from the gardens fragrant on the night air—to be held in his arms as they danced? Not only the fantastic thought, but the sudden vivid image of the Duc de Vec holding her close, shocked her for a moment like a numbing blow. The music and the scented air must be affecting her, she decided with swift relentless logic. With reality restored once again, she drew in a small calming breath—a strange necessity if she'd allowed herself leave to notice. Priding herself on her sensible-ness, aware of both her personal assets and liabilities, she'd always credited herself most for her practical assessment of a situation. Overlooking her need for a forced calmness, she reminded herself that both her instinct and logic had judged the Duc and found him unsuitable.
For
her
particular interest, she quickly qualified. The Duc de Vec, of course, was highly suitable in his aristocratic world. Closely related to the royal family, his pedigree perhaps purer in some respects, his wealth princely by all accounts, his personal attributes—looks and charm, his expertise on the playing field and hunting field, his manner of success with women—were all the inimitable standard for his class.
How could she be even remotely attracted to him? Why was he even in her thoughts?
He was the archetypal bored aristocrat interested only in his pleasure; her roots were in the boundless freedom and simplicity of her ancestors' way of life, where pleasure was a part of life, not its purpose, and common interests supported the clan existence.
Even her training as a lawyer was predicated on the ultimate goal of helping her tribe. She'd learned well from her father about reality and her anchors to the past. Being tied to two cultures wasn't new, but a dilemma that had existed from the moment of first contact with the white man centuries ago. She understood assimilation. You used what you needed, you learned to compromise and negotiate, but beneath the incorporation and discipline, intransmutable and renegade was a deep and abiding knowledge of who she truly was.
She was the daughter of a chief who was himself the descendent of chiefs going back to a time beyond remembrance. Despite the veneer of couturier gowns, continental languages, and college instruction, she was her father's daughter.
And the seductively magnetic Duc de Vec was anathema.
----
The following morning with his own plans of an opposite nature, the Duc arranged to have himself invited to an intimate dinner party at Adelaide's.
"You surprise me, Etienne," Adelaide said, intent on the reason de Vec and Valentin were at breakfast with her. "I didn't know you rose so early."
She obviously wasn't aware her husband rose early either, Etienne thought, since he and Valentin made a practice of riding most mornings at dawn when the day was fresh and cool. "A habit from childhood," he pleasantly replied. "I blame it on my nanny. She liked sunrises."
"How sentimental." Adelaide wasn't being condescending or coy. She was in fact genuinely astonished, her opinion of the Duc quite altered.
"I loved old Rennie most as a child," Etienne honestly declared. "She was my family, my friend, my playmate." Essentially without subterfuge, he was secure in his own self-esteem. That too he attributed to his Scottish nanny. Certainly neither of his parents were competent models of maturity. His father had had two obsessions: gambling and mountain climbing. Luckily, he was successful at both, so the family wealth wasn't diminished nor was his presence often felt at home. Regrettably, his luck ran out one day on the rockface of Dag Namur at sixteen thousand feet, and Etienne became the next Duc de Vec at the young age of twelve.
His mother found the role of widow as uninteresting as she'd found marriage and motherhood. Fascinated primarily by society's pleasures, after having done her wifely duty of providing an heir for her husband, she'd entertained herself discreetly with a variety of
For
her
particular interest, she quickly qualified. The Duc de Vec, of course, was highly suitable in his aristocratic world. Closely related to the royal family, his pedigree perhaps purer in some respects, his wealth princely by all accounts, his personal attributes—looks and charm, his expertise on the playing field and hunting field, his manner of success with women—were all the inimitable standard for his class.
How could she be even remotely attracted to him? Why was he even in her thoughts?
He was the archetypal bored aristocrat interested only in his pleasure; her roots were in the boundless freedom and simplicity of her ancestors' way of life, where pleasure was a part of life, not its purpose, and common interests supported the clan existence.
Even her training as a lawyer was predicated on the ultimate goal of helping her tribe. She'd learned well from her father about reality and her anchors to the past. Being tied to two cultures wasn't new, but a dilemma that had existed from the moment of first contact with the white man centuries ago. She understood assimilation. You used what you needed, you learned to compromise and negotiate, but beneath the incorporation and discipline, intransmutable and renegade was a deep and abiding knowledge of who she truly was.
She was the daughter of a chief who was himself the descendent of chiefs going back to a time beyond remembrance. Despite the veneer of couturier gowns, continental languages, and college instruction, she was her father's daughter.
And the seductively magnetic Duc de Vec was anathema.
----
The following morning with his own plans of an opposite nature, the Duc arranged to have himself invited to an intimate dinner party at Adelaide's.
"You surprise me, Etienne," Adelaide said, intent on the reason de Vec and Valentin were at breakfast with her. "I didn't know you rose so early."
She obviously wasn't aware her husband rose early either, Etienne thought, since he and Valentin made a practice of riding most mornings at dawn when the day was fresh and cool. "A habit from childhood," he pleasantly replied. "I blame it on my nanny. She liked sunrises."
"How sentimental." Adelaide wasn't being condescending or coy. She was in fact genuinely astonished, her opinion of the Duc quite altered.
"I loved old Rennie most as a child," Etienne honestly declared. "She was my family, my friend, my playmate." Essentially without subterfuge, he was secure in his own self-esteem. That too he attributed to his Scottish nanny. Certainly neither of his parents were competent models of maturity. His father had had two obsessions: gambling and mountain climbing. Luckily, he was successful at both, so the family wealth wasn't diminished nor was his presence often felt at home. Regrettably, his luck ran out one day on the rockface of Dag Namur at sixteen thousand feet, and Etienne became the next Duc de Vec at the young age of twelve.
His mother found the role of widow as uninteresting as she'd found marriage and motherhood. Fascinated primarily by society's pleasures, after having done her wifely duty of providing an heir for her husband, she'd entertained herself discreetly with a variety of
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