Susan Johnson - Again and Again

It was tempting. She’d been struggling for so long.

But stark reality couldn’t be so easily ignored and she better than most understood Simon’s record on constancy… and faithfulness.

He was incapable of both.

She’d known that five years ago and knew it still and if she was looking for either quality in him, she was a fool.

It was a shame he was so loveable.

And more unfortunate still that he knew it and used it to his advantage.

Her brief moment of blissful fantasy dissolved before the painful truth and she turned from the window to face the harsh uncertainties of the real world.

Now… how best to deal with Simon’s expected pursuit? Although she wasn’t a novice at eluding men, Simon in such close proximity would prove a formidable challenge. Particularly, she thought, glancing at her door, in this keyless room. “Never show fear,” her father had always said. “Remember your game face, darling… It’s the first rule.” Not that staring down Simon would prove useful for more than a second or two; he wasn’t easily intimidated.

But suddenly another of her father’s maxim’s came to mind and she experienced a heartened moment of hope. “Only bet on a sure thing,” he’d always said and of one thing she was sure-Simon would come for her. She’d bet her last shilling on that.

So if she played her cards right, she just might be able to put herself in a position of power. Moving to her small desk, she lit a candle, sat down, pulled out a sheet of paper and began writing.

When a servant came to fetch her sometime later, Caroline returned downstairs for the children in a new frame of mind. While not precisely calm, she was at least composed, her decisions clarified. Arriving at the door to the study, she paused for a moment, feeling as though she were about to step on stage.

Taking a deep breath, she raised her fist and knocked.

Simon hadn’t known exactly how he would respond when next he saw Caroline, although numerous possibilities had passed through his mind. In the interest of good manners and his present company, however, his preferred choices had to be delayed for a more opportune occasion.

But he’d watched with keen attention as Jane had gone to the bell pull and rang for a servant. With raised consciousness, he’d listened to her instruct the servant to fetch Caroline, then silently chafed as he waited for her arrival. When the knock on the door finally sounded, he set his glass down so he wouldn’t spill it this time and turned toward the door.

Caroline stepped into the room.

Simon blew out a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding.

Ian frowned.

Jane sent Simon a warning look, then turned to Caroline. “The children have eaten so many sweets they may not want their supper,” she noted, her tone constrained. “I’ll be up later to tuck them into bed.” She smiled at her children. “Now, go with Miss Morrow or is it Lady Caroline?” Jane lifted her brows in query.

“Miss Morrow is fine.”

Jane nodded. “We’ll talk in the morning.”

The statement had an ominous sound, but Caroline gave no sign of her misgivings. “Very well, ma’am. Come, children.” She studiously avoided Simon’s gaze as she shepherded her charges from the room.

Once the door closed, the silence in the study was oppressive.

Jane stared at Simon with such gravity he felt a twinge of guilt. “I hope I don’t have to remind you to behave.”

“You needn’t remind me.”

“I should hope not,” she said crisply.

That evening, dinner seemed endless for Simon, course after course passing in a blur. He ate without tasting, drank without noticing, conversed without recalling a word. Finally, the last glass of port was drunk at table, the men joined Jane in the drawing room for tea, the clock eventually struck eleven, and praise God, his hosts suggested an early bedtime before the next day’s hunt.

Simon immediately returned to his room where he paced and waited for the house to quiet. He couldn’t be seen leaving his room, especially after being warned off by Jane. Impatient, chafing at the need for further delay, he made the circuit of his room countless times, the hands on the clock seeming to move so slowly he felt like hitting something. But at last, no sound could be heard and opening his door, he glanced up and down the corridor. Blessed silence. Stepping out into the hall, he softly shut the door, and quietly moved to the third-floor stairway where he paused, listening. Absolute quiet. He smiled. Even his duenna, Jane, was asleep. Taking the stairs at a run he came to a stop on the top landing. Several doors faced on the corridor. Two on his right, three on his left… the children, nanny, playroom and governess. Which was Caroline’s?

She looked up as he came into her room. Setting aside the book she was reading, Caroline surveyed him with a cool glance. “What took so long?”

It wasn’t welcome, it was sarcasm. “You were the last room on this floor; the nanny snores, the children are both asleep, even the cat is sleeping. Also, I’d promised Jane not to bother you,” he said, shutting the door behind him. “So I had to wait until she was sleeping.”

“A man of honor.”

He stood with his back against the door. “I was particularly careful with my wording.”

Even in the indistinct candlelight, she caught the flicker of amusement in his gaze and for a moment she couldn’t decide if she was relieved or annoyed. The same old Simon. Had she expected someone different? Lifting a sheet of paper from the bedside table, she held it out. “Here.”

His brows rose, but he didn’t move. “What’s that?”

“The rules of the game.”

“Meaning?”

“Forgive me. Were you coming up here to propose?”

“What if I were?”

“I’d say you were being particularly careful with your wording again.”

“I’d forgotten what a little bitch you can be.”

“No, you hadn’t. We both know each other too well. Read this.” She extended the paper again.

This time he moved forward, plucked it from her fingers and sitting down on the bed, leaned toward the candle flame and began to read. His mouth twitched on occasion as did the muscle high over his cheekbone, but he made no comment as he perused the document, save for the air he blew out of his nostrils on reading the last line. “What makes you think I have to agree to any of this?”

“If you don’t, I might decide to leave suddenly- say, when you’re out hunting.”

“You’re bluffing.”

“You don’t know if I am or not”

A small silence ensued.

“You’re dancing a damned fine line, here,” he observed, tipping his head toward the sheet of paper before slowly surveying her. “You don’t look the part in that buttoned-up nun’s nightgown… the ladies who make demands such as yours are generally-”

“I suggest you don’t finish that statement,” she said with exquisite softness.

He shut his mouth.

She smiled. “You can be sensible.”

He glared at her for a moment before his frown eased. The line between propriety and desire was a fine line for him as well. While he wanted her for all the obvious reasons, there were additional reasons that he chose not to acknowledge. Particularly not after chasing up and down the countryside looking for her like some jilted, lovesick swain. Any tender emotions he might have felt had been extinguished by days of frustrating search. So, perhaps they were both on the same page-literally.

He glanced down at her list. Although inamoratas generally couched their demands in more diplomatic language, this was distinctly Carolinesque in its bluntness. “Very well,” he said, looking up, holding her gaze. “I agree to your rules.”