The Player (Rockliffe Book 3) (32 page)

‘She got too clever for her own good,’ he
retorted.
 
And smiled.

Inevitably, that smile was Caroline’s
undoing.
 
Her blood heated and she knew
in a more definite and fundamental way than she’d known before that she wanted
this man;
 
that he was beautiful to her,
both inside and out – that she wanted his hands on her body and hers on his
and, more important than either of those, for him to be hers alone.

She’d noticed that he still never touched her
unless she invited it.
 
This, as he’d
said, could be a matter of gentlemanly scruples.
 
Or it could be that he didn’t particularly
want to. It occurred to her that, in the years he’d spent abroad, he’d probably
had a good many beautiful, sophisticated mistresses.
 
The practical side of her nature decided that
this was a thought best not pursued.
 
The
part of her that, where Adrian was concerned, wasn’t practical at all felt
unaccountably depressed. She could only pray that, not having his skills of
concealment, neither this nor any of her other feelings for him showed on her
face.

Over dinner they talked about Mr
Bailes
and Betsy and about their wedding the next day –
though there seemed little to say about that.
 
And so, after a small, empty pause, Caroline said curiously, ‘What was
it like, being an actor?’

‘Exhilarating … terrifying … extraordinary.’

‘Do you miss it?’

‘Every day.’

She toyed with an apple, so that she didn’t have
to look at him.

‘It’s hard now to understand how I never connected
you with Claude Duvall.
 
I must have been
either blind or very stupid.’

‘No.
 
One
uses a whole arsenal of tricks to create the illusion.
 
Some are obvious – such as the highwayman’s
mask or my hair being powdered and Duvall’s not.
 
Also, I made sure you never saw Duvall in
full light.
 
For the rest, it’s all smoke
and mirrors.
 
A different accent; an
alteration in the pitch of one’s voice; and adjustments to one’s posture, gait
and mannerisms. Distractions.’
 
He gave
an almost imperceptible shrug.
 
‘The only
time I sailed seriously close to the wind was that night at the Pantheon.
 
Shifting between myself and Duvall, then back
again was risky enough.
 
But when I hit
Marcus, I got close enough for him to recognise me.’

‘But he didn’t.’

‘Apparently not.’

Caroline tilted her head and looked across at him.

‘Will you show me?’

He grinned.
 
‘Show you what?
 
My acting skills
– or how they’re created?’

‘Both, I suppose.
 
Will you?’

‘If that’s what you want.
 
But not in here, I think.’
 
He rose and offered his hand. ‘You realise,
of course, that some of the tricks will be missing … and that, on-stage, one’s
audience is somewhat further away?’

‘Are you asking me to make allowances?’

‘Perish the thought,’ he returned blandly,
twitching a cane from the hall stand as he went by. ‘I’m better than that.’

And he was.
 
He really, really was.

He gave her Count Rainmeyr first because it was
one of his favourites and because he wanted her to join in.
 
When, without ever actually asking her to do
so, the crusty old fellow had made her pick up his cane three times and even
wrung a respectful curtsy out of her, Adrian decided to switch roles.
 
He became a lisping Macaroni, all pursed lips
and sucked in cheeks, mincing along on seemingly high heels and plying an
imaginary fan.
 
Caroline stared,
momentarily stunned by the contrast, then dissolved into giggles.

Finally, he freed his hair from its ribbon, tossed
down a handful of coins and sat hunched over the table to begin fussing with
the papers she’d left there earlier. He was suddenly old, untidy, short-sighted
and profoundly irritable.
 
He pulled at
strands of his hair while he grumbled incomprehensibly and squinted at one
particular sheet. Then he started totting up lists of medical treatments of the
kind not usually mentioned in polite company and studied apothecaries bills
which he claimed were scandalously over-priced. He counted out coins, then
complained and produced a logic of his own that enabled him to reduce the
amount by half.
 
Caroline didn’t know who
he was playing – only that what he was doing now was way beyond anything she’d
ever seen on any stage. She was entranced and more than a little dazzled.

When he stopped, sat up and smiled at her and
became Adrian again, she felt disorientated.

‘Well?’ he said.
 
‘Did I prove my point?’

‘Yes.
 
That
was … remarkable.’
 
She paused, not sure what
to say next.
 
‘Who was the last one?’

‘That, my child, was Moli
è
re’s
Hypochondriac
.
 
My favourite and generally most popular role
– though, as I hope you appreciate, I’m not accustomed to playing it in
English.’
 
He rose and went to pour wine
for them both. ‘The previous two were inventions of my own, formerly used at the
card table to disguise my other dubious talent.
 
I also do a Scottish Major, a timid French clerk and an extremely
annoying Russian – but I think we’ll save them for another day.’

She accepted the glass from him, watching how his
loosened hair fell about his cheeks and throat.
 
She’d touched that hair when he’d been Claude Duvall.
 
She knew how it felt, thick and rich, sliding
through her fingers. She told herself to stop thinking about it … and when
Adrian rifled through the litter on the table to find his ribbon and set about
re-tying his hair she had to prevent herself telling him not to.

Swallowing hard and trying to recover her
wandering wits, she said the first thing that came into her head. ‘I asked
Sally to press my blue gown for tomorrow since it’s the one you find least
objectionable.
 
I wish I had something
better – but my pink silk has mysteriously disappeared.
 
Not that one could call that a misfortune.’

‘True.’
 
He
was facing away from her, his fingers busy making a loose bow.
 
‘A blessing in disguise, perhaps.’

‘Not when one has only two gowns,’ Caroline
pointed out.
 
‘Luckily, you will be
magnificent enough for both of us and thus draw attention from my
deficiencies.’

Adrian sat down and picked up his wine, his
expression unreadable.

‘I enjoy being well-dressed.’

‘I’ve noticed.’

‘However, I am not – as Bertrand would have it – a
peacock.’

She gave a little choke of laughter and shook her
head.

‘You’ll have to forgive me – but there’s
definitely a bit of the peacock about that vest you’re wearing.’

He glanced down.
 
Scarlet peonies, edged in silver rioted across a background of violet so
dark one might almost think it black.

‘You don’t like it?’

‘On the contrary.
 
It’s so exactly you.
 
A touch of
drama under a cloak of icy reserve.’

He grinned.
 
‘Well, at least you see it.
 
It’s
more than Bertrand ever has.’

There was a long pause while the grin faded and he
seemed to contemplate his wine-glass.
 
Then he said slowly, ‘This seems the time to confess that I bought
something for you. Like all my other mistakes, it was well-meant so I’m hoping
you won’t feel either insulted or offended.’

‘You bought something?
 
For me?’
 
A hint of colour washed her cheeks.
 
‘When?’

‘In Canterbury.
 
The day after we got here.’
 
He
sounded suddenly diffident. ‘It seemed a good idea at the time … only then I realised
you might not think so which is why I’ve delayed giving it to you.’

‘I don’t understand.’
 
She looked about her as if hoping to see some
mysterious parcel. ‘Since you don’t need to give me anything but were kind
enough to think of it, how could I be offended?’

‘It is not strictly … appropriate.
 
But as we are to be married tomorrow, I hoped
you might overlook that fact.’

‘I’ll do my best.’
 

Her eyes were bright with anticipation and she had
somehow shifted to the edge of her seat.
 
She looked as eager as a child and he was reminded of his little brother
on the day he’d been given his first pony.
 
He said, ‘In that case, I think you’ll find Sally has put it in your
bedchamber.’

‘Already?
 
I
mean – it is there now?’

‘I would imagine so.’
 
The fact that she could barely wait to run
upstairs was written all over her.
 
He
found it surprising but curiously endearing.
 
He also couldn’t resist teasing her just a little so he reached for his
glass and took a lazy sip of wine. ‘It will still be there when you’re ready to
retire, however.’

‘Oh.
 
Yes.
 
Of course.’
 

Caroline tried to damp down the burst of happiness
that was fizzing inside her at the idea of him tramping around Canterbury in
the rain to buy her a gift.
 
She didn’t
care what he’d bought – only that he’d taken the trouble to do it.
 
She reached out to her own wine, changed her
mind and folded her hands in her lap.

Adrian watched her sitting there like a good girl,
politely waiting to be dismissed. It made him want to laugh but he merely said
casually, ‘Would you like to try beating me at piquet?’

‘No.
 
That
is … I can’t, can I?
 
You always win.’

‘I could try not to.’
 
He saw her shoulders slump in frustration and
decided that enough was enough.
 
‘Or you
could go upstairs now, if you felt so inclined. Just to look.’

‘Really?’
 
She was on her feet without knowing how it happened.
 
‘You wouldn’t mind?’

No,
darling.
 
I wouldn’t mind at all
.

He rose and offered her a slight bow. ‘I believe I
can manage to entertain myself for a little while.’

She beamed at him and virtually ran from the room.

Adrian sat down, reached for the pack of cards and
idly practised a few slick moves. Ten minutes passed.
 
She
might hate the gown; she might be sitting in her room, grossly insulted; or
perhaps, just perhaps, she might …
He cut the last possibility short in
case it was tempting Fate.

 
He dealt a
few hands and toyed with his skill.
 
Ten
minutes passed and then twenty. He realised that, unusually, he was making
mistakes. He found that interesting. Perhaps letting his mind wander worked
better than intense concentration. Then the door opened.

Caroline stood on the threshold as if unsure
whether to enter or not.
 
Adrian rose and
waited for her to step into the light.
 
Slowly, she did so. His breath caught.

She looked far from annoyed.
 
She looked awed, confused and adorably
shy.
 
And something much better than
beautiful.
 
She looked utterly desirable.

The dark green silk moulded her figure and made
her skin look almost translucent.
 
The
elbow-length sleeves ended in falls of soft, creamy lace and a narrow band of
it emphasised a
décolletage
just low
enough to engage a man’s interest.
 
Her
waist was reduced to a handspan below which the green silk drifted over a cream
underskirt, embroidered like a magic forest.
 
Her hair fell in a torrent of dull gold from a green ribbon, her cheeks
were flushed, her eyes wide and dark.
 
Adrian’s brain promptly ceased functioning.
 
His body didn’t.

She said hesitantly, ‘You chose this yourself?’

‘Yes.’
 
He
cleared his throat.
 
‘Do you like it?’

‘I – yes.
 
Very much.
 
Do you?’

More than I expected.
 
And much more than decency permits me to say.

‘It … was certainly worth getting wet.’

He heard the words come out of his mouth and
immediately despaired of himself.
 

Worth
getting wet?
 
Christ.
 
What kind of ass says something like that?

But she didn’t seem disappointed.
 
She seemed lit from inside with a degree of
delight far greater than that deserved by the simple gift of one gown.
 
She positively
glowed
.
 
Then, before he had
time to recognise her intention, she literally flew across the room and threw
her arms about his neck.
 
Absorbing the
shock of impact, Adrian’s arms automatically closed about her and then she was
saying shakily, ‘Thank you. It’s beautiful.
 
I love it. I don’t know how … it’s such a kind thought.
 
Thank you.’