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

in the next pulsebeat she consciously pushed aside the adolescent dream, opened her eyes, took in the diaphanous golden light suffusing the small white room, took in the beauty of the man she held in her arms and said, like an adult would, her lips brushing his, her breath warm against his mouth, "I think I'll keep you for a day or so."

His smile was easy, his answer so smoothly compatible she was unable to decide if he was only scrupulously polite or equally moved. "My thought exactly," he said very low so as not to disturb the magic in the room. "You'll have to let cook know what you want for supper."

"I didn't necessarily mean it literally," she explained, her words more a feeling of content. "Don't you have plans?"

"None more interesting than spending a day or so in bed with you."

"Now that I've finally inveigled my way into your bed." Her emphasis on the last word implied her knowledge of the accomplishment.

"Yes," he said, "now that you have…" He replied more softly than he intended, more slowly, as though perhaps he was unconsciously aware of the prophecy in those simple words.

They made love in the sanctified bed and he thought afterward that the altar of his isolation couldn't have been violated with more perfect pleasure. Daisy reminded him of laughter and youth and the refreshing candor of feelings he'd forgotten existed.

Much later when she fell asleep in his arms, exhausted by her singular foray into a world of sensation she'd never experi-enced, he lay awake. Etienne's days and nights were often physically demanding; he was immune to Daisy's type of exhaustion. But he was pleasantly content—more—filled with a rare and satisfying serenity. As though there were no need to fill his social schedule to allay the boredom, as though it didn't matter if he'd summarily canceled two days of commitments without concern, as though he didn't have an obligation to attend the King's pre-birthday celebration tonight. The one set aside for family alone.

When his manservant came up later, knocked lightly and opened the door to see what Etienne wished for dinner and stood stock-still in the threshold, his gaze on the lady in bed, the Duc motioned him away. He'd have to speak to François and Cook when Daisy woke. Since he'd never had a woman at Colsec, he didn't want her embarrassed by their obvious stares or goggling inspection. Unlike Parisian servants, who wouldn't turn a hair in a similar situation, those with country mores were slightly less blind.

When Daisy woke, he offered her facilities for washing, put several of his robes out for her choice and convenience and went downstairs to inform François and Cook he had a guest for the night. He also politely warned them the lady was special, she was to be treated with extreme courtesy (both of which the servants had already concluded the previous hour below-stairs in the kitchen), and left after arranging a menu he thought might appeal to Daisy.

Dinner was the stuff dreams were made of—like the Queen playing milkmaid. The small cottage dining room was candle-lit, the servants unobtrusive, Cook had outdone herself for Mademoiselle, pleased their employer had company and wasn't his usual brooding self. Both servants peeked through the door occasionally and smiled at each other. The lord and his lady, dressed only in their robes, were obviously in love; they were holding hands across the small table, smiling and laughing. He would feed her and then she him. And then they'd kiss and smile again.

The Duc and Daisy fell asleep in each other's arms and when they woke to the freshness of morning, Etienne showed her the pleasure of swimming in the river. Diving off the balcony railing first, he cut the water in a clean smooth entry, surfacing some distance away, smiling, motioning her in. She hesitated only a moment before following him into the green-blue water, her own slicing dive the product of a childhood spent camped near the Yellowstone and mountain lakes. They swam and splashed and kissed, frolicking like youngsters let out of school. Then much later, breathless and light-hearted from their waterplay, they made love on the soft green riverbank beneath the lacy canopy of weeping willows.

He was beyond contentment now and disturbed. Infatuated and obsessed as well. He couldn't get enough of her.

Daisy was telling herself it was obvious why women adored him. He was incomparable.

When the time came to leave, too soon—as though happiness conspired to speed the hands on the clock, Daisy found her clothes all washed and pressed, neatly hung in the wardrobe beside Etienne's collection of country clothes. They dressed—she in her flowered frock that would forever remind him of these passion-filled hours and he in a sand-colored linen suit she wondered if his wife had selected. A new silence lay between them as they saw to their toilettes, although they both contributed as politeness required to a desultory conversation. Their ride back to Paris was even more silent, both absorbed in their thoughts, both aware they were reentering the former routine of their lives.

The Duc didn't leave the carriage at Adelaide's. He only said, "Thank you," in a hushed low voice and kissed Daisy briefly on the mouth.

With good fortune Adelaide was still out for the afternoon and Daisy could enter her suite without explanation other than the note she'd sent yesterday saying she was staying with friends on the river. She intended pleading a headache for dinner, knowing she'd be unable to join Adelaide's guests that evening. She felt beyond banal conversation; she felt melancholy, and dizzy with wanting something completely out of reach.

The Duc found a note from his wife when he arrived home. She wished to talk to him immediately. He sighed, ran his hands through his hair and stood absolutely still for a moment, holding his head. Then he rang for a servant to have his wife informed he would be available in the library in ten