The Player (Rockliffe Book 3) (28 page)

‘Does she?’ Nicholas blinked in surprise.
 
Then, his dark eyes growing thoughtful, ‘Does
she now?’
 

~
 
*
 
*
 
~
 
*
 
* ~

Adrian didn’t know what to make of Caroline’s
sudden change of heart.
 
He knew what
she’d
said
but he couldn’t help
feeling there was something more … something he was missing.

But she’d put back some warmth into a day which – despite
having begun so promisingly – had disintegrated into misery and shock.
 
That brief, butterfly kiss had made him yearn
to put his arms about her and just hold on.
 
He’d wanted to bury his face in her hair and pretend that her presence
was nothing to do with Marcus Sheringham; that she was here with him because
she wanted to be rather than because he’d tricked her; that a future containing
something honest and real might be possible.
 
Just for a moment, he’d let himself hope.

Of course, he’d been unable to let any of that
show.
 
He’d merely inclined his head,
brushed her hand with his lips and, inwardly cursing himself, said, ‘Thank
you.
 
I’ll try to be worthy of your good
opinion.’

Then he went into the house and gave Bertrand the
gist of his meeting with
Bailes
and its likely
results.
 
Bertrand nodded grimly and
agreed to make the necessary arrangements, then added, ‘There’s a word for men
like your father …but I daresay you’d rather I didn’t use it.’

‘I’d rather not talk about him at all,’ replied
Adrian.
 
‘You can stop doctoring the
horse, by the way.
 
It seems that
Mistress Maitland no longer wishes to leave.’

‘She doesn’t?’
 
Bertrand stared at him.
 
‘She’s
going to marry you?’

‘So she says.’’

‘I’m impressed.
 
After the Claude Duvall business, I didn’t think you’d talk her round at
all
– never mind managing it in
forty-eight hours.
 
What did the trick?’

‘I suspect it had something to do with my offering
Mr
Bailes
a job.’
 
Adrian managed a sardonic shrug. ‘She thinks I’m honourable and kind. Whether
she’ll still be of the same mind by the end of the evening … I don’t know.’

‘Ah.’
 
Bertrand nodded thoughtfully. ‘Yes.
 
Best to get that out of the way, I suppose.
 
But if you want a word of advice, you’ll give
her that gown you bought.
 
Now she’s said
she’ll marry you, she can’t jump to the wrong conclusions. And, aside from
women always liking a gift, it’ll show that you thought about her and went to a
bit of trouble.’

‘That’s not why I did it.’

‘No – but it’s how it will
look
.’

Adrian gave a brief, unamused laugh and rubbed his
hands over his face.

‘Do you know … I’m getting really tired of doing
things just for how they look.’

‘Good – because that brings me to the other
thing.
 
Stop being the Earl and start
being yourself.
 
Not all at once, maybe –
but gradually, so it looks natural; as though you’re just becoming more relaxed
in her company.
 
You’re a good enough
actor to do that, aren’t you?’

‘Normally, yes,’ agreed Adrian.
 
‘But tonight’s a different matter.
 
Tonight the best I can hope for is to get the
words right.’

*
 
*
 
*

Caroline stood in her chamber, staring out of the
window.
 
She realised that, at this
point, a sensible woman would be questioning whether or not she’d done the
right thing.
 
Plainly, she wasn’t
sensible.
 
Instinct had triumphed over
both caution and logic … and, so far, she didn’t regret it in the least.
 

She might have been disappointed in the stilted
formality of his response had she not caught the expression that had flared
briefly in his eyes.
 
Incredulity merging
into embarrassed pleasure.
 
An expression
that she didn’t think had anything to do with Marcus Sheringham because, if
Sarre had been applying his usual steely control, it wouldn’t have been there
at all.

She smiled a little and then swallowed a lump in
her throat when she remembered how he’d been with that poor old man who plainly
loved him.
 
That had been honest, too …
and it had revealed more about his lordship than any amount of questioning.
 
He didn’t just see those dismissed servants
as his responsibility – though, under the circumstances, that would have been
remarkable enough.
 
He actually
cared
about them.
 
And that, thought Caroline optimistically,
proved that an affectionate nature lay buried beneath the ice.
 
Perhaps, in time, he might be less wary of letting
it show.

The red gown she’d been wearing for the past two
days had collected dirt and bits of weed during their walk across the fields,
which was no bad thing because she was sick of the sight of it anyway.
 
As for the pink silk she’d been wearing on
the journey from London, she had no idea what had happened to it and didn’t
much care.
 
But her only remaining gown
was an old blue one made of light wool which was extremely plain and not in the
least fashionable.
 
She sighed
faintly.
 
She’d have liked his lordship
to see her in something vaguely flattering; but since she had little choice in
the matter, she shrugged the thought aside and set about readying herself for
dinner.

His nerves at full stretch, Adrian waited in the
parlour.
 
The brandy bottle was tempting
him with its mere presence but he refused the invitation and sat down with a
book pulled off the shelf at random.
 
It
turned out to be
The Prince of Abyssinia
by Samuel Johnson which sounded a good deal more interesting than it probably
was.
 
Adrian opened it and forced himself
to read the first page.
 
He was still
scowling at that same page some twenty minutes later when Caroline walked in.

He immediately shut the book and stood up, taking
in her appearance.
 
The dark blue gown
suited her … as did the way she’d tied her hair high on her head, leaving just
a few loose curls to drift around her neck.
 
He wanted to tell her she looked lovely but couldn’t seem to frame the
right words because everything inside him wanted to walk across the room and take
her in his arms.
 
So he took a calming
breath, cleared his throat and said, ‘I haven’t seen that gown before.
 
It looks well on you.’

‘This?’
 
Her
smile was shy and rather surprised.
 
‘It’s quite old.
 
Not, as you can
no doubt tell, one of the Harrogate ones.’

He shook his head.
 
‘I like it.
 
And I like your hair
that way.’
It makes me want to tug that
ribbon free and let it all tumble loose so I can bury my face in it
.
 
‘I have to ask if you meant what you said
earlier.
 
About marrying me, I mean.’

She sensed rather than saw his uncertainty and
again felt an inclination to put her arms around him and hold him very
tightly.
 
Instead, she sat down and said
tranquilly, ‘Yes.
 
I meant it.’

He was surprised by how far those four words went
towards easing the tension inside him. But still he couldn’t help asking, ‘Does
that mean you think that, in time, you might be able to trust me?’

‘I’m beginning to suppose that quite likely.’
 
The deep brown eyes rose to look directly
into his. ‘Of course, it will need to work both ways.
 
I’m hoping you’ll feel able to stop hiding
what you
are
behind what you think
you
ought
to be.’

A half-smile touched his mouth. ‘Have you been
talking to Bertrand, by any chance?’

‘Not recently – and not about that.
 
I presume he’s told you the same thing?’

‘More or less.’

‘And so?’

‘So I’ll try.’

‘That’s all I ask.
 
I believe we’ve come to a better understanding of each other rather more
quickly than I’d thought possible.’
 
She
smiled up at him. ‘Perhaps we can build on that.’

‘Yes.
 
Perhaps we can.’

*
 
*
 
*

At some point half-way through dinner, dread once
more started gnawing at the edges of his mind, making it difficult to maintain
easy conversation and turning the food to ashes in his mouth.
 
He stopped eating but kept up a pretence of
continuing to do so by rearranging what was on his plate and sought refuge,
instead, in his wine-glass.

For a while, Caroline let him get away with it and
then, setting aside her own knife and fork, she stood up and held out her hand
to him, saying, ‘This is silly.
 
You
won’t be comfortable until you’ve said what you have to say.
 
So let’s go back to the parlour, away from
all this food and you can get it over with.’

Adrian rose reluctantly and took her outstretched
fingers in his.

‘I ought to be able to deal with this better.’

‘I won’t know if that’s true until you’ve told me.’
 
She gave his hand a brief squeeze.
 
‘And as for dealing with it … I don’t suppose
it’s occurred to you that I might be able to help?’

‘No.
 
But
that’s no reflection on you.
 
I’ve been
living with this for ten years and am still sickened by it.’
 
He walked with her to the parlour and,
shutting the door behind them, added, ‘I wouldn’t burden you with it at all if
I didn’t have to.’

Caroline sat down and arranged her skirts about
her.

‘Why do you think you have to?’

‘So that when, as my wife, you hear the whispers
and see people turning their backs on me, you’ll at least know the truth … and
for another reason which I’ll come back to later.’
 
He took the chair on the far side of the
hearth and, keeping his gaze fixed on his hands, said, ‘You asked me once if I
had ever been in love and I told you that I had.
 
Once.
 
Her name was Evangeline.
 
She was
eighteen, stunningly beautiful and had a fortune of twenty thousand a
year.
 
I mention the money, not because
it mattered to me, but because, had it not existed, none of the rest of this
would have happened.’
 
He paused and
then, continuing to keep his tone level and completely impersonal, said, ‘I was
twenty-one and entering the
beau monde
for the first time since making the Grand Tour. The moment Evie smiled at me, I
was lost.
 
I didn’t care that we had
nothing in common or that the neck-or-nothing way she rode scared the hell out
of me.
 
I didn’t even care that she was
rumoured to have been a little free with her favours or that my parents didn’t
like her. I just wanted her.
 
I wanted
her so badly it hurt.’
 

He stopped and, crossing to the sideboard, poured
wine into two glasses.
 
Then, having
handed one of them to Caroline, he resumed his seat and took a drink.

‘I asked her to marry me and, for some reason I
never understood, she accepted.
 
My
father considered her entirely unsuitable to bear the hallowed Devereux name
and my mother actually despised her … but there was that twenty thousand a
year, you see.’
 
He glanced up briefly.
‘I should explain that the Earldom was virtually bankrupt.
 
My grandfather liked the gaming-table and my
father liked investment schemes.
 
Neither
of them was lucky. As a consequence, my parents decided that Evie’s money might
just about outweigh her many faults and agreed to let me marry her.’
 
Another pause and this time he drained his
glass. ‘The wedding was to take place two days after my twenty-second birthday.
In the early hours of that birthday, Evie woke me up and led me through a part
of the house that had been unusable for decades, then out on to the roof.
 
I can still remember the smell of mice and
mildew and rotting wood, followed by the clean crispness of the dawn air.
 
The sun was just coming up and the sky
promised a beautiful day.’

He stopped again and showed no sign of
continuing.
 
The blood had drained from
his skin and a pulse was beating insistently in his jaw.
 
Realising that he was approaching the most
painful part of the story and to give him time, Caroline fetched the wine from
the sideboard and re-filled his glass, saying gently, ‘It’s all right. You
don’t have to finish it if you don’t want to.
 
The rest will wait until another day.’

‘No.
 
It
won’t.
 
If I don’t do this now, I never
will. It’s just difficult because I can’t talk about it without
remembering.
 
And I don’t
want
to remember.’

‘No.
 
I can
see that.’
 
And she could.
 
He was starting to look quite ill.