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I won't cry, she determinedly told herself, I won't. For if this were simply another of the dozens or hundreds of good-byes the Duc de Vec had grown accustomed to, she wouldn't embarrass herself.

Dear God, the Duc thought, what if Isabelle's right and she keeps me in court a lifetime. He stood for a moment absorbing the feel of Daisy in his arms, inhaling the fragrance of her perfume, trying to memorize the smallest details of her face and hair and expression… against his uncertain future.

"Kiss me," Daisy said, because she couldn't help herself at the last. In a moment more he'd be gone and she desperately needed to kiss him once more. Tears welled in her eyes as she lifted her head, spilling over a second later despite her best intentions to control her weeping. Despite her reputation for coolness and restraint. Despite her attempts to bid Etienne farewell with cordial good manners.

He thought for a moment before his lips touched hers, that he could take her from this ship, bring her to Colsec and keep her there in safety from Isabelle—in opposition to her family's schedule or even her own wishes if need be. He selfishly considered the real possibility of abduction because he didn't know if he would be able to bear her absence.

With tears streaming down Daisy's face and the sadness of bereavement suffocating in the Duc's lungs, their lips touched and met and melted into each other softly like the first kiss of adolescence when time had no meaning. Openhearted and generous, they offered each other the fullness of their beings.

A knock at the door, insistent and authoritative, curtailed their poignant embrace.

"The gangway is being raised!" a man's voice shouted.

"Write," the Duc said.

"Think of me."

"Every second."

Daisy smiled, warmed by his answer. "You have to go…"

"Will you be all right?"

She nodded.

He brushed the tears from her face with gentle fingers. "Take care," he whispered.

As he turned at the door for a last look, Daisy smiled. "I love you," she murmured.

His eyes held hers for a long moment. "You made me believe in love," he said, his voice low. And he hoped with impatient longing and breathless fear it wasn't too late for him.

The problem of Hector's safety was fortuitously solved without the Duc having to reveal to his daughter any of his fears concerning Isabelle. She was Jolie's mother, after all, and that consideration made him reluctant to disclose her involvement in Morocco's murder.

In the days since his thoroughbred's death, Jolie and her family had been enjoying the sea at Trouville, safely distant from Paris—out of harm's way. Before he had to face a decision, Jolie and her husband, Henri, surprised him with a visit, the same evening he returned from Le Havre.

Louis brought the young couple into the library where Etienne had retired after dinner. With his gaze on the river outside, he was nursing a cognac, feeling solitary and unrelated to the world, as though he were isolated completely from the rhythm of humanity.

The bustle of their entrance, Louis's fussing to turn up the gaslights, Jolie and Henri's beaming smiles and salutations brought him gratefully from his morbid reflections.

"Whyever are you sitting in the dark, Papa? Tea, Louis, for me, a brandy for Henri. Papa, you can't imagine what good luck has come our way. Maybe some sweets too, Louis—something chocolate. Light
all
the lights… I hate gloomy shadow. Just because Daisy's gone, Papa, doesn't mean you can mope. She'll be back soon, I'm sure, or you can visit her because—Henri—tell him—tell him all about your new business."

During all her monologue, she was arranging herself on the small tapestry sofa, seeing that her husband was seated beside her, adjusting the tartan taffeta ruching on her green moire gown, touching last the matching bow set becomingly in her upswept dark curls.

"But we had to talk to you first, Papa," Jolie excitedly said, usurping her husband's offered role as informant, "to see what you think of the proposal." Seated beside her tall blond husband, her hand in his, she smiled at her father. "It has to do with polo ponies and there's no one in the world who knows more about them than you."

Etienne grinned at her enthusiasm and fulsome compliment. "So tell me what this marvelous proposition entails." Frankly he was surprised Jolie's husband was interested in business of any kind. While he thought Henri a loving husband and father, he'd not thought him concerned with making money. Henri usually played third on their team; he was a crashing good player and now that Hector was better able to travel, he followed the polo season again as he had before his marriage, across the continent and into England. For entertainment… and occupation.

"You know Suantez," Henri succinctly said.

"He's involved? Before even hearing the details, I'd say take it. No one breeds better polo ponies than Suantez. Where did he buy a property in France?"

"Not France, Papa, in Kentucky," Jolie interjected. "Isn't it exciting?"

So far away was Etienne's first thought. He'd miss seeing his grandson. How convenient was his second immediate reflection… they'd be far away from Isabelle's evil temper. "It
is
exciting. When does Suantez plan on beginning or is he waiting for your decision?"

"I tentatively agreed, sir," Henri said, "contingent on your more experienced judgment."

"Well then. You can't possibly go wrong. Suantez has bred every champion polo pony in the world since the early eighties. Will I get a discount price on my next string," the Duc sportively inquired, "since I'm a relative?"

"Absolutely, Papa. Because you see, you're our banker." His daughter's grin was sunny and it reminded him of the times in her childhood when she'd shared a secret with him.

"I rather thought I might be," he said, his own smile warm. While Henri, as Comte de Saint-Joris was wealthy, breeding horses needed enormous capitalization for years before any profits showed. Suantez could use the de Vec resources. "How much does Suantez want?"

"It's not a lot, Papa," Jolie declared.

"It's a stiff sum, sir," Henri quietly said. "Five million francs."

Not as much as he'd anticipated, the Duc thought. Lower land prices in America no doubt contributed to more economical start-up costs. "See Legere in the morning. He'll arrange the money for you."

"Thank you, Papa," Jolie cheerfully said, having known her father would agree, five million francs not a disconcerting sum to her. "Come with us, to visit the properties. You always said Kentucky was perfect horse country and we can use your advice on a thousand details.
And
," she added, her enthusiasm alight in her eyes, "with Justin in Egypt and Daisy gone to America and now us, there's nothing to keep you here."

His business interests aside, nothing except an acrimonious divorce, the Duc regrettably noted. But the fact that Jolie was happy and exempt from the destruction consoled him. "Later I'll come, darling. After Bourges has settled matters between your mother and me."

"Thank you very much, sir," his son-in-law said with more formality. "We're very grateful, sir." He put out his hand.

"I'm damned glad to have access to the best ponies in the world," Etienne replied, taking Henri's hand in his strong grip. He was pleased to be of help, more than pleased Jolie's family was about to settle for a time so far from Isabelle's villainous temperament. "When are you leaving?" he asked then. Without causing alarm he hoped to persuade them on an early departure.

"We're booked for next week, Papa."

"It wasn't my idea, sir," the young Comte de Saint-Joris quickly interjected. "Jolie booked us without my knowing. She was sure, she said, but… well… I know how much five million is, sir, and sometimes… well… Jolie doesn't seem to—"

"Understand economics?"

"Exactly, sir."

"Really, Papa, sometimes Henri goes on about money as though we didn't have any. I tell him my dot is more than enough, but he says we should save it for the children."

"Children?" The Duc's voice was softly inquiring.

Jolie's face was wreathed in smiles and she grinned at her husband first before she answered her father. "It's too early to be absolutely sure yet, but we think… Hector might have a brother or sister next year and that's why," she went on in pleased explanation, "we're interested in settling down for a time."

"If Jolie's having a baby, I won't be playing on the circuit for the next few years," the young Comte earnestly said, squeezing his wife's hand and darting an affectionate glance her way. "So Suantez's offer came at an opportune time."

The look passing between the two young people triggered a small pang of envy in the Duc. How nice they shared such pleasure in their hopes for another child. Isabelle had found both pregnancy and child-rearing an irritating imposition.

Oblivious to her father's morose speculation, Jolie went on in her familiar buoyant good spirits. "You know Henri lives for polo like you do, Papa, and if we have another baby, even if he can't travel the circuit, in partnership with Suantez, he'll still be actively involved in the game."

"I don't live for polo," the Duc protested.

"Of course you do, Papa. You haven't missed a match in years."

Until this week
, he thought.
For Daisy
.

"Until this week," his daughter echoed. "Whyever did you let Daisy go?" she asked, as if she were reading his mind.

For the same reason I want you to go
, he thought. "She had business commitments in the States," he said.

"When will she return?"

"I'm not certain."

"Will you be visiting her?"

"Not until the divorce is settled."

"Did she say that?" Jolie understood the awkwardness of her father's position.

"No."

"Well, you should change your mind about seeing her then and come to visit us on your way to Montana."

Etienne smiled at his daughter's casual suggestion that overlooked the myriad social taboos relating to his visiting a single young woman at her family's home while he was still married. Even though Daisy had assured him no one would look askance at such a visit, the Duc knew better. In Paris, his influence afforded protection to Daisy from anyone who took issue with their relationship.
Almost
anyone, he corrected himself, thinking of Isabelle. In Montana, provincial custom would no doubt censure his interest in Daisy. Her family
certainly
would show concern for her happiness.

"Maybe I will… someday," he replied, not so certain the someday would be soon. Not in the current gloomy aftermath of Daisy's departure. "Have you told your mother your plans?" he asked then with thoughts of Isabelle fresh in his mind.

"Mother's in England. Lady Wilcomb invited her for the Ascot races. Henri spoke to Suantez in Trouville after Mother left. He has a small stud there… you know that."

After the polo season closed in Paris in July, and the
haut monde
left the city for their summer homes, the circuit moved to the cool seashore at Trouville.

"I'll write her in England," Jolie went on, "and tell her our plans." She refrained from saying what they all knew; that Isabelle wouldn't interrupt her social commitments to come back and say good-bye even if they telegrammed her. "But I'm not going to let you mope in Paris long, Papa," Jolie added, bestowing her special smile on her father. "Expect a telegram a week and then if you don't come—a message every day until you do decide to visit. Hector will miss you terribly… so you see—you must oblige. And Henri needs your help," she added, patting her husband's hand, "don't you, darling?"

"Yes, sir. Absolutely, sir." The young Comte, unlike his wife, was in awe of the Duc. Not only was the Duc de Vec the best polo player in France, distinction enough to impress Henri, but in the milieu of Jockey Club and Hunt Club, he held the enviable reputation as the most sought-after ladies' man in Paris. His name was conspicuous, as well, for integrity on the playing field and in the world of business. "We'd be honored, sir," Henry said with genuine reverence, "if you'd consider taking a hand in the management of the farms."

"Thank you, Henri, perhaps… later." The Duc smiled at the man who'd brought such happiness to his daughter and regretted again for a fleeting time his own misspent life.