Again and Again

Chapter 1

Yorkshire, November 1821

The snow had been falling since morning but the coachman had pressed on through the storm only to have the horses brought to a halt by impassable roads on the outskirts of Shipton. Unlike several of the passengers who grumbled about their altered schedules, Caroline Morrow was more than happy to descend from the cold, cramped coach and stumble through the drifts toward the welcoming warmth of a nearby inn.

Once inside, she shook the snowflakes from her cape, threw off the hood, and moved through the press of travelers in the small entryway toward the parlor where she stood as close to the crackling fire as prudence would allow. Holding her hands out, she basked in the comforting warmth. The heavenly possibility of actually sleeping in a soft bed gave her further reason for gratification.

Lost in her reverie apropos of the pleasures of a real bed and a hot meal, the familiar voice at first went unattended. But the deep, distinctive tones eventually insinuated themselves into her consciousness and she lifted her head to listen for a moment before discounting the absurdity of such a coincidence. The buzz of conversation suddenly swelled when several other passengers moved into the parlor and the curious voice from her past disappeared from her thoughts.

She ignored the sound of footfalls behind her a short time later, not wishing company, but she couldn’t ignore the fragrance drifting into her nostrils, nor the impact the pine-scented cologne had on her emotions.

She spun around.

“I thought it was you.”

He stood no more than a foot away: large, powerful, more handsome than she remembered, his dark hair damp with melting snow, his caped riding coat black like his eyes-and his heart.

The color momentarily drained from her face, but even as she drew in a fortifying breath her gaze turned chill. “A pity it’s such a small world,” she said coolly.

“More like my good fortune it’s such a small world.”

“Allow me to disagree.”

“As usual.” His smile was impudent. “What are you doing here?”

With her initial shock receding, she managed to speak in as degage a tone as he. “Taking refuge from the storm like you.”

“I meant where are you bound?”

“None of your business.”

He tipped his head in amused deference. “Have you missed me?”

“Not in the least.”

“I, on the other hand, have missed you terribly.”

“I’d hardly think that possible with your busy schedule. Do you still receive twenty billets-doux a day? Or has the number risen since you’ve become an eligible duke?”

“Who says I’m eligible?”

“Are you married then?”

“No.”

Her immediate sense of relief annoyed her. Then you’re eligible regardless of your disreputable life,“ she noted tardy, correcting her brief lapse in judgment.

“Don’t snap at me, darling. You were the one who ran off and married.”

“I’m not your darling and I didn’t run off. I simply considered it foolish to wait around until you were ready to give up your profligate ways.”

His nostrils flared for a moment, but his voice was bland when he spoke. “Has married life suited you?”

“I’m divorced.”

His eyes widened; divorce was rare-and expensive. He knew her financial status and as he recalled, her émigré husband had lost his fortune in the Revolution. “I’m sorry.” When he wasn’t. When he felt an elation he hadn’t felt in years.

“You needn’t be. I’m quite content.”

“You disappeared five years ago. No one knew where.”

“I left for the Continent.”

“Do you live in Yorkshire now?”

“Yes.” She didn’t precisely yet, but once she reached her new employers, she would.

“May I call on you?”

“No.” She wasn’t about to tell him she was reduced to the status of governess, her small inheritance dissipated.

“Surely you don’t dislike me so.”

She took a deep breath and the sudden blush on her cheeks wasn’t from the heat of the fire. “I don’t dislike you, Simon. We just have never suited, that’s all.”

“I disagree. We suited very well, as I recall.” His voice was velvety and low.

“Sex isn’t enough.”

A dozen gazes swiveled around at the provocative word and she turned beet red.

Simon Blair immediately cast his cool, ducal glance on the curious bystanders. “This is a private conversation,” he said, his voice like the low thunder of distant artillery, and within moments everyone had backed away. Returning his attention to her, his mouth curved into a faint smile. “You were saying?”

“I don’t frighten so easily.”

“You don’t frighten at all if I remember. And sex may not be enough, but it’s a damned good start, Caro, and you know it. You shouldn’t have run away.”

“I’m not a patient person.”

“Did I ask you to wait?”

“Somehow I got that impression. And after finding you in bed with my maid,” she pointedly added, “my interest waned.”

“You never let me explain.”

“I imagine you would have had a very good story.”

A tick appeared high over one cheekbone. “You were damned busy with suitors, too.”

“But not actually in bed with any of them. I believe there’s a difference.”

“It wasn’t what you think.”

She shrugged. “What’s the point, Simon. It all happened five years ago. I wish you good fortune in your life.” Taking a side step, she began moving around him.

His hand closed on her wrist, his grip gentle but confining. “Have dinner with me.” He glanced at the frosted windows, the icy tattoo of pelting snow a stark reminder of the storm outside. “Neither of us are going anywhere tonight. Tell me what you’ve been doing, where you’ve been these last five years. Pass the evening with me.” His voice dropped to a murmur, a conciliatory warmth shone in his eyes. “Like friends. You can’t say we weren’t friends…”

She couldn’t, even if she’d wished to, when they’d known each other from childhood, when they’d been friends long before they’d become lovers.

“It’s only dinner.”

She hesitated still, a flood of painful memories coming to the fore.

“If I annoy you, leave at any time. The inn is crowded with people. You’re perfectly safe. You’d be safe even without the others,” he gently added.

She was no longer an innocent, if she’d ever been, her years with her husband the ultimate in harsh reality. Surely she could handle a simple dinner with Simon. “I am hungry. Just friends, now.”

“Whatever you want.”

“That’s what I want.”

“Fine.” His grin was boyish, achingly familiar. “Sit here by the fire,” he offered, pulling up a chair for her, “and I’ll bespeak us some dinner. Do you still like white clarets?”

“Anything will do.”

“If you have a choice.”

“A white claret would be very nice.”

He not only bespoke dinner, but also a private parlor with a cozy fire on the hearth, silver candlesticks on the table, a host of wine bottles displayed on the sideboard, along with a sumptuous array of food. As he escorted her into the small paneled room that had been heated to a balmy summer temperature, she looked up at him with a tight smile. “You’re still persuasive, I see.”

The landlady remembered my father,“ he blandly replied, showing her to a table set before the fire.

She cast him a suspicious glance. “And that’s why we’re the only ones with a private dining room?”

The innocence of his smile couldn’t have been improved on by cherubs on high. “Apparently she liked him a lot.”

“I’m not in the mood for a seduction,” she warned.

He nodded as he sat opposite her. “Agreed. I just preferred conversing with you apart from that rowdy crowd outside.” Deftly uncorking a wine bottle, he poured a small measure into her glass. “The landlady actually had some Chateau de la Brede claret. Remember when we drank it that day on the Thames? Let me know if it’s improved in five years.”

She wasn’t able to immediately reply, memories of their sensuous picnic near Richmond evoking an intense spiking pleasure. Lifting the glass, she examined the fine golden liquid, needing a moment to compose her emotions before taking a sip. Her voice when she replied was deliberately bland. “It’s perfect as ever.”

“I’ll take that as a good omen.” Grinning, he filled his glass and lifted it to her in salute. “To our future friendship.”

“What are you doing here?” she abruptly asked, not capable of so cavalierly contemplating a renewal of their relationship. She was no longer naive and gullible.

“I’m on my way north to hunt with some friends. The storm drove me off the road-a happy coincidence I might add.” His gaze above the rim of his glass was genial. “Are you hungry?”

“Very much.” She glanced at the sideboard. “The stage stops don’t offer such sumptuous fare.”

“Then let’s eat. I’ve been riding since morning.”

She didn’t need a second invitation with the savory aromas wafting their way to the table, and together they filled their plates from the numerous dishes. Over a dinner of pigeon pie, veal cutlets, steamed potatoes, peas with butter sauce, salad, plum tarts, along with a goodly portion of excellent wine, they conversed in an easy way, concentrating on impersonal subjects-the weather, the state of the roads, the king’s splendid and expensive coronation, the prime minister’s gaffe over the Sumner affair.

And much later when they’d both finished their second serving of plum tart along with an excellent Tokay, Simon pushed his plate aside, leaned back and fixed his dark gaze on Caroline. “I’m glad you’re divorced.”

More relaxed after several glasses of wine, pleasantly full and strangely content, her mouth quirked in a small smile. “So am I.”

“Why did you do it?”

“Lord knows; it was a long time ago.”

“I tore the city apart looking for you.”

“Because you don’t like to lose.”

He grimaced. “Maybe… or maybe I needed you.”

“You never need anyone for long, Simon. I was just more practical than you.” Her brows rose in derision. “Surely you’re not going to tell me you’ve pined for me in my absence.”

He didn’t answer for a moment and she said, “There. You see? Consider what would have happened if we had married five years ago. You would have been unfaithful within a fortnight; we would have quarreled incessantly and both of us would have been abjectly miserable.”

“Maybe.”

She wrinkled her nose. “Fortunately we didn’t marry on such wavering ambiguity.”

“And yet your marriage failed.”

“Louvois found a rich woman.”

The umbrage vanished from his eyes. “I’m sorry.”

“It turned out for the best. She was French like Louvois and I discovered in my travels on the Continent that I was more English than I thought. I was pleased to return home.”

“Did he leave you funds?” Aware of Caroline’s family background, Simon’s concern was genuine.

“I’m managing very well, thank you.”

“Should you ever be in need…”

“I’m not-really.”

“You’re sure?” He took in her unfashionable gown, her lack of jewelry, and recalled her red cape that had been out of style these many years.

“I’m sure. You have no need to care for me.”

“But I may wish to.”

“Sorry, Simon. You relinquished that opportunity years ago.”

“I was mistaken,” he said softly.

She made a small moue and waved her hand in the direction of the wine. “Pour us both another glass and desist from talking nonsense. I’m not some young ingénue you can charm. I know you too well. And I’m not the same woman you were acquainted with five years ago. Let’s simply enjoy a convivial evening and forgo any undue sentiment. I find of late, I prefer less emotion in my life.”

His gaze held hers for a penetrating moment and then he grinned. “So shall we just get drunk?”

“I’m not sure a lady is allowed to actually reach that vulgar state,” she murmured archly, “but I’d be in favor of enjoying another glass or two and seeing if I can still beat you at piquet.”

“You never beat me.”

They’d played since childhood and as her father’s daughter, she had a rare talent for cards. “Do recall who taught whom, my dear Simon.”

Although he was older by three years, she’d been a child prodigy. “I believe I may have overtaken you, darling Caro. I’ve had considerable practice these past years.”

“Do you think I haven’t?”

His gaze narrowed. “Have you fleeced all the unsuspecting men on the Continent?”

“On occasion.” A sudden bleakness touched her eyes, quickly replaced by a brilliant smile. “One must survive after all.”

“I warn you, darling.” Amusement colored his voice. “I’m far from unsuspecting.”

“Good. I prefer a challenge.”

“Just so,” he said softly.

“Not that kind of challenge, Simon. Acquit me of your habits.”

He laughed. “So you’ve given up sex?”

“For the moment”

“Perhaps I could change your mind.”

She shook her head. “Not a chance, darling,” your reputation precedes you. Once burnt, et cetera, et cetera…“ she said brightly. ”Now shall we say a guinea a point?“

“A guinea it is. And should you lose?”

“I shan’t lose.” She couldn’t. She only had five guineas to her name.

And she didn’t.

Despite the fact that they played far into the night, her talent was fascinating to observe even for a man who prided himself on his expertise at the tables. He never lost by much, but she managed to always have the edge and he gave her high marks for improvement since he’d last seen her.

“What happened to your money,” he said, several hours later as she gathered the last of his guineas into the pile before her.

She didn’t pretend not to understand. “He took it”

“I should call him out.”

“He’s not worth your time. Are we done playing?”

“You cleaned me out tonight, Caro, darling. If you’ll take a chit, we can continue.”

“I’m not sure you truly lost or let me win.”

“I’m not that generous. You won. And need I say, I’m impressed.”

“Thank you. Now if only Papa could have drunk less, his talent for cards wouldn’t have gone to ruin along with his estates.” Sighing, she pushed away from the table. “If you’ll excuse me, I’m suddenly very tired. Hopefully there’s still a room available for me.”

“First door at the top of the stairs.”

A flicker of suspicion illuminated her gaze and then she said, “Thank you again,” in a tone of politesse that could have been used to address a stranger.

“I won’t bother you.”

“I know you won’t. I intend to lock my door.” She stood, gathered her winnings and slipped them into her reticule. 1 enjoyed the evening, Simon. Very much.“ Her voice this time was warm. ”I’d forgotten…“ Her words trailed off and she smiled like she had so many times in the past

“I’ll see you in the morning.”

She nodded and walked away.

He watched her in her outmoded gown that failed to diminish her glorious allure, her beauty still capable of silencing a room and he recalled nights in the past when she’d not walked away from him. An auburn curl, come loose from her coiffure, lay on the plain blue serge of her shoulder and he wished that he could tuck it behind her ear like he had so many times before. It took enormous effort to restrain himself, to remain seated as she exited the room.

The sound of the door softly shutting should have put period to his restless desires. Any man of conscience would adhere to a lady’s wishes.

And he did for the time it took to drink another bottle.