The Player (Rockliffe Book 3) (17 page)

‘Sheringham?
 
Yes. Perhaps I should have told you. But it didn’t occur to me that he
might attempt anything so drastic in a public place.
 
That he did so, indicates desperation.’

‘Do you think he may try again?’

‘Possibly.
 
Which means merely being careful may not be enough.’

Caroline’s brain began to re-assemble itself.
 
She said mordantly, ‘What does that mean?
That I should lock myself in my chamber for a week or two?’

‘A somewhat extreme measure and not enormously
practical,’ he replied, as if it had been a serious suggestion.
 
‘You can avoid empty ante-chambers, deserted
corridors … and private conversations such as the one we are currently having. You
can put a notice in the Morning Chronicle stating that, contrary to popular
rumour, there is no question of a marriage between yourself and Lord Sheringham
– only, of course, you can’t name either party openly.’

‘I can’t?’

Sarre shook his head.
 
‘It’s not done.’

‘I don’t suppose being forced to the altar is
done
either.’

‘Not generally.
 
No.’ He leaned back in his chair, appearing to consider the matter.
 
‘If it were anyone other than Sheringham, I’d
suggest announcing your betrothal to someone else.
 
But his lordship has been known not to let a
mere betrothal stand in his way.
 
And …
forgive my bluntness … he needs your dowry very badly.’

‘Yes.
 
I’ve
gathered that.’
 
Caroline stood up and
shook out her gaudy skirts.
 
‘Thank you
for your advice, my lord – and for giving me time to compose myself before
facing the rest of our party.
 
I
appreciate it.’

Sarre also rose, a degree of calculation entering
the normally expressionless face.
 
He
said, ‘There is another option you might consider.
 
Unfortunately, now is not the time to pursue
it since we have both been absent quite long enough.’ He held the curtain back
for her to precede him.
 
‘Do you ever
walk in Hyde Park, Mistress Maitland?’

Her nerves jumped.
 
‘Sometimes.’

He nodded.
 
‘I ride there each morning before breakfast. If you wish to continue
this conversation, I shall be on the Kensington side of the Longwater at eight
o’clock and will wait for precisely ten minutes.
 
Whether or not you come is entirely up to
you.
 
The only thing I must insist upon
is that you do not come alone.’

The bubble of faint hysteria rising inside her at
the thought of two secret assignations in one day almost caused her to say,
Why? Were
you
planning on abducting me?
 
But she stopped herself in time and said instead, ‘I can’t promise I’ll
be there.
 
But I
do
thank you for offering to spare me some of your time.’

‘Don’t,’ said the Earl.
 
And under his breath, ‘It’s not exactly
altruism.’

~
 
*
 
*
~
 
*
 
*
 
~

Caroline hardly slept.
 
Though the encounter with Marcus Sheringham
had left her shaken, it was thoughts of Claude Duvall that kept her awake.
 
She spent some time wondering how it was he
always seemed to know where he might find her and exactly when to make his
presence known.
 
But mostly she drifted
on a little tide of joy that was caused simply by seeing him again and knowing
that she would do so again tomorrow.
 
Of
the four unbelievable words he had spoken, she dared not think at all.
 
It was too frightening.

She tried to imagine what Lord Sarre wanted to say
to her but nothing sprang to mind.
 
Surely he’d already laid out all the ways of keeping herself safe from
Lord Sheringham, hadn’t he?
 
Meeting him
privately hardly seemed necessary … except that she was curious as to why the
apparently cold-blooded Earl would offer his help.

The warmth of Claude’s beautiful smile banished
Sarre’s tight-lipped control.
 
Caroline
sighed, knowing how foolish she was being.
 
He was a highwayman; she’d only met him three times; and, for all she
knew, he was as interested in her dowry as Lord Sheringham.
 
Thinking that he might be as powerfully
attracted to her as she was to him was downright nonsense and a sure road to
letting herself be hurt.
 
But if he were
to turn those four amazing words into a question … and if she truly thought he
meant them … she didn’t know what she would do.

*
 
*
 
*

Adrian didn’t sleep at all because he knew what
was likely to happen if he did.
 
Instead,
he sat before the dying fire with a glass of brandy.
 
When he’d first arrived home, he’d considered
laying the tale of his evening before Bertrand but had decided against it.
 
He
would
tell him everything, of course … just not quite yet.
 
Not until he’d had a chance to sift through
it in his own mind and analyse, not only what he’d done, but why he’d done it.

He’d adopted the role of Claude Duvall because it offered
both an easy disguise and the perfect way to find out what Caroline Maitland was
really made of; to see what lay behind the social mask.
 
Then again, what actor could resist the
chance to play a romantic legend?
 
The
French highwayman who’d danced with the wives before robbing their
husbands?
 
Adrian hadn’t even tried to
resist it.
 
Masquerading as Claude had
been too great a temptation.

But now the highwayman had as good as asked
Caroline to marry him.
 
This had never
been part of the plan.
 
Adrian had no
idea why he’d been foolish enough to let the words escape or where the notion had
come from in the first place.
 
And he
really
couldn’t explain why the idea had
suddenly seemed so perfect when, clearly, it wasn’t.
 

 
Caroline
had come to London bearing the carrot of a substantial dowry so she could marry
well.
 
Quite aside from having been dead
for over a century, Duvall didn’t qualify in the least – and any girl would have
to be completely insane to throw herself away on a fellow she believed earned
his living on the High Toby.

Ergo
, Caroline
couldn’t possibly marry Claude Duvall.

Adrian frowned into his glass at the next and
entirely logical progression.

Caroline couldn’t marry Claude Duvall. She could,
however, marry the Earl of Sarre.

The more he considered it, the more complete and
poetically just it seemed.
 
He intended
to marry and didn’t want to linger in London any longer than was necessary in
order to accomplish it.
 
Caroline had
character, intelligence and, he suspected, a capacity for kindness and
affection.
 
A man could do a lot
worse.
 
And it would be a pleasure to get
her out of those dreadful gowns and into something more flattering.
 
Actually, remembering her response to a
couple of rather enjoyable kisses, it would be no hardship to get her out of
everything else as well.
 
As for her
money, that only mattered in one vital particular.
 
He’d be damned before he let Marcus get his
hands on it.

Adrian drained his glass and re-filled it.
 
The passion he’d felt for Evie Mortimer had
been all-consuming.
 
Marcus – the man
he’d thought was his closest friend – had known that.
 
He’d known … and yet had quite deliberately taken
her from him.
 
Not fairly, not openly and
certainly not honourably.
 
Then, within
hours of Evie’s death, he’d had been shouting the accusations of jealousy and
murder that had forced Adrian into unwilling exile.
 
Accusations that, even ten years on, had left
mud clinging to his name. If there were any excuses for what Marcus had done,
Adrian couldn’t see them … so it seemed appropriate that the favour should now
be returned. And Caroline Maitland was the key to achieving it.

He wondered if she’d keep both of tomorrow’s assignations.
He was fairly confident she’d meet the highwayman but less sure she’d turn up
for the Earl.
 
Unfortunately, Sarre
needed to make her an offer first and hope that she would accept it. Most
people would think her answer a foregone conclusion.
 
An Earl was an Earl, after all.
 
Adrian, however, had a suspicion that
Mistress Maitland was already half in love with Duvall … whereas she didn’t
really like Sarre much at all.
 
And if
she did the unthinkable and accepted the highwayman, the immediate future was
going to become distinctly complicated.

Only one thing was abundantly clear.

Bertrand was either going to laugh himself silly
or ask if he’d completely lost his wits.

Adrian was beginning to wonder the same thing
himself.

*
 
*
 
*

The early morning air was cold and crisp.
 
Sarre allowed Argan one circuit of the park
at a brisk trot – enough to keep him in a good humour but not enough to allow
him to become over-heated – and then, on the stroke of eight, made his way to
the Longwater.

He waited, reminding himself again why he was
doing this but more than half-suspecting that Mistress Maitland was safely
tucked up in her virginal bed.
 
Then a
cloaked and hooded figure detached itself from the nearby shrubbery and walked
swiftly towards him. Sarre repressed an impulse to swear.
 
Despite everything he’d said, the idiot girl
had come alone.

Dropping from Argan’s back and without giving her
the chance to open her mouth, he said coldly, ‘Why not simply trot off to
Sheringham’s house and have done with it?’

Caroline blinked.
 
He actually sounded annoyed which, in a man whose emotions – assuming
that he actually had some – were imprisoned in an icy tower, was tantamount to
a full-blown tantrum.
 
She said mildly,
‘If I’d brought either the housemaid or one of my sisters, my Mama would have
had chapter and verse within the hour.
 
For obvious reasons, I wanted to avoid that.’

‘Oh.’
 
It
hadn’t occurred to him that she might not have a personal maid at all – let
alone one whom she could trust. ‘Then you’ll accept my escort home.’

‘You can accompany me to the end of the street and
no further, my lord.
 
But first – since
I’m sure neither of us wants to be seen together at such an odd hour – you can
tell me why I’m here.’

Sarre indicated a bench near the trees.

‘Then let us sit and I’ll be as brief as
possible.’
 

He looped Argan’s reins over a convenient branch
and sat down beside her.

‘Perhaps it would help if you understood Lord
Sheringham’s position more clearly.
 
You
will already be aware that, despite mortgaging most of his properties and
selling a good many of his more valuable possessions, he is very deeply in
debt. The reason for his sudden desperation now is a large debt of honour owing
to a fashionable gaming-club which he has to pay within a month.
 
If he fails to do this, he will find himself
persona non grata
throughout society and
no gentleman’s club in London will allow him through its doors.
 
Marriage to you can spare him all that.’

‘I see.’
 
Caroline thought for a moment and then said, ‘I thought such clubs were masters
of discretion.’

‘They are.’

‘So how come you know of this debt?’

Sarre cast her a searching, sideways glance.

‘How good are you at keeping secrets, Mistress
Maitland?’

A sudden, extremely mischievous smile dawned,
bringing the dimple with it.

‘My lord, I’m beginning to think I’m quite
excellent.’

‘Good. Then I know of it because I’m part-owner of
the establishment in question.’

Caroline turned her head and stared at him.
 
‘Really?’

‘Really.
 
And please don’t say
But you’re an
Earl!
’

‘I wasn’t going to.
 
I was about to return to the point at
issue.
 
You’re saying that Lord
Sheringham is going to spend the next month trying to force my hand?’

‘I think it quite likely.’

‘And you don’t wish him to succeed.’
 
It was not a question.

‘No.
 
I
don’t.’
 
His brows rose slightly and he
added, ‘Since it is your future which is at risk, I assume that you don’t
either.’

‘No.
 
But my
reasons are clear enough.
 
What are
yours?’

‘They are … complex.
 
Suffice it to say that the bad blood between
Sheringham and myself is not of my making and neither is his financial
predicament. But the first is hardly conducive to my wishing him well with the
second.’

‘No.
 
I
suppose not. Is there more?’

‘There is … but I’d rather not take up time with
it now, if you don’t mind.
 
Like my
horse, I imagine you’re starting to feel the cold.’
 
He stopped and added stiffly, ‘Forgive me.
 
That might have been better put.’

‘Quite a lot b-better, I imagine,’ replied
Caroline, struggling not to laugh.
 
‘So
what
did
you want to say?’

Sarre cleared his throat and stared out at the
Longwater.

‘I told you that a betrothal announcement wasn’t
guaranteed to spare you Sheringham’s attention.
 
Marriage, on the other hand, would.
 
If you wish it, I can make all the necessary arrangements by the end of
today and we could be married tomorrow morning.’

An odd roaring seemed to be taking place in
Caroline’s ears.
 
She said, ‘I’m
sorry.
 
I think I must have
misheard.
 
Are you … did you just ask me
to marry you?’

‘Yes.’

‘But … but that’s …’ Words failed her.

‘Insane? Not really.
 
I need to marry – though not, I should point
out, for money.
 
I would, however, like
to do it soon so that I can leave London and set about caring for my estate and
the people who live on it – that being the only reason I returned to
England.
 
Unfortunately, thanks to the stain
on my reputation, my choice of a bride is likely to be limited as even the most
open-minded of fathers will be reluctant to welcome an alleged murderer into
the family.’
 
Still without removing his
gaze from the view in front of them, he added, ‘I didn’t do it, by the way –
and will give you the full story if we are to marry, but otherwise not as I
can’t say I enjoy talking about it.
 
As
to the question of your suitability or mine … I’m financially solvent and I have
a title.
 
You have a great deal of
character and are not at all stupid.
 
I
think we might deal agreeably together and I am willing to make whatever
provisions for yourself and your family that you consider appropriate or
desirable.’
 
He stopped and at long last
turned to look at her.
 
‘I think that’s
everything.’

Still trying to grasp the magnitude of this
torrent of words, Caroline simply stared at him.
 
Finally she said weakly, ‘You’re proposing a
marriage of convenience?’

‘I suppose so.
 
Yes.
 
In the sense that it solves
both of our problems.’ Sarre seemed to suddenly appreciate what she was
asking.
 
‘But eventually I shall require
an heir.
 
Of course, I won’t expect to
share your bed until you feel ready for me to do so.
 
But later … yes.’

‘Oh. Well, I’m glad we’ve got that cleared up.’

The silvery gaze rested on her with a small degree
of uncertainty.

‘I’m sorry.
 
I assumed you’d had as much romantic flummery from Sheringham as you’d ever
wish to hear.
 
I should have remembered
that being hit with brutal honesty when one least expects it can be disconcerting.’
 
He stood up and offered his hand. ‘Naturally,
you’ll want time to consider.
 
So now I
suggest I escort you home before you freeze.’