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

out of Chicago directly," he pledged, jettisoning his plans for the afternoon and evening. "I want to shoot him," he murmured, "when I see you cry. He doesn't deserve you."

"It's not his fault," Daisy whispered into the crisp starched cotton of his shirt.

"It's his fault if you're crying," Hazard said with the logic of a father.

"I decided myself to leave."

But he didn't try to stop you, Hazard reflected, another black mark against de Vec registered on his payback list. He knew from experience that sin of omission. "You don't seem happy with your decision," he softly prompted, wanting to understand her reasons.

"It's never easy to leave…"

"Someone you love."

Daisy nodded, hiccupping and sniffling and looking so thoroughly unhappy, Hazard gazed for a contemplative moment at the teeming crowds passing around them like river current around a rock and debated his options. Most were violent and lethal, all of which he discarded because Daisy was very dear to him and her happiness was indispensable to his peace of mind.

"Do you want him?" he simply said at last, an unornamented father's question supported by an unconditional love.

She nodded again.

"Then you'll have him." So bluntly did Absarokee chieftains arbitrate—so competently did Hazard-the-Black-Cougar meet his obligations. Raised as a warrior in a warrior society that maintained its suzerainty over the best hunting grounds on the Northern plains against mightier and more numerous enemies, Hazard Black had honed to perfection his skills in raiding and warfare. Like planning the success of a war party, he didn't envision any problems abducting the Duc de Vec and bringing him to the mountains.

Daisy's face lifted to his, her eyes fierce with emotion. "No," she declared, with the same blunt authority as her father. "It's not possible for me to have him… for a thousand reasons—all rational, logical reasons. I know that and Etienne knows it too… or he will after a time. His wife won't divorce him. Won't, Father, and she has the entire judiciary behind her. Etienne doesn't believe he won't be able to bludgeon the divorce through… but he can't. He's ignoring the, reality of a judiciary rife with nepotism. He doesn't fully understand all the obstacles Isabelle can put in his way—all the delaying procedures legally allowable." She took a deep breath, relief and resolution evident in her expression. In the plainest of words she'd outlined her dilemma. "So I came home because there was no point in staying, and I intend to remain in Montana and I don't want you interfering." Her dark eyes were identical to his and they held his now in entreaty. "Papa, promise me you won't."

For the first time in his life, she'd called him something more, intimate than father, her childlike appeal so unlike her normal self-possession. He'd never seen her so wounded.

"Papa?" Daisy's voice was so quiet, the small sound was immediately carried away by the noise of the crowds.

She was his only daughter, he'd always wanted a special happiness for her; he'd hoped to guard her from the violence he and his sons had dealt with so often over the years to protect their land; he wished her a life of contentment. He smiled then at his dreams, for Daisy was too much his daughter to neatly conform to some idyllic safe world—an enchanted world unreal and fanciful. But he didn't wish her to be this cruelly unhappy. "Must Ipromise?" he asked in slow deliberation because he wanted above all to give her back her happiness.

"Yes," she said very low, knowing her father's impulse for action.

"I promise then," Hazard reluctantly said. "But he's a stupid man."

Twenty minutes later they were ensconced in a private compartment on a train to St. Louis, Daisy's baggage hastily transferred, their shoes off and bourbon-spiked cool lemonades in their hands. While not the most direct route home, the particular feature of immediate departure commended it. The station was receding from view, Chicago's densely built inner city rising like a monument to progress on either side. With the rhythm of the wheels a soothing melody of deliverance, the windows raised high against the oppressive heat, Hazard smiled across the small paneled chamber at his daughter and raised his glass.

"To the future," Hazard proposed. "And your happiness." "To the future," Daisy agreed, her smile grateful. "To the mountains of home. And to the best father in the world."

In the course of their journey to Montana, Daisy disclosed in an edited version, how her relationship with the Duc de Vec had evolved, what her feelings were concerning their future, and her reasons for leaving Paris. She detailed the complications of French divorce law as well as Isabelle's noncooperation. Since Hazard had been involved in the unsavory negotiations over Trey's divorce from Valerie last year, he was acutely aware how large sums of money generally expedited reluctant spouses and a sluggish judiciary. He wondered whether the Duc hadn't been completely honest with Daisy in terms of his divorce or hadn't he considered the efficacy of spending some of his fortune for his freedom? Or had he considered and not been sufficiently motivated?

Knowing the Duc's reputation, Hazard suspected he hadn't been completely candid about the divorce. Familiar himself with attracting female attention, Hazard understood the fine line between utter honesty and politesse. In the years before his marriage, he'd managed with deft skill to accommodate a great number of ladies' amorous desires; one became well versed in the art of urbane gallantry. Even since his marriage he'd used that ex-pertise to good purpose in politely extricating himself from women intent on seducing him.

"In a country so new to the legal process of divorce," he tactfully said to his daughter, "I expect a smoothly operating judicial mechanism isn't possible."

"The Church, too, is adamantly opposed to the law."

"So I understand."

"The legitimists are antagonistic as well. Many of Etienne's class support the restoration of the monarchy, you know that." She shrugged, with a new Gallic insouciance, Hazard thought. "He was cut cold at the Opéra by the new clerical