Forbidden Susan Johnson (english love story books txt) 📖

The Duc was feeling equally smug. He hadn't concealed all semblance of sexuality since adolescence. The masquerade was itself a curiously erotic experience, playing the celibate monk, the androgynous companion, offering only benign friendship. He felt at times very much like the Big Bad Wolf dressed like Grand-mama in Little Red Riding Hood.

They discussed the current unrest over seating Monsieur Lescalles in the Chamber of Deputies and agreed to disagree on the unusual work of Rousseau at the Society of Independent Artists Exhibition last week. He wasn't completely without intellect, Daisy discovered, readjusting a portion of her assessment concerning the idle Duc de Vec. The Duc for his part, found the Mademoiselle as erudite as he'd anticipated and yet—astonishingly pleasant.

Over sorbet before the game course, the Duc asked Daisy whether she'd seen Professor Mattel's private collection of nomadic anthropology housed nearby at the Hotel Soubise.

She looked up, the pale iced fruit about to touch her lips. He would have to feed her raspberry sorbet someday, he decided. The sight of her mouth slightly parted, only inches from the cool ice, taxed his efforts to remain uninvolved. She let the sorbet melt in her mouth before answering, and he wondered for a moment whether she was toying with him or was in reality that innocent. "No. I haven't," she said a short time later, "nor have I heard of Professor Martel."

With her dark brows raised becomingly, he questioned again whether she was acting the coquette or indeed refreshingly naive. "His research proves the migrations across an original land-bridge into Alaska by numerous tribes. Your ancestors, no doubt." He kept his voice neutral, as he had all evening.

She was intrigued, he could see, so he quickly went on. "Your ancestors and mine may have been related. My father's family has been traced linguistically back to the central plains ofAsia. Although the tribes separated geographically several thousand years ago."

"We are not related, Monsieur," Daisy said, emphatic but polite, "no matter how many thousands of years have passed."

Thank God for that, Etienne thought, his gaze straying to her splendid bare shoulders and enticing cleavage. "In an anthropological sense only, Mademoiselle," he replied with a pleasant smile. "I realize our interests and backgrounds are very different. If you'd care to hear a definitive explanation though, I'd be happy to arrange a visit with Georges. The museum is private but he's my cousin."

So that explained it. Nomadic tribes and prehistoric anthropology hardly seemed parallel interests to the Duc's busy schedule of polo, hunting, and women. "Perhaps at some later date, Monsieur le Duc," Daisy replied, reserve once again in her voice. Although the subject interested her, she preferred as little contact with the Duc as possible. "At the moment my days are busy with Jordan business for Empress. Her daughter must be entered into the estate trusts, in addition to all the ordinary legal affairs that require handling for Empress and her family."

"Could I be of help?"

She looked at him with frank astonishment. How could he possibly be of help?

"The Minister of Justice is my brother-in-law," Etienne declared with a quiet assurance, knowing as well as Daisy the wheels of justice had nothing to do with justice. The smooth turning of the wheels of justice depended rather heavily on the unctuous lubricant of influence, power, and money.

"Are you related to everyone of consequence, Monsieur?" Daisy asked, the coolness in her voice like sparkling crystals of snow. His kinship with the royal pretender was well known as were his ties with the Archbishop of Paris. Now the Minister too… And her own dealings with the Minister had been nothing but obstructed. It galled her that the Duc's cavalier attitude and casual influence would probably be more effective than any of her legal expertise.

How satisfying it would be to thaw the restrained young lady, Etienne decided. "As a matter of fact, I am," he replied with his lush and dazzling smile. "And I'd be honored to put my family quarterings at your disposal, Mademoiselle." Along with a few other things, he cheerfully thought. "If I can be of any service, please allow me the pleasure of assisting you."

"Thank you, but I'm managing adequately." Daisy was familiar with the resistance to women lawyers, the invisible or outright bar to entrance into male territory. So Parisian prejudices were a familiar hurdle. She'd eventually accomplish her tasks. Adelaide had offered Valentin's patronage, so the Duc wasn't the only offer to help she'd refused. "I wouldn't want you to neglect the polo fields," she added.

Shrugging her small sarcasm aside, he smiled. "Perhaps my overworked ponies would appreciate the respite." Knowing his brother-in-law Charles's strong antifemale views and his reactionary opinions on women's suffrage, he casually added, "If you change your mind, the offer's open." And then, as if women's rights in general and Daisy's probable struggles with Charles's ministry were incidental to his gustatory pleasure, he said, "Don't you care for the pheasant?"

The Duc had been eating with tangible appetite and obvious relish as they'd conversed. Daisy was beginning to wonder how he stayed so fit and lean.

"I've eaten too much already."

"You've hardly eaten."

She was surprised he'd noticed. "You've eaten enough for three men."

His brows rose momentarily. "Do you think so? I must burn it off." His faint smile was either suggestive or completely artless. Daisy wasn't sure, although in her more benign attitude toward the Duc, she decided to give him the benefit of the doubt. Etienne motioned with a slight movement of his knife. "Do you mind if I eat yours? It seems a shame to waste Armand's talented interpretation of Hunters' Pheasant. I think he may have prepared it for me. He knows this particular dish is my favorite."

"Help yourself," Daisy offered, glancing surreptitiously at the Duc's perfectly fitting white brocade waistcoat. Patently aware not an extra ounce of fat adhered to his lean muscled frame, she made another small adjustment in her previous judgment of the Duc as an idle aristocrat.

"You must have