Forbidden Susan Johnson (english love story books txt) 📖

her. She walked the way he remembered, with a light fluid grace, the motion of her hips fleetingly suggested beneath the shimmering gold of her skirt, her bare shoulders and slender neck erect as if the heavy silken coils of her dark hair were weighty, requiring a dancer's balance. He smelled her rose fragrance first as he neared, and then moving closer, distinguished the precise arrangement of jeweled pins holding her hair, the subtle shadow beneath her ear, the clasp of her diamond earrings, the sleek dip of her spine as it flowed downward to the low-cut back of her dress.

She may have smelled his familiar cologne, too, or perhaps heard his tread, for she turned her head slightly as he reached out to grasp her wrist.

"You!" she said in surprise, her breath caught halfway up her throat so the word was hushed and trembling. No matter how she'd prepared for the possibility of their meeting again, she was unprepared.

"Hello," he said simply, as he might have a lifetime ago when he was young and gauche, long before Ursalina, in the days when women were mothers and madonnas and convent-bred cousins. "How are you?"

"I'm… fine. Fine." Daisy repeated in what she hoped was a normal voice. His fingers on her wrist were scorching her skin, he was too close, his hair longer, she thought apropos nothing, his shoulders wide like she remembered, his green eyes gazing down at her like a hundred hoped-for springtimes, alluring and enchant-ing. "I saw you earlier," she said, her comment both spontaneous and prosaic, as if the tumble and turmoil of her thoughts could be concealed by her insipid statement.

"I saw you too." No insipidness distinguished the Duc's declaration. His voice took on a sharp, crisp enunciation suddenly, underscored with umbrage. "Is Rutherford your new lover?"

His grip on her wrist turned steely.

He had no right was her first thought. Not after all these months. Not after the undeniable intimacy between himself and Nadine. "Is Nadine yours?" she coolly inquired, attempting to wrench her hand free.

"No."

"Liar."

"Answer my question."

"I don't have to." She spoke as a chieftain's daughter would.

Jealousy impelled their sharp pointed repartee… and insidious desire and accusing tempests of faithlessness aimed at each other.

"Let me go."

"Answer me," he growled, undeterred by either her demand or her attempt to withdraw.

A trio of women emerged suddenly from the powder room, chatting, adjusting the bracelets on their wrists, taking that last look at each other's décolletage, agreeing with smiling accord that each was suitably provocative without being vulgar.

"You have to let me go now," Daisy whispered angrily.

"Is Beau waiting for you?" His sarcasm was a soft whisper.

He didn't release his crushing grasp until the very last moment, and did only then out of necessity when the ladies stopped to visit. With flirtatious banter, fluttering eyelashes, and suggestive smiles, congratulations were offered the Duc for his expertise on the polo field. They preened like harem candidates for the Sultan's nightly favors, and Daisy watched, her heated temper escalating at each giddy laugh as Etienne accepted their compliments with an effortless charm.

"Will you be visiting more often now that your daughter is living here?" one of the ladies inquired, her keen interest in his answer apparent in her breath-held stance.

"I'm hoping to. American hospitality is an added enticement." Etienne's deep voice held an exceptional sincerity as though he were speaking to each of them individually, and Daisy could literally see their adulation blossom. By tomorrow after-noon, she thought, Etienne would have three more invitations to dinner… and more.

"Do you find the Viennese musicians enjoyable?" Lily Winthrop was plainly angling for a dance partner.

"Nadine outdid herself. Perhaps later when this throbbing hand improves," he said, raising his splintered fingers, "I could take advantage of the music again."

"Please do," Bea Kissam breathed, offering in both tone and expression, the Duc take advantage in any way he chose.

"Would you like our doctor to look at your hand?" Bea's cousin Clara inquired, hope expectant in her sultry eyes. Since her husband's business was keeping him in New York, she was alone in Newport. Plainly her invitation included breakfast.

"Perhaps later," Etienne politely said, bowing slightly to Clara, his smile pleasant.

"You won't be playing tomorrow, will you?" Lily asked. "With your injured hand? Come for lunch," she went on in a breathless rush, "or tea or dinner. I could show you the Cliff Walk if—"

"Thank you, but I'm committed to the French team with Centrelle gone," he graciously refused. "I've only a small sprain anyway. A few hours on Bradley's electrical-force machine should help." He did in fact have to find time for the therapy or he wouldn't be able to hold his stick. His discomfort level was damn high.

"Don't you know some herbal cures, Daisy?" Lily's bright blue eyes turned on Daisy.

"No. Not for sprains," she quickly added when she saw Lily was about to contradict her.

"A shame," Etienne mildly said, his amused gaze on Daisy's flustered expression. "For a moment, I thought you might be able to help me."

"You must have something for pain at least, Daisy," little Bea Kissam implored, her small frown delicately creasing her milk-white brow. "Holding a mallet is going to be agonizing."

You'd think Bea was personally feeling the torment from the sound of her voice, Daisy thought, annoyed and irritated that every woman Etienne met wanted to pet and coddle him. A constant, no doubt in his life, from his skilled parrying of their avid interest. Confused, jealous, and angry in the presence of the fawning ladies, Daisy was reminded of similar sensations experienced in Paris. Etienne had always been too much a disruptive force in her life, blowing apart the serenity of her existence, muddying the clarity of her future goals.

"I'm sorry," Daisy replied in a tone that didn't sound sorry at all, but vexed instead, for she wanted desperately to flee her chaotic thoughts and the adoring women. "There's nothing I can do for the pain. I don't have anything. Now if you'll excuse me."

The Duc's sound