The Player (Rockliffe Book 3)

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Authors: Stella Riley
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unfamiliar then.’
    ‘Most of them, in fact.’   Sarre eyed Philip thoughtfully and decided to
find out how genuine were his intentions. ‘Has no one told you about me?’
    A hint of colour touched the lean cheek – more, it
appeared, due to annoyance than from embarrassment.   ‘That lisping idiot, Ansford, started babbling
about some ancient scandal – but I can’t stand the fellow so I didn’t listen.   And if whatever happened took place a decade ago,
it ought to be water way out to sea by now.’
    The Earl smiled faintly.
    ‘There are probably a good many people who remember
what was said at the time; some who still believe it and one or two who will
wish to resurrect it.   You should hear
what it is before offering any kind of support or possible friendship.’
    ‘Perhaps.   But I learned the dangers of basing my own opinion on that of someone
else a while ago,’ said Philip. ‘It ended with me putting a bullet into the man
who is now my sister’s husband.   So if you want to tell me what people will say,
I’ll listen.   Otherwise, I’m not remotely
interested.’
    Sarre stared consideringly into his lordship’s
face for a moment.   Then he said gently,
‘I’m reputed to have pushed a girl to her death from a roof-top.’
    The dark blue eyes widened then narrowed.
    ‘Oh. And did you?’
    ‘No.’
    Against all expectation, Lord Philip suddenly
grinned.
    ‘Good enough.   Come and join our party in the next room. No one’s taking the cards very
seriously but the company’s good.   Nick’s
not here tonight but I daresay you’ll remember his brother … and possibly also
Lord Amberley and Harry Caversham?’
    ‘Of course.’   Oh this is just perfect.   I spent two months dodging Harry last spring
and God knows how long hoping Amberley’s French relatives didn’t take it into
their heads to bring him to the theatre the year before.   As for Rockliffe … there’s no telling what he may say.   And there they all are, just when I could do without that kind of
audience.   Hell.   ‘It’s extremely kind of you but I don’t wish
to intrude.’
    ‘You won’t be.   I’ll wager everyone will be delighted to see you.’
    Not quite
everyone .
    ‘In that case, how can I refuse?’ he
murmured.   And allowed Lord Philip to
shepherd him through the doorway.
    As Aristide had said, there were two tables both
littered with bottles, glasses and cards.   At one of them sat the Duke of Rockliffe’s party.   And, at the other, three men he didn’t   recognise, along with one he knew only too
well.
    Heads turned, conversation dwindled and there were
several seconds of pure silence before Marcus Sheringham erupted from his chair
so violently that he over-set it.   He
snapped, ‘ Eastry!   I heard you were back – and can only marvel
at your effrontery.’
    And there it was.   The reaction he’d hoped ten years might have
changed; rash, stupid and malicious.
    You utter
cretin, Marcus.   Don’t you see how very
easy you’re making this for me?
    His tone cool and even a touch careless, he said, ‘It’s
Sarre, actually.   It may have slipped
your mind, but I haven’t been Viscount Eastry for three years.   As to my effrontery … I’m not sure what you
mean.   Did you expect me to remain abroad
forever?’
    ‘You damned well should have.   Showing your face in polite society after
what you’ve done?   It’s iniquitous!’
    ‘And what, exactly, have I done?’   Say it to my face, you bastard.   Just for once, look me in the eye instead of
grubbing about behind my back .   ‘Well?’
    ‘Lord Sheringham.’   It was Rockliffe who spoke, his voice as seemingly lazy as ever but
sufficient to command silence.   ‘You are
disrupting the evening.’
    Just for a second, his lordship appeared taken
aback.   Then, ‘My apologies, your Grace –
but the interruption is not of my making.’
    ‘Is it not?   Whose, then?’
    ‘That of my
Lord Sarre .’   The last three

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