Again and Again

Chapter 6

Several days later, in the early evening, a mud-spattered carriage arrived at Netherton Castle, and a tall, dark-haired man leaped down to the cobblestones and strode toward the same door that had intimidated Caroline on her arrival. He was glowering, his mouth was set in a grim line and if it had been possible for fire to actually spark in one’s eyes, he would have incontestably illustrated that principle.

When Thornton greeted him in the cavernous entrance hall, the butler glanced at the man’s muddy boots, but knew better than to make mention of the muck he was leaving on the oriental carpet.

His host, however, wasn’t so politic when the visitor entered his drawing room.

“Good God, Simon, take off those filthy boots. Jane will have your head if you ruin her carpets.”

A muted growl issued from Simon’s pursed lips, but he sat, pulled off his boots and handed them to Thornton who received them with relief, grateful the muddy trail from the entrance hall up the grand staircase, down the corridor to the drawing room had come to an end.

“You look like you need a whiskey,” the Earl of Netherton said.

Simon nodded and rose to his feet “It’s been a miserable few days.”

“In what way, although from the look of you, I’m not sure I want to know. You look ready to do battle.”

“Damned women,” Simon muttered, moving toward his host. They’re the bane of my existence.“

Well aware of his friend’s reputation with the ladies, the earl’s concern lessened. “It’s nothing serious then.” He handed Simon his whiskey. “I stand relieved. I thought I might have to serve as second to you in some duel.” He turned to pour himself a drink.

“What makes you think it’s not serious?”

Ian Carlisle glanced over his shoulder, his brows arched in surprise. “You mean to tell me, it might be?”

Simon didn’t immediately answer. He tipped the whiskey down his throat, handed the glass back, said, “Fill it up,” and blew out a breath so obviously of frustration, Ian’s concern returned. “It could be serious,” Simon murmured. “Under the right circumstances… Oh, hell, I don’t know if it is or not… It doesn’t matter anyway. I can’t find her.”

Ian turned with their drinks and surveyed his friend’s less than impeccable attire. “You’ve been looking for some time apparently.”

“For three days. She disappeared off the face of the earth.”

“Anyone I know?”

“No. She was gone from London when you and Jane first came down.” Ian and Simon had become friends at Waterloo. “Oh, bloody hell.” Simon lifted the glass to his mouth. “Screw it. Tell me about the hunting.”

Dismissing women was more the norm than the exception with Simon. Back on familiar ground, Ian waved them into chairs near the fire and proceeded to describe the state of his coverts, deer herds, and hunting pack. By the time Jane came back with the book she’d gone in search of, the men were deep in a discussion of the next day’s hunt.

After welcoming Simon, Jane saw to it that he had a dinner tray brought to him from the kitchen. They’d already dined, but she and Ian joined Simon for coffee. By the time Simon had eaten his way through several servings of roast beef, a variety of vegetables, fresh bread and honey, his mood had lightened. Ian and Jane were always the best of company, far removed from the brittle gossip of the ton, less interested in the scandal of the day than the weather and the state of their crops. Their peaceful existence, sensible view of the world, their obvious happiness were all reasons he accepted their invitations when he felt a need to escape the profligacy of his life.

Pushing his plate away, Simon leaned back in his chair and surveyed his hosts with a faint smile. “I forget what contentment is until I come to Netherton.” He half lifted his hand. “Thank you for reminding me there’s a better life somewhere.”

“You’re always welcome, Simon,” Jane pleasantly noted. “You needn’t wait for an invitation.”

“When the lure of the bright lights wane…” Ian intoned facetiously.

Simon shrugged. “I seem to be reaching that stage with greater frequency of late.”

“You’re not getting any younger,” Ian waggishly reminded him.

Simon’s dark brows rose. “Meaning?”

“Marriage, of course. You might find you like it.”

Simon smiled. “Jane’s already taken.”

“You’ll always have an excuse, won’t you?” Her expression was sportive.

“Probably.” Simon’s gaze turned introspective for a moment, then he grimaced. “In any event, the young ladies on the marriage mart are all insipid. I’d be bored in a week.”

“That long?” Ian drawled.

“I was being polite. I can scarce stand to talk to them.”

Jane cast him an assessing glance. “What you need is a woman with backbone who can stand up to you.”

“Maybe I do…” But she’d run away.

“You need a challenge.”

He was hard-pressed to beat back the lust that spiked through his senses at the thought of Caroline’s irrepressible ardor; that was challenge… just keeping up. “Wouldn’t that be nice,” he said half to himself.

“Simon has recently misplaced a woman who appealed to him,” Ian explained, correctly interpreting Simon’s murmur.

Jane’s eyes widened. “Misplaced?”

“She ran away.”

Astonished, Jane was hard-pressed to restrain a gasp. “She ran away from you?”

Simon smiled faintly. “Ironic, isn’t it?”

She grinned. “Long-delayed justice, perhaps.”

“Don’t tease, darling. Simon’s heart and/or ego has been bruised.”

Jane tipped her head, her gaze searching. “Which is it, Simon?”

“It doesn’t really matter,” he said, softly. “She’s gone.”

“Who’s for another drink?” Ian interposed, recognizing his friend’s discomfort, turning a warning glance on his wife. “I for one, am.”

And the conversation turned to less emotion-wrought topics.