Forbidden by Susan Johnson (best feel good books txt) 📗

normal response to a lovely female. Maybe the exotic qualities of Red Indian and far-flung wilderness beneath her sophistication bewitched him. Maybe he expected to be eaten alive once he took her to bed and his body was responding in anticipation. Maybe he was simply feeling his age—he would be forty on his next birthday—and her glorious youth was turning his head.

Then, with an expertise honed to perfection by years of practice, he brushed aside the inexplicables and immediately took advantage of his advantage.

She was smiling, genuinely, her small warm hand clasped in his, her heady scent filling his senses. How very convenient, the hunter in him reflected. "Would you care to dance?" he said, his smile amiable, his manner nonthreatening, gracious. "I think I've done sufficient justice to Armand's meal not to offend and I hear Adelaide's musicians tuning up."

Ignoring the reasons she shouldn't—the ones having to do with his scandalous reputation; the ones warning her away from the most popular ladies' man in Paris; the ones labeling him incorrigibly unfaithful; those feelings that had always until now found her unsympathetic to men so handsome they could live off their looks alone; the practical considerations that had kept her immune from dazzling smiles and cultivated charm—she only felt the warmth and strength of his hand enveloping hers.

"I usually don't dance," he quietly said.

She understood what he was revealing. His quiet sincerity humbled her. "I'd like to dance," she declared, nodding slightly. The diamonds in her ears sparkled with her movement and he wanted at that moment, with feelings too unfathomable to even begin to decipher—he wanted to give her his grandmother's diamonds and say, "Here… you'll glorify them." Her dark hair and coloring would be a perfect foil for their brilliance, like stars set against a lush midnight sky.

Adelaide and Valentin exchanged glances when the Duc excused himself and Daisy from the table.

"Before dessert?" one plump young matron remarked, her glance assessing the frothy strawberry meringue being carried in by a footman.

"We'll have dessert later," the Duc politely replied, Daisy's hand in his as they stood to leave.

"It might be gone by then," the lady persisted, genuinely concerned anyone would miss the pastry chef's fantasia.

The Duc only smiled, unable to utter the indelicate response ready on his tongue.

Daisy said, "Do you mind, Adelaide, if we abandon the strawberry meringue?"

"Of course not. We'll join you shortly," she said, waving them away with a smile.

They were a magnificent couple, Adelaide noted as Daisy and the Duc left the room, both tall and dark-haired with skin very close in hue. Maybe Etienne wasn't sun-bronzed; maybe he did have origins in the Asian plains as he'd mentioned during dinner. That explanation would account for his unusual eyes with their suggestion of Eastern antecedents. She should ask Caroline, who'd entertained Etienne two summers ago when they'd been yachting off the Sardinian coast. She'd know whether his complexion was due to the sun or whether he was naturally dark.

"Any request?" Etienne asked, looking down at Daisy as they stood just inside the small parquet-floored room serving tonight as ballroom for Adelaide's dinner party.

"Nothing strenuous," she said, smiling up at him. "I think all the food has put me to sleep."

Although the tempting line offered myriad suggestive replies, he cautioned himself to prudence. He was in no hurry.

At his recommendation, the musicians played a gentle waltz and when Etienne drew Daisy into his arms they both felt an unusual sensation. Unusual for the Duc, who had spent most of his adult life seeking various forms of excess, but equally unusual for Daisy, who had as an adult always experienced an elusive sense of seeking. They both felt—comfort.

Her face was lifted to his as they glided across the floor with a familiar, restful ease.

"You must ride," the Duc said, Daisy's steps matching his effortlessly, her slender body elegant, at ease in his arms. He grinned as he added teasingly, "although it's not a requirement. I only mean you're an extremely graceful dancer."

"I spent a great deal of my first twelve years on horseback. We followed the buffalo." Her smile reflected her pleasure in those memories as well as her current sense of well-being.

"We'll have to ride together." He found himself constantly having to redefine as other interpretive possibilities struck both their senses. "I mean, we could ride in the Bois. Do you rise early?"

She smiled.

He grinned. "Forgive me. I'm not being intentionally suggestive. For once in my life," he added with a rueful quirk of his mouth.

"Thank you," Daisy simply said, curiously aware of the full import of his brief addendum. "And for once in my life I'm not weighing the next ten possibilities in chronological sequence."

"Is this a religious experience?" Etienne asked with a lush smile recalling secular pleasures.

Her answering smile reminded him of the sunny skies of his childhood. "If it were, the churches would be jammed."

"How can you so readily read my mind, Mademoiselle Black?" His voice had turned husky.

"Perhaps because our minds are in perfect accord, Monsieur le Duc." She was looking directly into his jungle-green eyes, and opulent was the only word to describe the dark beauty of her gaze.

"Will this perfect harmony take on a more corporeal reality, Mademoiselle Black?" He came to a stop, disconcerting the musicians who missed two beats before continuing to play, but he didn't relinquish his hold on Daisy's waist. In fact, placing his other hand low on her back, he gently tugged her closer.

Daisy's gown of beaded silver tulle matched the glimmer of her diamonds. Set against the tall powerful Duc, black as the devil in his severely cut evening clothes, she appeared ethereal as moonbeams. "Alas, Monsieur," she softly said, the smallest touch of regret in her voice, her palms resting on the black satin of his lapels, "your reputation precedes you. How can I become another casualty of your seductive charm?"

"A rather harsh word for pleasure, Mademoiselle." His voice was very low.

"It's not the pleasure I question, Etienne," she said, using his