Susan Johnson - Again and Again

Shortly after refusing Jane’s invitation, Caroline responded to a knock on her door and found Simon’s valet outside. “It’s a pleasure to see you again, my lady.” He held out an envelope.

“And you as well, Bruno.” When had he arrived? She smiled at the man who had been taking care of Simon for as long as she could remember. “Although Simon wasted your time sending you up here.”

“You know the master, my lady,” he replied, tactfully. “I have orders to wait for your answer.”

“One moment.” Shutting her door, she opened the envelope and pulled out a card that was embossed with Simon’s ducal crest COWARD, he’d boldly scrawled. I won’t bite.

Damn him. She’d refused the dinner invitation because of his unsavory, profligate life, not out of cowardice. Taking the card to her writing table, she sat down and wrote on its back: You are the coward in not facing your responsibilities! She underlined responsibilities twice, slid the card back into the envelope, and returned it to Bruno. “Tell Simon, he’s wrong.”

“Yes, my lady. I told him if you said no, you meant no.”

“Exactly right, Bruno. He’s had his way too often.”

“Yes, my lady.” Although he’d known Lady Caroline from the cradle and she and his master were well matched when it came to willfulness.

“I wish no more correspondence from him. Make that plain.”

“I’ll tell him, my lady. And Bessie would want me to give you her greetings. She waits for your letters.”

“Thank you, Bruno. Tell Bessie I miss her.” Bruno’s wife had been like a mother to her. “If all goes well, perhaps I’ll have time to come and visit next summer.”

“We’d like that, ma’am.” He knew better than to say Simon would like it too. “If’n you ever need something… you make sure you let us know.”

“Thank you, Bruno. I’m doing well at the moment.”

“The Carlisles seem right nice.”

“Yes, yes, they are. You see that Simon understands.”

“Yes, ma’am.” And with a bow, he walked away.

* * *

Caroline was back at work on her manuscript when she heard the heavy tread of footsteps moving swiftly in her direction. She quickly piled her pages together and began to slide them in the table drawer when her door opened with such force, it crashed into the wall.

She squealed, and dropped the manuscript.

Simon held up the card with her message. “What the hell does this mean?” Striding across the scattered manuscript pages, he tossed the card on the table.

“Shut the door,” she hissed. “Do you want the entire nursery staff listening?”

“You think they don’t know?”

“They’d better not know,” she snapped, and glaring at him, she jumped to her feet and ran to the door. Jerking the knob out of the shattered plaster, she closed the door, and turned back, quivering with rage. “Say whatever you came up here to say and then get the hell out!”

“No one calls me coward.”

“But you’re allowed to do so to me?”

“Mine was in jest.”

“Mine wasn’t.”

His eyes narrowed to slits. “If you were a man, I’d call you out and kill you.”

“But then men are exceedingly stupid.”

“Really,” he surveyed her room with a derisive glance, “and women aren’t?”

“I’m here because my father chose to drink himself to death-not exactly a model of wisdom… and my husband was enticed by avarice.”

“Rather than your beauty.”

“That’s your specialty isn’t it-beautiful women.

Although, I hear you’ve left one such beauty in London somewhat the worse for your company.“

“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.