Forbidden by Susan Johnson (good books to read for teens .TXT) 📕

Nadine and Etienne were surrounded by guests offering congratulations or advice on the afternoon's tied match. As high scorer, Etienne modestly accepted the accolades, politely acknowledged advice from the polo cognoscenti, but he was restless, his glance straying frequently to Daisy, talking with friends near the terrace doors. Vaguely detached from the exchange of comment swirling around him, he found himself automatically agreeing with something Nadine said, only to discover later, when one of the men launched into a long recital of the many ships wrecked on Barkley lighthouse shoals, that he'd promised to accompany a picnic excursion to the seashore the following day.

He could plead a polo match or practice later, he decided, to avoid the outing, his gaze drifting again to the group surrounding Daisy. She seemed to be making her adieus, for men were bowing to her. Gently lifting Nadine's hand from his arm, he, too, made his excuses. "I promised Durham a game of billiards." His smile encompassed those in their conversational group, falling last on his hostess's cool, suspicious expression.

"I'll go with you," she said.

"You can bring me luck," he pleasantly replied, knowing the billiard room, a male bastion of cigar smoke and masculine ribaldry, was uncongenial to a lady's comfort. But he was saved, instead, from delay in his pursuit of Daisy or an unpleasant scene with his hostess, when a lackey approached her. Nadine's husband, it seemed, was threatening to fly into a rage if his new shipment of ginseng root wasn't immediately located. Oliver Belmont wanted his evening elixir, he wanted the latest delivery, and he wanted it immediately.

"Very well. Tell him I'll see to it." With raised eyebrows Nadine turned back to her guests. "Oliver will sulk if he doesn't have the freshest ginseng, although I can't see how it matters when it takes two weeks to be brought over the sea, but—" Her shrug was a delicate indication of sufferance. Touching Etienne's arm lightly, she murmured, "Don't go away… I'll see you later."

Having been delayed by several acquaintances as she made her way down the corridor in the direction of the powder room, Daisy was still in sight when Etienne exited the ballroom. But only barely… a flash of cloth of gold and one bare shoulder disappeared into a doorway.

Since several other ladies followed in her wake, Etienne recognized the withdrawing room set aside for female guests. Taking up a position a short distance away, he was able to observe the entrance without being obvious. Leaning against the wall in the shadow of one of the numerous malachite columns decorating the corridor, he waited for the woman who had been constantly in his mind, the woman who'd passionately declared her love for him, the same one who'd written only short weeks later refusing his offer of marriage.

In the seclusion of the dim hallway he tried to be more accepting of her refusal, to understand Daisy's reasons with a benign detachment. A certain peacefulness prevailed in the cool shadows away from the brightly lit ballroom and brittle party chatter. The cloistered marble vault should have helped soothe his more savage impulses. But images of Beau Rutherford reappeared in his mind, initiating an ungovernable rush of anger.

In all the weeks of their separation, he'd rationally considered the possibility of other men with Daisy. But faced with the reality, all rationale disappeared. Emotion alone impelled him… and uncontrollable jealousy. And perhaps pride, too, incited his temper… he'd never asked a woman to marry him before.

Did Daisy's egalitarian principles allow caprice in her relationships as inconstant as had been all his previous liaisons? Had all her talk of love been no more than playful frolic? Too familiar himself with sensual indulgence as amusement, he chafingly realized that same impulse may have influenced Daisy.

And now the fickle adventuress preferred being friends.

As if in repudiation, his sprained fingers throbbed in pulsing dissent. Lightly splintered together by one of Nadine's servants to ease the discomfort movement caused, he lifted them briefly above his head to relieve the flow of blood and the sudden pain. Damn her and damn her father and brother, too, he moodily maligned in blanket affront, considering himself fortunate to have no more than sprained fingers. He wanted some answers to the chaos in his mind. He wanted an explanation that made sense. He wanted to know why she'd left him.

He wanted more too. Regardless of her answers, he wanted more. He wanted her.

With the pretense of adjusting her garters, Daisy had found refuge behind an ornate dressing-screen in the powder room and after waving away a maid's offer of assistance, she'd collapsed on the small damask chaise, indifferent to the fragile jeweled butterflies embroidered on her gown.

How would she last the entire evening, she despaired, with Etienne constantly before her eyes—with Nadine possessively at his side. She shut her eyes for a moment as if to blot out the wretched image, only to find it etched permanently in her memory. Abruptly sitting upright, she trained her gaze on the decorative fabric of the screen, visually tracing the depiction of Greek fretwork and acanthus leaves, forcing her thoughts away from the unhappy vision of Etienne and Nadine. Damn him and damn his memory and most of all damn his limitless charm. While she'd been suffering heartache in Montana, he'd been conducting his life in his familiar licentious pattern.

He'd practically looked right through her this afternoon on the polo field, and when Nadine had called, he'd gone to her without a backward glance. She felt suddenly utterly naive, like an artless young maid who actually believes cavalier protestations of love.

Straightening her shoulders, then her spine, she consciously braced herself, hardening her defenses against her own awkward longing and the continuing ordeal of the evening ahead.

How early could she graciously leave?

She came out some time later in the wake of an elderly lady, perhaps ten steps behind her, moving back down the torchière-lit hallway toward the gilded ballroom.

Pushing away from the wall, Etienne followed