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With a dramatic sense of having escaped disaster by only a hairsbreadth, Jean-Philippe stood on the curb as the Duc's carriage rolled away, wiping the sweat from his brow.

"No, Etienne… wait until we get home. This gown's worth a fortune." Daisy's murmured protest was accompanied by a playful slap at the Duc's hands.

No one was more aware of the fact than he, but Etienne's casual disregard for half a million francs had much to do at the moment with his libido. "We'll send it back to Worth later for pressing." And he brushed aside the froth of lace lying on the warm curve of Daisy's breast.

"You're irresponsible." She blocked the route of his fingers.

"
You're
irresistible." He was of course stronger than she. "I enjoyed the sight of your peaked nipples while they were dressing you. Were you thinking of me?" His query was a low lazy murmur, his fingers sliding under her décolletage to touch the stiff tingling buds. "You were…" he added in a whisper, his smile very close and warm.

"We shouldn't…" But her body was less prudent, Etienne's caresses bringing the focus of her world to the finite quickened object he held between his fingertips. An intoxicating pulsing raced downward to her impressionable sensual receptors, and she felt herself open as though he'd commanded her.

"You've too many petticoats," he said, one hand moving down to push the impeding fabric aside.

"I'm sorry…" she whispered, her dark eyes heated and teasing and seductive.

"You won't be for long," he promised with a husky insinuating arrogance, his smile brushing her lips. "Kiss me."

The following Monday a note from Charles arrived for Daisy, brought over from Adelaide's by one of the servants. Daisy and the Duc were having breakfast on the balcony overlooking the river and even before Daisy finished reading it, the Duc could tell the message was unwelcome.

"He says problems have arisen in the processing of the papers for Empress's estate."

"What kind of problems?" The Duc's voice was extremely soft.

"He doesn't say." Daisy folded the note, returned it to its envelope, and set it on the table with a precision masking the intensity of her feelings. She was familiar with elusive denials, those vague refusals without substance; the kind one couldn't counter. She was, after all, an Absarokee in a land which denied the majority of Indians the right to vote;
⁸
she was a woman prohibited entrance to the more prestigious law schools.
⁹
And without her father's wealth and influence, it was questionable whether she would have been admitted to the bar in Montana. "Charles's retraction of help was really just a matter of time, wasn't it?" she quietly said. "Although I'd hoped he might have forgotten… with other more pressing issues on his mind," she added with a rueful smile.

"The two matters are not related. I thought Charles had more sense."

"He can't interdict those property transfers already accomplished and actually—" Daisy shrugged away a familiar resentment too old to dwell on at length, "there's very little left to do. The remainder of the transfer process can be done later."

"That's not the point," Etienne crisply said, protective of the woman he loved. How dare Charles involve Daisy's legal affairs in the struggle over his divorce.

"The point is, darling," Daisy replied, "you've fallen in love with the wrong woman." She smiled to mitigate the stark truth. "And Charles is only acting defensively. You had to expect this."

No, he hadn't expected it; he hadn't expected Charles to be so stupid; he hadn't expected Charles would risk trespassing on the extremely dangerous ground of his personal attachments. "Well, I didn't," he mildly said, already adjusting his afternoon schedule to accommodate a visit to his brother-in-law. "Charles is generally more prudent."

Daisy recognized that tone in a man's voice. Coming from a family of expeditious men who operated on the principle of never backing down, she understood masculine aggression. "Please don't do anything foolish. Empress's business is relatively complete. In fact, since Charles's note came so late in the legal process, it's probably a token gesture. A matter of form to please Isabelle."

"Perhaps you're right." The Duc wasn't about to become embroiled in an argument with Daisy over Charles's note. He'd handle it in his own way. "Charles is dutiful," he added with a bland smile. "You're sure then… the rest of your depositions can wait?"

Daisy smiled. "I'm sure. There's no point in antagonizing Charles further… over some rather trivial small bits of property."

"Very well." His lie was accompanied by a sunny smile.

Etienne was, in fact, furious, the extent of his anger evident when he broke into Charles's meeting after lunch. "A moment of your time, Charles,
now
!" he said, repressed rage in the intense quiet of his voice.

Charles's secretary, pressed against the doorjamb where Etienne had shoved him, together with the two men seated across the table from Charles stared wide-eyed at the Duc de Vec, standing perilously close to them all, his quirt swishing dangerously against his jodhpur-clad leg. With the good sense that had brought him to his present position of power, Charles politely said, "If you'll excuse me, gentlemen, for a few moments."

Etienne remained scowling and silent while the two men were shown out by Charles's secretary, who had mastered his fear enough to pry himself away from the wall. Shutting the door on the Duc de Vec and his employer with trepidation and relief, the young secretary hoped the Minister survived unharmed. The Duc had brushed him aside with no more effort than that needed to sweep away a pesky fly.

"Relax, Etienne," Charles said, turning back from seeing his guests were out… and out of earshot. "Let's talk about this." Charles was the consummate politician, deft at reconciling divergent viewpoints and warring personalities. And he was operating from the miscomprehension that Daisy was like all the previous women in Etienne's life. "Sit down," he said, offering the Duc a chair with practiced courtesy.

"You surprise me, Charles," the Duc said, ignoring the invitation to sit, his scowl bordering glowering eyes. "I didn't think you so witless as to renege on your promises to Miss Black."

"I had no choice, Etienne. You know that." Charles returned to his chair at the table where his coffee cup and custard tart remained unfinished. He was reaching for his coffee when the Duc's quirt intercepted, pushing the cup away.

"You're not talking to a novice in the ways of the Montignys, Charles. You and I both know what you can and cannot do."

Charles sat back in his chair, his full attention on the lethal-looking whip, understanding he'd miscalculated the degree of affection Daisy Black engendered. He watched the delicate sweep of Etienne's braided quirt move his custard tart out of reach, wondering whether Etienne's control would survive their conversation. He'd seen him lose his temper only on rare occasions, but the effect had always been detrimental to his opponents. And from his present position, Etienne appeared a towering presence.

"I'm willing to endure the lengthy persecution Isabelle envisions," Etienne said, his voice so soft Charles had to strain to hear it. "I'm also willing to tolerate uninvited visits from your damnable cousin the Archbishop, and your"—there was the minutest pause in place of his preferred adjective—"mother, giving me ultimatums about church doctrine. I'm even willing to suffer public spectacles like that at the
Opéra
, but I
will not
allow Isabelle to interfere with Daisy." Etienne's hands were planted palmdown on the table over his riding whip, his eyes so dark the green was muted, and his shoulders under his white jersey seemed the width of the table to Charles's speculative gaze. "So what you'll do, Charles, if you value your health, is honor your promise to complete the property transfers. Do we understand each other?"

Charles hesitated, trying to gauge the level of negotiation possible under the circumstances. Miss Black was obviously considerably more important than he'd perceived; Etienne's anger just short of explosive. What Isabelle didn't know wouldn't hurt him, he decided, since he was being seriously threatened. And only a minimum of legal work remained on Miss Black's agenda anyway. This was not, he recognized from a vantage point only inches away from Etienne's quirt, a good time for negotiations. He had to swallow once to insure his voice didn't break when he said, "I understand."

The Duc stood upright in a swift decisive movement. His scowl disappeared, his fingers on his quirt relaxed. "Thank you, Charles," he said sardonically, "for your good judgment."

It took a full five minutes after the Duc left before Charles's heartbeat returned to normal, before the color returned to his face. And another five minutes before he felt sufficiently restored to call in his secretary.

But visions of the men Etienne had shot in duels continued to haunt him throughout the day and he found himself starting at every footfall. No one was safe from Etienne's wrath when his temper was up and he congratulated himself on coming out of their confrontation unscathed.

Damn Isabelle. He'd almost taken a beating for a few trifling legal procedures. That quirt had been way the hell too close for comfort.

"Charles changed his mind," the Duc said when he returned to the apartment much later that afternoon. "I thought he would."

Daisy was in the garden, lounging on a chaise, reading, when Etienne entered the small walled enclosure. Her eyebrows rose in query as Etienne dropped onto the grass in a comfortable sprawl.

"Why? You're asking me, I presume—with that look," he said with a grin, and crossing his arms beneath his head, he looked up at her with a benign expression of innocence. "Because he reconsidered, and after having reconsidered, decided it was damned silly to have sent the note in the first place. Everything is
en train
once again. Empress's daughter will not be deprived of a single meter of property. You're welcome."

Had she not been so deeply attached to her own sense of independence,
and
had she not been so disturbed about the price the Duc was paying for her friendship and love, she would have been pleased he'd coerced his brother-in-law into changing his mind. Because forced he'd been, she was sure. Although the exact manner of extortion was unclear. "Thank you," she said, "although I wish you hadn't. I feel too guilty already for coming between you and your wife… and her family."

Sitting up, Etienne stared at her for a moment as if his scrutiny would bring some revelation. "You don't mean it," he said then, his expression vaguely perplexed.

"I
do
appreciate your efforts, really."

"No, I mean about feeling guilty."

"Well, of course I do. Look, I'd have to have the hide of an elephant to ignore the slurs and looks and avid curiosity. Regardless of how you feel, I'm viewed by many as the cause of your divorce. I feel guilty."

"No!" he said with almost a kind of violence, "don't
ever
say that. You're twenty years too late to shoulder the burden of guilt. And anyone who knows me, understands. Even those Isabelle considers friends, understand. If there's any assessment of blame, you're the last one touched by it."