The Player (Rockliffe Book 3) (14 page)

Nicholas frowned.
 
‘You’re saying that someone else was in here?’

‘I would think so, wouldn’t you?
 
Either that or my brother’s files had a
sudden urge to incinerate themselves.’

Ignoring the sarcasm, he pulled back the curtain
and crouched down on the hearth to begin picking through the debris.
 
‘Is that what this is?
 
Some of Aristide’s files?’

‘Yes.
 
Isn’t
that what I just said?’

He glanced up and gave her an unexpectedly
spectacular smile.

‘I can understand you feeling shaky,’ he
remarked.
 
‘Equally, having just saved
your life, I think a crumb or two of civility wouldn’t go amiss.’

That smile caused Madeleine a moment’s hesitation.
 
It was one of the things that, along
with his easy laugh and light-hearted demeanour, made him dangerous to her
peace of mind and the reason she’d spent weeks staying sensibly out of his way.
 
She’d fallen stupidly in love once before and
wasn’t about to allow herself to develop pointless feelings for the brother of
a Duke. So she folded her arms and said, ‘I am not shaky – and you didn’t save
my life.
 
I was managing perfectly well
on my own.’

‘And you’d still have managed perfectly well when
your petticoats caught fire, would you?’
 
He pointed to the singe-marks around her hem.
 
‘You needn’t be afraid to give me a little
credit.
 
I promise I won’t expect you to
fall on my neck in gratitude.’

‘No?’

‘No.’ He stood up, holding some charred pieces of
paper and added, ‘I might
hope
for
it, of course. But you can’t blame a fellow for that.’

Madeleine opened her mouth on another acid retort
and then closed it again as the door opened and Aristide burst in. Grasping her
hands, he said in French, ‘Are you all right?’

‘Aside from ruining one of my favourite gowns? Perfectly.
 
This gentleman,’ she waved a careless hand in
his lordship’s direction, ‘arrived in time to lend a hand.’

Releasing his sister, Aristide turned to his
lordship and switched back to English.

‘Nicholas? How --?’
 
He stopped.
 
‘No.
 
That doesn’t matter.
 
I’m just grateful you were here.
 
But what the hell happened, Madeleine?’

 
‘I don’t
know.
 
Clearly, someone was intent on
destroying some files – this being the result.’

‘Somebody got in here?
 
Here?
 
In my private
office?
’

‘Yes.’

Aristide uttered a brief, pungent curse.
 
Then, swinging round to the two beefy fellows
hovering at his back, said, ‘Get Jenkins up here now.’

‘Mr Jenkins’ll be on the door, sir,’ objected one
of them.
 
‘Busy, like.’

‘
Just get
him!
’ roared Aristide.
 
They fled but
it took the manager no less than three steadying breaths before he could say,
‘Which files?’

Nicholas shrugged but Madeleine was already
scrutinising the bank of drawers.
 
She
said, ‘This one, perhaps?
 
Unless you
left it partly open?’

‘Never.’
 
Aristide pushed past her and yanked the drawer wide to reveal a large
gap inside.
 
‘S,’ he said brusquely,
rifling swiftly through the folders.
 
‘Everything between Se and Sm. The bastard just grabbed a handful and
tried to burn the lot.
Merde
.’

‘Were they your only copies?’ asked Nicholas.

‘Yes. You can see how much there is – keeping
duplicates of everything would take twice the space.
 
And I pay a lot of money to keep the entire
building secure so that this kind of thing can’t happen.’

‘Except that it has,’ remarked his sister.

‘Thank you for stating the obvious,
Madeleine.
 
It’s such a help.’
 
Aristide spun round as Alfred Jenkins skidded
to a halt in the doorway.
 
‘Jenkins.
 
Excellent.
 
Perhaps you’d like to explain to me how the
hell
an intruder managed to make his way through the entire club –
apparently unnoticed – and set fire to my office?’

Mr Jenkins stared round at the damage and then back
at his employer, the colour draining from his skin.

‘I can’t, sir.
 
Not off-hand.’

‘You can’t. Wonderful. You realise, I hope, that
my sister could have been killed and the entire bloody building might have
burned down?’

‘Yes, sir.’

‘What exactly am I paying you for, Jenkins?’

‘Security, sir.
 
And all I can offer you right now are my apologies.
 
But if you’ll give me time to make some
enquiries --’

‘I’ll give you twenty minutes to re-organise your
schedules and have everyone previously on duty up here in front of me – and a
further twenty to find anyone downstairs who saw anything.
 
And I
mean
anyone – including the damned scullery-maid.
 
Is that clear?’

‘Clear, sir.’
 
Mr Jenkins and ran back the way he had come.

‘It may not be his fault,’ suggested Nicholas
mildly.

‘It was,’ came the grim reply.
 
‘Ultimately, it was.’

‘But if it was someone already legitimately inside
the --’

‘It wasn’t.’

‘You’re saying,’ remarked Madeleine, ‘that you
know who did this?’

‘Almost certainly.’

‘Then why didn’t you tell Jenkins that?
 
It would make his task easier.’

‘I don’t
want
to make his task easier, for God’s sake.
 
I want him to find the answer on his own – not merely confirm my
suspicions because it saves a deal of trouble.’

‘And what exactly are your suspicions?’ asked a
new voice from the doorway.

Aristide, Madeleine and Nicholas all turned like
clockwork and simultaneously greeted the newcomer in three different ways and
in a trio of differing tones.

‘Adrian?’ Relieved.

‘My Lord Sarre.’ Sarcastic.

‘Dev?’ Surprised.

Then, shaking his head, Nicholas said, ‘I never
knew a fellow who used so many names at once.
 
It’s damned confusing.
 
However …
where did you spring from?’

‘White’s.
 
It was tedious.’
 
The Earl saw no
need to add that none of the men with whom he’d recently begun forging a
friendship had been present and, of those gentlemen who
were
in attendance, most had chosen to ignore him.
 
‘It’s discreet mayhem downstairs – and now I see
why. You were saying you think you know who’s responsible?’

‘Shut the door,’ grunted Aristide.
 
And when this had been done, ‘Yes.
 
My money is on Marcus Sheringham.
 
This morning he received notification that
his membership had been cancelled along, obviously, with his credit and that
his debts to the club are due for payment before quarter day.
 
An hour later he was in here trying to talk
me out of it.’

‘And failing,’ said Sarre.

‘And failing,’ agreed Aristide.
 
‘But he went through the whole gamut.
 
Polite persuasion, empty promises, threats,
entreaties … he tried them all. He even more or less said he’d landed the
Maitland heiress.’

‘Wishful thinking,’ murmured Sarre dryly. ‘He’s
yet to make it a fact.’

‘That’s what I assumed.
 
By the time he finally left, he was hurling
insults and virtually foaming at the mouth.
 
But it never occurred to me that he’d try something like this.’ He
paused, running a hand through his already dishevelled hair. ‘Not that there’s
any proof that he did.’

‘Yet,’ said Sarre.

‘And if Jenkins finds some?’ asked his
sister.
 
‘What then?’

‘I’ll have him arrested – after I’ve knocked his
teeth down his throat.’
 
Aristide looked
at Sarre.
 
‘I don’t care whether the fire
was started on purpose or through carelessness.
 
If Madeleine and Nicholas hadn’t got here when they did, people could
have died and you and I would have lost everything.
 
I’m not about to forgive that.
 
And, aside from everything else, we’ve also
lost the only detailed account of his debts to the club – which is likely to
pose other problems entirely.’
 

‘It would if it were true,’ said the Earl calmly. ‘As
we both know, your memory for figures is exceptional.
 
Also, Henry Lessing included an estimate of
Sheringham’s liability to Sinclair’s in my personal accounting records so all
you need do is update his information and have him furnish you with a copy.
 
Then, assuming that you’re right and it
is
Sheringham – it will be interesting
to see what he does next.’

A little later, while Aristide was heaping burning
coals on the heads of his entire security staff – none of whom had seen any
sign of an intruder – Nicholas and Adrian strolled down St James Street,
discussing the evening’s events.
 
Then,
at the point where their paths diverged, Nicholas said just a little too carelessly,
‘Tonight is the first time I ever met Aristide’s sister.
 
She’s quite something, isn’t she?’

‘That,’ responded Adrian, ‘is certainly one way of
putting it. Or were you speaking merely about her looks?’

‘Oddly enough, no – extraordinary though they
are.’
 
He paused and then, still as if it
were of no particular consequence, said, ‘I suppose you know her quite well.’

‘I used to … until she took me in acute
dislike.’
 

‘Ah.’
 
Nicholas nodded wisely. ‘Like that, is it?’

‘No. There was never any of ‘that’ between us and
never will be.
 
Also – just in case you
were wondering – Madeleine may live above a gaming club and perform the duties
of a housekeeper, but she isn’t a demi-rep.
 
And the man who makes the mistake of treating her like one had better be
wearing armour.’

*
 
*
 
*

In his house in Half-Moon Street, Marcus huddled
over the fire and waited for his hands to stop shaking.
 
He couldn’t believe he’d managed to get into
Sinclair’s and out again unchallenged.
 
Wearing
the darkest and plainest clothes he could find, he’d lurked near a side-door
used for deliveries.
 
Most of these were
made during the day but he knew that the Gallic genius in the kitchen was
always sending out for this or that, no matter what the hour.
 
So he’d waited until a fellow came trudging
back clutching a tray of something or other and taken it from him, saying,
‘Thank God.
 
He’s been shouting for this
for the last ten minutes.
 
I’ll take it –
if you want to go and get warm.’
 
And
then he was inside.

Getting to Aristide’s office had been easier than
he’d expected.
 
He knew where it was, he
knew it would be unoccupied and he knew the areas Jenkins’ fellows usually
patrolled.
 
He even, thanks to a bit of
luck some weeks back, knew where one of the concealed passage-ways was – though
not exactly where it went.
 
But somehow,
despite his terror, he’d managed to achieve his goal.
 
Then it had been a matter of doing what he’d
come to do as quickly as possible.
 
He
had no illusions about what his fate would be if he was caught.
 
If Delacroix didn’t beat him to a pulp,
Jenkins most assuredly would.
 
Worse
still, they might hand him over to a magistrate.
 
So he’d dragged a handful of files from the
drawer so his own wouldn’t be the only one missing and started feeding them to
the fire.
 
It seemed to take forever and
the sound of a door opening somewhere had routed what was left of his
nerves.
 
He’d shoved the last few folders
on top of the rest, stabbed at them with the poker and fled.

He didn’t remember getting out of the club.
 
He
did
remember running as though the hounds of hell were after him once he reached
the street.
 
And now, he sat by his fire,
praying to every God there was that he’d done enough; that destroying the
written evidence of his debt was going to be sufficient to cast doubt on the
debt itself and, if luck was on his side, make it difficult – even impossible –
for Delacroix to enforce it.

His hands were still shaking.
 
They’d guess it was him.
 
They’d guess … but they couldn’t be
certain.
 
They couldn’t prove it.
 
It would be all right.
 
And, to make sure it was, he’d stop Caroline
Maitland dithering and drag her to the altar by force if necessary.

~
 
*
 
*
 
~
 
*
 
* ~

Caroline devoted only a modicum of thought to
Lords Sheringham and Sarre and a great deal more to Monsieur Duvall.
 
After much deliberation, she decided not to
reveal his presence at the Overbury masquerade to Lady Brassington – not
because she thought her ladyship’s discretion wasn’t to be trusted, but because
she couldn’t foresee where these
Eulenspiegel
-like
appearances might lead.
 
Also, she had
never had a secret worth keeping before and she discovered that she rather
liked it.

Mama continued badgering her to accept Lord
Sheringham’s proposal. Lavinia, wistfully but without rancour, said it was a
pity that she and Caroline couldn’t change places.
 
And Sylvia said bluntly, ‘If you don’t like
him, don’t have him. A title’s not everything.’

Privately, Caroline agreed with her.
 
But, equally privately, she recognised that
it didn’t necessarily mean one could have the things one
did
like – even should they be offered.

On the evening following the Overbury masquerade,
Mr Sterne declared himself and Caroline gently declined him on the grounds that
she didn’t think they would suit.

‘I was afraid you’d say that,’ said Ludovic
wryly.
 
‘I don’t blame you, of
course.
 
But of all Cousin Lily’s heiresses,
you’re the first one I actually wouldn’t mind being married to.’

Caroline was surprised by the compliment and
treasured it more than another lady might have done.
 
She even felt a little sorry for Mr Sterne
and tried to soften the blow as best she could but he merely smiled, shook his
head and said, ‘It’s all right, you know.
 
One gets used to it.
 
But I hope
you’ll still dance with me.’

Having reduced her options by half, Caroline
started to lose sleep about what she was going to say to Lord Sheringham. That
she was going to have to say something very soon was becoming increasingly
clear; but the problem was the same as it had always been.
 
She didn’t want to say yes but wasn’t sure it
would be sensible to say no.
 
Then Lady
Brassington told her something that brought the moment of decision inescapably
close.

‘I don’t want to alarm you, my dear, but there’s
rumour going about that you and Lord Sheringham have an understanding.’

‘We don’t,’ said Caroline, aghast.
 
‘At least,
I
don’t.’

‘No.
 
But it
seems he’s begun holding off his most pressing creditors by telling them that
he’s on the brink of contracting a very wealthy alliance.
 
And word spreads, you know.’

‘But he’s no business saying any such thing!
 
It isn’t true!’

‘It doesn’t have to be true for the gossips to
believe it and to pass it on,’ replied her ladyship aridly. ‘But it could place
you in a rather awkward position.
 
Of
course, if you turn his lordship down, it will place him in a worse one – but
that’s his own fault.
 
What
you
need to realise is that, the longer
you don’t answer him one way or the other, the worse the situation will become.’

‘You mean,’ said Caroline flatly, ‘that if I dally
long enough, I may end up having to say yes whether I want to or not?’

‘It’s a possibility.
 
Yes.’

‘Then I’ll end it tonight.
 
It’s Lady Waldgrave’s rout, isn’t it?’

‘Yes.’

‘So Lord Sheringham is likely to be there?’

‘Almost certainly, I’d say – particularly since
he’ll expect to see you and be hoping for the opportunity to press his suit.’

‘And he shall have it.’
Though if he tries to kiss me again, I’ll do a damned sight more than
stamp on his foot
, she thought crossly.
 
But was wise enough not to say it.

*
 
*
 
*

Caroline dressed carefully for the party that
evening, maliciously electing to wear the only one of her gowns to have so far
escaped de-ornamentation.
 
The colour of
bluebells, it might have been pretty had it not been made of extremely shiny
and slippery satin and frosted in every conceivable place with over-lays of
white lace.
 
Lavinia shook her head over
it and said, ‘At least let me get rid of some of that stuff around the
neckline.’

‘No.’

‘But it looks like a christening-robe.’

‘Does it?
 
I
hadn’t noticed.’

‘It’s awful and you know it,’ said Sylvia.
 
‘Why are you determined to look just about as
odd as you possibly can?’

‘I’ll tell you later,’ said Caroline, sounding
more cheerful than she actually felt.
 
‘Now … where did we put the ostrich feathers?’

‘You are not,’ snapped Lavinia, ‘putting those in
your hair.
 
I forbid it.’

‘Forbid all you like.
 
Sylvia … be a love and fix these for me, will
you?’

Downstairs, Mama – who had fought tooth and nail
against what she saw as the wanton destruction of Caroline’s wardrobe – nodded
approvingly and remarked that it was a change to see her looking “something
like”.

Lady Brassington’s reaction, when Caroline stepped
into the carriage, was rather different.

‘Lud!’ she said faintly. ‘Why didn’t you powder
your hair and have done with it?’

‘Well, I
did
think of that – but it was too late to send out for some powder,’ came the
perfectly deadpan reply. ‘It’s a pity, really. Do you suppose pale blue might
have looked nice?’

Her ladyship shuddered and thanked God for small
mercies.
 
She said, ‘Since you can’t have
achieved this result by accident, I suppose you have a reason?’

‘Yes.
 
I
thought it might be instructive to test Lord Sheringham’s ability to the
limits.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘Well, if he can look me in the eye and tell me
how lovely I look without wincing, he must be an extremely accomplished liar,
don’t you think?’

‘My dear, if he can do
that
, he deserves a medal.’

His lordship thought so, too, when he caught sight
of her from the other side of Lady Waldegrave’s ballroom.
 
Of all the hideous gowns he’d seen Mistress
Maitland wearing, this one had to be the worst.
 
The shine on that blue satin was almost blinding and every movement
caused the layers of lace to flutter about like washing on a line.
 
As for those ridiculous ostrich feathers,
they reminded him of his Aunt Agatha who was sixty if she was a day.

Marcus had spent a very nerve-racking day, lurking
at home and fearing, at any moment, to hear fists pounding on the front door.
 
He knew that, by now, Aristide Delacroix would
have questioned every single employee in Sinclair’s.
 
He also knew that if any of them had so much
as glimpsed him last night, he was going to be in a great deal of trouble.
 
So he hid and he waited and would probably
have gone on doing so but for the necessity of getting the Maitland chit to
accept his proposal without further delay.
 
And there she was on the far side of the room, dressed like a bloody
maypole.

Feeling in need of suitable fortification, Marcus
drained a glass of claret almost in one swallow before making his way across
the floor.
 
The only good thing to be
said for the girl’s appearance was that he was unlikely to have any competition
for her attention.

Seeing him coming, Caroline stiffened her spine
and snapped her fan shut.
 
Behind her
corset, her stomach was queasy with nerves but she drew a deep breath and
smiled.

‘Caroline, my dear.’
 
He bowed with easy familiarity over her hand
and met her smile with one of his own.
 
‘That is a very … original gown.
 
Flanders lace, surely?’

‘No.
 
Every
bit of it made in Yorkshire,’ she replied cheerfully. ‘It just goes to show
that one doesn’t have to buy foreign goods when quality can be had at home.
Also, the Harrogate ladies who made this only charge eight shillings the yard
as opposed to twelve for Brussels – and that’s quite a saving, isn’t it?’

‘Yes.
 
Indeed.’
 
His lordship wondered
why Lady B had failed to warn the cloth-merchant’s heiress that discussing the
cost of one’s raiment wasn’t much more socially acceptable than scratching or
farting.
 
In the hope of averting any
other vulgarities, he said, ‘Would you care to dance?’

‘A little later, perhaps.
 
I wondered if we might not just stroll the
rooms for a while,’ she suggested.
 
‘I
daresay you’ve a number of friends here tonight.’

In truth, he had far fewer friends than he’d had a
year ago.
 
Quite a lot had gradually
distanced themselves as he slid deeper and deeper into debt – which told him
how good those friends had been.
 
As for
those who remained, he had no intention of introducing them to his bride-to-be
until he’d smoothed out what he was beginning to realise were quite a number of
rough edges.

Smiling, he offered his arm and said, ‘I doubt
many of my intimates will be present this evening.
 
There is a sporting event in Islington
tonight which will likely draw a great crowd.
 
And, truth to tell, I should much prefer to have you to myself for a
time.
 
Firstly, I must apologise once
again for my behaviour the other evening.
 
If I distressed you in any way, I am truly sorry for it.
 
But I hope you will make allowances for the
natural feelings of a man in love.
 
A
poor, foolish hopeful fellow whose soul is living in a turmoil of doubt.’

Oh dear
,
thought Caroline, suddenly thoroughly irritated.
 
We
can’t have that, can we? Time to put the poor, foolish hopeful fellow out of
his misery.

She murmured, ‘Do you think that perhaps we ought
to be having this conversation in a less public place?’

‘If that would be acceptable to you – yes,’ he
said, looking a little surprised.
 
And
then, ‘I’m sure Lord Waldegrave wouldn’t mind us borrowing his library for a
short time.’

A private room wasn’t exactly what Caroline had in
mind but she accepted that it was probably preferable to saying what had to be
said where anyone might overhear so she nodded and let him lead her from the
ballroom.

The library was beautiful and the array of books
breath-taking but she couldn’t allow herself to be distracted.
 
It was important to keep her wits about her
and to monitor her words very carefully if the next few minutes were not to get
out of hand.
 
And so, taking the
initiative and trying to ignore the churning in her stomach, she said, ‘I am
aware that you have been extraordinarily patient in allowing me these few days
to consider your proposal.
 
I’m also, as
I’ve said previously, aware of the honour that proposal represents.
 
But I’m afraid that I can’t accept it, my
lord.
 
I’m sorry.’

For a second, Marcus wasn’t sure he’d heard her
correctly and, when he realised that he had, it took him a moment to be certain
he had his voice under control.

‘May I ask why?’

‘I – I don’t think we would make each other
happy.’

‘You mean that you don’t think I would make
you
happy.’

‘I mean what I said.
 
I’m not the wife for you.
 
I’m not nearly sophisticated enough or
socially adept or beautiful.
 
And I don’t
think you will like becoming related to my family which would create
difficulties as I’ve promised to help establish my half-sisters.’

Marcus didn’t want to discuss that last part.
 
In fact, he disliked her whole plain-spoken
attitude.
 
He purred, ‘Darling … how can
you think yourself inadequate in any way?
 
Surely the fact that I’ve told you that I love you should remove any
such doubts.’

‘It would if I believed you – but I don’t.’

He stared at her, momentarily lost for words.

‘What do you mean – you don’t believe me?
 
That’s utterly ridiculous.
 
Why would I say such a thing if it wasn’t
true?’

Because you
want Grandpa Maitland’s money
.

‘I think we both know the answer to that and can
agree that it’s better not discussed.
 
You are not in love with me nor ever likely to be. And to be honest, I’d
have respected you more if you hadn’t tried to pretend.’

The blue eyes narrowed and a pulse throbbed in his
jaw.

‘Would you indeed?’

‘Yes.’
 
She
spread her hands and pressed her attack. ‘I’m not entirely sure that you even
like
me.’

He didn’t … and was liking her less and less by
the minute.
 
Unfortunately, if there was
any chance at all of turning this around, he had no choice but to try.

‘You distress me unutterably.
 
Of course I like you. How can you possibly
think I don’t?’

‘You gave me a clue when you said you didn’t need
to persuade me to marry you because nobody else would want me.’