The Player (Rockliffe Book 3) (27 page)

If Sarre and the girl had eloped, they’d gone in
one of two directions.
 
Lord Hardwicke’s
Marriage Act had put an end to Fleet weddings … so it was either Scotland for
marriage over the anvil or somewhere nearer to hand with a special
license.
 
Scotland, being one hell of a
journey, was the less likely of the two.
 
Marcus would put money, if he’d had any, on Sarre having procured a
license; and, if that was the case, there was almost certainly only one place
he’d go.
 
The house in that God-forsaken
spot on the east Kent coast that he’d always been so bloody fond of.

By the time this much had become clear to him, he
was more than half-way down the bottle and starting to feel its effects.
 
He considered spreading the word that Sarre
had run off with Caroline Maitland for her money.
 
But though that would ruin the Earl’s
reputation, it would also make Marcus look rather foolish.
 
And gossip like that would only bear fruit if
Sarre married the girl – which Marcus didn’t think he would. Why should
he?
 
Why would
anyone
marry that plain, annoying chit if they didn’t have to?
 
No.
 
Sarre had only run off with her to queer Marcus’s pitch and to make her
an even less desirable
parti
than she
already was.
 
The elopement, should it
become known, would achieve that.
 
Sarre
didn’t even need to take her to bed.
 
And
if Caroline was holding out for a wedding ring, Marcus knew he’d never force
her. But if they weren’t married … if he was just keeping her for a few days
before returning her to her family with her reputation in shreds … well, if
that
was the case, the game wasn’t over,
was it?
 

He could track them down.
 
It wouldn’t be hard.
 
If he set off on horseback first thing in the
morning, he could be in Sandwich by noon. No, that wouldn’t do. If he got
lucky, he might find a way of carrying off the girl and he wouldn’t get far
with a struggling, screaming female tossed across his saddle-bow.
 
He’d have to take the carriage.
 
He could take a room at the coaching-inn in
Deal and hire a horse there.
 
That would
work.
 
It would enable him to reconnoitre
unnoticed.

 
Of course,
if he
wasn’t
lucky and Sarre got in
his way … well, the idea of putting a bullet through the Earl’s brain was by no
means unattractive.

*
 
*
 
*

Later that same evening, Lord Nicholas Wynstanton
walked into Sinclair’s in order to ask Aristide if
he
knew where Sarre had got to.
 
Unfortunately, before he had the opportunity to do this, his brother
arrived hard on his heels and said, ‘Ah.
 
Nicholas.
 
How fortuitous.’

‘Is it?’
 
Nicholas eyed the Duke with his usual caution. ‘Why?’

Rockliffe smiled slightly.

‘Two things – neither of which need cause you
undue concern.
 
Firstly, I shall be
taking Adeline down to the Priors tomorrow and will most probably remain there
until after Christmas.’

‘She’s still not well?’

‘She is … less well than I would like.’
 
The truth was that, roughly three months into
her pregnancy the Duchess was still suffering severe bouts of nausea which her
husband was beginning to find extremely alarming.
 
‘In truth, I would prefer her to remain here
within easy reach of her doctor … but she is convinced that country air will
suit her better.’

Nicholas nodded and added awkwardly, ‘She’ll be fine,
I’m sure.’

‘Of course.’ As ever, Rockliffe hid his feelings
behind an apparently lazy façade. ‘All being well, Nell and Harry will be
staying with us for the festive season; and, if you don’t consider a family
party too dull, you are more than welcome to join us.’

‘Thank you.
 
Yes.
 
I might well do that.’
 
Expecting the Duke to stroll off in search of
his own friends, Nicholas added, ‘You’ll give my love to Adeline, won’t you?’

‘With pleasure.’
 
Toying idly with his snuff-box, Rockliffe said, ‘On another issue
entirely … do you know where your friend, Lord Sarre, is just at present?’

Nicholas stared.
 
It shouldn’t surprise him, this peculiar omniscience of his brother’s –
but somehow it always did.
 
He said,
‘Actually, no.
 
I was hoping someone here
might know.’

‘Aristide Delacroix, for example?’

‘How did --?’
 
he began unwarily and then stopped.
 
‘Why should Delacroix know anything?’

‘One would imagine because he and Sarre have been
acquainted for some time.
 
Most probably,
since one would guess them to have met in Paris, well before the advent of this
club.’
 
He paused and appeared to take an
infinitesimal pinch of snuff.
 
‘I’ve a
suspicion, you see, that they may own Sinclair’s jointly.
 
But perhaps I’m allowing my imagination to
run away with me?’

‘How would I know whether you are or not?’

The Duke’s smile was distinctly disquieting but he
said merely, ‘It was just an idea I had.
 
As to my enquiry regarding Sarre’s current whereabouts, that was in
response to a … whisper … that has reached my ears.’

As was normal when his brother became involved,
Nicholas knew the feeling of being thoroughly out of his depth.
 
He said, ‘What sort of whisper?’

‘That his lordship has eloped with the Maitland
heiress.’

‘
What?
’

‘Precisely.’

‘But he … no.
 
That can’t be right. Where did you hear this?’

‘I looked in on Serena Delahaye’s party earlier
this evening.
 
It appears that Cassie –
having conceived an affection for Mistress Maitland
 
– asked Lily Brassington if the girl was
ill.
 
And Lily, in somewhat veiled and
convoluted terms, gave Cassie to understand that Mistress Maitland had left
London for a time and would return a Countess.
 
Able to think of only one unmarried Earl, Cassie took the question to
her father … and Charles mentioned it to me.’

Following this without difficulty but no little
disbelief, Nicholas frowned.

‘I know Dev’s out of town – but an elopement? Why
would he do that?
 
If he wanted the girl
– which I doubt – there’s nothing to stop him marrying her properly.’

‘That is my own opinion. For what it’s worth, I
also don’t see Sarre running off with a girl and
not
marrying her.’
 
Rockliffe
ran a thumb over the enamelled Aphrodite on the lid of his snuff-box.
 
‘What I
do
see is a possibility of him … er … putting a spoke in Lord Sheringham’s wheel,
so to speak.’
 
The dark eyes rose to
encompass his brother.
 
‘It may surprise
you to learn that I am disposed to be helpful.’

‘Oh.’
 
Amidst the thoughts whirling through Nicholas’s head was the knowledge
that no one could be more helpful than Rockliffe if he chose to exert himself.
 
Deciding that, since his Grace seemed to know
most of it anyway, he might as well know the rest, he said, ‘Right, then.
 
We’d better go and find Aristide.’

‘Thank you,’ sighed the Duke.
 
‘I suppose it would have been too much to
expect you to say that in the first place?’

They found Monsieur Delacroix chatting with sundry
guests near the Hazard table but, when he caught sight of Lord Nicholas’s
expression, he excused himself gracefully and walked over to join him.

‘Your Grace … my Lord?’
 
He bowed.
 
‘Is there something I may help you with?’

‘Yes,’ said Nicholas.
 
‘But in private.’

Aristide’s brows rose but he said nothing, merely
leading the two gentlemen up to his office and offering them brandy.
 
Then, looking at Nicholas, he said, ‘Well?’

‘Where’s Dev?’ asked his lordship bluntly.
 
And, with a gesture of impatience, ‘Sarre –
Adrian – whatever you call him.
 
Where
is
he?’

Mindful of Rockliffe’s silent presence, Aristide
said calmly, ‘What makes you suppose that I might be privy to aspects of the
Earl’s personal life?’

‘You can cut line, Aristide.
 
As far as the club goes, Rock’s guessed most
of it … and he’s just heard something damned peculiar.
 
So if you know anything, you might as well
say.’

‘Ah.’
 
There
was a moment of hesitation and then, ‘Adrian is in Kent where, so he said when
last I saw him, he was planning to marry Caroline Maitland.
 
The two of them left Town on Monday and I
believe the appropriate notice will appear in the
Morning Chronicle
tomorrow.’

There was a long silence.
 
Then Nicholas said, ‘He’s mad.
 
He’s completely and utterly insane.’

‘Both Bertrand and I have said as much,’ shrugged
Aristide.
 
‘It didn’t make any
difference.
 
And I should think the deed
would be done by now.
 
Wouldn’t you?’

‘He had a marriage licence?’ asked Rockliffe.

‘I presume so – otherwise he’d need banns or the
Great North Road.’
 
The Frenchman looked at
the Duke and said, ‘Pardon me for asking, your Grace … but what is your
interest in this?’

‘Two things – the principle one of which relates
to Marcus Sheringham.’
 
Rockliffe took a
sip of brandy and then appeared to contemplate his glass. ‘Sheringham has been
hurling accusations of murder against Sarre for ten years.
 
I, for one, have never believed them.
 
I do, however, suspect that there was more to
Evangeline Mortimer’s death than was ever made public … and that, for reasons
of his own, Sheringham doesn’t want the whole truth to come out.’

‘You think
he
pushed her?’ asked Nicholas.

‘I don’t think anyone pushed her. I think it was
an accident … though that is of no particular consequence just now.
 
What we ought to be considering is how, with
ruin staring him the face, Lord Sheringham will react when he learns that the
lady he doubtless regards as
his
heiress has succumbed to the man he’s spent the last decade slandering.’
 
He paused and then added thoughtfully,
‘Angry, desperate men tend to take … extreme measures.’

Aristide said, ‘Adrian knows there’s a possible
risk.
 
After the fire here --’

‘Did you ever find proof that was Sheringham?’
interrupted Nicholas.

‘A hint from a delivery-boy,’ came the terse
reply. ‘Nothing that would stand up in court, unfortunately – and no further
trouble since.
 
But Adrian thought it was
possible Sheringham might go after him, instead.’
 
He paused.
 
‘To stick a knife in his back, he said.
 
I hoped he was joking.’

‘One would also hope that Lord Sheringham isn’t
rash enough to do anything quite so stupid,’ murmured Rockliffe.

‘Well, if he is,’ returned Nicholas grimly, ‘Dev’s
put himself in the perfect place for it.
 
He won’t have gone to Sarre Park.
 
He’ll have taken the girl to Devereux House – which is as remote a spot
as any would-be assassin could possibly wish for.’

‘Indeed.’
 
The Duke rose unhurriedly from his chair.
 
‘Then I have a suggestion you may wish to
consider.
 
At some point tomorrow,
Sheringham will see the notice of Sarre’s marriage and know he has lost the
game. As I said earlier, I am taking Adeline to Wynstanton Priors.
 
You could travel down with us and, from there,
ride over to check on Lord Sarre’s well-being.’
 

‘Yes,’ said Nicholas.
 
‘I think I might.’

‘Excellent.
 
You might also – if his lordship is not averse to the notion – bring
both him and his bride back to the Priors so that we can pretend that his
wedding took place with all due decorum in a positive welter of
strawberry-leaves.’
 
The Duke smiled
faintly. ‘And upon that beautifully altruistic note, gentlemen – I will bid you
goodnight.’

When the door had closed behind him, Aristide said
blankly, ‘Strawberry leaves?’

‘Ducal crest,’ replied Nicholas
unexpansively
. And then, ‘Do you know … there are times
when I think I don’t know my brother at all?’

‘As well, probably, as I know my sister.’
 
Aristide paused and then, with a sideways
glance, added, ‘Is there something going on between you and Madeleine I should
know of?’

‘What?
 
No.’
Despite his best efforts, Nicholas had failed to meet Mademoiselle Delacroix
again which naturally increased his desire to do so. ‘Aside from the night of
the fire, I’ve never clapped eyes on her.’

‘Ah.
 
Then
you wouldn’t realise, I suppose.’

‘Realise what?’

‘That she ducks for cover every time she sees you
coming.’