Forbidden Susan Johnson (english love story books txt) 📖

her face and hair and expression… against his uncertain future.

"Kiss me," Daisy said, because she couldn't help herself at the last. In a moment more he'd be gone and she desperately needed to kiss him once more. Tears welled in her eyes as she lifted her head, spilling over a second later despite her best intentions to control her weeping. Despite her reputation for coolness and restraint. Despite her attempts to bid Etienne farewell with cordial good manners.

He thought for a moment before his lips touched hers, that he could take her from this ship, bring her to Colsec and keep her there in safety from Isabelle—in opposition to her family's schedule or even her own wishes if need be. He selfishly considered the real possibility of abduction because he didn't know if he would be able to bear her absence.

With tears streaming down Daisy's face and the sadness of bereavement suffocating in the Duc's lungs, their lips touched and met and melted into each other softly like the first kiss of adolescence when time had no meaning. Openhearted and generous, they offered each other the fullness of their beings.

A knock at the door, insistent and authoritative, curtailed their poignant embrace.

"The gangway is being raised!" a man's voice shouted.

"Write," the Duc said.

"Think of me."

"Every second."

Daisy smiled, warmed by his answer. "You have to go…"

"Will you be all right?"

She nodded.

He brushed the tears from her face with gentle fingers. "Take care," he whispered.

As he turned at the door for a last look, Daisy smiled. "I love you," she murmured.

His eyes held hers for a long moment. "You made me believe in love," he said, his voice low. And he hoped with impatient longing and breathless fear it wasn't too late for him.

The problem of Hector's safety was fortuitously solved without the Duc having to reveal to his daughter any of his fears concerning Isabelle. She was Jolie's mother, after all, and that consideration made him reluctant to disclose her involvement in Morocco's murder.

In the days since his thoroughbred's death, Jolie and her family had been enjoying the sea at Trouville, safely distant from Paris—out of harm's way. Before he had to face a decision, Jolie and her husband, Henri, surprised him with a visit, the same evening he returned from Le Havre.

Louis brought the young couple into the library where Etienne had retired after dinner. With his gaze on the river outside, he was nursing a cognac, feeling solitary and unrelated to the world, as though he were isolated completely from the rhythm of humanity.

The bustle of their entrance, Louis's fussing to turn up the gaslights, Jolie and Henri's beaming smiles and salutations brought him gratefully from his morbid reflections.

"Whyever are you sitting in the dark, Papa? Tea, Louis, for me, a brandy for Henri. Papa, you can't imagine what good luck has come our way. Maybe some sweets too, Louis—something chocolate. Light all the lights… I hate gloomy shadow. Just because Daisy's gone, Papa, doesn't mean you can mope. She'll be back soon, I'm sure, or you can visit her because—Henri—tell him—tell him all about your new business."

During all her monologue, she was arranging herself on the small tapestry sofa, seeing that her husband was seated beside her, adjusting the tartan taffeta ruching on her green moire gown, touching last the matching bow set becomingly in her upswept dark curls.

"But we had to talk to you first, Papa," Jolie excitedly said, usurping her husband's offered role as informant, "to see what you think of the proposal." Seated beside her tall blond husband, her hand in his, she smiled at her father. "It has to do with polo ponies and there's no one in the world who knows more about them than you."

Etienne grinned at her enthusiasm and fulsome compliment. "So tell me what this marvelous proposition entails." Frankly he was surprised Jolie's husband was interested in business of any kind. While he thought Henri a loving husband and father, he'd not thought him concerned with making money. Henri usually played third on their team; he was a crashing good player and now that Hector was better able to travel, he followed the polo season again as he had before his marriage, across the continent and into England. For entertainment… and occupation.

"You know Suantez," Henri succinctly said.

"He's involved? Before even hearing the details, I'd say take it. No one breeds better polo ponies than Suantez. Where did he buy a property in France?"

"Not France, Papa, in Kentucky," Jolie interjected. "Isn't it exciting?"

So far away was Etienne's first thought. He'd miss seeing his grandson. How convenient was his second immediate reflection… they'd be far away from Isabelle's evil temper. "It is exciting. When does Suantez plan on beginning or is he waiting for your decision?"

"I tentatively agreed, sir," Henri said, "contingent on your more experienced judgment."

"Well then. You can't possibly go wrong. Suantez has bred every champion polo pony in the world since the early eighties. Will I get a discount price on my next string," the Duc sportively inquired, "since I'm a relative?"

"Absolutely, Papa. Because you see, you're our banker." His daughter's grin was sunny and it reminded him of the times in her childhood when she'd shared a secret with him.

"I rather thought I might be," he said, his own smile warm. While Henri, as Comte de Saint-Joris was wealthy, breeding horses needed enormous capitalization for years before any profits showed. Suantez could use the de Vec resources. "How much does Suantez want?"

"It's not a lot, Papa," Jolie declared.

"It's a stiff sum, sir," Henri quietly said. "Five million francs."

Not as much as he'd anticipated, the Duc thought. Lower land prices in America no doubt contributed to more economical start-up costs. "See Legere in the morning. He'll arrange the money for you."

"Thank you, Papa," Jolie cheerfully said, having known her father would agree, five million francs not a disconcerting sum to her. "Come with us, to visit the properties. You always said Kentucky was perfect horse country