Again and Again

by Susan Johnson

  The visit was turning out to be more entertaining than a performance at Covent Garden.

  “Will you be staying in London long?” The young Earl of Dalhousie asked.

  And those friends of Simon’s who had come today to see the rare wonder of Simon married knew Dalhousie was asking-without your wife.

  Caroline glanced at Simon. “I’m not sure,” she said. Although she would have left for the country tomorrow if Isabella were gone. The pettiness and insincerity of society held no appeal.

  The duke smiled at his wife and then cast his gaze on all the expectant faces. “It depends,” he said. On how long he could stand to play the husband. On how long it took his wife to get with child. On whether either of them could truly withstand the day-to-day obligations of marriage.

  “Brookes isn’t the same without your high play,” Dalhousie noted.

  Simon knew what Douglas had been asking the first time. “Perhaps after the honeymoon,” Simon murmured.

  Caroline blushed furiously.

  “Did I mention Caro has taken on the task of redesigning the gardens here?” he smoothly interposed. “You must all ask her about Villa d’Este, which is her favorite. Tell them, darling, about the grotto you’ve planned.” And he placed his arm along the back of the settee and leaned toward her slightly.

  It was a protective gesture. He was telling them all to be kind to his wife or risk his wrath. A strange new role for a man who had always been charming but relatively indifferent to the woman on his arm.

  The afternoon continued apace, with probing questions and temperate answers, the avid curiosity seemingly boundless until finally Simon had had enough. Coming to his feet, he bowed faintly to the visitors. “Thank you all for coming to welcome us back to the city. But my wife and I have a pressing engagement” Drawing Caroline to her feet, he slipped his arm around her waist and then kissed her gently not on the cheek, but on the mouth. After which he escorted his wife from the room.

  The guests were left wide-eyed with shock.

  The duke’s fondness for his wife, and more titillating, his sexual ardor was undisguised.

  It was the most delicious scandal.

  Imagine, the infamous Duke of Hargreave in love with his wife!

  Everyone tumbled from the room in haste to spread the news.

  Chapter 29

  Within another fortnight, Simon was visibly chafing at his bonds and the naysayers were smugly quoting the old saw about a leopard’s spots. He’d escorted Caroline to countless entertainments in the weeks past, attended several plays with her, had even gone shopping with her in Bond Street on numerous occasions. He hadn’t once visited his clubs, nor any of his usual haunts and the constraints on his life were taking their toll.

  He was edgy and short-tempered.

  Even Gore, who was the most mild-mannered of men, found himself the object of Simon’s displeasure one afternoon.

  Immediately apologizing for his outburst, Simon flung himself into a chair and swore under his breath for a lengthy interval.

  “Is there anything I can do, sir?” Gore inquired once Simon had stopped cursing, although he cautiously stayed near the door.

  Thank you for asking, but no.“ The duke sighed.

  “Now give me the bad news. What’s on our schedule for tonight?”

  “A dinner at the Eustices, sir.”

  Simon groaned.

  “Thalia tells me Lady Hargreave is resting now though-a headache, she thought Perhaps Lady Hargreave may not wish to dine out tonight”

  Simon looked up, his gaze examining. “Really,” he said, coming to his feet. The faintest of smiles played across his mouth. “Thank you, Gore. That will be all for today.”

  As he entered their bedroom, Simon took note of the drawn shades and stood for a moment in the doorway, a look of concern creasing his brow. Moving quietly, he walked to the bed.

  Caroline’s eyes came open.

  “Gore said you had a headache.” She looked pale, he thought “Do you want me to call a doctor?”

  “It’s just a stomach upset I haven’t felt well all afternoon.”

  “Grantley’s wine was poor last night Do you think it might have affected you?”

  “Perhaps.”

  Her tone struck him as odd. “Something is wrong.” Sitting down beside her, he gently stroked her hand. “Tell me now and if I can’t help, surely we can find someone who can.”

  “I didn’t want to say anything before… that is…”

  “Good God, Caro,” he exclaimed, seized with trepidation, her pallor suddenly looking more pronounced. “If something’s amiss, you must tell me.”

  “I don’t think it’s anything serious… like- er-an actual illness.”

  “Well, something obviously is wrong when you’re lying abed looking peckish.”

  She took a small breath. “We’re going to have a baby.”

  At first he thought he must be mistaken; she’d spoken so softly. Or perhaps the statement was so foreign to his life, he couldn’t immediately comprehend its significance.

  “A baby, Simon.”

  Her words suddenly hit him like a hammer blow. He drew in a breath, a dozen possibilities racing through his brain, none of them benign.

  His freedom was restored.

  He no longer had to play guard to her virtue.

  Or protect the Hargreave dynasty.

  His former way of life beckoned, lured, tempted… the siren song of dissipation ringing in his ears.

  He’ll be gone soon, she thought, back to the freedoms he missed. He’d been like a tethered animal of late. No one in his presence could have been unaware of the hindrance marriage had become for him.

  And said or unsaid, spoken or not, she’d always understood the reason for his flagrant possessive-ness, for his not allowing her out of his sight.

  But she’d wanted a child too.

  For reasons as selfish as his, although their motives had differed.

  “Are you pleased?” he asked, sitting very still, his gaze watchful.

  She nodded and smiled. “And you?”

  More than you know. “Yes,” he said. “I am.” Tears welled into her eyes. “I’m glad.”

  “Don’t cry, darling. I’ll take care of you both,” he said, gently. “Always.”

  And he would, she knew, although he may not be able to give them his heart. But who in the ton was granted their husband’s heart? she reminded herself. “I’d like to go to Monkshood as soon as your mother leaves.”

  “If you wish, I’ll have her out tomorrow.” Caroline shook her head. “There’s no need to make her life difficult.”

  “I don’t want her near you.”

  “I know.”

  He inhaled, looked away for a moment, trying to decide how honest he should be. His mother had written to him twice since they’d returned to London; neither note had contained good wishes on his marriage. “Why don’t I have Gore go down and see that mother leaves in a day or so.” He’d buy his mother the very expensive villa in Florence she’d been wanting. With the stipulation she stay away from Monkshood. He’d throw in all the belongings she’d taken from his house in the bargain. “We could plan on driving down the end of the week? How would that be?”

  “Perfect. Thank you.”

  “You’ve been wanting to get away, haven’t you?”

  “I so dislike society,” Caroline murmured. “I always have.” “As do I.”

  “You’ve been very patient, escorting me about.”

  “My pleasure, darling,” he replied with the effortless charm that was his hallmark. “Now, tell me, how do you feel? How do you know for certain we’re having a baby? And what can I do to help?”

  Stay with me at Monkshood, she wished to say, but knowing better, she said instead, “Once this nausea has passed, I would very much like a-”

  “Piece of chocolate cake, no doubt,” he said, grinning.

  “Actually, a dish of macaroni.”

  His grin broadened. “Am I g
oing to be obliged to hire an Italian chef?”

  She shook her head. “Bessie knows the kind of macaroni I like.”

  “And Mrs. Tiffen knows how to cook it, I suspect” As children, they’d spent a great deal of time in the kitchen at Monkshood when their parents were away.

  “She makes the most perfect creamy macaroni with the local cheddar and lots of butter…”

  He heard the note of longing in her voice. “I’ll have mother out by nightfall. Just say the word.”

  “No… no, I can wait.”

  He laughed. “As long as I find you that perfect macaroni.”

  “And perhaps just a very tiny piece of beef roast, sliced very thinly… no fat-or I’ll throw up… with maybe a very small dollop of horseradish sauce on the side.”

  Simon was chuckling as he rose from the bed with his commission. “And I suppose by the time I return, you’ll have some other item of food on your mind.”

  “A servant can do this, Simon. You needn’t fetch and carry for me.”

  “I don’t mind, darling. Now rest. I’ll be back directly.”

  But on the way downstairs, he found himself thinking about the play at Brookes and then the play afterward that had nothing to do with cards. Quickly repressing those images, he descended the stairs to the main floor, but there was a new lightness to his step.

  Chapter 30

  Caroline was welcomed with open arms at Monks-hood, all her servants from Maple Hill along with Simon’s staff lined up to greet her. Rose and Bessie hugged her first with tears in their eyes. Then Caroline and Simon moved down the ranks of servants, exchanging words with each member of the household, the full measure of happiness at the duke’s marriage evident in everyone’s smiles.

  “I knew you’d be back, my lady.”

  The phrase was repeated so many times Caroline felt as though her exile abroad had been no more than an intermission in her life. “It’s grand to be here,” she’d reply each time, truly feeling as though she were back home.

  But the moment the last greeting had been exchanged and the final expression of good wishes had been delivered, Rose and Bessie-exerting their prerogatives as long-standing family retainers-dismissed Simon and bustled Caroline upstairs to bed. Fussing over her like mother hens, they took over the tasks they’d long performed for her, helping her undress and put on her nightgown, brushing out her hair, helping her into the large four-poster bed.

  “There, now, dearie, you’re back where you belong,” Rose murmured, tucking in the coverlet around Caroline.

  “And we’re here for any little thing you need,” Bessie affirmed, shaking out Caroline’s gown.

  Rose smoothed the hair back from Caroline’s forehead, like she’d done countless times before. “Everything’s going to be right fine now.”

  Rose had helped raise Caroline since birth, while Bessie had offered her a home away from home at Monkshood.

  The old duke-perhaps motivated by dislike of his wife-had allowed Caroline the run of his house. Simon’s mother had always objected to the little girl next door, wanting a more illustrious marriage for her son. Although, in truth, it was more often the servants who were in charge of the young Hargreave heir and Caroline. The duke and duchess were rarely at Monkshood and more rarely together. And while Caroline’s father was devoted to her, as prisoner to his addictions, he wasn’t always able to discharge his fatherly duties.

  Simon and Caroline had been hoydens of sorts, although there were tutors aplenty at Monkshood and Maple Hill who encouraged the youngsters to explore their intellectual interests. And outside the schoolroom, the thousands of acres on the two estates offered outdoor amusements in all seasons to the two wild children.

  It was an unconventional life, but not an unhappy one.

  They had each other.

  Simon was reminded of those carefree years as he waited in his study for permission to visit his wife. Relaxing before the fire, he smiled over his brandy. Now that his mother had vacated the estate, it was good to be home. And between Bessie and Rose, Caro would be coddled and cosseted to the point of obsession.

  No doubt, he had become relatively insignificant, he reflected, drolly. Having done his part, he was expendable-being shunted off to his study a case in point He glanced at the clock, drank another brandy and then feeling he’d been lenient enough, rose from his chair. Surely, they had Caro settled in bed by now.

  But he was forced to wait outside in the hall for some minutes more before Bessie finally ushered him in.

  “Now, I don’t want you upsettin‘ her,” she said, speaking to the duke as though he were eight. “It’s a right long drive from London and the sweet girl is almost done in.”

  “It’s twenty miles, Bessie. Not halfway to Egypt.”

  “Humph, as if you’d know anything about how it feels to be in the family way. Didn’t I just say as much, Rose?” she noted, huffily, glancing at her cohort who was fluffing the pillows behind Caro’s head.

  “Men!” Rose snorted, the single word impugning the entire gender. “Drink and gamble too much, they do, and that’s not the worst o‘ it”

  Caroline and Simon exchanged glances but held their tongues until the two ladies had fluffed the last pillow and poured the last glass of water and were finished arguing about Caroline’s preferences in food.

  “And stay off the bed,” Bessie ordered at the last.

  When the door finally shut on the housekeepers, Simon dared move from his position just inside the entrance to the room. “I can see that I’m going to have to reassert my authority here at Monkshood,” he said, amusement in his gaze. “I was very much afraid Rose was going to sound a peal over my head on my drinking and gambling habits.”

  “Not to mention those unspeakable ones,” Caroline noted, lightly.

  He grunted in reply, not likely to respond to that rejoinder. “And I hope you don’t mind, but I have no intention of staying off your bed.”

  Caroline grinned. “Thank God. I didn’t relish having to become celibate.”

  “Not likely that,” he murmured, beginning to strip off his coat as he moved toward the bed.

  She nodded at the door. “You might want to lock it”

  “I’m thinking it might be more prudent to attempt personal contact in small stages.” Tossing his coat on the chair, he began unbuttoning his vest. “I’m trying to avoid being sent to bed without my supper,” he added, with a roguish grin. Dropping his vest atop his coat, he kicked off his shoes and sat down on the bed beside Caroline. Although, not too near.

  She measured the space with her gaze and grinned. “You’re afraid of Bessie.”

  He looked at her, a waggish light in his eyes. “Damn right.”

  “Does that mean I have to wait until dark?” she asked in a pouty little whisper. Rising to her knees, she leaned across the small distance separating them, placed her hands on his shoulders and lowered her head until their eyes met. “I don’t know if I can wait until dark,” she breathed, nibbling on his bottom lip.

  “We probably should, though.” His voice was taut with restraint.

  “Don’t want to,” she purred, bending closer, her breasts swinging slightly beneath her nightgown, brushing against his chest.

  Through force of habit, perhaps, his hands seemed to come up of their own accord, his fingers splayed over her soft, pliant flesh and he filled his palms with the weight of her breasts.

  She softly moaned, the pressure of his fingers sending little sparking tingles down to the pulsing tissue deep inside her. “Please… I want to feel you,” she implored, breathy, eager. “It’s been so long…”

  He shut his eyes against the spiking lust, resisted for a millisecond more while he debated whether three hours was indeed too long. Then he muttered, “I’ll be right back,” and left the bed.

  There were cardinal moments and this was one where rank was useful, he decided, moving toward the door. Striding out into the hall, he swiftly traversed the plush Uzbek carpet to the head of the stair
s and without hesitating, shouted, “I do not want to be disturbed!” His voice thundered down the stairwell, past numerous Hargreave forebears staring out from their portraits to the front hall servants at their posts.

  The footmen looked up in surprise. The duke never raised his voice. But then again, he was half-dressed in the middle of the day. They glanced at each other and smiled. And when they looked up again, he was gone.

  Returning to the bedroom, Simon locked the door and quickly stripped off the remainder of his clothes to an appreciative audience of one.

  “Is that all mine?” Caroline purred as he walked toward the bed, her gaze on his magnificent up-thrust penis.

  “It’s all yours,” he murmured with a smile.

  “What if I want it inside me always…”

  His heated gaze turned hotter. “I’ll see what I can do. You’re not too tired, now.”

  “Au contraire. I’m very much awake.” And so saying, she lifted her nightgown over her head in one fell swoop and flung it away.

  He laughed. “It looks as though your nursemaids might have misdiagnosed your condition. Instead of bed rest, you have other things in mind.”

  “Sex with you is rather constantly on my mind. I feel as though I should apologize,” she added in a genuinely contrite tone.

  He smiled. “That won’t be necessary. I doubt I’ll find it inconvenient.”

  “Oh, good,” she exclaimed, like a child allowed a special treat. “Do you think you could stay inside me for a very long time? I seem to be insatiable.”

  “I’ll do my best,” the man who held all the records for continuous sex in the brothels of London replied, mildly. Climbing into bed, he lay back against the pillows.

  “I absolutely adore when you come in me.” Her voice held that same note of breathlessness. “I wonder if other women feel that way, like some primordial female fertility figure waiting to be implanted with male sperm. All expectant and fruitful and yielding. Is that strange?”

  He smiled, his gaze flicking to his erection. “I don’t know, but it’s making me horny as hell.”