Susan Johnson - Again and Again

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 stairs 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.