Read The Player (Rockliffe Book 3) for Free Online Page B

background of
cotton mills and trade was the money she brought with her. Also, she was
genuinely fond of her half-sisters who, having taken after Mama, were better-looking
than she, good-natured and wholly devoid of jealousy.   No.   The problem wasn’t doing what was expected of her.   It was the manner of it … which closely
resembled a cross between a slave market and a cattle auction.
    Worse even than this were her clothes, which –
however fashionable the dress-maker in Harrogate had thought them – were
utterly and embarrassingly wrong in London. Lady Brassington had told her to
throw everything out and start again but Caroline couldn’t do that.   It wasn’t just that Grandpa had spent a
ridiculous amount of money.   It was the
way he’d insisted she model every single gown for him and then, with tears in
his eyes, announced that she looked ‘champion’.   He’d had no idea that the styles were too fussy and that the bright colours
rendered her insipid.   He’d just thought
his little lass looked ‘a reet picture’; so Caroline wasn’t about to tell him
that last night she’d actually heard a couple of ladies tittering behind her
back.   She looked into the mirror at the
canary-yellow taffeta and sighed again.   Tonight was a ball at the home of Viscount and Lady Linton, neither of
whom she’d ever met.   And tonight, just
like the previous balls she’d attended, she’d spend most of the evening sitting
with the chaperones because it seemed that the gentlemen who were interested in
acquiring her dowry turned up for the first hour, then took themselves off to
more conducive amusements .
    Mama was still droning on about differing levels
of the aristocracy when Lady Brassington’s coach drew up at the door.   Caroline pulled on her cloak, pasted a cheery
smile on her face and went off to face the lions.
    *   *   *
    Marcus, Lord Sheringham arrived in Lady Linton’s
ballroom in time to see Ludovic Sterne leading Mistress Maitland through a
gavotte. Suppressing a scowl of annoyance, he accepted a glass of her
ladyship’s extremely indifferent wine and glanced around the company in the
hope of seeing any other viable candidates.   Unsurprisingly, there weren’t any.   Although there were a number of well-dowered girls dotted about the
room, not one was worth anything like the hundred thousand pounds the Halifax
heiress would bring; and all of them had a father or brother who would summarily
show him the door if he made even the most tentative approach.   All of which meant that little Miss Halifax
was his only possible option … and Ludo Sterne was a bloody inconvenience.
    Basically, time was running out.   Another week – two at the most – and his
creditors would be blockading his door, leaving him with scant alternative
other than flight.   He’d had some luck at
the tables recently but not enough to signify and the only reputable house
still allowing him to play on credit was Sinclair’s – though there was no
saying how long that would last.   The
French fellow who owned the place had been giving him some very hard looks
recently; and if the looks were followed by a request to settle his account, it
would be the last, damnable straw.
    He needed the heiress and needed her badly.   So, unfortunately, did Ludo Sterne.   Marcus knew he held three of the winning
cards, compared to Sterne’s one.   He was
younger, better looking and titled.   It
ought to have been enough.   And if would have been if Sterne hadn’t been
holding an ace in the form of his cousin, Lily Brassington.
    Marcus watched Caroline and her partner with an
assessing eye.   The girl didn’t dance too
badly and Sterne had said something that had made her laugh – which was more
than Marcus himself had ever managed.   But then, Sterne gave the impression of actually liking the chit.   Marcus
didn’t, particularly.   He found her bland
and gauche.   Her dress-sense was frankly
appalling and