thought they had.
 
It later turned out
that Madeleine had imagined them on the verge of something more until, on the
heels of a blazing row with her brother, she’d gone running to Adrian’s
lodgings looking for comfort only to discover him in bed with his current
mistress.
 
It had taken him some time to
get over the fact that Madeleine had seen his bare arse.
 
Presumably for other reasons entirely,
Madeleine
still
hadn’t got over it.

He’d missed her friendship.
 
Unfortunately, she’d never let him explain
that he didn’t bed virgins and that, as Aristide’s younger sister, he couldn’t
touch her – no matter how much he might want to. And now, years on, only two
things had changed.
 
She was older … and,
on the rare occasions when they met, she looked as though she’d happily stick a
knife into him.
 
From time to time, it
had occurred to him that if he could have her naked in bed for an hour, that
might be a risk worth taking … if it didn’t also risk his relationship with her
brother.

Maintaining a bland smile, he said, ‘If I’ve come
at a busy time, I can wait.’

‘No.’ It was Aristide who spoke, his tone
firm.
 
‘I have a note of Madeleine’s
current complaints and --’

‘They’re not complaints,’ she snapped. ‘They are
problems which need to be addressed.’

‘And I’ve agreed that they will be.
 
You shall have an additional footman, I’ll
see to the wine-store and, if you stop antagonising him, Adrian will hopefully
clear up the other matter.
 
So if there’s
nothing else …?’

Madeleine narrowed her eyes and looked as though
she could have thought of quite a few things, none of them pleasant, so Adrian
said helpfully, ‘I noticed a half-empty glass on one of the window-ledges
downstairs.
 
You could always go and
persecute the maid who missed it.’

Recognising this for the provocation that it was,
she didn’t dignify it with an answer.
 
She simply cast him another scathing glance and swirled from the room in
a rustle of moss-coloured taffeta.

‘Stop salivating,’ said Aristide.
 
‘Unless you can persuade her she’d like to
become a Countess, she’s not for you.
 
And if you
did
so persuade
her, the pair of you would cut each other to ribbons inside a month.
 
So sit down and take a look at that.’

His lordship scanned the sheet of paper that
Aristide pushed across the desk.
 
It was
a detailed list of Marcus Sheringham’s gains and losses over the last quarter,
most of them due to his predilection for basset.
 
Marcus ought to find it horrifying
reading.
 
Adrian merely looked at the
figure at the bottom of the page and skimmed it back towards Aristide.

‘Pretty much as you said it would be.
 
Are you going to acquaint him with this in
person or by letter?’

‘By letter – in which I’ll also revoke his
membership.
 
He’ll be in to see me, of
course, as soon as he receives it.
 
They
always are.
 
But I find it preferable to
have these things in writing.’

Adrian nodded.
 
‘And the other matter you wanted to discuss?’

‘Ah.
 
Yes.
 
It’s to do with something
untoward in Madeleine’s province upstairs.’

‘The exclusive dining-parlour?’

‘And the rooms adjoining it where men with
abnormally deep pockets like the peace and quiet to indulge in abnormally deep
play,’ nodded Aristide.
 
‘To be fair,
it’s not just gaming.
 
Some of the most
acute political minds congregate up there to pit their wits against each
other.
 
But mostly it’s cards.’

‘
Just
cards?’

‘Yes.
 
No
dice and no house gaming-tables permitted.’

‘And you think someone’s cheating?’

‘I think,’ came the mildly irritable reply, ‘that a
fellow named Chatham – who certainly doesn’t need the money – has an ability
not dissimilar to your own. But neither Cameron nor I can be spared from the
main floor for as long as it would take to be absolutely sure.
 
So, in spite of everything I said to the
contrary …’

Adrian’s mouth took on a sardonic twist.

‘You thought it would be simpler to set a thief to
catch a thief, as it were.’

‘That’s the general idea though I wouldn’t
personally have put it that way.
 
Will
you?’

‘That depends on whether or not the existing
players will welcome me.’

‘I doubt that will be a problem.
 
Rockliffe is one of them – in fact, it was he
who first mentioned the matter.’

‘Now why does that not surprise me?’ murmured his
lordship.
 
And then, ‘You realise that,
however annoying it is for other players, counting cards isn’t actually
cheating?
 
It’s just playing with an
added advantage.
 
It’s also – as I know
only too well – a damned difficult advantage to shut down.
 
So, assuming I confirm the Duke’s suspicions
… what do you intend to do about it?’

‘I’ve no idea.
 
At present, I’m just looking for an answer and hoping you can provide
it.
 
Needless to say, if you lose, the
house will absorb your losses.’

‘I won’t lose.’
 
Adrian leaned back in his chair, frowning a little. ‘There is, however,
a problem.
 
If my peculiar skill becomes
public knowledge I’ll have more people looking at me sideways than I do
already.
 
In short, no one is going to
believe I do my damnedest
not
to use
it and I’ll be black-balled at White’s before I’ve even got through the door.’

‘Only,’ said Aristide, ‘if you appear as
yourself.’

Adrian groaned.
 
‘Have you any idea what you’re asking?’

‘Yes.
 
I’ve
seen you do it a dozen times.’

‘Not amongst men who know me, for God’s sake!
 
And not in the same room as bloody Rockliffe
– who, even if he
didn’t
know I’m an
actor, is nobody’s fool.’

‘Are you saying it can’t be done … or that you’re
not prepared to try?’

There was a long silence.
 
Then, on a sigh of pure resignation, ‘Neither.
 
Damn you, Aristide.
 
I’ll do my best.
 
But if it ends in disaster, it will be your
job to pick up the pieces.’

*
 
*
 
*

‘You’re joking, aren’t you?’ asked Bertrand when
told what was afoot.
 
‘Haven’t you got
enough problems?’

Adrian shrugged.
 
‘Aristide wouldn’t have asked if it wasn’t necessary.’

‘It’s not Aristide’s reputation at stake, is it?
 
But if you’ve already told him you’ll do it,
there’s no point in arguing with you. So who’s it going to be?
 
Monsieur Montalban?
 
Major Macpherson?
 
Who?’

‘Neither the Frenchman nor the Scot, I think.
 
The Russian, perhaps … or Signor
Fiorelli.
 
I’ll decide later.
 
For now, take a note to Lord Nicholas to let
him know that I won’t be joining him this evening.’

 
‘What about
that brother of his?’
 
Bertrand knew all
about Rockliffe.

‘If his Grace comes to the club, Aristide is
supposed to lure him elsewhere for a hand or two of piquet.’

‘And if he can’t?’

‘If he can’t, I’m just going to have to give the
performance of my life.’

*
 
*
 
*

Monsieur Delacroix welcomed Count Julius von
Rainmayr to Sinclair’s and listened courteously to the gentleman’s preferences,
whilst drawing certain conclusions from his appearance.
 
Although the diamonds flashing on his hands
and in his cravat indicated that money was plainly no object, the elderly Count
still held to the fashions of his younger days.
 
The skirts of his plum-coloured coat were extremely full; his powdered
shoulder-length wig was some thirty years out of date; and his once dashing
military moustache had grown overly-bushy and exceedingly grey.
 
Leaning heavily on his cane, he informed
Aristide in flawless but heavily accented English, that he expected to be in
London for only a brief time and that Sinclair’s had been recommended to him as
a place for deep play.

 
Aristide led
him up the two flights of stairs leading to the most exclusive areas of the
club. Owing to the Count’s age and infirmity, progress was naturally slow and
required frequent pauses.
 
Eventually,
however, they arrived at their destination and, when the Austrian gentleman had
recovered his breath, taken stock of his surroundings and pronounced himself
agreeably impressed, Aristide made the necessary introductions before melting
discreetly away.

The men at the table were playing basset.
 
There were six of them – amongst whom were
the Earl of Sandwich, Charles Fox and Mr Chatham.
 
Having bowed with Austrian punctiliousness to
each of the six in turn, Count von Rainmayr accepted the chair he was offered
and embarked on the lengthy process of settling down for the evening.
 
He propped his cane against the table, then
promptly knocked it over when he pulled a handkerchief from his pocket.
 
Mr Fox picked the cane up. The Count
expressed his thanks, tried positioning it beside his chair … and felled it
again whilst searching for his spectacles.
 
Once more, Mr Fox retrieved it.
 
The Count polished his spectacles – wire-rimmed with oddly blue-tinted
lenses – and, having positioned them on his nose, set about hunting for his
purse.
 
This time, instead of waiting for
the inevitable, Mr Fox politely suggested that perhaps his lordship’s cane
might be put to one side until it was required.
 
Since it appeared that Count Rainmayr’s hearing was slightly defective,
he had to say this twice before receiving a curt affirmative.
 
And finally it seemed that the game might be
resumed.

Over the ensuing half-dozen hands during which the
Count lost consistently, he also managed to halt play completely no less than
three times and slow it considerably with his fussy, beetle-browed
deliberations.
 
With the exception of
Charles Fox, the other players at the table began to wear an air of mild
exasperation.
 
So when the Count
announced that his preferred game was
é
cart
é
and wondered if
any of the gentlemen present would indulge him with a hand or two, Lord
Sandwich immediately said, ‘Of course.
 
É
cart
é
’s
your game,
isn’t it Chatham?’
 
And was swiftly
seconded by Viscount Derby.

Fortunately, Mr Chatham didn’t seem to mind.
 
Rising from his seat, he gave Count Rainmayr
his arm as far as a smaller table in the corner and then waited patiently for
the old gentleman to complete his lengthy preparations whilst a footman was
sent for the required pack of thirty-two cards.
 
Then, and only then, did they begin to play.