Forbidden (52 page)

"Sweet-tempered man that you are, right?"

"You don't think she inherited that unbridled temperament from me?"

"As I recall, Dawn Light was a sweetly passive woman, capable and self-reliant. But inclined to use persuasion in achieving her goals."

Fleeting memories of the summer they'd spent together came to mind. Dawn Light was definitely persuasive or he wouldn't have stayed with her so long. He'd been young then and not inclined to permanence in his relationships. "Humpf," he muttered.

"She's very much her father's daughter, darling. And that's a positive statement. So don't worry about Daisy. She'll get over her temper just as you always do. And I think the Duc de Vec's temperament will figure rather largely in the outcome of this contretemps too. He looks like a man who's used to getting what he wants."

"You think so?" Hazard sat upright, his mood moderately relieved.

"He's very much like you, darling. I don't know how you can be unaware of that. Yesterday you were so evenly matched, I was afraid you'd both gasp your last breath on that polo field. He wouldn't have given up any more than you."

"You think so?" Hazard said again.

"I'd bet my new sapphires on it."

"That much." Running both hands through his hair, Hazard relaxed in his chair, sliding into a comfortable sprawl. "Is this woman's intuition?"

"Woman's perception. You just listened to Daisy's words. You didn't watch her face when the Duc spoke of Hector."

"I didn't miss either of their expressions, though when he spoke of the weather warming. As a matter of fact," Hazard said with a grin, "it brought back fond memories of that cabin on our first mining claim."

"Those
are
fond memories," Blaze agreed, her voice husky with emotion.

"I want Daisy to be as happy," Hazard simply said. "Is that too much to ask?"

"Give her time."

"She's turned down so many suitors I've lost count. And now when she obviously cares about this man, she's going to walk away because of some… I don't even understand to be perfectly frank. She doesn't care about the divorce. I sure as hell don't. Maybe the Duc does. He's been reared in his religion, I suppose. And as far as their two different lives, I already told him we've plenty of railroads out West if Daisy wants to stay."

"That's the problem. She does. Your vision for your people is hers as much as yours. She was almost grown when she came to live with us, as trained as her grandmother in the ways of a medicine woman. I don't always understand when you talk to your spirits or fully comprehend the supernatural powers that guide you, but Daisy does and I don't think she can walk away from your sense of destiny and duty anymore than you can. Your talisman, your protective vision, the powerful medicine that guides you, is inherent in both your natures."

"Would I be interfering if I bought de Vec a railroad?" Hazard's smile was pure boyish mischief.

"I'd say Daisy might put that in the category of interference."

"That leaves out kidnapping him."

"I'd say so."

"Would she send him back do you think?"

"Probably out of spite."

"Intractable girl."

"You're obliged to relinquish your managerial role, darling. I'm sorry."

"You mean we just have to sit here and wait for something to happen or be resolved?" He was restive like a young child curtailed from his normal activities.

Blaze smiled benevolently. "Probably not for too long from the look of things over breakfast."

Hazard sighed. "I hope you're right. At least he's not Martin Soderberg," Hazard added, his face brightening at the thought. "That man was a by-the-numbers martinet." Pushing his plate away, he set his napkin on the table. "Well… if I'm not allowed to meddle, I'm off to see to my ponies. Nadine spoke of coming here to look at some of the stock we have in Frank's stables. Trey can deal with her. Nadine is too damn breathless for my taste. Oliver must have married her purely for her well-kept body."

"You noticed her body?" Blaze sweetly inquired.

"
I
didn't notice." Hazard grinned. "I think Kit mentioned it. Maybe it was Trey. I've no idea what her body looks like—word of honor. Do we have to see all those people again tonight?"

"What would you rather do? Are you sure?" she added with a small pique of jealousy, half teasing, half real. Nadine was undeniably voluptuous.

"I'd rather be with you and, darling, I'm not even sure of the color of her hair," he wisely replied.

"Good. Where would you like to go?"

"Anywhere, as long as I can hold you and there's not a milling mob surrounding us."

"We could have stayed home for that."

"I know. But you like this, so I came for you." Reaching over, he covered her hand with his. "And this time for Daisy too. Let me know when you've had enough and we can go home."

"When Daisy's settled."

"When Daisy's settled," he said with a small sigh.

Daisy rode her paint mare out past the perimeter of Newport to the beach road that would take her eventually to the shore. She rode slowly, letting the morning sun and gentle breeze soothe her tumultuous thoughts, hoping the quiet open landscape would offer repose to the chaos in her mind.
No other women
. The phrase was etched vividly in her consciousness. Was it possible? Could Etienne have been truly faithful since she'd left?
How much
did that disclosure matter, what weight did his admission carry in her own personal assessment of him?

She grappled with the exact measure of her jealousy, the unforgettable message Isabelle had delivered, the actuality of Etienne's words being true. But most of all she struggled with her intense reaction to his presence—last night at Nadine's and again this morning at breakfast. She could intellectualize the liabilities in their relationship with a cool scrutiny, but Etienne was stark temptation to her, a passionate appetite she couldn't control. If Nadine hadn't interrupted them last night, she would have tumbled willingly, impatiently, into his bed. Regardless of the hundreds of guests on the floor below, regardless of her family's presence—shameless in her urgency and need.

On reaching the seashore, she guided her brown and white mount into the shallows, the low water and marsh grasses reminding her of the journeys along the Yellowstone at home. The vast open sky recalled the familiar landscape of home, too, although this sky bordered the horizonless sea and not her beloved prairies. Should she leave Newport, she mused as her pony splashed along in the shallows; should she flee the Duc's too powerful attraction, escape the tantalizing promise he'd made as he left? "I'll be coming after you," he'd said.

She shivered under the hot sun, a chill sliding down her spine. Would she be able to resist? Would she want to?

The Duc spent the morning at the beach with Hector, building sandcastles, digging trenches to be filled with water, sharing a picnic, listening to his grandson's toddler chatter. Barefoot, they both played in the water, carrying bucketsful of ocean to their castle moat. And when Jolie came down later in the morning to join them, watching their activities from an umbrella-shaded chair, they came up occasionally to rest on the blanket she'd spread beside her on the sand. The hot sun was like a diaphanous narcotic as they lay basking in its rays, Hector dozing at times from his energetic play, the Duc drowsy after his brief hours of sleep the night before, his body still fatigued from the strain of the previous day's polo game.

The beach was busy with nannies and children, an infrequent parent present as well. And Etienne found his gaze hypnotically drawn, as he rested beside Hector, to the young babies and toddlers cavorting on the beach. Unnerving possibilities swam up from his subconscious, disastrous musings having to do with his and Daisy's child. Would its hair be the heavy silk of Daisy's or touched with curl like his? Its hair would be dark, there was no question of that. But how would the different color of their eyes be reconciled in their child, and whose nose would it favor, whose mouth? Both Justin and Jolie had his coloring, so he had a strong recollection of dark-haired babies… his and Daisy's baby.

Disciplining his mind to a realistic sanity, he shook away his mental aberrations only to find the same thoughts looping through his consciousness a few moments later as some child's voice was raised in laughter or a baby would cry or a chubby toddler would gambol past, running in the tremulous heart-stopping unsteadiness so typical of that age.

He was too old, he told himself, with two grown children and a grandson of his own, to be fantasizing like some grass-green cub. He had had his children when he was young, a sensible time, and his wish for a child with Daisy was ludicrous. She would hardly speak to him. He mentally dismissed his fantasy with deprecating logic, embarrassed at the extent of his longing. Thinking of having children, babies was madness; he was going to be forty at Christmas.

Would Daisy mind being pregnant? Insensate to reason, his mind pursued the obsession stirring his susceptible emotions. Isabelle had found the entire situation loathsome. Did all women? Or would Daisy find pleasure in bearing a child?

Should he ask her, he wondered, a smile forming on his lips, when he saw her this afternoon?

As it turned out, the Duc arrived at Nadine's picnic almost simultaneously with a storm rolling in from the sea, its heavy thunderheads darkening the sky, blowing in on brisk thirty-mile-an-hour winds, the shoreline bearing the assault of crashing foam-tipped waves. All Nadine's picnic guests were in the process of scrambling into barouches while Belmont servants struggled to secure the raised carriage hoods against the imminent rain.

Catching sight of Trey helping his groom tie a wicker hamper onto the back of a well-sprung landau, the Duc guided his horse through the numerous vehicles, their teams restive in the rising wind, his own mount sidling and sidestepping in response to the nervous teams.

"Where's Daisy?" Etienne had to shout to be heard above the shrieking gusts. He hadn't seen her in the congestion of people and carriages.

Trey came closer, putting his hand to his ear, and when the Duc repeated his question, answered. "She's still at the lighthouse. She stayed behind to paint." His words, strangely muted by the intensity of the blustery squalls, were perceived by the Duc's auditory senses in a rhythm of half-spoken syllables.

"Alone?" he asked.

"With the lighthouse keeper. You brought the rain," Trey went on with a grin, moving closer so his voice was clearer. "Daisy'll be safe there until this blows over. Ride back with us in our carriage. You're going to get soaked otherwise."

Etienne gauged the distance to the lighthouse, visible on a spit of land beyond an undulating series of dunes and stunted pines. "I'll see her home when this blows over. If you don't mind."

The men's voices were raised, their dark hair whipped by the wind, their eyes half-shut against the blowing sand. "Whether I mind isn't a factor with Daisy," Trey shouted, his smile amiable. "Be my guest."

The Duc smiled back. "Thank you," he said, but his words were taken away by a gust of rain.