‘You told me the play here was honest!’
The brash, angry and overly-loud voice sliced through the buzz of convivial conversation and the rattle of dice. At the Hazard table, play paused briefly, a handful of gentlemen stopped speaking and a few heads turned, eyes seeking the voice’s owner.
Since it was the height of the evening and the main gaming floor of Sinclairs was at its busiest, only those closest knew who had spoken. But the companion to whom the contemptuous remark had been addressed must have made some quiet reply because the carrying tones, laced with more than a hint of provincial accent, retorted, ‘Then you’ve been hood-winked, John. If the owners of this place knew their business, he wouldn’t have got through the door!’
This time the words were accompanied by the stab of a furiously pointing finger which caused the men standing nearby to step back. Bit by bit, conversation withered and died, play stopped and everyone looked around to see whom that finger was denouncing; and when they found the answer, the silence in the room became suddenly acute.
Keeping both face and posture under rigid control, the man who was suddenly the unwelcome centre of everyone’s attention looked steadily back into the flushed face of his accuser. He was aware that the gentlemen with whom he’d just now been talking had melted from his side and that the centre of the gaming floor had somehow emptied into an airless space. Everyone was waiting with baited breath to see what would happen next … but since one could not deny an allegation that hadn’t yet actually been put into so many words, the only sensible course was to remain silent and hope it never was.
‘George.’ John Clavering, the fellow’s companion and the member who must have had him signed in as a guest, laid a tentative hand on his friend’s sleeve. ‘He is the owner.’
‘What?’
‘That is Monsieur Delacroix. He owns the club.’
Another silence, this time briefly incredulous until, shaking off the other man’s hand, George strode into the centre of the floor saying, ‘If that’s so, this place is God-damned hell.’ He halted some two yards from Aristide and, impaling him on a hard stare, said, ‘I remember you. You’re the bastard who took more than two thousand off me in Paris three years back.’
There had always been a chance that this might happen; that someone from his less-than-immaculate past might walk into Sinclairs one night and recognise him. For one very good reason, Aristide had no difficulty remembering either this man’s name or the occasion to which he referred. Sir George Braxton … and a more than usually lucrative evening at the Maison Belcourt.
Of course, he thought grimly. Of all the men I fleeced over the years, it had to be this one, didn’t it? Still, he hasn’t actually accused me of cheating yet – so perhaps there’s a chance of brazening it out if I keep my nerve.
Allowing a slight frown to crease his brow, he said calmly, ‘I’m afraid I have no recollection of ever having met you, sir. Perhaps your name might --’
‘Sir George Braxton – as I reckon you know only too well!’
Aristide shook his head half-regretfully.
‘I’m sorry … but no. Perhaps you are confusing me with some other gentleman?’
‘I’m damned well not. I don’t forget faces. And you’re no gentleman.’
‘That would depend on your definition. But as Mr Clavering has already pointed out, I am the owner of this establishment in which you are a guest. And though I accept that losing a large sum is naturally galling, I can’t help but observe that it is as easy to lose as to win and --’
‘It’s easy to lose when you’re playing a Captain Sharp,’ snarled Braxton. ‘And that’s what you are. A damned cheat!’
A spectral gasp of shock, there and yet not, filtered around the room.
Aristide maintained his outward composure even though he could feel the blood congealing in his veins. He said, ‘You are insulting, sir. And, as I have said, mistaken.’
‘And I’ve said that I’m not.’ An unpleasant smile curled Braxton’s mouth. ‘You won’t talk your way out of this. I’ll not have it. And we’ll see how many members your club has left by morning, won’t we?’
Merde. Aristide cursed mentally. This is a disaster. I have to get him out of here.
‘If you wish to pursue this misunderstanding, we may do so in my office and allow these other gentlemen,’ he made a graceful, sweeping gesture to the room at large, ‘to continue enjoying their evening.’
‘Oh you’d like that, wouldn’t you? A chance to wriggle out of your dirty linen in private. Pity I’m not green enough to let you, ain’t it?’
‘For the third and final time,’ said Aristide quietly, ‘you are in error.’
Sir George stepped closer to loom threateningly.
‘Are you calling me a liar?’
‘Not that I’ve heard,’ remarked Nicholas Wynstanton, strolling with seeming laziness towards the pair. ‘He said you were mistaken – which is the kind of thing that might happen to anyone, especially after three years. Happens to me between one day and the next.’
There was a faint scattering of laughter, causing Braxton’s brow to darken still further.
‘To you, maybe – but not to me. And not in this case. I remember the occasion well enough. It was at the Maison Belcourt. And I remember him. He’s a cheat. What’s more, he’s bloody good at it!’
‘That’s a very serious allegation,’ observed Nicholas. ‘Can you prove it?’
Braxton’s shoulders stiffened. ‘Are you calling me a liar as well?’
‘Not intentionally.’
‘What’s that supposed to mean? And who the hell are you anyway?’
‘Lord Nicholas is my brother,’ came a soft, drawling voice from the doorway to one of the smaller card-rooms. ‘As to his meaning … I believe he is merely questioning your memory. After all, in a case such as this, he is quite correct in suggesting that an accusation alone is insufficient. Some additional substantiation is also required.’
Braxton stared into cool, night-dark eyes and recognised that, for tonight at least, the game was over. He had only been in London for a short time but the Duke of Rockliffe had been pointed out to him more than once – along with the information that his Grace wasn’t a man to trifle with.
Looking back at Aristide, he said harshly, ‘I’ll find proof. Don’t think I won’t. I doubt if I’m the only man you’ve cheated and I’ll bet there’s some who feel they’ve lost more than they should at your tables. This doesn’t end here. I want my money back – and one way or another, I’ll get it.’ And turning on his heel, he pushed his way through the silent audience and strode out.
From above, hidden in the shadows of the gallery, Madeleine Delacroix watched the tableau on the gaming floor dissolve into something approaching normality. Play recommenced at the Hazard table and conversations were resumed but from her vantage point she could see the number of dubious glances being cast at her brother.
That was good of Nicholas, she conceded. But this won’t go away – not just like that or even because Rockliffe stepped in, when everyone down there knows why he did. Also, if Aristide thinks he can count on Rockliffe standing by him, he’d better think again.
After that, the evening seemed interminable and it was over two hours before Aristide entered his private office, with both Nicholas and Rockliffe at his heels.
‘I thought,’ Nicholas was saying to his brother, as they came in, ‘that you were returning to the Priors.’
‘And so I am,’ replied the duke, closing the door behind him and offering Madeleine a slight bow. ‘Mademoiselle. Doubtless you witnessed the earlier unpleasantness?’
She nodded, her eyes trained on her brother.
‘What are you going to do about it?’
Aristide shrugged wearily and turned to pour brandy for his guests.
‘What do you suggest?’
‘I’ve no idea – but you’ll have to do something! You heard that man. He wants his money and he’s determined to get it.’
‘I think,’ said Rockliffe thoughtfully, ‘that we should perhaps clarify some part of Braxton’s accusation.’ And when no reply was immediately forthcoming, ‘I recommend that you choose your words carefully, Monsieur Delacroix.’
Aristide drained his glass in a single swallow and then said abruptly, ‘I played cards with Braxton in Paris. He lost.’
A frown gathered in Nicholas’s eyes. He opened his mouth to speak and then thought better of it.
‘Very wise,’ murmured the duke. ‘Do not invite knowledge you may regret.’
‘My past is … less than spotless,’ admitted Aristide jerkily. ‘But my present life is not. I do not cheat at cards or anything else. And I take every possible measure to prevent even the merest suspicion of dishonest play at Sinclairs.’
‘Good enough,’ said Nicholas slowly. ‘But what of Braxton? Did he make this accusation at the time?’
‘No.’
‘Well, that’s something I suppose.’
‘I didn’t play at Belcourt’s after that night, so our paths didn’t cross again.’ Aristide stared down into his empty glass. ‘And two months later, I was here in London.’
‘Can he prove anything?’ Madeleine demanded.
‘No. That is … I don’t think so.’
‘He doesn’t need to,’ said Nicholas reluctantly. ‘It’s little more than a month since rumour nearly ruined Sebastian Audley, for God’s sake! And Braxton’s already done enough to cast suspicion on both you and Sinclairs.’
‘I’m aware of that.’
Setting down his glass untouched, Rockliffe said, ‘You will understand that – given the circumstances – I can do little more than I already have. If asked, I am prepared to endorse the honesty of play in the club. I may even add that I have played cards with you myself from time to time and have no qualms about doing so again. But that, I am afraid, is all.’
‘It is more than I would ask, your Grace. And your intervention downstairs was greatly appreciated,’ returned Aristide. ‘As, of course, was yours, Nicholas.’
‘Well, I wasn’t about to just stand there while he brought the ceiling down on you, was I?’ retorted his lordship.
‘No, Nicholas,’ said his brother dryly. ‘You were about to give that ill-bred fellow an excuse to challenge you – which would not have helped matters in the least. And now I shall take my leave. I wish to set out for Kent first thing in the morning.’
‘So you’re not going to Sarre’s supper party tomorrow evening?’
‘Obviously not,’ replied Rockliffe. And, with a brief nod for Aristide and a bow for Madeleine, he strolled unhurriedly from the room.
Lord Nicholas eyed Monsieur Delacroix narrowly. He said, ‘Now there’s a thought. You’ll be attending Sarre’s party, won’t you?’
‘No,’ replied Aristide, with the merest hint of annoyance.
‘No? Why not?’
There was a brief, tense silence. Then Madeleine said edgily, ‘Just because I refused to go, there’s no reason why you should not.’
Aristide said nothing.
Regarding Madeleine over folded arms, Nicholas said, ‘Why won’t you go? I’m aware that you and Adrian had some sort of falling-out at one time but you ought to have got over it by now. And even if you haven’t, mending matters from tonight is more important. You can say what you like about Adrian but he stands by his friends.’
‘I don’t question that. And of course he lies so very well, does he not? Even, at times, without opening his mouth.’
Nicholas gave a crack of laughter.
‘He’d call that acting, not lying – though it’s a fine distinction. But that’s beside the point. The important thing is that being seen under Adrian’s roof will cast doubt on anything Braxton may say. What’s more, nobody will be able to cold-shoulder either of you without looking rag-mannered.’
‘And God forbid,’ said Madeleine acerbically, ‘that anyone should so far forget themselves as to be impolite.’
Aristide groaned inwardly but before he could speak, Nicholas said bluntly, ‘That is actually true. If folk went about saying whatever was in their heads, there’d be blood on the streets.’ He paused, holding her gaze and then, when she didn’t speak, turned back to Aristide. ‘Come to Cork Street tomorrow. You’ll probably know nearly everyone there.’
‘I’ll consider it,’ sighed Aristide, ‘after I’ve spoken to Adrian about tonight and after I’ve made the acquaintance of his wife.’
Nicholas blinked. ‘You still haven’t met Caroline?’
‘No. She arrived three days before Sebastian’s wedding and apparently spent every minute making his new house fit to live in.’ A gleam of amusement lit Aristide’s usually cool eyes. ‘As for the six days since then, she’s insisted that Bertrand join them to manage the Cork Street household while she drags Adrian from one warehouse to another to choose hangings for the newly-renovated north wing at Sarre Park.’ The gleam became a smile. ‘I gather that has also been a time-consuming task.’
‘Which I am sure that Adrian is enjoying immensely,’ remarked Madeleine, with acid-tinged pleasure. ‘But it’s such a shame that her ladyship hasn’t so far had time to honour Sinclairs with a visit.’
‘If that’s you deciding to dislike Caroline before you’ve even laid eyes on her,’ returned Nicholas swiftly, ‘it’s the most stupid attitude I ever heard. Grow up, why don’t you?’
Aristide stared … first at Nicholas and then at his sister … and managed, not without difficulty, to remain silent.
Flushing, Madeleine said stiffly, ‘You are putting words in my mouth.’
‘I don’t think so.’ He reached for his hat and turned towards the door, then stopped. ‘You were considering whether or not to accept my invitation to come driving with me. I’d have thought a week long enough to make up your mind. So what is it to be?’
In the month since she’d insulted him by saying she wouldn’t sleep with him when it appeared he’d never had any intention of asking her to do so, she had found herself at a serious disadvantage; and the ultimatum he’d thrown at her eight days ago had brought her face to face with a truth she hadn’t wanted to admit even to herself. None of her careful self-discipline … none of the measures she’d taken to protect herself from the kind of heart-break she’d experienced once before had been the least use. When Nicholas had given her the chance to cut him from her life once and for all, she had been unable to do it. And tonight when he had stood at Aristide’s shoulder without being asked, something in her chest had cracked wide open.
The flush deepened. He’d told her to choose … and that he wouldn’t ask again; so if she said no now, that would be the end of it – which was precisely what she’d kept assuring herself that she wanted. Except that it wasn’t what she wanted at all. So she looked up at him and said quietly, ‘Yes. If you still wish it, I’ll drive with you.’
‘Good,’ said Nicholas, keeping his tone completely free of the stupid pleasure that was washing through him at this one, really very small victory. ‘Tomorrow, then. I’ll call for you in Duke Street at three o’clock.’ And with a glimmer of his usual grin, ‘Don’t change your mind.’ Then he was gone.
For a full minute after the door closed behind him, there was silence. Finally, Aristide said mildly, ‘Dear me. Did my ears deceive me?’
‘Don’t! Just don’t!’ warned Madeleine. ‘I couldn’t very well say no after the way he supported you tonight – but if you insist on discussing it, I will change my mind.’
‘If you do that, it will be entirely your own decision,’ came the cool response. ‘However … let us return to the question of Lady Sarre’s supper-party. I’ll speak to Adrian in the morning. If, after I’ve done so, the invitation still stands --’
‘Of course it will. He won’t want to see Sinclairs ruined any more than you do.’
‘Just at present, the club isn’t his first priority.’
‘The not-quite-new wife? Dear me. He must be besotted if the novelty hasn’t worn off after nearly six months.’
He shot her an irritable look.
‘For the love of God, stop it! You and Adrian were friends once and you could be again if you’d only stop snarling at him.’
‘He snarls back,’ she grumbled defensively.
‘If you sharpen your claws on his wife, he’ll do more than snarl.’
‘I’d be perfectly happy never to meet his unfortunate wife.’
‘So I’ve gathered. But if her invitation is still open, we should accept it. And you will behave. The situation is quite bad enough without you making it worse.’
Madeleine sighed and abruptly capitulated, knowing that her personal feelings were of scant importance under the circumstances.
‘I won’t make it worse,’ she said. And added long-sufferingly, ‘I’ll smile at the bride and overflow with commonplace inanities. I’ll even be civil to Adrian.’
Despite everything, her brother suddenly laughed.
‘Don’t overdo it. Adrian might faint.’
* * *
‘They’re at breakfast,’ Bertrand informed Aristide when he arrived in Cork Street on the following morning. ‘The whole house is in turmoil and there’s a dragon upstairs spitting out orders. But they’re still at breakfast. It’s been over an hour now, so one imagines they have finished eating.’ A glinting smile dawned. ‘Go on in, why don’t you?’
If Aristide’s mind had not been on other things, he might have recalled Bertrand’s particular brand of humour. As it was, he opened the door to the breakfast parlour – and wished he hadn’t.
There was an instant of frozen silence. Then the Countess of Sarre scrambled off her husband’s lap, scarlet-cheeked with her hair tumbling down her back and hastily tried to re-arrange her bodice. With studied nonchalance, the Earl, sans cravat, reached for the buttons of his vest and continued lounging in his seat – a fact which told Aristide something he’d rather not have known.
Keeping his gaze on Adrian to allow her ladyship time to tidy herself, he said, ‘My apologies. I should have knocked. I ought also, by now, to know better than trust Bertrand.’
‘Someone will murder him one day,’ growled Adrian. ‘Me, probably.’ He shifted uncomfortably. ‘Sit down and help yourself to coffee.’
‘It will be cold by now,’ said Caroline quickly, seizing an excuse to flee the room. ‘I’ll order a fresh pot.’
‘Please don’t trouble on my account.’ Aristide decided it was probably safe to look in her direction. ‘I merely needed to --’
‘It’s no trouble. None at all.’
Caroline was half-way to the door when Adrian glanced at her and suddenly saw the funny side. Anyone would think he was playing the discovered lover in a bawdy comedy. His voice brimming with laughter, he said, ‘Don’t run away, darling. It’s too late for that and it’s not as if we were doing anything married couples aren’t allowed to do. So pull the bell and when Bertrand answers it, hit him with that God-awful statue of Minerva.’ He stopped, tilted his head slightly and added, ‘Meanwhile, allow me to finally introduce my business partner, Monsieur Delacroix. Aristide … meet the Countess of Sarre. If you promise to forget what you just saw, she’ll probably permit you to call her Caroline.’
Stopped in her tracks, Caroline sent her husband a thoroughly exasperated look and then turned, with what dignity she could muster, to the Frenchman. Her immediate impression was of fair hair neatly tied, serious blue eyes and restrained but immaculate tailoring. He also looked either uncomfortable or worried. She couldn’t tell which.
But he bowed with perfect correctness and said, ‘It is a pleasure to meet you at last, Lady Sarre. Allow me to offer my deepest felicitations on your marriage.’
Caroline curtsied and smiled at him.
‘Thank you. I’ve been hoping to visit Sinclairs but what with one thing and another, there’s been no time.’
‘I’ll take you to the club tomorrow, if you like.’ Deciding that he could now rise without risking further embarrassment, Adrian offered his hand to Aristide saying, ‘What brings you here so early?’
‘There was ... an incident last evening that you should know about.’
This time the note of strain in his voice was very evident and, seeing Adrian frown, Caroline immediately said, ‘I’ll leave the two of you to talk. And I’ll send fresh coffee.’
‘There is no need --’ began Aristide again.
But he stopped when Caroline shook her head and said, ‘I should go anyway. Lady Brassington is helping prepare for this evening since I have no experience in such matters – but I ought to be doing something.’
‘Will she let you?’ asked Adrian with a grin.
‘Probably not. Ah – I nearly forgot. She asked if she may bring her widowed god-daughter this evening, so naturally I said yes. And that reminds me.’ She looked back at Aristide. ‘Adrian says you declined our invitation. It would give us both great pleasure if you and your sister were to reconsider.’
And then she was gone, the door closing softly behind her.
Aristide looked at Adrian and muttered, ‘You may feel differently when you’ve heard what I have to say.’
‘As bad as that, is it?’
‘Yes. Or it could be.’
‘So sit down and tell me.’
Aristide nodded and took a seat at the table. Then, in as few words as possible, he described the events of the previous evening. He had just arrived at the point where Rockliffe had intervened when a tap at the door heralded a housemaid with the coffee. Adrian waited until she was gone and then said dryly, ‘It’s becoming a shade uncanny just how often Rock is on hand when a deus ex machina is needed. I suppose he asked if Braxton’s allegations were true?’
‘After a fashion. He didn’t want to hear me admit to sharping in so many words.’
‘No. He wouldn’t. But I daresay he put two and two together.’ Crossing to the sideboard in search of clean cups, Adrian poured coffee and said, ‘What I don’t understand is why this fellow Braxton is so sure you cheated. I thought you were better than that.’
‘I am better than that.’
Grinning at the note of affront, Adrian couldn’t resist another small jibe.
‘Well, something must have given you away. He didn’t catch you dealing from the bottom of the pack, did he?’
‘No. He did not.’ Aristide’s tone said that this was just insulting. ‘At the time, he had no idea what I was doing or how. He drew his conclusions later.’
‘Yet last night,’ said Adrian slowly, ‘he announced it as a fact. Doesn’t that seem odd?’
It didn’t seem odd to Aristide and, just for an instant, he was tempted to explain why. Adrian, after all, was the one person with whom he could share the truth of what had happened … and the one person who would appreciate it. But since the full story wasn’t going to help now any more than it would have done last night on the main floor of Sinclairs, he didn’t see any point in wasting time discussing it. Consequently, he said a shade impatiently, ‘Who knows how the man’s mind works – and what does it matter? It doesn’t alter the basic problem.’
‘No, I suppose not. Truthfully, we always knew something like this might happen and accepted the risk. So now all we can do is deal with it. I don’t know Braxton. How likely is he to be believed?’
‘Since I don’t know anything about him either, I have no idea.’
‘Then we’d better find out. I’ll send instructions to Henry Lessing and tell him to report to you. In a few days you’ll know what Braxton is worth down to the last penny and probably what colour his drawers are as well.’
Aristide stopped stirring cream into his cup and looked up. ‘That’s all very well but it won’t destroy the implication regarding Sinclairs. And Braxton isn’t prepared to let it lie. He wants his money back. But I can’t pay him because it would amount to an admission of guilt. He also said he’d find proof. If he does that --’
‘If he does. After three years, I wouldn’t have thought his chances very high. But we’ll cross that bridge when we come to it. For now, our primary task is finding ways to reduce the damage … and I suggest you begin by attending Caroline’s party tonight. Everyone knows I spent years in France and a good many people probably suspect that you and I knew each other before my return. Receiving you socially will reinforce that suspicion, thus casting doubt on Mr Braxton.’
‘Sir George Braxton,’ corrected Aristide. Then, ‘Yes. That’s what Nicholas says. And Madeleine.’
‘Madeleine?’ Adrian gave a small, hard laugh. ‘I didn’t think wild horses could drag her anywhere near me if there was a way to avoid it.’
‘She says she’ll come. She’s even promised to be on her best behaviour.’
‘God. That will be something to witness.’
Aristide pushed his cup aside and said flatly, ‘You know why I refused the invitation when you first offered it. You’ve barely managed to stay clear of the mire yourself – and for your wife’s sake, I’d have thought you’d like to keep it that way. So although I understand the advantages of being seen under your roof, I think her ladyship should know what I’ve told you and be given the chance to rescind the invitation.’
‘She won’t do it,’ shrugged Adrian. ‘Oh – I can tell her, if you like. But it won’t change anything. Caroline will ask whether you did what Braxton says you did; then she’ll ask whether you’re still doing it; and after that she’ll tell you to present yourself punctually – and probably remind you to bring a clean handkerchief.’ He grinned and leaned back in his chair. ‘The Vernons are in Hertfordshire and Harry and Nell are on their way to Paris. But the Ingrams will be here, along with the Delahayes, Lord and Lady Amberley and a handful of others you know – possibly even Sebastian and Cassie, if they can bear to get out of bed. Also, the redoubtable Lady Brassington. So will you be joining us – or not?’
There was a long silence. Finally, Aristide said, ‘Yes. We’ll come. And thank you.’
‘Excellent. You’ve no idea how much I’m looking forward to seeing Madeleine’s notion of company manners. And ensuring that she extends them to Caroline.’