Susan Johnson - Again and Again

“Why don’t you just come out and say it,” he growled. “Jane told you, didn’t she?”

“Very well.” Her gaze was chill. “I heard you left Lady Blessington with your child in her belly. Is that blunt enough?”

“Have I ever come in you?” he inquired, his voice acrid with restraint. “Have I?” he said again when she didn’t answer.

“Well?” he muttered as the silence lengthened.

“No.”

“And why is that do you suppose?” Smooth as silk.

“Don’t take that tone with me,” she bristled. “I’m not ten years old and you’re not without guilt!”

“Lady Blessington isn’t ten years old either; she understands where babies come from. In this instance, her child comes compliments of her stable boy. She’d prefer the child be of ducal blood, of course,” he said, an edge to his voice. “A common enough desire, I’ve found. Which is why I’m extremely cautious.” His smile didn’t quite reach his eyes. “I’ll accept your apology.”

“Why should I believe you?” she countered. “And even if I did, Lady Blessington is only one small portion of my frustration with you.”

“You didn’t seem frustrated last night.”

His soft drawl was unmitigated arrogance. “Neither did you,” she retorted, as capable of arrogance when it came to her sexual talents as he.

A cheeky smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. “You are damned good.”

“I know.” That should wipe away his smile.

It did. “What the hell does that mean?”

“You know very well what it means. Do you think you’re the only person who likes a little variety in their bed?”

“How much variety?”

“I don’t see how it’s any of your business, do you?” she purred.

A muscle along his jaw twitched. “No.”

“Good. Then you won’t take offense when I tell you that I’ve decided to look farther afield… in terms of bed partners.”

One brow quirked in derision. “The stableboy at the castle, perhaps?”

“Acquit me of Lady Blessington’s tastes, present company excepted, of course. It’s no one you know.”

“What if I told you, I wasn’t ready to relinquish your company yet.”

“I’d say it’s eighteen twenty-one and women are no longer chattel.”

“A shame the queen didn’t know that before she died.”

Touché, she thought, although she wouldn’t give him the satisfaction. “I live under less restrictions than a queen. Protocol hardly applies to me.”

“And yet you insist I not compromise you.”

“Damn it, Simon, stop! I don’t want to argue endlessly with you. You have spent years dallying with whom you please. Kindly give me the same options. You don’t own me. You have no familial rights if such still exist. We’re friends, no more.”

He knew when to retreat. He had considerable experience with appeasing women. “You’re right,” he said, pleasantly. “I shouldn’t have been so insistent. You have every right to live your life as you please. If it’s friends you want to be, then it’s friends we’ll be.”

His sudden about face gave her pause and she scrutinized his face for a moment His gaze was open, his smile warm. “Thank you, Simon. I appreciate your understanding.” But at some inexplicable level, she felt deflated. Didn’t he care anymore? Could he walk away without a backward glance?

“Since we’re simply friends, why not come down for dinner? I’d enjoy your company. Not that I don’t like discussing Ian and Jane’s favorite topics of hunting and riding, but I’d welcome a breath of fresh air in terms of conversation. We could debate, say, France’s restored monarchy and its reactionary policies.”

She smiled. “Don’t get me on that subject.”

“Particularly when your dear, departed husband is so sadly missed,” he noted, mockingly.

“If he were indeed departed, the world would be a better place,” she replied without a hint of irony.

“I suppose this isn’t the time to ask why you married him?”

“Not unless you wish me to ask you what you found so fascinating about Lady Blessington. I’ve always found Daphne incredibly dull.”

He raised his hands. “You decide on the topics of conversation tonight at dinner. I’ll take my cue from you.”

Wouldn’t it be nice if he would? she thought with a touch of wistfulness. “Did I say I’d dine with you?”

He grinned. “I thought I heard you say you would.”

“What if I don’t have anything to wear?”

He almost exhaled in relief at her apparent acquiescence. “Whatever you wear, will be perfect, I’m sure.” I’ll buy out London for you, he wished to say. And Paris too. “What you have on now will do nicely,” he said instead.

She laughed. “You do know how to charm.”

“I’m way behind you, darling, in terms of charm.” And if he dared, he’d walk across the room, pull her into his arms and kiss her soundly.

The look in his eyes warmed her heart. She should take offense at his outrageous seduction. She should say, Don’t think I don’t know what you’re doing. But she didn’t. “Go, now,” she said. “I have to dress.”

“Champagne in the Tudor drawing room first.”

“When?”

“Come early. I’ll be there.”

His smile was heart-stoppingly sweet. Not dangerous or seductive, nor cynical and knowing. When the door closed on him, she felt a joy quite out of proportion to the simple conversation.

How could it hurt to enjoy an evening of company downstairs? And regardless of Simon’s cavalier manner with women, apparently this time, he wasn’t to blame.

So, now… what in her much reduced wardrobe would be appropriate to wear?

When Simon returned to his rooms, his good spirits were evident. “She said no at first. You were right. But-”

“She changed her mind,” Bruno said, looking up from polishing Simon’s hunting boots.

“Just barely. So have bathwater brought up posthaste. I want to be waiting for her in the drawing room when she arrives. She’s skittish.”

His valet glanced at the clock. “It’s two hours until dinner.”

“I can tell time.” Simon began stripping off his jacket.

“Yes, sir, bathwater right away, sir.”

Simon entered the Tudor drawing room less than a half hour later, quickly searched the interior and smiled. Good. He’d arrived first. He didn’t wish to take any chances Caro might change her mind should she enter an empty room.

Jane had said drinks at eight. That would give him time to talk to Caroline without interruption. God only knew if she was serious about variety in her bed. But if she was, he’d have to change her mind. Gently, of course. She didn’t take orders. He drank three quick brandies while waiting. If he’d been introspective, he might have taken note of his unease. But over the years, he’d become adept at ignoring introspection. A wise choice for a man of intemperance.

As the door opened and Caroline walked in, he came to his feet with a smile. “I’ve started without you. Come sit by the fire. Would you like brandy or champagne?”

“Brandy, please.”

Of course, she preferred brandy. He recalled that fact with inordinate pleasure, as though he’d discovered a long lost memento. “You look wonderful.” She’d plaited her hair and drawn it into a coronet atop her head, her shoulders were bare, her décolletage breathtaking. She wore a small cameo brooch that looked vaguely familiar at the neckline of her gown. Her gown, while dated, was expensive. Someone had had money enough to buy her that. His smile tightened at the thought.

“Is something wrong?” She moved across the room toward him.

“No, no… I was admiring your gown.” And the graceful sway of her hips.

“It’s a castoff from a friend in Brussels. Outmoded, I’m afraid. But I love the Genoa, velvet” She brushed her fingertips over the rippling azure fabric. “It’s lovely.” His temper instantly dissipated. “Your friend has excellent taste.”

“Yes. She, like I, once lived in a much different world. She died shortly before I left.”

“I’m sorry. I really am, Caro-about everything. You should have written me. I would have helped. I’d still like to.”

“Don’t start, Simon.” Sitting down on the chair he’d pulled out for her, she smiled up at him. “Like you, I value my independence. You understand, certainly more than most… about independence. Now,” she added briskly, “the past is the past. Weren’t we going to talk politics?”

“We’ll talk about whatever you like.” He moved toward the liquor table.

“I adore you when you’re amenable.”

“Aren’t I always?”

“Yes, of course.”

He looked up from opening a decanter. “Now who’s being amenable?”

“I don’t want to argue tonight. I just want to enjoy my brandy and the pleasure of your company.”

Picking up the two glasses he’d poured, he crossed the small distance between them. “I’m not sure what to say when you’re so obliging.”

“I have my moments, darling.” She put her hand out for her drink. “Surely you remember.”

Her complaisance was unnerving or pleasing, depending on how mistrusting he wished to be. But her moments as she so bewitchingly put it, were indeed memorable. He placed the brandy in her hand and smiled. “To fond memory,” he said.

She lifted her glass. “And to freedom.”

He raised his glass. “Freedom,” he said, softly, suddenly not sure looking at her whether his freedom mattered as much as he once thought. But fear of entanglements was stronger than transient emotion and when he spoke a second later, his voice was neutral. “You’ve been inculcated with revolutionary principles while abroad,” he remarked, taking a seat opposite her. “Liberte, egalite, fraternite.”

“All of which Napoleon disregarded in his climb to power. You must admit, though, they’re noble virtues.” She grinned. “Not that you’re likely to agree. As one of the premier dukes in England, you have tradition to maintain now, don’t you, Your Grace?”

“I’m not sure I’m particularly traditional. Have you become a radical since you left England?”

“My former husband would say so, although, in his estimation, anyone who doesn’t agree in absolute monarchy falls into that category.”

“You disagreed on politics?”

“Among other things. I haven’t had enough to drink yet to discuss that particular hell.”

“Jesus, Caro,” he said, leaning forward. “You should have written to me.”

“And said what? Climb out of the current bed you’re in and come and save me? You couldn’t save me, Simon. You can’t save yourself.”

He relaxed against his chair back once again. “I’m not touching any conversation about beds with a ten-foot pole.”

Her brows arched into perfect half circles. “Good decision.”

Quickly reviewing a number of subjects in his mind, he chose the least controversial. “Tell me where you were living when you accepted the position at Netherton Castle.”

Her gaze was mocking. “Do you really care?”

“Yes,” he replied, graciously. “Were you in Brussels? How did you know the Carlisles were looking for someone?” Tell me everything about your life since you left me, he wanted to say. “Tell me about your friend.”

Caroline drained her brandy and held her glass out. “Yes, I was in Brussels,” she replied, watching him walk to the liquor table, thinking there wasn’t a man alive so handsome. “I bought a copy of the London Times and searched the ads for governesses. As you know, aristocratic ladies fallen on hard times have two choices; they can be governesses or companions. And the thought of fetching shawls and medicines for an elderly lady would have brought me screaming to Bedlam in a month.”

He glanced over at her, wondering what degree of fate had brought them together again. “Did you apply anywhere else?” When she hesitated, he said, “Apparently you did.”

“I sent my resume to a mill owner from Manchester.” She grimaced. “He replied with much too personal questions.”

Returning with their drinks, Simon handed hers over. ‘Tell me his name.“

“You needn’t call him out. My letter in response to his questions was quite sufficient, I guarantee. I also sent his letter of inappropriate questions to his wife.”

His brows flickered. “Remind me to stay off your grudge list.”

She smiled. ‘Too late.“

“Perhaps I can make amends in some way,” he murmured softly.

“Perhaps after a dozen more brandies you might,” she murmured back with a grin.

He laughed. “Have I died and gone to heaven?”

“Are you speaking of my little heaven on the third floor or something more conventional?”

After quickly glancing at the clock and the door, his gaze swung back to her. “Perhaps we could recreate a degree of heaven here, if you wish.”

“You, apparently, do not understand the meaning of the word discretion.”

Ignoring her sarcasm, he smiled. There’s time.“