Forbidden Susan Johnson (english love story books txt) 📖

Christian name for the first time, "but rather its longevity."

"You want commitment?" He'd never been so bluntly asked. Women usually insinuated themselves into the subject by circuitous routes.

"I don't think that's what I want." Her dark eyes held his steadily. "Although certainly it's not yours to freely give."

"What do you want?" If they were being blunt, was he allowed a direct question as well?

"Something," she very quietly said, "I don't think you can give me."

"You don't know me," he said equally softly. "You don't know what I can give."

"I know your style of man. This is a game."

"It can be a game for women too."

"I don't want that."

He was silent for a time as they stood alone in the center of the floor, savoring the rare beauty of their closeness, as though the feeling of witchery were apart from the complexities they were discussing. "This is all very new to me," he said at last.

Daisy smiled. "I think not. In fact," she went on in a voice he suspected she used to clarify points to a client, "this is much too familiar to you. And with that I take issue."

"So your scruples aren't with the act but with me."

She sighed and in that at least he took satisfaction.

"Yes," she said finally.

He was more skilled than she, infinitely more skilled. "Very well," he said with deceitful rue, as though he reluctantly gave up the chase. "I understand. A pity though, I can't alter my past. But you dance superbly, you're the most beautiful woman in Paris, and with that I'll be content."

Why, Daisy thought, did she feel as though she'd lost?

A note arrived the next morning on Daisy's breakfast tray along with a small nosegay of violets.

 

Georges would be pleased to explain to you why we can't possibly be related. If you wish… the museum is open for you at one. I'll send my driver.

The heavy crested paper was signed with a wide slashing E and somehow she was pleased she might see him although his note was unclear. Was the appointment for her alone?

Apparently, yes, she realized when the carriage came for her. The Duc was absent. As he should have been, she reflected, seating herself in the center of the padded velvet bench, smoothing the skirt of her gown in an uncharacteristically punctilious gesture. Daisy wasn't one for taking notice of wrinkles; she rarely concerned herself with fashion. Only her family would have considered it odd she left seven discarded dresses behind in her room. If asked, Daisy would have muttered something about the warm day and the inappropriate materials in the dresses she'd tried on and rejected. Of course she hadn't expected the Duc.

Last night she'd very properly refused his advances. This morning he'd very properly extended the invitation to her since he knew of her interest, but had also very properly avoided any further contact.

Everything was very proper.

There was satisfaction in knowing she'd refused him.

There was satisfaction, was there not!

She turned to the cityscape beyond the carriage windows when the requisite answer failed to immediately surface, unwilling to admit her emotions weren't precisely falling in line with propriety.

Georges Martel, the second son of a second son, was a fainter version of the magnetic Duc, the dust of academia having softened the harsh masculinity so obvious in his cousin. But his manners were as superb when he greeted Daisy and his voice as attractive as he launched into a description of his original research begun ten years before.

"Etienne and I crossed Russia in the early eighties, following the migration routes across the Aleutians into North America. We were away two years."

"The Duc on a scientific expedition?" the skepticism in Daisy's voice was obvious.

Georges looked at the young woman seated across from him, her summer frock like a colorful splash of scented femininity in his book-lined study, and wondered why Etienne had requested this tour for her. Did he feel that, as a Red Indian, she'd be interested in his research? Somehow, he thought, Etienne's reason was probably less simple. His cousin's voice had been oddly constrained when he spoke of the woman. Unusual. As was this request for a tour. So he answered the lady's skepticism with some detail.

"Etienne financed the expedition," he began. "Without him my research wouldn't have been authenticated. And he was the one who always urged me on when problems arose. If not for him, I'd have turned back the first time our guides bolted."

"Bolted?" Daisy understood whitemen traveling through strange lands. She continually had to reassess her image of the idle, leisured Duc.

"Our Tashkent guides were horse thieves first. Luckily they had no interest in any of the scientific materials. Etienne found us new guides and horses."

"And you went on… for two years? Your family didn't mind?"

"I'm not married and my parents support my choice. As for my brothers…" He smiled. "They're too busy racing horses to notice when I'm gone."

"And the Duc's family?"

Georges hesitated, debating whether the lady was being coy. Etienne didn't actually have a family. He thought that fact was common knowledge. He and Isabelle had never gotten along. And while the Duc loved his children, once they were away at school, his daily life no longer revolved around their schedules.

"Justin and Jolie were at school," Georges briefly said, reluctant to disclose details of Etienne's private life. "Would you like to see the artifacts we brought back?"

For the next hour, Daisy was absorbed in the rich history of the Asian tribes, fascinated by the slow march of man across the continents. Familiar deities emerged from cultures long preceding hers, deities transmuted by time into benevolent gods protecting the Absarokee nation. Georges described the provenance of each of the sculptured pieces, estimated their dates, detailed the artists' techniques, and brought the ancient cultures alive. Within her own traditions, Daisy discovered astonishing similarities apparently surviving intact through thousands of years. Moved and delighted, she was deeply interested in the papers Georges had published.

Later, seated with Georges over