Hastily dropping the ham on her plate she blurted, "You can't."
"Can't?" His dark brows rose and fell in a swift quirked inquiry of politeness only. He had every intention of staying.
"Have breakfast here."
"Actually I'm only having coffee because I'm breakfasting with Hector. Do you think the Rutherfords will miss a cup of coffee?"
They were of course talking about two different things.
"Why aren't you at Nadine's?" She might as well ask since it was her overriding thought along with her staggering reaction to his appearance. He looked so achingly familiar in his short-sleeved white polo jersey and tan twill jodhpurs; how many times had she seen his sleek brown boots lying on the floor in the bedroom of his apartment on the Seine? Was it only a few weeks ago when she loved him with all her heart, without reservation or thorny doubts? Without all the obstacles raised now like insurmountable barriers?
"Your father invited me to stay here."
"I don't believe you."
"Suit yourself, but he did." The Duc preferred not discussing Nadine if possible, the topic too fraught with minefields of dissension. "Are you going riding?"
"Yes… no… it's none of your business. Why aren't you at Nadine's?" He hadn't answered her question.
"She was being… insistent and I thought it best to leave." His answer was as bland as possible.
"Insistent?"
"Yes, insistent. Would you like me to spell it out?"
"I thought you liked insistent women."
He didn't want to argue about the women in his past. It was such a useless argument… and at base, she probably was right. In the past, he'd preferred insistent women, his tastes catholic and libertine. "If I did, I don't anymore. All right?" he quietly said.
"So you came here?"
"I was going to sleep at the polo club."
"But?"
"But your father invited me to stay in the annex, which beat the stables at the club."
"I don't believe you," Daisy repeated, still moderately dumbfounded.
"Jesus," Etienne said, mildly exasperated after a very short night's sleep. "Why would I lie?"
"I don't know. Why do you lie?"
"I've never lied to you." His voice was very soft.
His reply could be interpreted as ambiguous if she wished to analyze every nuance, but she found herself more and more conscious of the fact he was standing close to her than the precise content of his remarks. "I suppose I should be grateful then," Daisy said in automatic response opposed to the physical sensations his nearness aggravated.
"I'll take anything I can get."
He meant it sincerely, but last night was still too fresh in her mind, with Nadine and the ladies in the hallway drooling over him, to have his meaning transferred properly to Daisy's psyche. "Don't you always. Why didn't you consider a bed at Clara's or Bea's or Lily's if Nadine wasn't to your liking. I'm sure they would have been ecstatic to have you as a guest."
"I haven't slept with a woman since you left me." He hadn't intended to say that, a private person by nature, unsure too of Daisy's involvement with other men or her uninvolvement with him. But he was weary suddenly of her accusations when he'd overturned his entire life for her.
"There you are. Good morning," Blaze said, coming toward them with a smile, Hazard at her side. "We didn't know if you'd left yet for Jolie's."
No other women? Daisy thought.
The shock of Hazard and Blaze's appearance showed for a moment in the Duc's face before he recovered. "I just stopped by for coffee. I'll be off soon."
"Did you sleep well?" Hazard politely inquired, putting out his hand in greeting as he came up to Etienne.
"Well, but not long enough," Etienne replied with a smile, taking Hazard's hand in a strong grip.
No other women? Could she believe it?
"You look hungry," Blaze said to Daisy, her gaze on the plate in her hands.
"Yes." And a hunger of another sort glided through her mind.
"Sit down," Blaze suggested. "I'll bring you some coffee. Sugar this morning?" she inquired when Daisy didn't seem to respond.
"Yes, sugar," Daisy absently replied before moving toward the table, not entirely certain her senses would remain obedient to the dictates of her mind.
The smaller of two tables in the fifty-foot-long dining room had been set for breakfast, a pristine white tablecloth with heavy lace borders stark contrast to the scarlet brocade Jacobean chairs placed at each of the fourteen place settings. Three large bouquets of summer flowers were centered on the table like a fountain of color, their golden tones bright as the sun pouring through the sheer lace panels on the windows.
Hazard and Daisy ate while Blaze drank cafe au lait and Etienne sipped on the heavily sweetened coffee he preferred. Hazard was dressed casually like the Duc, intending to go over to the polo club later and help the grooms take his ponies out for their morning warm-up. "Will you be coming over to the club later?" Hazard inquired, cutting his ham, the ornate gold flatware dwarfed by his large hands.
"Not if I can help it," Etienne replied with a grin. "I'm still recuperating. Although I should put Bradley's electrical machine on these fingers for a few hours."
"That works?" Hazard looked skeptical, his fork poised before his mouth.
"It does. Last year Collin recommended it at Hurlingham after I'd sprained my wrist rather badly. Without the treatment I wouldn't have been able to play the next day."
"What do you think, Daisy?" Blaze asked. "Maybe we should bring a machine back to Montana."
"Why not," she tersely replied, awkward and uncomfortable sitting at the breakfast table with her parents and Etienne, her precarious poise threatening to crumble. Not only frustrated her father had interfered, inviting Etienne over as if she were a child who didn't know her own mind, she was haunted by the markedly significant words—no other women—repeating like hammer blows in her brain.
If it were true—and she wasn't naively accepting that possibility, the enormity of Etienne's commitment was staggering. Those three words obliterated the potential fawning women, they rectified Isabelle's list as irrelevant, they meant change was not only possible but a fact. She trembled.
"Are you chilled?" Blaze asked, her gaze intent.
"No… maybe just a touch," she amended, aware Etienne's eyes were on her.
"Take a jacket with you when you go then." Blaze noted Daisy was dressed in her habitual attire for riding. "Although it should warm up soon."
"I certainly hope so," the Duc said, his voice infused with a sudden quiet.
And Daisy's dark eyes lifted to his for a dramatic moment while a sudden hush settled over the table.
Their attraction was palpable. Blaze flushed at the sudden public display. Hazard stopped chewing for a moment, his gaze thoughtful.
The Duc composed himself first. Glancing at his watch, he said, "I should go. Hector hasn't any patience." He smiled. "Thank you for the hospitality." Pushing his chair back, he rose.
"I'll see you at the club," Hazard said.
"Give our best to your daughter's family," Blaze politely added.
"Kiss Hector for me," Daisy said. "Tell him I've missed him." She tried to speak in a calm voice, the sight of Etienne over breakfast reminiscent of a passion and contentment she'd been attempting to obliterate from her memory for weeks. But the tidal wave of emotion was too overwhelming, her feelings powerfully affected, unmindful any longer of pragmatic restraint.
"Hector named one of his new kittens for you, he told me. So you have a namesake now. A calico, I think." Etienne had to speak of trivialities or he'd jump over the table, lift her out of her chair and kiss her, parents or not. "Au revoir," he quickly said and walked away.
"The Duc seems very nice," Blaze said. "I hope you didn't damage his fingers too badly, dear," she added to Hazard in mild reproach. "Sometimes your temper is—"
"I'm sorry. I told him that. He knows." Hazard grinned. "He was holding his own, so you needn
't worry. I've the bruises to prove it."
"I can see why you… like him, Daisy," Blaze declared. "He's very charming."
"I don't know if I like him." She hadn't been able to eat a tenth of what she'd taken, her stomach filled with butterflies, reminded of so many past mornings when they'd shared breakfast.
"He asked my permission to court you," Hazard said, his voice carefully modulated, his gaze fixed on his daughter who was destroying a kipper with the tines of her fork… not certain whether he was making a mistake telling her.
She dropped her fork as if suddenly burned. "Permission!" Her eyes so similar to his bore into him. "Am I an ingenue? He asked your permission? He shouldn't have. He doesn't have any right. You don't have the right to grant him that permission. I'm thirty years old, Father. I'll make up my own mind about what I want to do. I'll make my own decisions on courtship, which is a damned old-fashioned term anyway. How could you, Father, discuss me like a commodity for sale!"
"The Duc was simply being polite. His request isn't any more than a formality. You can do as you please, you know that," her father quietly said. "We just don't want you to be unhappy."
"He's going to change that?"
"It's up to you."
"And everyone else who feels they can interfere. Don't, Father, I mean it. Don't interfere. Tell him, Blaze. He doesn't seem to understand." She stood abruptly, the high-backed chair tumbling over at her sudden movement. "Don't you think I'd like everything to work out perfectly? So I could be ecstatically happy everyday? Well, it won't. Because he has his life and I have mine and both lives are too damn busy to cavalierly toss aside, like some frivolous plaything turned dull. So I would appreciate it if everyone would leave me the hell alone!"
After she'd stalked from the room, Blaze turned to her husband and softly said, "That judgment call went awry, darling."
Leaning his head against the upholstered brocade back of his chair, Hazard exhaled softly. "I debated about being honest or opting for the diplomacy of omission. Hell and damnation," he went on, a grin forming on his lips, "she must have her mother's temper."
"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.
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