Meet THE PLAYER

��Third in the Rockliffe series, THE PLAYER is now available for purchase.

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Introducing Adrian Devereux, Lord Sarre – alias The Player

and Lord Nicholas Wynstanton, the Duke of Rockliffe’s younger brother.

The door opened and a pleasant voice said, ‘Is it just me – or does your man always look as if there’s a bad smell under his nose?’

Lord Nicholas glanced up, a kidney half-way to his mouth, and stared.

His visitor was tall, broad-shouldered and swathed in an ankle-length cloak. But his dun-coloured hair supported a hat that hadn’t been in fashion for decades – if ever – and his eyes were screened by the tinted lenses of a pair of spectacles.

Very, very gently Lord Nicholas laid down his fork.

‘Dev?’ he said incredulously.

Adrian Devereux, Lord Sarre grinned and held out his hand. ‘It’s good to see you, Nick.’

‘And you.’ Their hands gripped. ‘But what the devil is that thing you’ve got on your head?’

Adrian removed it and twirled it on one finger. ‘It’s called a hat.’

‘You may call it that. No one else would. And why are you wearing that ridiculous wig – not to mention blue-tinted spectacles? No wonder my fellow didn’t want to admit you. You look like a complete quiz.’

‘I don’t look any worse than you do in that dressing-robe. It’s making me go cross-eyed.’

‘Everyone says that. I don’t know why. Come and sit down. Have you breakfasted?’

‘Hours ago.’ Adrian tossed aside his maligned head-gear and removed his spectacles. ‘I’ll take some ale with you, though.’

Nicholas filled a fresh tankard and pushed it towards him. Then, reaching for the eye-glasses, he perched them on his own nose and said, ‘What do you think?’

‘You should keep them. They make you look positively intelligent.’

‘Well they don’t do anything else, do they? They’re just … blue.’

‘A stage prop,’ said Adrian. They weren’t, of course but he didn’t see any need to explain that he’d had them specially made.

‘Am I allowed to ask why you’re disguised as the kind of shady character who’d make me want to check my pockets?’

‘I only arrived in London yesterday and don’t want my presence known just yet.’

‘Very wise,’ approved his lordship. ‘That coat’s no better than the hat. Do you want an introduction to my tailor?’

‘Not if he’s responsible for that atrocity you’re wearing.’

Nicholas laughed and then, his dark eyes growing thoughtful, said slowly, ‘Benedict’s death has made a difference, hasn’t it? Are you going to assume your title and stay?’

‘That’s the general idea.’

‘It’s not going to be easy. Somebody’s bound to rake up the business with Evie Mortimer.’

‘I know.’

‘And if anyone finds out about the club –‘

‘There’s no reason why they should. You’ve managed to keep your own connection secret, after all.’

‘I have – but it’s taken effort. You know what Rock’s like. He finds out everything sooner or later. Speaking of which, he mentioned thinking he recognised you on-stage at the Comedie Francaise a few months ago.’

‘Yes. I rather thought he had.’ Adrian frowned a little, remembering the unpleasant moment when he’d looked straight into the Duke of Rockliffe’s omniscient gaze half-way through a performance. ‘If necessary, I’ll just have to brazen it out. I’ll be persona non grata in enough places without L’Inconnu coming to light.’

‘Well, that’s the trouble with having such a colourful past, isn’t it?’ said his lordship. And poured more ale.