“It’s too easy to suspect the worst, I suppose,” she began, but a discreet knock at the door interrupted her. It was Berthilde with her dressing gown, eyes sleepy in the dim light of the hallway lamp as she held out the yellow silk.
“It was being cleaned, madame. Shall I assist you?”
“No, Berthilde, go to bed. I won’t need you tonight.”
The door closed softly behind the girl and silence fell as she turned to look at Steve, saw his fleeting frown disappear to be replaced by a carefully blank expression.
Altering her earlier decision to be direct, she said instead, “You promised to help me with my gown, I believe.”
As he came to her she turned, and his fingers brushed against the vulnerable nape of her neck as he tugged at the top button. Cool air whisked over her skin, made her shiver. She caught a glimpse of their reflection in the mirror across the room, his dark head bent, a vivid contrast to her bright hair as he worked the buttons of her lovely gown.
Oh, the memories, of the many times he had undressed her, of the times they had fought one another and loved one another. And now here they were, pretending a courtesy neither felt, while unanswered questions formed a barrier between them.
It was time for answers.
“Signorina di Paoli did not look very happy when we left tonight,” she observed, and saw his reflected shrug. “I think she was most unhappy when you did not escort her in to supper.”
“She seemed happy enough with Lindhaven. They’re old friends.”
It was on the tip of her tongue to point out that once he had been close friends with her, as well, but she said instead, “How long do you intend to stay in London, Steve? I mean, this ambassador position, it’s not really what you like to do, is it?”
His soft laugh stirred the hair over her ear as he leaned forward, flicking open the last button. “Are you worried about my happiness, Ginny-love?”
She pulled away, tugged at the bodice of her gown to peel it away and stepped out of the glittering material that slid to a puddle around her ankles. Clad in only white silk undergarments, she draped the gown on a padded hanger, kept her hands busy to avoid looking at him.
“Your happiness affects mine,” she said evenly. “Of course I would worry that you’re happy.”
She hooked the gown on the dressing room door, then allowed Steve to untie the laces of her corset. The stiff garment was so constrictive, forcing her to remain upright, binding her ribs almost painfully now. Ginny heaved a sigh of relief as the laces were freed and she could breathe more easily. Slipping on the silk dressing gown, she moved to the small mahogany table cluttered with bottles of expensive perfume and powders. Deftly unfastening the combs that held her hair atop the crown of her head, she eyed him in the mirror when he didn’t respond. Nothing showed in his face, only that careful attention that was like a mask.
Oh, I feel so awkward, so uncertain!
“We have the children to think of,” she pointed out as her hair fell free, a copper cloud that framed her face and made her look far too pale, so that her eyes resembled glittering bits of green glass. “I admit that I haven’t done what I should for them, but I want to start over. I want us to start over, Steve. I want to go home, home to Mexico. I think that’s where the children need to be, and—”
Disbelief flashed in his eyes, and his brow shot up. “Mexico? Christ, Ginny, you can’t be serious. Or haven’t you heard it’s a battleground now that Díaz is fighting for power?”
“Yes, of course I have.” She tugged the silver-backed hairbrush through her hair, her eyes focused on Steve’s reflection in the mirror. “But Lerdo is president now, isn’t he? If the fighting is nearly over, it should soon be safe. I do not see why we can’t make plans to return—”
“Maybe your memory is shorter than mine,” he said harshly, “because I can damn well remember how it was when Maximilian was in Mexico. Have you forgotten the Juaristas, the revolution, the soldaderos?”
An involuntary shudder tracked chills down her spine, and Steve’s voice softened a little at her visible reaction.
“Ginny, the fighting is not yet over. I won’t risk the children in Mexico right now, and for that matter, I won’t risk you there until I make sure it’s safe.”
Her fingers shook slightly as she placed the hairbrush carefully on the dressing table; silver gleamed in the soft lamplight. “Does this mean that you intend to go to Mexico?”
A faint, rueful smile tucked one corner of his mouth inward, but his eyes were watchful. “You’ve always had a way of getting straight to the point when you choose. Yes, Ginny love, that’s exactly what I mean. As ambassador—”
“Pierre said your appointment was a farce,” she broke in as she turned back to face him. “Is it? Is that why you’re in London? Is this appointment due to Jim Bishop’s machinations again? His dark intrigues?”
“Dammit, Ginny—”
“I knew it! It is Bishop. He’s here, isn’t he? In London? Like he was in New Orleans, and in San Francisco, and every other time things have gone so wrong…. Will it ever end? Will you ever just want to be with me and not go running off trying to save the world?”
“Save the world? How melodramatic you can be, Ginny my love. If men like Jim Bishop didn’t try to save the world, as you put it, there would be total anarchy. Bands of mercenaries running wild—”
“As you did?”
Blue eyes narrowed fractionally at her, a cold glitter in their depths that reminded her how ruthless he could be.
“I assume you’re referring to my time
