Forbidden Susan Johnson (english love story books txt) 📖

"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 creations 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."

He did then, obliging with a teasing smile that shone in the moonlit night.

The journey to the stables was interrupted by several more pleasurable obligations of a similar nature under a night sky brilliant with sparkling stars. Their