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

indulgent father. "Unless of course, you're interested in telling me of your childhood." He wanted to know the young girl who'd become the unusual woman he wanted with such novel and mixed emotions. As though he might be able to solve the puzzle of her allure and his uncommon desire if she began at the very beginning.

He asked her small details as they toured his cottage and when they came into his bedroom under the eaves painted white like a milkmaid's dairy, sparsely furnished with only a large bed and one chair, she moved toward the bed.

He checked her movement, pulling her through the open glass doors to the small balcony built over the river, seating her in a chaise—much worn and collapsible—like one an officer might take on a campaign.

"Sit by me," Daisy said, when he released her hand and moved away.

"Later," he answered, as though he had some timetable she didn't know, and Daisy felt a small heat race through her body. He dropped onto a small hassock of woven willow near her. "Tell me about your mother," he said, not sure himself why he was adverse to haste in this afternoon rendezvous. "Did she find happiness in her marriage?"

Daisy nodded, wondering if perhaps her mother's content with Seven Arrows had forever spoiled Daisy for society marriages. Her father Hazard's marriage as well was a love match. Both her parents had found lasting happiness with companions that made the Martin Soderbergs of the world pale in comparison.

"My mother died," Daisy quietly began, "because she and Seven Arrows were never apart. When he hunted, she always went with him, although a woman on a hunt was unusual. When a grizzly attacked Seven Arrows, she tried to save him. He was armed only with a knife, and her rifle jammed with five rounds still in the chamber." Daisy's voice dropped to a whisper as the vivid memories returned. "They were both badly mauled."

"I'm sorry… I shouldn't have asked." He touched her hand lightly. "Are you all right?"

She nodded. "So many years have passed, the memories are much less painful, but…" She sighed. "I miss the days of my childhood. That entire way of life has vanished. Disappeared as though it never existed." She lifted her eyes so they regarded him. "Father's right, of course, to have salvaged what he could for his people."

"And you've become an advocate for them."

"It was expected of me."

"A novel idea," Etienne said with a small rueful smile. "Nothing was expected of me. It was enough to be born de Vec."

"Do you regret that?" Her question was tentative since his mood was so elusive and pensive.

"I don't regret my children." They were the only positive in his life that he was certain of. "And my grandchild."

Their pictures were on the bedroom walls. She'd noticed immediately, aware the cottage was indeed his private sanctuary. One didn't bring one's potential lovers to sparsely furnished, stark bedrooms with photos of one's family the only decor. It warmed her enormously to know she'd been invited to such a private retreat. "Tell me about them."

He answered with a rare warmth in his tone, briefly detailing their dispositions, their residences within the blocklong Hôtel de Vec, their current interests. Justin had recently left St. Cyr and was restless. Like you, Daisy thought. Jolie had made a very grand love match and was happy. Unlike you, Daisy reflected, the deep hushed tones of his voice serene somehow like the warm spring day and the lazy flowing river below and his daughter's happiness. When he described his grandson Hector, his laughter was a revealing glimpse beyond the powerful figure of the man. His adoration was plain to see.

They talked then in easy conversation about children and nieces and nephews, exchanging pleasantries about the joys of youth. And much later, when he made no move to touch her nor gave indication of the amorous gallant, she said, "Do you mind if I take off my shoes?"

He almost said no, because he was weighing the risks of desire against the inevitable disillusion and he was much too happy or content or whatever word best described the sensations of pleasure he was feeling.

The river moved slowly below them. An occasional dragonfly swooped upward from the pale green water, through the dappled shadows of the willows. The sun was tempered by the shading trees and Daisy Black, the most tantalizing woman he'd ever seen, was three feet away, lounging cool and elegant before him. He could have her; she'd made it quite clear.

What he was debating was how long he wanted to savor this pleasant absolute against the possible unknown.

If one's emotions weren't involved—and until today he'd never realized they were a factor in making love—the facile pursuit of pleasure was predictable. He knew how he would feel be-fore, during, and after. Only the variations and subtleties changed. Now suddenly he didn't know. But he'd never been a coward so he said, smiling, "Please do."

As she untied the green silk ribbons on her small-heeled shoes, then slipped her white silk stockings from her legs, he watched, feeling perilously close to losing control. But years of pleasing women had tempered his urges, had taught him the rituals of self-restraint, and he called all his expertise into play. He would not embarrass himself—he grinned a small faint smile�and attack her, although the impulse was powerful.

"Your smile is intriguing. May I share the feeling?" Daisy softly said, not wanting to wait much longer to see if the Duc's reputation was genuine.

"Actually," he replied, his green eyes amused, "I was debating the merits of attacking you."

"A man of your finesse?"

"You see my dilemma." His grin widened. "I have a reputation to consider."

"It was that exact reputation I was considering exploring."

"Is this a research exercise?" He lifted one brow in ironic inquiry.

"Heavens no," Daisy said, untying one of the ribbons in her hair. "I thought I'd teach you what I know as well."

He looked momentarily surprised and she laughed like a child might