Forbidden Susan Johnson (english love story books txt) 📖

when he knew her in Paris, but decided against it. He'd find out in the morning.

Daisy hadn't slept well.

Between her frustration over Etienne's allure to women, particularly Nadine in this instance, and her own disastrously ardent response to him, her mind had been too full of conflict to sink into a deep slumber. She'd dozed fitfully, waking every few minutes, hoping the sun had risen so she could leave her bed. But exhausted by her restless night, she fell asleep just before dawn, waking with a start at seven.

Morning. Finally. The summer sun shone brilliantly through the lace curtains, the chiming clock on the mantel trailed off on its last melodic vibration of the hour, her bedroom gleamed with lemon light. Throwing off the covers, she scrambled out of bed, knowing she had to get away, outside, anywhere… to distract her morbid thoughts. A ride on the seashore had the advantage of privacy and she had to be doing something, something physical, something requiring concentration, or at least an activity away from the frivolous perfumed Newport society. Did she dare think of Etienne? Or rather, was it possible to eliminate his powerful image from her mind? How humiliating her response last evening to Etienne's seduction, how much more humiliating would Nadine's discovery have been, she hated him and wanted him, she hated herself for succumbing so easily. But his kiss had been… wonderful and disastrous.

Her confusion was total.

In less than ten minutes, dressed simply in moccasins and leather leggings, a plain white shirt opened at her neck, her hair tied back with a leather thong, Daisy stood with her hand on the doorknob, hesitating.

Her stomach was growling.

She hadn't eaten last night at Nadine's, nor had she more than minimally at the Rutherfords' earlier, too agitated after having seen Etienne at the polo club that afternoon to have much appetite. If she called for breakfast in her room, its appearance would take longer than she cared to wait. Not certain she was in a suitably sociable mood considering her lack of sleep, she debated having breakfast downstairs. But another glance at the clock assured her—at this hour, she could almost be guaranteed solitude in the dining room.

The hallway was empty when she stepped out of her room, the staircase, as well, while the two-story entrance hall, sunny under its domed skylight, was occupied by a single footman, half asleep in a chair. Seven-fifteen on a Newport morning definitely offered privacy. Humming a music hall tune all the rage that summer, she walked across the polished parquet and entered the large silent dining room.

Even under heavy silver covers, the aroma of breakfast food drifted into her nostrils with gratifying seduction. Her stomach gurgled in anticipation as she walked over to the mahogany sideboard gleaming with Georgian silver. She was helping herself to a second slice of honey-drenched ham, her plate piled high with an unladylike amount of food, when the Duc walked in.

"You don't belong here," she exclaimed, stupefied, the ham dripping honey in a widening puddle on the Irish-linen buffet cloth. How could Etienne be in her breakfast room, a half a mile from Nadine's at seven-fifteen in the morning? In a voice impolite and aghast, she breathed, "What are you doing here?"

"Having breakfast. The laundress is going to wish you didn't like ham." His head inclined slightly in the direction of the dripping ham on her fork and he smiled.

Hastily dropping the ham on her plate she blurted, "You can't."

"Can't?" His dark brows rose and fell in a swift quirked inquiry of politeness only. He had every intention of staying.

"Have breakfast here."

"Actually I'm only having coffee because I'm breakfasting with Hector. Do you think the Rutherfords will miss a cup of coffee?"

They were of course talking about two different things.

"Why aren't you at Nadine's?" She might as well ask since it was her overriding thought along with her staggering reaction to his appearance. He looked so achingly familiar in his short-sleeved white polo jersey and tan twill jodhpurs; how many times had she seen his sleek brown boots lying on the floor in the bedroom of his apartment on the Seine? Was it only a few weeks ago when she loved him with all her heart, without reservation or thorny doubts? Without all the obstacles raised now like insurmountable barriers?

"Your father invited me to stay here."

"I don't believe you."

"Suit yourself, but he did." The Duc preferred not discussing Nadine if possible, the topic too fraught with minefields of dissension. "Are you going riding?"

"Yes… no… it's none of your business. Why aren't you at Nadine's?" He hadn't answered her question.

"She was being… insistent and I thought it best to leave." His answer was as bland as possible.

"Insistent?"

"Yes, insistent. Would you like me to spell it out?"

"I thought you liked insistent women."

He didn't want to argue about the women in his past. It was such a useless argument… and at base, she probably was right. In the past, he'd preferred insistent women, his tastes catholic and libertine. "If I did, I don't anymore. All right?" he quietly said.

"So you came here?"

"I was going to sleep at the polo club."

"But?"

"But your father invited me to stay in the annex, which beat the stables at the club."

"I don't believe you," Daisy repeated, still moderately dumbfounded.

"Jesus," Etienne said, mildly exasperated after a very short night's sleep. "Why would I lie?"

"I don't know. Why do you lie?"

"I've never lied to you." His voice was very soft.

His reply could be interpreted as ambiguous if she wished to analyze every nuance, but she found herself more and more conscious of the fact he was standing close to her than the precise content of his remarks. "I suppose I should be grateful then," Daisy said in automatic response opposed to the physical sensations his nearness aggravated.

"I'll take anything I can get."

He meant it sincerely, but last night was still too fresh in her mind, with Nadine and the ladies in the hallway drooling over him,