“Yes, sir, bathwater right away, sir.”
Simon entered the Tudor drawing room less than a half hour later, quickly searched the interior and smiled. Good. He’d arrived first. He didn’t wish to take any chances Caro might change her mind should she enter an empty room.
Jane had said drinks at eight. That would give him time to talk to Caroline without interruption. God only knew if she was serious about variety in her bed. But if she was, he’d have to change her mind. Gently, of course. She didn’t take orders. He drank three quick brandies while waiting. If he’d been introspective, he might have taken note of his unease. But over the years, he’d become adept at ignoring introspection. A wise choice for a man of intemperance.
As the door opened and Caroline walked in, he came to his feet with a smile. “I’ve started without you. Come sit by the fire. Would you like brandy or champagne?”
“Brandy, please.”
Of course, she preferred brandy. He recalled that fact with inordinate pleasure, as though he’d discovered a long lost memento. “You look wonderful.” She’d plaited her hair and drawn it into a coronet atop her head, her shoulders were bare, her décolletage breathtaking. She wore a small cameo brooch that looked vaguely familiar at the neckline of her gown. Her gown, while dated, was expensive. Someone had had money enough to buy her that. His smile tightened at the thought.
“Is something wrong?” She moved across the room toward him.
“No, no… I was admiring your gown.” And the graceful sway of her hips.
“It’s a castoff from a friend in Brussels. Outmoded, I’m afraid. But I love the Genoa, velvet” She brushed her fingertips over the rippling azure fabric. “It’s lovely.” His temper instantly dissipated. “Your friend has excellent taste.”
“Yes. She, like I, once lived in a much different world. She died shortly before I left.”
“I’m sorry. I really am, Caro-about everything. You should have written me. I would have helped. I’d still like to.”
“Don’t start, Simon.” Sitting down on the chair he’d pulled out for her, she smiled up at him. “Like you, I value my independence. You understand, certainly more than most… about independence. Now,” she added briskly, “the past is the past. Weren’t we going to talk politics?”
“We’ll talk about whatever you like.” He moved toward the liquor table.
“I adore you when you’re amenable.”
“Aren’t I always?”
“Yes, of course.”
He looked up from opening a decanter. “Now who’s being amenable?”
“I don’t want to argue tonight. I just want to enjoy my brandy and the pleasure of your company.”
Picking up the two glasses he’d poured, he crossed the small distance between them. “I’m not sure what to say when you’re so obliging.”
“I have my moments, darling.” She put her hand out for her drink. “Surely you remember.”
Her complaisance was unnerving or pleasing, depending on how mistrusting he wished to be. But her moments as she so bewitchingly put it, were indeed memorable. He placed the brandy in her hand and smiled. “To fond memory,” he said.
She lifted her glass. “And to freedom.”
He raised his glass. “Freedom,” he said, softly, suddenly not sure looking at her whether his freedom mattered as much as he once thought. But fear of entanglements was stronger than transient emotion and when he spoke a second later, his voice was neutral. “You’ve been inculcated with revolutionary principles while abroad,” he remarked, taking a seat opposite her. “Liberte, egalite, fraternite.”
“All of which Napoleon disregarded in his climb to power. You must admit, though, they’re noble virtues.” She grinned. “Not that you’re likely to agree. As one of the premier dukes in England, you have tradition to maintain now, don’t you, Your Grace?”
“I’m not sure I’m particularly traditional. Have you become a radical since you left England?”
“My former husband would say so, although, in his estimation, anyone who doesn’t agree in absolute monarchy falls into that category.”
“You disagreed on politics?”
“Among other things. I haven’t had enough to drink yet to discuss that particular hell.”
“Jesus, Caro,” he said, leaning forward. “You should have written to me.”
“And said what? Climb out of the current bed you’re in and come and save me? You couldn’t save me, Simon. You can’t save yourself.”
He relaxed against his chair back once again. “I’m not touching any conversation about beds with a ten-foot pole.”
Her brows arched into perfect half circles. “Good decision.”
Quickly reviewing a number of subjects in his mind, he chose the least controversial. “Tell me where you were living when you accepted the position at Netherton Castle.”
Her gaze was mocking. “Do you really care?”
“Yes,” he replied, graciously. “Were you in Brussels? How did you know the Carlisles were looking for someone?” Tell me everything about your life since you left me, he wanted to say. “Tell me about your friend.”
Caroline drained her brandy and held her glass out. “Yes, I was in Brussels,” she replied, watching him walk to the liquor table, thinking there wasn’t a man alive so handsome. “I bought a copy of the London Times and searched the ads for governesses. As you know, aristocratic ladies fallen on hard times have two choices; they can be governesses or companions. And the thought of fetching shawls and medicines for an elderly lady would have brought me screaming to Bedlam in a month.”
He glanced over at her, wondering what degree of fate had brought them together again. “Did you apply anywhere else?” When she hesitated, he said, “Apparently you did.”
“I sent my resume to a mill owner from Manchester.” She grimaced. “He replied with much too personal questions.”
Returning with their drinks, Simon handed hers over. ‘Tell me his name.“
“You needn’t call him out. My letter in response to his questions was quite sufficient, I guarantee. I also sent his letter of inappropriate questions to his wife.”
His brows flickered. “Remind me to stay off your grudge list.”
She smiled. ‘Too late.“
“Perhaps I can make amends in some way,” he murmured softly.
“Perhaps after a dozen more brandies you might,” she murmured back with a grin.
He laughed. “Have I died and gone to heaven?”
“Are you speaking of my little heaven on the third floor or something more conventional?”
After quickly glancing at the clock and the door, his gaze swung back to her. “Perhaps we could recreate a degree of heaven here, if you wish.”
“You, apparently, do not understand the meaning of the word discretion.”
Ignoring her sarcasm, he smiled. There’s time.“
“Later,” she said.
His lashes lowered faintly. “When later?”
“When I see whether you embarrass me at dinner.”
He grinned. “Not likely, darling, if I have good reason to behave.”
“I’m not your darling-or anyone’s darling,” she said, pronouncing the words with clarity. Thankfully, I’m discharged from such obligations.“
She spoke with such conviction he wondered what had happened to her in her marriage. But she was also in such convivial good spirits he wasn’t about to inquire. To emancipation, then,“ he said, lifting his glass. ”It becomes you.“
She winked at him over the rim of his glass. “Yes it does.”
Now that he’d purchased Kettleston Hall, he would have time aplenty to become better acquainted with her particular style of emancipation. Although, as a matter of prudence, he decided against mentioning the fact that he was about to become a neighbor.
At the appointed hour, when Ian and Jane arrived, Caroline and Simon were laughing together.
“You changed your mind, ”Jane said to Caroline.