Forbidden Susan Johnson (english love story books txt) 📖

Although widowed for almost a decade, she still sanctimoniously dressed in mourning—black bonnet modestly trimmed in braid, her black silk gown's only vanity a black diamond brooch; her black kid-gloved hands were clasped with symmetrical precision on her lap.

"Nor has there been in the de Vecs'," the Duc said, his glance bland. Seated across from them in a chair large enough to accommodate him comfortably, he held a second cup of coffee in his hand, his man Louis standing at attention behind him like a Swiss halberdier. "Until now," he quietly added.

"We can't allow it."

Unyielding Church dogma arrogantly ignoring individual rights under the laws of France seemed anachronistic in the closing decade of the century. And irritating. More prosaically, the Archbishop was small like all the Montignys, and Etienne was tempted to say: Are you going to stop me? But he said instead, his voice mild, "Fortunately or unfortunately, depending on your point of view, you have no control over my life. I am de Vec."

"We can stop you in court."

The Archbishop's voice was astonishingly resolute, Etienne mused. Had Isabelle's mother threatened him or promised him a lavish donation? "You can try to stop me in court," Etienne replied, his eyes taking on a sudden remoteness.

"Bourges can't help you," Isabelle's mother said with a familiar contempt, his wife's voice echoing in his ears. "He's a peasant."

"Letheve will find the circumstances of Bourges's birth of little consequence before the bar." Etienne crossed his tegs, handed his cup to Louis, and leaned back in his chair. "Is there more… advice… or can Burns show you out?" There were limits to his courtesy, there were limits to the usefulness of conversation with the Montignys; there was also a beautiful woman waiting for him in his bed, and perhaps that most of all induced him to curtail his early morning call.

"You won't be sensible?" The Archbishop spoke with baleful disdain.

"I am being sensible, for the first time in my life. I've discharged my duty to family in the past twenty years a thousand times over." The Duc's voice dropped in volume and he said very slowly so there was no mistaking his intentions, "My future belongs to me."

"The children are still underage." The Archbishop's voice could have been that of an inquisitor in a Spanish torture chamber, so secure was he in gaining his listeners' attention:

No longer lounging, Etienne sat bolt upright, his eyes vivid with anger, his fingers clenched white on his chair arms. "If you touch them, Montigny," the Duc said in a low heated murmur taut with challenge, "I'll have your heart on a platter."

"Are you threatening me?" The Archbishop's face had taken on the same whitish cast as the night before.

"I am." The green of the Duc's eyes glittered like emerald fire.

"You… can't threaten me," the Archbishop stammered, the nudge from his sister's gloved finger firming his shrinking courage. "The law requires custody… until children are twenty-one."

"The law better damn well stay away from my children, Montigny, or I'll dine on your black heart. That's a promise and a threat and a lethal pledge. Is that perfectly clear? Beatrice, you're going to push your brother into an early grave," Etienne remarked, observing his mother-in-law's hand about to move again. "Kindly consider how poorly he shoots. Now," he curtly went on,

"No one touches my children. Not either of you. Not Isabelle, who relinquished her interest in them at birth. And least of all a court that can be bought and sold for the price of a good polo pony." The Duc stood abruptly, the interview over. "Burns will show you out. Don't," he murmured in a deceptively calm tone, "come back."

The pulse in his temple was beating violently as he strode through the enfilade of rooms between the antechamber and his bedroom. He could feel the flush of anger in his face and in his brain. Did they really think he gave a damn what the Church's position was on anything or care what the Montigny attitude was on divorce? Idiots! he fumed. The clergy had their place he supposed, but it wasn't in his home giving him ultimatums. How dare that worm threaten his children; how dare he think he had any right to impose his theological dogma on Justin's and Jolie's lives! He'd kill him without a qualm, the Duc raged, although the damnable coward would probably hide behind his cassock or his formidable sister if challenged to a duel.

Louis was hot on the Duc's heels, running slightly to keep up with his master's rapid stride. When Etienne reached the door to his bedroom, he waited a moment before going in to allow Louis the opportunity to catch up. As Louis arrived, panting and out of breath, the Duc said, his voice still tense and irritated, "More coffee please, and breakfast in say… twenty minutes. I think I'll kill him and rid the world of a useless cleric," he added, as supplement to his menu. With his hand on the doorlatch, he turned a suddenly cheerful smile on his valet. "Wouldn't that be a good idea, Louis?"

"Yes, sir, Monsieur le Duc. Should I see that your pistols are cleaned?" Having accompanied the Duc to several duels—still a popular method of settling male disputes in France—Louis was ready to be of service again. "The children must be protected," he said as if they were his.

Etienne grinned. "Killing the pompous ass would at least save France any more ecclesiastical bastards… but his face was so waxen, Louis, I may not need my pistols. He may succumb to apoplexy. Damn coward's probably still looking over his shoulder. Coffee, then, and breakfast. It's a beautiful day, isn't it, Louis?" Etienne said, his mood abruptly altered at the thought of Daisy warm and voluptuous in his bed.

"Yes, Monsieur le Duc," his valet agreed, interpreting the Duc's comment properly. "She's very lovely."

"Miss Black will soon be your new mistress." His smile was that of a young enthusiastic boy.

"Very good, sir. I