One didn't bring one's potential lovers to sparsely furnished, stark bedrooms with photos of one's family the only decor. It warmed her enormously to know she'd been invited to such a private retreat. "Tell me about them."
He answered with a rare warmth in his tone, briefly detailing their dispositions, their residences within the blocklong Hôtel de Vec, their current interests. Justin had recently left St. Cyr and was restless. Like you, Daisy thought. Jolie had made a very grand love match and was happy. Unlike you, Daisy reflected, the deep hushed tones of his voice serene somehow like the warm spring day and the lazy flowing river below and his daughter's happiness. When he described his grandson Hector, his laughter was a revealing glimpse beyond the powerful figure of the man. His adoration was plain to see.
They talked then in easy conversation about children and nieces and nephews, exchanging pleasantries about the joys of youth. And much later, when he made no move to touch her nor gave indication of the amorous gallant, she said, "Do you mind if I take off my shoes?"
He almost said no, because he was weighing the risks of desire against the inevitable disillusion and he was much too happy or content or whatever word best described the sensations of pleasure he was feeling.
The river moved slowly below them. An occasional dragonfly swooped upward from the pale green water, through the dappled shadows of the willows. The sun was tempered by the shading trees and Daisy Black, the most tantalizing woman he'd ever seen, was three feet away, lounging cool and elegant before him. He could have her; she'd made it quite clear.
What he was debating was how long he wanted to savor this pleasant absolute against the possible unknown.
If one's emotions weren't involved—and until today he'd never realized they were a factor in making love—the facile pursuit of pleasure was predictable. He knew how he would feel be-fore, during, and after. Only the variations and subtleties changed. Now suddenly he didn't know. But he'd never been a coward so he said, smiling, "Please do."
As she untied the green silk ribbons on her small-heeled shoes, then slipped her white silk stockings from her legs, he watched, feeling perilously close to losing control. But years of pleasing women had tempered his urges, had taught him the rituals of self-restraint, and he called all his expertise into play. He would not embarrass himself—he grinned a small faint smile—and attack her, although the impulse was powerful.
"Your smile is intriguing. May I share the feeling?" Daisy softly said, not wanting to wait much longer to see if the Duc's reputation was genuine.
"Actually," he replied, his green eyes amused, "I was debating the merits of attacking you."
"A man of your finesse?"
"You see my dilemma." His grin widened. "I have a reputation to consider."
"It was that exact reputation I was considering exploring."
"Is this a research exercise?" He lifted one brow in ironic inquiry.
"Heavens no," Daisy said, untying one of the ribbons in her hair. "I thought I'd teach you what I know as well."
He looked momentarily surprised and she laughed like a child might in discovering a new treat.
"Didn't you know the Absarokee are an egalitarian society?" Her smile was teasing.
"I may have forgotten," the Duc carefully said, digesting her smile, her languorous tone, the deliberate statement of her past history.
Sliding the ribbon free, she dropped it with a graceful gesture next to her discarded shoes and stockings. Her dark-lashed eyes lifted to his. "Are you intimidated?"
"I don't think so," he quietly said, shrugging off his jacket with comfortable ease. "Should I be?" he added, smiling at her as he reached down to pull off his riding boots. He didn't suppose it would be polite to mention he held the record at Madame Beloy's bordello where the exhibitions tended toward the unusual in virtuosity and endurance.
Daisy began unbuttoning her
He answered with a rare warmth in his tone, briefly detailing their dispositions, their residences within the blocklong Hôtel de Vec, their current interests. Justin had recently left St. Cyr and was restless. Like you, Daisy thought. Jolie had made a very grand love match and was happy. Unlike you, Daisy reflected, the deep hushed tones of his voice serene somehow like the warm spring day and the lazy flowing river below and his daughter's happiness. When he described his grandson Hector, his laughter was a revealing glimpse beyond the powerful figure of the man. His adoration was plain to see.
They talked then in easy conversation about children and nieces and nephews, exchanging pleasantries about the joys of youth. And much later, when he made no move to touch her nor gave indication of the amorous gallant, she said, "Do you mind if I take off my shoes?"
He almost said no, because he was weighing the risks of desire against the inevitable disillusion and he was much too happy or content or whatever word best described the sensations of pleasure he was feeling.
The river moved slowly below them. An occasional dragonfly swooped upward from the pale green water, through the dappled shadows of the willows. The sun was tempered by the shading trees and Daisy Black, the most tantalizing woman he'd ever seen, was three feet away, lounging cool and elegant before him. He could have her; she'd made it quite clear.
What he was debating was how long he wanted to savor this pleasant absolute against the possible unknown.
If one's emotions weren't involved—and until today he'd never realized they were a factor in making love—the facile pursuit of pleasure was predictable. He knew how he would feel be-fore, during, and after. Only the variations and subtleties changed. Now suddenly he didn't know. But he'd never been a coward so he said, smiling, "Please do."
As she untied the green silk ribbons on her small-heeled shoes, then slipped her white silk stockings from her legs, he watched, feeling perilously close to losing control. But years of pleasing women had tempered his urges, had taught him the rituals of self-restraint, and he called all his expertise into play. He would not embarrass himself—he grinned a small faint smile—and attack her, although the impulse was powerful.
"Your smile is intriguing. May I share the feeling?" Daisy softly said, not wanting to wait much longer to see if the Duc's reputation was genuine.
"Actually," he replied, his green eyes amused, "I was debating the merits of attacking you."
"A man of your finesse?"
"You see my dilemma." His grin widened. "I have a reputation to consider."
"It was that exact reputation I was considering exploring."
"Is this a research exercise?" He lifted one brow in ironic inquiry.
"Heavens no," Daisy said, untying one of the ribbons in her hair. "I thought I'd teach you what I know as well."
He looked momentarily surprised and she laughed like a child might in discovering a new treat.
"Didn't you know the Absarokee are an egalitarian society?" Her smile was teasing.
"I may have forgotten," the Duc carefully said, digesting her smile, her languorous tone, the deliberate statement of her past history.
Sliding the ribbon free, she dropped it with a graceful gesture next to her discarded shoes and stockings. Her dark-lashed eyes lifted to his. "Are you intimidated?"
"I don't think so," he quietly said, shrugging off his jacket with comfortable ease. "Should I be?" he added, smiling at her as he reached down to pull off his riding boots. He didn't suppose it would be polite to mention he held the record at Madame Beloy's bordello where the exhibitions tended toward the unusual in virtuosity and endurance.
Daisy began unbuttoning her
Similar Books
