Forbidden (29 page)

"We woke you," his mother-in-law said, casting a disapproving glance over his casual dress of shirtsleeves, trousers, and Moroccan slippers. Her words were a declarative statement, not an apology.

"Yes, actually you did. Can I help you with something?" The Duc's voice was mild. Neither the Archbishop of Paris nor Isabelle's mother intimidated him. He wasn't pious, nor particularly religious; the Church in France had overstepped its spiritual arena as far as he was concerned, both in government and society, and its strictures concerned him little.

Before he'd moved beyond the threshold, the Archbishop said in stern, forbidding tones, as if he were addressing a subservient cleric or reciting a prepared text, "The Church does not condone divorce."

His courage had been bolstered since last night, apparently by his sister's dour-faced support, Etienne facetiously thought, remembering the Archbishop's pale complexion of the previous night. "I'm aware of the Church's position," Etienne mildly replied, walking over to a chair near the two Montignys who were glaring like the wrath of God from his Empire sofa. "The laws of France, however, establish the necessary procedures. I hope you didn't rise this early in the morning to debate secular versus clerical law with me. I'm not in the—"

"There has never been a divorce in the Montigny family," Isabelle's mother interrupted, her slight form primly erect, her voice reminiscent of her daughter's; they both had the same cool precision of speech. 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 look forward to it." Having been with the Duc since before his marriage, Louis was pleased to see his master truly happy for the first time in years. "Do you think the lady would like that special hazelnut pastry with honey from your Colsec estate?"

"Yes… yes." Etienne paused. "I should have thought of it myself. Thank you, Louis, she'll love it. Twenty minutes?"

"Twenty minutes, precisely, Your Grace."

Breakfast was heated, lush, and leisurely from the fragrant, sticky pastry to the last sweet whipped-cream-and-hot-chocolate-flavored kiss. The sun had risen high in the sky before the Duc rolled over in bed to ring for Louis again. "You need some clothes," Etienne said in explanation to Daisy's questioning glance. "Louis will see to it. We're going to see Mama."

"I don't want to. I'd rather stay here." Etienne had been particularly tender this morning, waking her with a gentle, lingering kiss, making love to her with a demonstrative sweetness—the raging zealous passion of last night replaced by an almost poignant susceptibility. Her body was aglow, her heart as well, with love of him and she wanted nothing to intrude. She wanted selfishly to keep him within touch, within sight… alone.

"I'm taking you to Mama's to show you off." He looked darker against the white sheets, smiling and sensual and more perfect than any man deserved.

"No," Daisy softly protested. "Later…"

"Yes, and later we'll do that," Etienne replied, lighthearted and intuitive—or perhaps experienced. He recognized that sultry look in a woman's eyes.

"Are you sure about your mother?" Daisy was hesitant. "After the scene at the
Opéra .
. ."

"Mother is more unconventional than I. Trust me."

"About your divorce too?"

"About everything. She never did like the Montignys anyway so the divorce will come as no shock. The trustees of my father's estate, not my mother, arranged my marriage." He spoke in a lazy deprecating way, sated and content and immune for the moment from rancor.

"You had no say?" Dubious query colored her tone, although Daisy understood a widow under French law inherited only a small portion of her husband's estate.

"Since I was under twenty-one I wasn't legally in control of my inheritance yet, the war with Prussia loomed on the horizon jeopardizing much of our eastern land, and I planned on serving in a cavalry unit against the violent wishes of the trustees. All these factors influenced the cautious natures of my father's conservators. If I was killed in the war some third cousin twice removed who was drinking himself to death in the Indies would inherit. Naturally the trustees were appalled. I wasn't unaware of
my
obligation either after being raised with the legacy of the de Vec title." Stretching like a great jungle cat, he went on in a moderate uninflected tone. "You know as well as I do, as a woman my mother had little control over the de Vec inheritance. We both understood the Montigny alliance they proposed would be useful."

"Useful?" Somehow she disliked thinking Etienne could be so callous.

He shrugged, looking at her for a moment from under his dark brows. "They threatened my mother's income if I didn't marry and provide an heir before I left. Before you say it," he added, putting his palm up, "there wasn't time for a protracted fight in court even if I hadn't agreed with the need for an heir. The de Vec bloodlines go back to Charles Martel," he said, aware of what kinship to the first kings of France meant. "I felt a certain sense of duty. All my friends were contracting similar marriages—as had their parents before them. We are not on the north-ern plains… with the freedom you take for granted." His final words were poignant somehow for a wealthy man of influence and power.

Daisy considered then how great their personal freedoms were within the Absarokee culture: marriage was by mutual consent; divorce equally so; women shared in property with the same prerogatives as their husbands; and courtship was a time of laughter and loving. Wealth was not the first priority, nor the tenth, and the thought of allowing a third party to autocratically select your spouse was repressive. "I'm sorry," she softly said, reaching up from her lazy sprawl to touch the dark silky arc of his brow. "I wish I had been there twenty years ago to carry you away with me to my lodge."

He smiled a small grateful smile. "I'm available now… to be carried away."

"Almost…"

"Eventually," he corrected with a grin.

Louis was sent to Adelaide's with a list of clothing needed and an hour later the Duc and Daisy were seated in a flower-filled conservatory, the scent of hibiscus heavy in the air. Etienne's mother was saying how pleased she was to meet Daisy at last, while the Duc lounged comfortably, his arm around Daisy. Daisy was most struck at first meeting the Dowager Duchesse by the striking physical differences between mother and son. How unlike in looks they were.

The Dowager Duchesse was as light as her son was dark, her hair a golden-honey color, her eyes a curious shade of translucent azure, and his height, Daisy decided, had not been inherited from
Maman
. She was dainty with gamine features; a contrast to the swarthy aquiline modeling of her son. She must have been very young when Etienne was born because she was still extremely youthful in appearance… dressed becomingly in a sprigged and beribboned muslin flower-print gown.