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They both smiled.

Waving from across the room, Trey said something, too, but Daisy wasn't listening. She was thinking: I should be sad and I'm not. It wasn't introspection but an observation only; Daisy wasn't introspective by nature. Like her father and brothers, she was motivated by action.

"You don't seem distrait," Trey quietly said after the door closed on Martin, pleased, considering the circumstances, that she wasn't.

Daisy shrugged with the smallest movement of her shoulder. "I know. I find it odd."

Having had considerably more experience than his sister in the wildly passionate world of amour—more experience, many said, than any man since his father's fascinating Absarokee looks and charm had seduced legions of females a generation ago—Trey didn't find it odd at all. Until he'd met Empress, no love affair had
ever
left him distrait.

"Maybe you knew Martin too long," Trey reflected in masculine bias. Love affairs—in his memory—generally were not long. The excitement invariably faded. And Lord, Daisy had been seeing Martin in casual friendship for what? over two years?

"Perhaps." Her single word was speculative. She really didn't understand her feeling of detachment. "Sally warned me off, you know," Daisy softly went on, contemplating the tips of her fingers for a moment before steepling her hands under her chin and gazing at her brother.

"You were surprised?" His pale eyes were amused under his half-lowered lashes, his indolent pose echoed in his voice.

"Is that normal then?" Her own voice was as soft as his, the quiet of the room enveloping them in a companionable rapport.

"You're beautiful, darling; Sally isn't." Trey's statement reflected fact rather than vanity; they were a family of attractive people. "Also," he added with barely facetious emphasis, "she's
never
been known for her sweet disposition."

"So adept, baby brother, in understanding women…" Her dark eyes over the tips of her fingers were teasing.

He grinned. "Practice."

"So tell me… will the marriage last?"

"Do you care?"

"Out of curiosity only."

"Then I'll answer honestly. Yes. Martin made a sound decision based on long-range goals. You don't think he'll be content forever with the Treasurer's office. He bought into Newcomb's wealth and political network when it was apparent to him you weren't going to opt for marriage with any dispatch. He intends to stay the course."

"Without love?"

"I expect he'll find that somewhere too," Trey cynically replied.

After his appearance at her office today, Daisy expected as much herself. He hadn't acted like a new bridegroom.

"So…" Trey softly went on, "since you're not pining away over your loss…" He grinned broadly. "And I came in fortuitously to send Martin on his way…"

"He was leaving."

"It sure looked that way to me." Trey's tone was ironic, smug.

Daisy bristled the minutest degree at his smugness. "You and father are too protective. I'm very capable of managing my own affairs."

He grinned again. "I know."

"I don't mean
that
." A spark of heated affront flashed in her eyes.

"Of course not." Trey struggled to keep the teasing out of his voice. "But rather than argue about interference in your affairs…" His smile broke out against all efforts at restraint. "… business or otherwise, let's argue about something more productive—from my purely selfish point of view."

"Meaning?" Suspicion infused the single word, soft as afternoon languor.

"I'd like you to go to Paris to see Solange's name is entered into Empress's estates."

Daisy's hands fell away from under her chin and she groaned. She should have known. Empress had politely inquired into the possibility of her going to Paris at dinner last week. Daisy had just as politely changed the subject. "You know how I dislike cities as enormous as Paris," she began, evasive and diplomatic.

"Send someone else to process the name transfers on Empress's family property. Hire a French lawyer. He'd be more adept anyway at bribing the necessary officials. You know how the French bureaucracy works. You also know better than anyone how busy company matters are with the new mine opening. Not to mention the current case in court. Get someone else."

"Empress wants you to go. I'll take over your duties on the new mine and you know damn well the court case will be over in less than three days. Your turn," her brother said with a playful grin, lacing his hands behind his head in a comfortable pose suggestive of someone settling in for the duration.

"Estate transfers are routine legal work. Henry can do it. Send Henry." She was using her dismissive, exacting tone, qualifying her refusal within the boundaries of practicality. "He speaks French."

"Not like you do." In contrast, her brother's voice was tranquil, serene, unconcerned with practicality.

"Flattery won't work, sweet brother, so don't bother; Henry's French is more than adequate for the work. And I feel stifled in Paris. You know how the sheer size of the city unnerves me."

"The process won't take more than two or three weeks," Trey gently noted, intent on having his way, well aware that a woman capable of holding her own on a hunting trip for grizzly bear wasn't easily unnerved.

"Be realistic. We're talking French bureaucracy."

"All right," he conceded. "Four or five weeks."

"
If
I'm lucky and I make record time on the crossing."

"You're Solange's godmother. Consider it your duty."

"Since when have any of us been dutiful?"

Trey's grin crinkled his eyes half-shut, curtailing their vivid humor. "As a fucking personal favor then," he cheerfully said, "so Empress is happy."

"That's not fair."

"I probably wasn't trying to be fair. I probably just want you to go because no one is as clever and capable as you and Solange is my baby."

Daisy paused to gather the tumult of her emotions into a reasonable acceptance. In all practicality, she'd known from the start she had to go, but at least some evasive tactics were called for in an attempt to avoid Parisian society, which was what she actually disliked about Paris. "I suppose I can stay in that small pension near Notre Dame," she yielded, thinking it sufficiently removed from "society" to make her feel comfortable. She liked the potty old concierge, the medieval low-ceilinged rooms, the spectacular view of the Seine.

"
Adelaide
already asked for you; she's close to Notre Dame too."

"You told her I was coming?" Daisy glowered a little.

"I told her you might come," Trey lied.

Avoiding
Adelaide
's kindness was impossible now. The Princess de Chantel, lifelong friend to Empress, considered it her duty to entertain Empress's family. "You're going to owe me, baby brother." Although the man lounging, across from her was the complete antithesis of baby-like: dark as sin; spectacular in size and build; masculine virility incarnate.

"Name it," he simply said.

Trey's love for his wife Empress was unconditional; he was quite willing to move heaven and earth for her if need be. And at base Daisy admired the intensity of his feelings.

"I'll think of something suitably pricey to compensate me for a month of my time… in Paris." The last two words were expelled with soft aversion.

"Perfect." He didn't ask for further clarification, amenable to any of her demands. Trey swung his feet down from the desktop, his task accomplished. "Could you see Empress this afternoon?" He turned on the full extent of his engaging charm.

. Daisy sighed, visions of Adelaide's guest list already upsetting her digestion. "After my ride," she reluctantly agreed.

Trey stood up, his smile beneficent, ignoring her reluctance as brothers do. "Great."

"You have to be back by half-past four."

Daisy scowled at the leathery-faced, diminutive groom holding her paint mare. A light breeze tossed wisps of dark hair about her face as if to playfully erase her displeasure.

"You told me to remind you." Unintimidated by her frown, the wiry man ran a soothing hand down the gleaming brushed coat of the brown and white animal.

Since she had issued such orders when she'd come home to change from her courtroom clothes, Daisy smiled ruefully. "By half-past four then," she said with a small sigh and stepping into the groom's clasped hands, swung up onto her mount. "Although I might be late if—"

"Better not be." Abrupt and admonishing, looking up at her with one cocked brow, Reggie gave warning. A member of their household since she was a child, he knew everything going on and had already been warned by Trey to see that Daisy kept her appointment with Empress.

"Are you my warden?" Her voice held a teasing mockery although her silky brows were still drawn together in mutinous disaffection.

"Yup, sure am," he replied with an impudent smile. "Won't hurt you to go to Paris anyways. Hear tell Paris is right nice this time of year… it being spring and all."

"Then you should go, Reggie, and save me the trouble." "If'n I could have stood it being out East all those years goin ta school, I surely would go ta help Miss Empress out." Empress was the darling of all the staff. Not only was she kind to everyone, but she was regarded with awe as the only woman who'd been able to domesticate the most scandalous bachelor in Montana.

"It's damn tedious work, Reggie; I'd rather stay here." "Well, it's damn tedious work carryin' a baby for nine long months too and Miss Empress ain't been getting too much sleep with the new baby and all, so I reckon you ain't got much choice. Now don't ride Golden Girl here too hard with your temper up and I'll be here waitin' for you at half-past. Don't be late." "You're impertinent, Reggie. I should have you sacked." "Don't know exactly what impertinent mean, Miss Daisy, but you still better be back here at half-past. And if your Pa didn't need me to run this here stable so perfect, maybe you could sack me. But he do." His grin was friendly and wide. Since Daisy had been in short skirts he'd been lecturing her and listening to her, too, whenever she needed a sympathetic ear.

"I may not come back," Daisy declared, turning her pony's head down the drive, her pouty smile reminiscent of a young girl's.

"Half-past, Miss Daisy." Reggie's voice followed her down the immaculately raked roadway. "Sharp."

Riding bareback with the minimum lip rein she'd learned to handle before she was four, Daisy kicked her sleek mare into a gallop before the end of the driveway. Their town home was on one of the outlying streets, allowing some pasture for their horses and some privacy, allowing also escape from the city in record time.

Daisy galloped full-out to the low surrounding foothills, relishing the fresh spring breeze, the warm sun, the smell of blooming flowers and new young leaves. She crooned to Golden Girl, bending low over her neck, seeking the comfort of her silky warm coat and scent, security sensations from her earliest years, solace and pleasure combined. Dressed in leather leggings and moccasins, with a warm wool shirt to shield her from the coolness of the mountain air, she broke away from the confining dress and constrictions of her workday life, from the pressures of court and the spiteful, narrow ignorance of judges like Ryan Nott. She rode each day for spiritual rejuvenation and therapy. She rode into the mountains to talk to her spirits, to assure herself of her Absarokee heritage, to affirm her identity.

Golden Girl dug in as she began the gradual ascent, tossing her head, snorting at the freshening scent of the mountains. Knowing she was on familiar trails, free herself from the confinement of the stable, she danced a few steps in excitement.

Some time later, a few hundred yards short of the limits of the timberline, coming out of a shimmering aspen grove colored the lemon-green of early spring, Golden Girl slowed to a trot, then to a walk. Recognizing the small pasture, she moved toward the rushing stream tumbling down from the snowcapped mountaintop and, lowering her head, drank from the ice-cold water. Daisy sat immobile, her eyes unfocused on the beauties of nature, brooding on her dragooned excursion to Paris, until the mare's head came around in inquiry and she snuffled softly as if to say, "Why haven't you dismounted?"