Forbidden Susan Johnson (english love story books txt) 📖

the deeper male voices of jovial bonhomie, the conspicuous rustle of silks and shimmering of jewels, adjuncts to the scented air of wealth. Charles Garnier's luxurious interior—all gilt and opulent crimson, glimmering crystal and polished marble—perfect foil to the colorful, splendid arbiters of Parisian fashion and taste.

The Duc spoke briefly to several acquaintances as they made their way to the lobby. Adelaide and Valentin stopped occasionally to exchange pleasantries with their friends. They exchanged the normal trivial courtesies about the opera, the evening, the state of the polo teams matched for the next day's play, ordinary comments on an ordinary evening of aristocratic amusement. But glances slid past the Duc to his lovely companion as they moved through the throng. How seductive the Duc's young lady looked in the rich scarlet silk; she had the dark eyes of an enchantress, a classic beauty to inspire sonnets and a décolletage guaranteed to draw every male's interest. The Duc's arm was protectively around her shoulders, perhaps to guide her through the crush. More likely, most men decided, as an indication of possession.

Isabelle had preceded them by a few moments, those who were standing in conversational groups noted, and the burning question in everyone's mind was: Would they acknowledge each other… should they meet?

A member of the clergy stayed their progress for a moment as he and his companions blocked the entrance to the grand staircase. "Excuse us, Monseigneur Dunloup," the Duc politely said, beginning to ease around them. "Congratulations on your new appointment." The prelate had recently been raised to Vatican envoy from Paris. For answer, Etienne received only a cold icy stare and for the space of a few seconds the churchman stood solidly in their way. He moved finally, letting them pass, but neither answered Etienne nor acknowledged his presence.

Daisy glimpsed the transient surprise on Etienne's face; he was momentarily taken aback. But he recovered almost immediately, guiding them past the chill gaze of the Vatican's new envoy with his normal calm possession.

How often would he be exposed to such rudeness? Daisy wondered; would he begin to mind eventually? She considered apologizing for being the cause of the envoy's public cut but Etienne's expression had taken on a sternness that deterred her. She sympathized though with the possible state of his emotions, for who better than she knew the feeling of exclusion.

While she'd spent a lifetime learning to cope with such reactions, Etienne had never experienced society's censure. His family had been a power in France for a millennium. Could she, she mused in a poignant moment of melancholy, do this to him?

But he smiled at her, a warm adoring smile.

And she forgot.

What was Isabelle up to? Etienne wondered, when he saw his wife with her entourage waiting at the main entrance for her carriage. Why hadn't she gone to the private porte cochère where she always exited the Opéra! Why was she in the lobby when she deplored the milling crowds? His queries were rhetorical only; he knew the answers.

"Should we wait outside?" Adelaide suggested, as aware as the Duc of Isabelle's unusual presence.

"No," he softly answered.

The measured intensity of his single word brought Daisy's eyes to his face and following the direction of his gaze, she saw the focus of his attention. "I don't mind waiting outside," she said. "It's a lovely spring evening."

"I don't care to give Isabelle the satisfaction… if you don't mind," he added, cognizant his feelings might not be in harmony with his companions'. He detested Isabelle's maliciousness, but pride more than anger impelled him, overruling any more sensible impulse of avoidance.

"Her carriage may be called first," Adelaide said.

"She has a feral gleam in her eyes," Valentin casually noted, his grin engaging. "I may have to save you from assault… or she may set her man of God on you to condemn you to the fires of hell."

"The Monseigneur would do better to shrive his own conscience first. Word has it two more parlor maids in the Archbishop's residence are bearing his children."

"God will provide?" Valentin lazily drawled.

"I certainly hope so, since the Archbishop's so niggardly with his money. But then all the Montignys are. They find it difficult to part with wealth so painstakingly accumulated over centuries of methodically arranged marriages."

The de Chantel carriage was announced then and they moved as a group to the doors.

Would she actually make a scene? Adelaide wondered.

The bitch was sure to force Etienne's hand, Valentin thought, secure in his opinion of Isabelle, and he unconsciously moved closer to Etienne as though to protect him.

She wouldn't dare go beyond a scathing look in the full public glare of the crowded lobby, Daisy decided.

Before they reached the door, the Duc knew, he'd hear the soft venom of his wife's voice.

"She's so very… dark, Etienne. Not in your usual style." Isabelle's tone was carefully modulated to carry. "But then you always had a taste for the barbaric…"

An audible gasp from the surrounding throng vibrated under the glittering chandeliers, all eyes within a dozen yards focusing on the converging groups. Daisy felt Etienne's body go rigid for a brief moment, but his progress didn't slow nor did he indicate he'd heard his wife's remark until they came abreast of the Montigny group.

Etienne's arm around Daisy's shoulder tightened, the gentle pressure of his hand both protective and arresting. Taller than any other of the men, he looked down on them all with a hauteur not only of height but of disposition. Silently surveying the entourage of influential men surrounding Isabelle with a bland gaze, unrushed and deliberate, his eyes rested at last on his wife. "You're absolutely right, Madame le Duchesse, Miss Black is not in my usual style. And for that I consider myself blessed." He deliberately used the spiritual word in defiance of the Montigny religiosity. Then turning to Daisy, who stood with the reserve of her people, silent and composed at his side, he said, "Accept my apologies, mon chou, for my wife's boorish behavior. You must ignore