"Did you eat alone?" She pictured him in solitary hermitage at a yards-long table.
"Not usually," he evasively replied, finding himself going deeper into prevarication. He usually dined in one of the private rooms the fashionable restaurants offered, in company with his friends and several beautiful, willing ladies.
"Well?"
"Don't ask, darling," the Duc said, genuinely uncomfortable. "It was a long time ago."
"Oh." Daisy suddenly realized her pensive image was incorrect. "But you love me madly now," she said, secure and expansive in understanding.
"Madly," he whispered, unfolding his arms from under his head and sliding his hands down her spine. "Oceans-deep madly. Young-love madly. So madly you could ask me to give up polo and I would."
His smile warmed her with its candor. His hands resting at the base of her spine held her close in a gentle possession she understood because her spirit walked the same path as his. "Until the pines turn yellow…" she whispered, stroking his dark hair lying in waves on the pillow.
"Until then," he softly promised.
* * *
Hearing the door open and shut, Daisy lazily opened her eyes. "What time is it?" she said drowsily, the room in half darkness with the heavy drapes pulled shut, Etienne only dimly seen as he stood by the door. "You're dressed."
"It's eleven."
"Have you been up long?" Daisy stretched luxuriously, the weight of the down comforter pleasant on her bare skin, the pillows soft beneath her head, her memories of last night heated and lush.
"Not too long," Etienne pleasantly said, walking nearer the bed. "You look rested." Standing beside her, he looked country-morning fresh in a white shirt and chamois jodhpurs, his riding boots lightly coated with dust. He bent to kiss her, a sweet, chaste brushing of his lips on hers.
"Ummm… I haven't slept this late—"
"Since Paris?" His grin was sweet.
She smiled, lifting a tumble of hair from her forehead. "You always keep me up too late."
"As I recall," he said in a roguish undertone, "You were the one saying—just once more."
She was, there was no denying. "I didn't hear you complaining," she said in a pouty, small girl voice, gazing at him from under half-lowered lashes.
"No one's ever accused me of stupidity," he said, his eyes amused.
"Should I apologize?"
"Hardly. You have my profound gratitude."
"Then maybe you won't mind me asking you a… small question."
He quirked a brow. "Ask away."
"Are we going to be busy today doing some of that redecorating Louis wants help with and maybe some shopping?"
"That's your question?"
"It's part of it."
"I suppose we will. And?"
"Do you think you could make love to me… then… before… all that?"
"I've a feeling," the Duc said with a smile, beginning to unbutton his shirt, "production levels are going to be rather low around here."
"Some production levels," she corrected him. "I'm doing my best making your baby."
"Some production levels then," he softly agreed, his smile indulgent. "I'll have to get my work done while you're sleeping." He tossed his shirt on the footboard of the bed.
"So you can entertain me when I'm awake."
Seated on the bed, bending over to remove his riding boots, he looked back at her over his shoulder. "You might just want to stay in bed and I'll check in occasionally to see if you're ready—" he smiled, "—to be entertained."
"It's a thought," Daisy whispered, shocked at the possibility she might be tempted to allow herself that indulgence. For a woman whose life had centered around her career, she found her ready acquiescence to the role of passionate concubine staggering. But her body was less intellectual in its response. Her body was pulsing already, throbbing, receptive, waiting.
And when Etienne lifted the covers aside a moment later, gently lowered his body over hers and murmured, "It's morning, Miss Black, and I'm here to wake you," she no longer questioned her motives. She only felt herself melt around him, felt the world drift away, felt a shimmering, heated bliss seep into every breath and pulsebeat, and shuddering nerve.
He was an addiction and she was consumed with desire.
Throwing the drapes open afterward to let in the sunshine, the Duc ordered Daisy breakfast in bed. He drank coffee while she ate, his own breakfast eaten hours earlier. When she'd finished, he helped her wash and dress with clothes he'd brought out from her home in Helena.
"You've been into town already?" Daisy said when she saw her gowns hanging in the armoire. "Did you sleep at all?"
"I had to bring my horses out," he answered, taking a wool jacket from the armoire, not replying directly to her question about sleep. He hadn't had time to sleep. "Put this on now and I'll take you riding."
Daisy was sitting on the bed, dressed in leather riding pants and a warm sweater, her bare feet swinging idly. "How did you bring your horses?"
"The usual way, darling, in their stalls on my yacht."
"No, I mean out here so quickly."
"In a boxcar on the railroad. We unloaded them and boarded them at Dale's Livery. But I didn't want to leave them there too long. They're used to being pampered."
She grinned. "Like me."
He was holding out her jacket and his smile was wolfish. "Not exactly."
Sliding her arms into the jacket sleeves, she inquired, "Are you going to get tired of my demands?" Her question was asked with frankness, concern, and her own patent audacity.
"I'll let you know," Etienne said, buttoning the large red buttons, "if I do."
"I love you too much," Daisy declared, throwing her arms around him as he stood before her, her world having abruptly diminished in scope to the immediacy of Etienne's essential presence, his touch, his smile, his wanting her. His child growing inside her augmented the enormity of her love, as if she were a receptacle for his passion, a repository for the issue of that love, a replete and sated woman only in his arms.
"You belong to me," he quietly said, her hair soft under his chin, his arms holding her close, "and I to you. And I'll love you… always."
"It unnerves me, Etienne," Daisy said, gazing up at him, "to be so consumed with need for you."
"I'm obsessed with you as well, darling. I don't understand it—" he smiled, "—but we're astonishingly lucky."
"And you really like Montana?" It was her world and she wanted his assurance.
"Montana's beautiful—like you. And since I now own six thousand acres13 that came with the house, why don't you show some of it to me?"
They rode out on the horses the Duc had brought from Paris, a beautiful gray barb mare for Daisy and his own favorite black who'd helped him score most of his goals this past year. With Daisy as guide, they traveled the length of the valley and up into the foothills rimming the open country.
He'd never seen her on a horse before because she'd disdained riding in the Bois as too tame and sedate. She was a skilled rider, as he'd expected, coming from her background, sitting comfortably and at ease on an unfamiliar mount, holding her reins with a casualness only the best riders developed.
Dressed in leather pants, moccasins, and red-plaid jacket, her long black hair loose on her shoulders, Daisy seemed in harmony with the natural beauty of the country. She knew the terrain intimately, indicating features of interest of him, showing him those boundary markers that were close, even pointing out the original survey markers now obscured and overgrown by underbrush. All the section lines and subdivisions were familiar to her, and when he marveled at her wealth of pertinent information, Daisy said, "We've been fighting to retain our land for almost thirty years. I've been personally involved for the last ten, so I know the plat maps as well as I know my name. As well as I know mining law. Probably," she added with a faint smile, "as well as you know railroad development."
"I should take advantage then of your"—his green gaze was sportive—"expertise
."
"I certainly have enjoyed yours." Her tone was playful. "After last night, I feel I owe you. What do you want to know?"
And they discussed at length the possibility of developing new mining properties, the locations of the newest deposits, the profits available from copper mining, both short-term and extended, the new coal bodies being exploited, the labor organizations coming into existence.
The Duc understood railroads, but Daisy's competence in every facet of mining was formidable. When they stopped in midafternoon to rest and eat the picnic lunch Louis had sent with them, they went into some of the specifics about possible partnerships with her family.
They ate the simple roast beef sandwiches and peach pie Cook had made, drinking from the clear cold water of the stream at the foot of the clearing. And when Daisy yawned for the third time in one sentence, the Duc suggested she nap before they start back.
"We were going to go shopping for baby clothes. Is it too late?" She had this overwhelming urge to purchase little lacy, embroidered baby things. Tiny booties and ribboned bonnets, silver rattles and engraved cups.
"It's half past three. We won't have time to ride back to the ranch, change, and drive into town. We'll go tomorrow… if you wake up early enough," he teased.
"I won't take full blame for my fatigue," Daisy protested with lazy good humor.
"Nor should you." His smile was warm, the well-house at Newport a favorite memory of his. "But since baby is still seven and a half months from needing a wardrobe, I'd say we could wait another day or so for our shopping trip. This week you're not allowed to work—only rest and take care of yourself."
"And you."
"And me," he softly agreed.
He made a bed for her from scented pine boughs, covered her with his jacket, and seated beside her, held her hand while she slept. For a man who'd never known contentment, he was content. For a man who'd never known the fulfillment of loving a woman, he was converted. And for a man who had always considered himself as de Vec, an integral element in his country's cultural past and tradition, he was now seated on newly purchased ground in a frontier country holding the warm hand of the woman who had brought him so far from home.
And brought him imminent fatherhood.
And probably too—a new understanding of priorities.
Bourges would have to become more active in his business affairs. He trusted him. Justin would have to begin assuming some responsibility too.
Once the baby was born and Daisy's current court cases concluded, they would have to negotiate for some semblance of equal time in Paris.
He smiled faintly.
Maybe.
It might be easier, he decided, to talk Bourges into being his business manager. He was too apt to let Daisy have her way.
The sun was slipping below the horizon in a flaming crimson display, hovering for sleek moments on the shadowed mountain-tops before disappearing in tattered remnants of magenta and gold.
The silence of the forest clearing seemed to deepen in the shadowed calm of evening, and when Daisy stirred, the rustle of pine boughs was distinct in the quiet twilight.
As if she felt the new absence of light, she opened her eyes, taking a lingering moment of conscious reckoning to remember where she was. "I'm sorry I slept so long," she murmured, her hand engulfed in Etienne's warm palm, his protection and solicitude tangible. "Are you getting cold?"
He shook his head. "The sun just went down."
"I suppose I have to get up…"
"I can carry you back."
He would, too, she realized and wondered for a moment whether she'd become spoiled for the real world in Etienne's indulgent care. She could do absolutely nothing for herself if she wished, a startling change from her former independent existence.
"Last night was enervating. I'll be more prudent tonight and let you sleep."
"You must be tired," Daisy said, sitting up.
"I'm fine." The Duc was used to a careless schedule of sleep. "Do you want to ride alone or with me?"
"Your black might complain."
"He won't; he knows better. Besides, today's excursion is like a rest cure compared to two periods of polo. He's on holiday."
But Daisy rode by herself after stretching and yawning and waking up more completely while Etienne saddled the horses. And when they returned to the ranch, he insisted Daisy go into the house while he take the horses to the stables.
"Get into something comfortable for dinner. Louis said our new cook is temperamental about dinnertime."
"You should have awakened me earlier. Are we late?"
"I can always hire another cook, darling. You… are irreplaceable. But I think we're in time to avoid a tantrum."
Dinner was very French with faint Creole overtones because the woman Louis had hired was a native of New Orleans.
The fish sauce was a subtle blend of an oyster and meunière sauce, so delicate in flavor it reminded Daisy of the scent of sweet basil after the fact. A hint and remembrance curiously combined.
The beef and peppers were hot and spicy and served over a saffron rice as beautiful to look at as to eat.
Over a lemon pastry so delectable Daisy ate three while Etienne watched her, amused, she said, "Your cook will have to be allowed her tantrums for this level of skill. What time do we have to be up for breakfast?"
Etienne laughed. "Hopefully it's negotiable. I think she knows her worth though."
"Wherever did you find her?"
"Louis did, actually. He hired everyone. She came, I think, from one of the hotels in town. There weren't any chefs available."
"You've never had a female cook?"
"Louis could answer that better than I. He was in touch with my kitchen staff, but I don't think so. She is good, isn't she? Have another," he offered, his smile beguiling.
"I shouldn't."
"You're allowed to indulge yourself, darling."
"I'll get too fat."
"You're on holiday."
She didn't need much coaxing when the lemon pastry tantalized with its fragrant citron aroma, fluted volumes of chantilly creme, and sugar-dusted meringue. "As you can see," she said, reaching for another swan-shaped confection, "the simplest excuse will do in my present frame of mind."
"I've several dozen more excuses when you need them."
They were alone over dessert, Etienne having dismissed the servants for the night so they could linger at table undisturbed.
"Are they a condition of your noblesse?"
"No, with Maman's influence, excuses weren't necessary. She always encouraged freedom of choice."
"Yet you stayed in your marriage against her counsel."
"Until I met you, it didn't seem to matter. We had our separate lives."
"Tell me you're happy," Daisy whispered, all the disquieting insecurities hurtling back when he spoke so casually of the separateness of his marriage.
Alone in the lamp-lit dining room at an enormous table too large for only two, the beamed ceiling adding height and dimension to the sizeable proportions of the space, they seemed isolated, Daisy thought, not only in the masculine room decorated with heavy furniture and weapons, but isolated from the world in this mountain valley seven thousand miles from the bright lights of Paris. Would he fall again into patterns so habitual to his nature once he returned to his own milieu? she wondered.
"Happy's too mild a word," he quietly said. "Contentment too. Although I feel them both. I've traveled across the world in some restless quest for an unknown… intangible. Not understanding at the time I was actually searching for you… so I could sit like this, overcome with delight at the sight of you in my nightshirt with rolled up sleeves and tumbled hair and powdered sugar on your lips."
"Good," she said, simply, like a child would, satisfied, the measure of his words chasing away all the old demons. "And I'm glad you like my dinner gown," Daisy said, licking the sugar off her mouth, her smiling words conveying the extent of her own contentment. "I'll wear the Doucet cr
eations some other time."
"Don't ever wear them. I don't care." The Duc was lounging in his chair, relaxed, one hand loosely cupping his cognac glass. "I like you in my nightshirt."
The unadorned white cotton garment flowed around Daisy in great sweeping folds as she sat with her legs tucked under her on one of the oversize chairs, the pristine color accenting the bronze of her skin and the blackness of her hair. Her lips in contrast to the monochrome colors were cherry-red.
"Louis brought more than enough," he said with a grin, "to keep you dressed for dinner indefinitely. Adelaide wouldn't understand, would she?" he quietly added. "Nor would Valentin. They're both inclined to prefer people around them. I like to be alone with you."
"If I didn't have my family to concern myself with, we could fence in the valley and lock out the world."
"I don't want to think about family tonight," the Duc said with a sigh, too aware of the reality of their busy lives, and of Bourges wondering why his telegrams weren't being answered. "Let's delude ourself for a few more hours. Tomorrow we'll have to go into town, however briefly. It's imperative the phone and telegraph lines are begun."
Before going upstairs, Etienne wanted to check his horses on their first night in a new stable. "I'll be right back," he said, sliding Daisy's chair back and helping her up. "I'll come with you."
"We'll find you a long coat then. Your short jackets won't keep your legs warm in that nightshirt."
Finding his wool topcoat in the foyer closet, he held it while Daisy slipped into it. Helping her button the coat up to its velvet collar, he put on a leather jacket and lifted her into his arms. "It's too cold for bare feet," he said. Reaching for the door, he unlatched it with his fingertips and kicked it open.
"And I'm lazy after four lemon pastries," Daisy added, snuggling into the solidness of Etienne's shoulder as they stepped out onto the porch.
"You don't have to come. Wait for me in bed." He half turned to reenter the house.
"No. I'm slipping into one of my moods of utter dependence. Like carry me, hold me, don't ever leave me, tell me you adore every hair on my head, every finger and toe, every breath I take. And kiss me."
Forbidden Page 48