Forbidden (9 page)

"Such as?" she coolly inquired, her golden skin pinked by her annoyance.

"We're assuming beauty, I presume," he casually replied, not waiting for her affirmation—he took the snapping heat in her eyes as acknowledgment. "Geniality, I think, is important. And if a woman rides and dances well, it never hurts."

"From your description, Monsieur le Duc," Daisy said with a crispness indicating enormous self-control over her temper, "I'd venture to say the only quality you neglected to mention in this brief catalogue is availability."

"I didn't think it necessary to mention. All women are available."

Daisy clenched her hands together to keep from striking him for his smugness. "You're married, of course."

"Yes."

"Does your wife practice this 'availability' as well?" She hoped to wound his pride.

"I'm afraid I've never noticed," he mildly replied. His pride had never been related in any way to his wife. Their marriage was a dynastic one, arranged when he and Isabelle were still very young. The practice of aligning powerful families through marriage was age-old and practical. Theirs was not a love match, and his friends knew it.

He had at one time, long ago, been less blasé about his marriage, envying those of his friends who'd found love in their marriages of convenience. His youthful feelings of regret had passed, as had his youth, some time ago, and he and Isabelle existed in the acceptable fashion of most aristocratic unions. He saw to the estates, she to their homes, they spoke occasionally on a rare evening together at home. He would have liked to say she'd raised the children but in reality the nannies and governesses and tutors had. And while he'd always felt their marriage had never been cause for joy, he was grateful to Isabelle for having given him two children he adored. The twins had been born exactly nine months after their marriage day, at which point Isabelle had made it plain her conjugal duties as wife were over. So his answer to Daisy's question, while appearing ungallant, was essentially true. There was no reason, after Isabelle's position was made clear, why he should concern himself with futile speculation of who was available to whom.

"Look," he said, his mood abruptly altered as it often was at mention of his wife, "I'm sorry I angered you. My attempt at teasing was juvenile. I apologize."

His tone as well as his expression was so suddenly changed, so unusual and out of character, Daisy scrutinized his handsome face to discern further evidence of ridicule. His eyes seemed darker beneath his heavy brows as though shadowed by some elusive pain.

"Friends?" he softly inquired, his bronzed hand before her suddenly in peace. "You're a beautiful, intelligent, supremely confident young woman and I'm sure your family is very proud of you."

Hesitating briefly, Daisy absorbed the odd compliment, at-tempting to gauge the sincerity of his tone. Then, shyly smiling, she took his hand.

She looked momentarily like a very young girl with the tentative innocence of her smile until she subtly modulated the upturning of her lush pink lips, adding a hint of sensuousness. And Etienne Martel, 27th Duc de Vec, felt a startling, unprecedented, intense emotion.

Immediately aware of the profound impact of Daisy's smile and too long a product of his class and gender, the Duc immediately began rationalizing his sensations. She was of flawless beauty. Naturally he was attracted. He was already aware of his attraction, had, in fact, maneuvered himself into her company tonight for that exact reason. Additionally, she was an uncommon woman—a rare combination of beauty and intelligence. Naturally she'd induce more than his 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 Christian name for the first time, "but rather its longevity."

"You want commitment?" He'd never been so bluntly asked. Women usually insinuated themselves into the subject by circuitous routes.

"I don't think that's what I want." Her dark eyes held his steadily. "Although certainly it's not yours to freely give."

"What
do
you want?" If they were being blunt, was he allowed a direct question as well?

"Something," she very quietly said, "I don't think you can give me."

"You don't know me," he said equally softly. "You don't know what I can give."

"I know your style of man. This is a game."

"It can be a game for women too."

"I don't want that."

He was silent for a time as they stood alone in the center of the floor, savoring the rare beauty of their closeness, as though the feeling of witchery were apart from the complexities they were discussing. "This is all very new to me," he said at last.

Daisy smiled. "I think not. In fact," she went on in a voice he suspected she used to clarify points to a client, "this is much too familiar to you. And with that I take issue."

"So your scruples aren't with the act but with me."

She sighed and in that at least he took satisfaction.

"Yes," she said finally.

He was more skilled than she, infinitely more skilled. "Very well," he said with deceitful rue, as though he reluctantly gave up the chase. "I understand. A pity though, I can't alter my past. But you dance superbly, you're the most beautiful woman in Paris, and with that I'll be content."

Why, Daisy thought, did she feel as though she'd lost?

A note arrived the next morning on Daisy's breakfast tray along with a small nosegay of violets.

Georges would be pleased to explain to you why we can't possibly be related. If you wish… the museum is open for you at one. I'll send my driver.

The heavy crested paper was signed with a wide slashing
E
and somehow she was pleased she might see him although his note was unclear. Was the appointment for her alone?

Apparently, yes, she realized when the carriage came for her. The Duc was absent. As he should have been, she reflected, seating herself in the center of the padded velvet bench, smoothing the skirt of her gown in an uncharacteristically punctilious gesture. Daisy wasn't one for taking notice of wrinkles; she rarely concerned herself with fashion. Only her family would have considered it odd she left seven discarded dresses behind in her room. If asked, Daisy would have muttered something about the warm day and the inappropriate materials in the dresses she'd tried on and rejected. Of course she hadn't expected the Duc.