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

The thousand-year de Vec heritage echoed for a moment in his words, the royal prerogatives and noblesse distinctive. "But I'm extremely grateful to be the bridegroom," he added, a telling humbleness in his voice.

"Do you know when you'll be back?"

"It depends on Daisy."

Bourges nodded, understanding the Duc's feelings. "I'll wait to hear from you then. And congratulations."

"Thank you." Etienne shut his eyes for a moment and took a deep breath as a chill ran down his spine. "It was a close thing, wasn't it?"

"It was a miracle," Felicien said quietly, "of gigantic proportions."

Nine days later the Duc was in Montana, standing on the train station platform in Helena, a chill autumn wind blowing his hair into disarray as he gazed down the street leading into town. Louis was inside checking to see that all their luggage had arrived intact, and he was wondering if he'd given the wrong date in his telegram from Chicago.

When Daisy still hadn't come after some time, the Duc called11 the Braddock-Black house and was told Miss Daisy was in court. When he left his name, the butler expressed astonishment he'd arrived in Helena, apologized thoroughly for not having someone there to meet him. He would have a carriage sent immediately.

"An emergency called her to court today, Your Grace," the man politely added. "You weren't expected until the evening train."

As it was ten o'clock in the morning, Etienne asked when Daisy would return.

"For dinner, Your Grace. I could have her informed of your arrival," the cultured tones of the Braddock-Black majordomo added. And he apologized again for the misunderstanding.

"Don't bother her in court," Etienne said. "I'll have my man bring my things in the carriage."

The Duc promptly sent Louis off and had himself driven to a real estate agency. Since he had an entire day to himself, he'd find a home. After not seeing Daisy for over a month, he didn't relish living under the Braddock-Black roof as a guest, nor did he like hotel living. Neither venue offered him the privacy he wished.

After viewing several photographs,12 the Duc selected two ranches as possible choices and was driven out by an extremely deferential agent. Both ranches had been put up for sale by their British owners after the disastrous winter of eighty-six when three-quarters of the cattle had died. The bubble had burst on many foreign investors that year, leaving numerous abandoned businesses behind.

"Will you be grazing cattle, Your Grace?" the agent asked, curious about the quiet Duc who had picked his two most expensive properties without inquiring about the land. He wished only to know whether the ranch houses were livable.

"Probably not," the Duc said, gazing out on the beauty of the mountainous landscape rimming the horizon.

"Will you be staying permanently?"

The Duc turned to look at him with a mild scrutiny, not familiar with being asked personal questions by strangers. Americans had a frankness and open friendliness he always found disconcerting. "Probably not," he said again because the man seemed to expect some answer.

"All the remittance men lost their shirts the winter of eighty-six. Just thought I'd warn you, if you were thinking about raising cattle. Got better properties for that than these two ranches."

"Actually, I looking for a house that's private," the Duc said in a mild voice, the very moderation of his tone causing the owner of Burnet Properties to wonder what the Duc had in mind.

Foreigners were all a strange lot, her reflected, scrutinizing the Duc with a sidelong glance. Remittance men sent by their families to live down some disgrace before returning to society in Europe; Scots businessmen with the knack for making money but not conversation, like this fellow; that French couple a few years back who bought a place on Winter Mountain and thought they could farm. None of them knew squat about ranching. But he liked the color of their money. So he smiled at the large, well-dressed man beside him on the buggy seat and said, "Well, if it's privacy you want, both these places are so private your chimney smoke ain't even seen by a soul until they get through that pass over yonder."

"I need a telegraph line put in. How soon could I get that done?" Bourges would be trying to get in touch with him immediately and he'd prefer not going through public channels.

"Depends."

"Depends?" He already knew the man's answer.

"On how much money you have."

"Good." Business was done the same everywhere.

He liked the house at the second ranch better. It was larger, had been more recently lived in, and didn't smell of stale tobacco smoke like the first one. They were both built rustically of logs with large verandas running across their facades, but the one in the Clear River valley had an additional small porch on the second floor, giving the master bedroom access to the outdoors… and the magnificent view. Standing on the bedroom balcony, Etienne took in the quiet majesty of the mountain landscape, the rushing river slicing through the grassy valley the dark pines and colored aspen covering the rough mountain terrain. The property was close to town, a consideration for Daisy whose daily schedule required her presence in the capital. Taking out his pocketwatch, he checked the time. Not yet three. An opportunity still for shopping. Turning to the agent who was rolling a cigarette with a familiar ease, Etienne said, "This one will do."

"Do?" Tom Burnet wanted to make sure he was understanding the taciturn man properly. This was his most expensive property. He licked the paper, shaping the cigarette as he lightly pressed the paper together.

"I'll buy it, with a minor stipulation added."

Here's where the customer haggled, Tom understood, hoping to lower the price because he knew it had been sitting vacant for almost four years. "I'm sure we can come to some agreement," Tom said, already calculating how much to go down on the first go-round.

"I'd like a cleaning crew up here