Restless, Steve resisted the urge to pace. Damn Grayson for committing him to a meeting with another anxious investor. Mexico’s current situation made rich men who invested in land or silver mines nervous, gave them a high stake in the future of the country’s leadership. To make it worse, this investor, he’d been told, owned extensive property in Oaxaca, and needed discreet advice on the advisability of supporting Díaz.
Christ, he had too much to do to waste time pretending interest in a bored aristocrat’s political machinations. With his return to Mexico only a few days away, he realized just how impatient he was to leave London.
It wasn’t just the fact that the city had begun to swallow him; that was bad enough. He wanted to be in the thick of things, in Mexico, where he could protect his grandfather if need be, conserve what was left of the old man’s strength.
The last time he’d seen Don Francisco, his grandfather had looked frail, though an indomitable will still shone from his eyes, as piercing and clear as ever. His new wife, Teresa—former wife to Lord Tynedale and Richard Avery’s mother—watched over Don Francisco with a protectiveness that Steve found irritating. He still hadn’t quite forgiven the old man for marrying, nor for keeping the weighty secret of an unmentioned son.
What would it have been like if he’d known? Nothing would have changed, but he wouldn’t feel as if he’d somehow been betrayed.
Footsteps echoed on the marble floors; he turned as the door swung open. Richard Avery, tall, lean, with pale skin and burning deep-blue eyes, entered the room and regarded Steve Morgan with a lifted brow.
“It is good of you to come.”
“Lord Tynedale, I admit that I was not told it would be you I was to meet.”
“Would you have come if you’d known?”
“Maybe.” This was the man who had taken Ginny from Cuba to Mexico to France and finally to the Ottoman Empire. Avery had loved Ginny, and she had loved him in return. He’d saved her from death twice—but Steve was damned if he could summon up a deep sense of gratitude. A lingering resentment usurped more appreciative emotions.
Richard Avery motioned to chairs in front of a small table. “Shall we be seated? What I have to say won’t take long.”
“If this is about Ginny—”
“It is and it isn’t. Please. Grant me the courtesy of a few moments of your time. There are things I’d like to ask you, things I do not feel I can ask anyone else.”
Despite himself, Steve found Avery’s manner inoffensive and disarming. He accepted the offer of a glass of dry sherry, a civilized invitation to a camaraderie neither felt.
Stretching his long legs out under the table, he sat back and regarded Avery over the rim of the small glass, observing his careful movements, the slight frown etched in his brow as he twirled the wineglass between his fingers.
Finally Avery looked up. “Do you love her?”
Steve’s eyes narrowed slightly. “I don’t see that it’s any of your business. Ginny and I have known each other a long time. How we feel about one another is no one else’s affair.”
“Yes. I am aware of that. I am also aware that you have not always chosen to remain with her, for various reasons.”
“If you asked me here to condemn me for—”
“No, no.” Avery put up a hand when Steve started to rise from his chair. “That is not my intention. I simply seek to reassure myself that she is happy, not just content. I have my own reasons for it.”
“Guilt?” He hadn’t meant to sound so mocking, but saw from Avery’s startled glance and quick, angry flush that he had come near the truth.
“In a way. You mock me, but I loved her. It was not her fault that I had to divorce her. And yes, we were married in the eyes of the law of Islam.”
There was an innate dignity to him that halted Steve’s terse reminder that he was not married to her now, and Avery must have sensed it, because his tone altered slightly, became impassive.
“It was necessary for me to force Ginny to leave me, but I did not want to part from her. I was caught in an untenable situation. You are aware, I am certain, of the political implications. Sultan Abdul Aziz was deposed in May, after Ginny was safely away. He killed himself by slitting his wrists with a pair of scissors, it is said. His successor, Murad, has been declared insane by his brother, Abdul Hamid, who seeks to take the throne. Since the massacre of the Bulgarians by Turkish troops, Russia will no doubt soon declare war on Turkey. I barely escaped with my own life, even though my mother is Persian and distantly connected to the sultan. That alone can be a death sentence when there is a struggle for power.”
In the soft hush that fell as he paused, Steve regarded the man who was his mother’s half brother; his uncle, though younger by a few years. There was a definite familial resemblance between them, evident by the dark blue of their eyes and lean build, but Richard Avery was as alien to him as an English aristocrat.
“And so,” Avery continued softly, his tone reflective, “after I sent Ginny to safety with Colonel Shevchenko, I did what had to be done to survive.” His eyes flicked up, caught Steve’s gaze and held it. “You, I understand, are an adventurer. A man who takes risks. I am not. I prefer books to danger, the exploration of civilized cities to the threat of the wilderness. But I’m not unappreciative of its beauty. Nor am I immune to the beauty of a woman.”
Steve set down his glass, his tone hard. “If you wanted me here to tell me about your relationship with Ginny, she’s already told me.”
“I am fully aware of that. Do not mistake me—I found her very beautiful, very vulnerable,
