Again and Again

Chapter 22

The ride to Kettleston Hall was brief and surprisingly silent. Once they’d left the castle, Caroline decided it was pointless to scream; it would be like baying at the moon. And her throat actually hurt from shrieking at the top of her lungs-as if it had done her any good, she sullenly noted. For which Simon was entirely to blame. As he was for this entire, ridiculous, senseless, outrageously outdated abduction. Why he couldn’t act like a normal, well-behaved man was beyond her. Although with Simon that might be asking entirely too much. In any case, she alone was going to be in charge of her liberation and to that purpose, as she lay mute in Simon’s arms, she systematically surveyed her… relatively limited options as it turned out.

Since Simon had what he wanted, it mattered little to him whether Caroline talked or not. But he was grateful she’d stopped screaming. Ignoring Caroline’s outcries had stretched the limits of his patience. Taking advantage of her protesting lull, he reviewed the schedule of events planned for Kettleston Hall. Hopefully, all his directions had been received and since they were riding double, Aubrey should soon overtake them. Once they reached the house, he’d remind Aubrey again to keep the ceremony brief. Caroline was unpredictable. Like now. He glanced down, wondering if she’d fallen asleep.

She looked at him from under her lashes. “I’m planning your demise.”

And then, of course, in other ways, she was completely predictable.

He hoped he wouldn’t have to truss her for the ceremony.

Even having to travel by the roads, the journey to Kettleston Hall wasn’t long. On reaching the drive, Simon saw the fresh coach tracks and smiled. Good. Everything had arrived from London.

Tapers were burning beside the front door, the house was alight. He took note of the facade for the first time as they rode up the drive, pleased to see his purchase had clean lines. Some regional architects were eclectic in their tendencies, thinking more was better. The simple four-square brick house, flanked by graceful wings had a pleasing purity of design. He surveyed the three stories, the windows on every floor glowing with candlelight and wondered which of the windows were those of the master suite.

He’d sent orders ahead to prepare the rooms.

And the chapel.

He glanced down at Caro and smiled. Her eyes were shut now. She was pouting. But then he knew how to alter that pout He’d learned how years ago.

Grooms came running up as they approached the entrance, familiar faces from his home in London. He’d sent a small contingent of servants north.

Dismounting with Caro in his arms, he surreptitiously glanced at her, hoping she wouldn’t make a scene. Although, scene or not, he would marry her. He’d not once changed his mind on that score since he’d left Louvois’s house in Paris. And while he may not know what love was, raw desire he knew. His craving for her had consumed his thoughts, destroyed his peace of mind, and had withstood a serious attempt to drink it into oblivion.

So, he’d traveled three days over hellish roads.

And curbed his tongue at Netherton Castle.

In order to marry a woman who said she didn’t want him.

In a way, he was glad Caro was so far from London.

He would have been ridiculed mercilessly by his friends had his nuptials taken place there.

While the betting books at the clubs would have been filled with predictions on the birth date of their first child-and all the gossipy females would have been counting on their fingers. They still might He grimaced, the issue of birth dates bringing a contentious matter to mind.

The front door opened and a butler came hurrying out, curtailing Simon’s disconcerting thoughts.

As the elderly man approached them, his expression took on a note of concern. “Is the lady ill, my lord?”

Simon had been wondering as much himself, both Caroline’s silence and compliance unusual.

“She’s fatigued,” he said, hoping Caroline wouldn’t say something outrageous.

“I am tired,” Caroline remarked. While she had no scruples about venting her spleen on Simon, she didn’t wish to embarrass the old butler.

“Why don’t we get you inside where it’s warm?” Simon offered, moving toward the door. “By the way, I’m Hargreave,” Simon added, turning to the butler who was keeping pace.

“So we assumed, my lord. I’m Eaton, Your Grace, and this is my wife, Mrs. Hopper,” he added, beckoning to a woman who was hanging back at the entrance. “She’s been housekeeper to Viscount Manley for some twenty-odd years.”

Stopping just short of the door, Simon smiled at the plump woman bobbing a curtsy. “I’m hoping you can serve me as well. I presume the staff is still all in place.”

“Yes, sir.” The undercurrent of trepidation disappeared from Eaton’s voice.

“Good. Excellent. Well, then.” Simon smiled again, the relief on his butler’s and housekeeper’s faces revealing. He should have had Gore assure them of their positions long ago, he reflected with a small twinge of guilt.

“Yes, sir, this way, sir. Everything that you wished for has been done. If you’ll follow me.”

Caroline felt de trop and overlooked, like part of the baggage. If she resisted, she would only make an awkward situation more awkward. The servants didn’t know them. Apparently, Simon had never been here before. Nor were they likely to help her; she too had seen their expressions of relief when Simon had told them they could stay on. No doubt they’d spent a lifetime on the estate.

And if anyone understood the uncertainty of employment, she surely did.

But was she required to marry their master because she didn’t wish to put them in a position that might endanger their livelihoods? Or more realistically, would anything she did have any bearing on Simon’s attitude toward his staff or their marriage?

The answer, of course, was unpalatable.

And nonplussed, she wondered what her next move might be.

“Will you behave?” Simon whispered as they crossed the threshold.

“Do I have a choice?” she whispered back.

“Good girl.” He set her on her feet as though it had been his intention from the start

“We’ll see about that,” she said under her breath. “I’m hungry,” she announced, in a carrying voice.

Simon cast her a suspicious look, but only met a bland smile.

“What would you like, my dear?” His voice was smooth as silk, but his gaze was wary.

“Cake,” she said. “And tea to start with.”

Her implication that there might be some mysterious more to follow, added to Simon’s unease. “We’ll have tea in my apartments.” Perhaps a defendable position wouldn’t be out of order. “And brandy for myself.”

“Yes, sir, this way.” Bowing to Simon and Caroline, the butler led them to the stairway.

The rooms in the master’s apartment were large, a fire lit in each chamber, the furniture new and fashionable-perhaps one of the reasons besides gambling that Viscount Manley had decimated his fortune. Eaton showed them through the suite, shut all the drapes and with a courteous bow, left them to go and fetch Caroline’s tea.

Walking to where Caroline stood in the middle of the sitting room, his cape so long on her it dragged on the floor, Simon unwrapped the layers of black wool and lifted it from her shoulders. Then he lightly touched her cheek with the back of one finger. “You look tired.”

“After twelve nights of parties, I have a right to be.” It was a deliberate remark, meant to provoke.

He tossed his cape on a chair before replying, needing the moment of delay to curb his temper. “Perhaps I won’t be as demanding as your opera-loving beau.” His eyes had turned cool. “Does he like to fuck all night?”

She realized she’d made a mistake when he looked at her like that “I wouldn’t know,” she said, aware retreat was called for. “He only kissed me once.”

“You expect me to believe that? Maybe when you were thirteen or fourteen I might.” His drawl was pronounced. “But we both know you were a precocious little girl after that, don’t we?”

“Not as precocious as you,” she snapped, taking exception to his remark when it had been he who had prompted her precociousness. “Was it your nanny or governess? I forget.”

“Both.” He smiled. “Which makes me doubly suspicious of governesses.” Reaching out, he gently stroked her throat. “I’m going to have to keep my eye on you after we’re married.” His long fingers slowly circled her neck. “Knowing you as well as I do,” he added in a whisper before releasing his light hold. He plucked at the azure velvet of her sleeve. “I brought you something to replace this,” he said in a normal tone of voice, as though he’d not just given her warning. “I hope you like your wedding gown.”

“And I hope you have some plan other than coercing me into marriage,” she replied tartly, having been his playmate for so many childhood years, she was the last person he could intimidate.

A hint of a smile played across his mouth. “Sorry. That’s my only plan.”

“You’re completely, bloody mad, of course. I don’t suppose you’ve once considered how grossly unfair this dragooning of yours is? Not just to me, but think how it will look to the outside world.”

He didn’t care about fairness although there was no graceful way to say that “Come, Caro, is it so awful?” he asked instead, his tone cajoling, since he understood her objections even if he chose to overlook them. “You can have your freedom. You know I’m not an ogre. I missed you, that’s all.” The degree and scope of that deprivation indeterminate and highly problematic.

“And what of your freedom? Tell me about that.” Her words were barbed.

He searched for a mollifying answer, not sure the truth would serve. But in the end he chose candor. “I’ll try to be faithful. Will you settle for that?”

“Why do I have to settle for anything?” she asked bitterly.

Because he had all the power, he wished to say. “Because I found I was miserable without you and I’d rather not lie and say I’ll be faithful forever. But I’ll really try.”

“That’s not good enough.”

His brows rose. “Do you think you have a choice?”

“Do you think you can lock me up forever?”

He grimaced. “Jesus, Caro. You’re asking a lot. No men I know are faithful.”

“Then you should marry someone like their wives who are willing to sell their souls and honor for a wedding ring and a title! I’m not for sale!”

He abruptly turned and walked away, passing from the sitting room through the dressing room into the bedroom where he dropped into a sprawl on the bed. Staring up into the pleated silk of the canopy, he debated how best to reconcile his wishes and hers and whether he even wanted to compromise on so ridiculous a point. Men of his class were rarely faithful; he actually didn’t know any who were.

But the word, rarely, refused to be dislodged from his brain and he was forced to confront the uncompromising reality that some men were faithful. He’d heard of men who loved their wives to distraction, although those husbands had not been the standards of conduct among his friends. Could he deal with the possibility that he might become such an anomaly?

And how much did it matter if he were?

He heard her footfall and waited, still not certain what he’d choose to do. Although marry her, he would. With or without force.

She came to a stop in the bedroom doorway; he could hear her breathing. Her perfume drifted into his nostrils, but he still didn’t move, his gaze unfocused on the canopy overhead.

“Whoever wins two out of three hands has their way? What do you think of that?” She was feeling lucky with that piquant flush of excitement she’d known since childhood. She was going to win.

He turned his head and looked at her. She was smiling and she wasn’t objecting to the marriage anymore, only the manner of it.

“My cards,” he said.

“A new deck,” she countered.

He sat up and grinned. “Done.”

“Now I don’t know if I should,” she murmured, leaning against the door frame and looking at him askance. “You’re too eager.”

He threw his legs over the side of the bed and sprang to the floor. “Can I help it if I feel lucky?”

“Lucky meaning you won’t have to be faithful?”

“No, lucky I won’t have to argue with you about this anymore,” he said, moving toward her, smiling.

A knock on the door of the sitting room infiltrated into the bedroom.

He winked. “Your cake, my duchess-to-be.”

“Maybe by the time I eat, I’ll think of some way out of this marriage, or perhaps your luck might change.”

“Or yours.” He already had all the luck he needed; she was here and smiling. The rest could be resolved.

Sitting across from her at a table set before the fire, he drank a brandy while she ate her cake and sipped her tea. The firelight gilded her hair and he wished above all things to unpin her curls and bury his face in their scented softness. Her bare shoulders and arms, burnished by the glow of the fire tempted him. Would she take issue were he to reach out and slide his hand down her slender arm? She suddenly smiled at him as though giving him leave, and a curious warmth enveloped him. And if there was such a thing as contentment, he was content.

“Don’t you want any?” she asked again, offering him a forkful of a gooey chocolate confection that obviously had found favor with her. She was eating her third piece.

“Maybe later,” he replied, politely as he had on the previous occasions she’d offered him some.

“Do you think you have a chef here?” she asked through a mouthful of cake. “This is quite, quite marvelous.”

He shrugged. “We’ll have to ask.”

“Why did you buy this place?”

“So I could be near you.”

“How sweet.”

Sweetness, perhaps, wasn’t the precise word to describe his motivation, but he wasn’t about to ruin her cheerful mood with the base truth. He smiled. Thank you. We try.“

She made a small moue. “I don’t know why I can’t stay angry with you.”

“Why would you want to?”

“Out of principle, of course. You have some very annoying habits.”

He wasn’t about to touch that very dicey subject and in an effort to distract her, he said, “Would you like to see if your ring fits?”

That was very thoughtful of you… the ruby, I mean.“ Was the chocolate unduly influencing her mood? She was finding it impossible to be cross with him. Although when he was lounging across from her like he was, looking ever so accessible, and astonishingly handsome and dissolute in a completely unassuming and enticing way, it was difficult to resist. Although for her peace of mind, she preferred the chocolate theory.

“I knew rubies were your favorites.” He slowly slid up into a seated position, set down his drink and rose to his feet. “Shut your eyes…”

She didn’t.

Waggling his finger, he smiled faintly. “If you want your Christmas presents, you have to shut your eyes. Don’t you remember?”

Tears sprang to her eyes. Her father had always said that and then Simon had. She quickly shut her eyes, but Simon had seen the telltale wetness.

“Now you have to tell me you like your presents whether you do or not or I’ll cry,” he teased, moving to the armoire.

She laughed, which he’d intended. “I haven’t had any presents for years.” A small excitement trembled in her voice.

And he almost cried.

He’d dictated his instructions to Gore who had written them down and sent them north with the coachman. Caro’s presents were supposed to be in the armoire. Which one was the question. He pulled open the armoire door in the sitting room and surveyed several shelves of wrapped packages and Caro’s wedding gown hanging from a satin-covered hanger. He’d have to give both Gore and Eaton a raise.

He still had the ring in his waistcoat pocket, but he’d selected other pieces of jewelry to compliment it and his bride’s beauty. Lifting several jewelers’ boxes from the shelves, he carried them back to the table and set them down. “Open your eyes, although I know you were looking.” His mouth quirked in a lazy grin.

She looked up at him, feigning innocence. “I didn’t see anything. Really.”

“I’ll have to feed you chocolate more often,” he drawled, charmed by her mummery.

She winked. “Maybe I’ll let you.”

All her animosity was gone, her playful smile wrenchingly familiar and he felt as though he were eighteen again and neither he nor Caro had a care in the world. “I think maybe I should get down on one knee and do this properly,” he murmured, suddenly unafraid of how he felt or how she would respond or whether he might be walking off the end of the earth into nothingness. Dropping down on one knee, he took the small velvet wrapped package from his waistcoat pocket, pulled out the ring and reached for her hand. “Darling Caro, would you do me the honor of becoming my wife? I find, unaccountably,” he said with a boyish smile, “I’m crazed with love for you.”

“Or perhaps only crazed,” she murmured, their eyes on a level, hers sparkling with laughter. “And I think it must be contagious, for I find myself crazy in love with you.”

He slipped the large square-cut ruby on her finger, a quick sure gesture, as though sealing the bargain. “You know what everyone will say.”

“That Hargreave has escaped Daphne’s lure?”

“Bitch,” he said with a chuckle. “No, everyone will say they deserve each other.”

“Will that be a compliment?”

“Probably not,” he replied, matter-of-factly as he came to his feet. “But I would view it as such. You make me happy. It’s as simple as that.”

She gazed up at him, her expression contemplative. “It may not be so simple. We are frequently at daggers drawn.”

Then I shall have to constantly ply you with chocolate and presents,“ he teased. ”And if you want romantic words darling,“ he added, his voice suddenly sober, ”write me a list. I’ll learn them for you.“

Not sure Simon was serious, particularly when it came to romance, Caroline opted for a neutral response. “How very kind,” she said, as one might to an offer of a dance.

“I can be infinitely kind.” His voice was like velvet as he took his chair opposite her and his eyes held hers for a lingering moment. “Wait and see.”

Whether it was the chocolate or his close proximity, she was fast losing her sense of restraint. “I do hope I don’t have to wait long,” she murmured, thinking if he looked at her like that much longer, she wasn’t going to wait at all.

A fact he was well aware of, having had his share of females throwing themselves at him since he’d reached adolescence. But he wasn’t about to delay his marriage, no matter how eager Caro might be. “Open these.” Leaning over, he pushed the presents toward her. “Then I’ll help you with your wedding gown,” he took a deep breath, “or then again, maybe I won’t. We’ll find a maid to help you, and quickly, I’m thinking.” He shifted in his chair, his erection rising. He waved a hand at the packages. “Hurry.”

She loved that his impatience matched hers or perhaps he was always impatient for sex and with that thought in mind, she recalled their wager. “The cards,” she said.

“After the wedding.”

“Before,” she said, firmly, thinking she might yet regain her sanity if she had time.

“We’ll cut for it.” He glanced about, then pulled open a small drawer in the table. “Ah ha.” He held up a pack of cards. “Manley was always ready for a game, apparently. High card?”

She nodded.

He shuffled, the cards a soft blur in his hands and then he placed the pack on the table, straightened the edges and cut. He held up a portion of the deck, the four of clubs facing out.

She felt confident. Her odds were good with that low a number. Reaching over, she slid a small stack of cards off the pile and held it up. A three of hearts.

His smile was beatific. “After,” he said. “Now, open your presents,” he added because he wished to avoid any further argument. “Two of them go with your ring.”

She opened her mouth to speak, but he held out a package. “See if it fits.”

It was a very tiny package. If it was clothes, she was in trouble. When she ripped off the paper, she found stunning ruby earrings that matched her ring. Large tear-shaped pendants were suspended from square cut rubies, the whole surrounded by brilliant diamonds. “Oh!” she breathed, awestruck.

“You had ruby earrings years ago.”

“But not like this!” Hers had been modest, a gift from her grandmother.

“Here,” he said, offering her another box.

And so it went, each item of jewelry more magnificent than the last until she had a queen’s ransom in jewels spread out on the table before her.

“You were much too extravagant, Simon. I feel guilty.”

“Nonsense. My duchess should have her own jewels. The Hargreave lot is an old-fashioned jumble. And I doubt you’d want to fight my mother for them.”

“So Isabella hasn’t relinquished control of the property?”

“Not if she can help it. She feels that she earned every hectare of land and every scrap of plate after living with my father for a quarter century.”

“Is she still at Monkshood then?”

He shook his head. “I drove her out with my disreputable friends arriving day and night. But I fear she took the plate and jewels and anything else she fancied. The dowager house is crammed to the rafters. I hope you don’t mind?”

“You saw what I had. A satchel, no more. I don’t require much.”

He smiled. “Only me.”

“Exclusively if you please.”

“I still have three hands of cards between me and the shackles of matrimony.”

“Do I have that option as well?”

“I don’t want to fight,” he murmured.

“Ah.”

“Don’t say ah like that. You know what the world’s like.”

“I do. Once I’ve given you an heir, I’m free to take a lover.”

He scowled, but he held his tongue. He wanted to be married before he took issue with that statement. Quickly coming to his feet, he said, “I’ll have a maid help you dress.” He put a hand to his cheek and rubbed his stubble. “I’ll wash up and meet you in the chapel.”

Biting her bottom lip, she looked at him dubiously. “Are you sure?”

He’d never been so sure in his life. “Yes,” he said, but on some other level-one that didn’t take into account insatiable sexual desire-his certainty was less intelligible. Aware his tone recorded that constraint, he quickly smiled. “I’m very sure. Don’t keep me waiting too long.”