Forbidden Susan Johnson (english love story books txt) 📖

"You play second position, don't you?"

"Usually," the leading scorer in a decade modestly said.

"And you'd be harder to replace than a third or back."

"Theoretically… but an afternoon in bed with you prevails in fascination," he replied with an easy charm.

She weighed his asking against her own idleness, understood his commitment to his team because she had a father and brothers who played polo with the same seriousness. "Go," she said, "I'll take a nap at Adelaide's."

His satisfaction was apparent, like a young boy allowed out to play, she thought with pleasurable contentment, pleased she could make him happy.

"You're sure now?" His solicitiousness was as charming as his seductive talents and she almost said, no, I changed my mind, because she wanted him suddenly for all his sweetness and beauty. It required a moment more for practical reason to beat down her sensations of wanting. She could after all, make love to him tonight.

So she said politely, "I'm sure. I'm also very tired." In fact the idea of having to participate in a polo match would have been beyond her strength. They'd been up a great deal of the night playing at love.

"You're an angel." Leaning over, he kissed her lightly on the cheek.

"Where do you get your energy?" Thoughts of an afternoon nap insinuated themselves more prominently in her mind.

The Duc didn't say he was familiar with sleepless nights for the inference would be displeasing, so he said instead, "My chef's idea of breakfast coffee can sustain one for days. You didn't drink any." His smile was benign.

Daisy had, in fact, taken one sip, said, "this would bring a corpse to life," and opted for tea. "If you like, we could cancel tonight. You're going to be exhausted."

"No, I'll be fine. I'll come to fetch you at nine."

Adelaide had been watching the courtyard windows since she'd risen that morning, determined to lend comfort and support to Daisy after Isabelle's despicable behavior at the Opéra.

Her pacing set the mood for her household, already alerted by news of the Montignys' early morning visit to the Duc—common knowledge belowstairs hours before the story reached the aristocrats of Paris with their morning coffee.

Which news had only increased Adelaide's agitation.

When the Duc's carriage rolled into the courtyard, Adelaide raced with unladylike haste to the entrance hall, arriving breathless to greet Daisy when she came in.

"Would you like tea?" she asked. "Or a late luncheon?" she added, reminded by the chiming hall clock of the hour. "Are you all right? I'm so sorry, did you sleep? You couldn't have, you must be exhausted."

"I'm tired," Daisy said with a faint smile, answering one of Adelaide's rush of queries. "But not overly exhausted," she quickly went on at the sudden concern appearing on her hostess's face. "And tea would be wonderful," she added, politely postponing her nap.

"I'm so sorry about the scene at the Opéra," Adelaide immediately reiterated after they were seated in a small drawing room with tea astonishingly ready for pouring. How difficult had it been to maintain the tea table at the ready against her unknown arrival, Daisy wondered. "You must be furious and distrait and wishing every Montigny to the devil."

Daisy had taken a chair near the windows overlooking the garden, the sunlight behind her casting her face in shadow, concealing her transient grimace at Adelaide's frank assessment. "I would have preferred a less public battleground," she admitted, shrugging in a lazy negligent gesture—a reflection of her experience with bigotry. "Since anger doesn't help, however, I've learned a long time ago to ignore scenes like that at the Opéra."

"Despite your merciful indulgence, it still was dreadful of Isabelle," Adelaide murmured. "But typical of her malice. There's always a certain portion of society one must apologize for… endlessly. The faction to which the Montignys belong is the most rabid of Monarchists, the most conservative, and I'm afraid… the most reactionary."

"It surprises me how Etienne could relate to the very disparate spirit of his wife. He seems the antithesis of a Monarchist." "They've always led separate lives—distinctly separate lives. Isabelle devoted herself to her dressmaker and milliner, to her afternoon teas, her daily drive through the Bois, social calls, dinners, followed by the theater or some soiree. With the customary minimum of four changes of gowns, her days were filled."

"I can see how terribly busy Isabelle could be," Daisy sardonically replied, always astonished at the sheer idleness of the aristocratic way of life.

"Etienne's interests have always been more diverse."

"More than women, you mean," Daisy tranquilly noted.

"You haven't known him long enough," Adelaide pointed out, pouring Daisy a cup of tea. "While polo and his racing stable are significant in his life, he's also the major shareholder in three railways and active in management of the Bourse."

"He seems not to attend to business—are you sure?" she softly queried, taking the delicate cup and saucer from Adelaide. How could he be "active," as Adelaide suggested, when he spent all his time with her?

Adelaide smiled. "He's indulging you, to the frustration, Valentin says, of his business manager, who no longer has Etienne's full attention. Nor do any of his other activities, Valentin informs me. You know he's somewhat of an authority on Asian cartograph—his maps are considered a requisite for passage across the vastness of Asia. His agricultural estates are models for efficient profitable farming, and he spends an enormous amount of time with his children. They've always been his first priority."

Daisy knew of his devotion to his children, but with his altered schedule, she hadn't been fully aware of the magnitude of his other interests. "I hadn't realized… he apparently—" An added distress overcame her, hearing the full litany of Etienne's interests "has sufficiently filled his days as well as Isabelle."

"And his nights. Although I think he's been a very lonely man for all his activities. He's very different with you."

While Daisy was pleased in the jealous way of lovers to hear his life had been lived virtually apart from his wife, she was disconcerted to realize