Childish laughter shattered her reverie, and for a brief panicked moment she caught and held Steve’s opaque gaze before the sound of the parlor door opening drew her eyes and riveted her attention.
Ohh… They had changed so, these exuberant children with faces still round and cherubic. Gone was the light fuzz atop infant heads, replaced with thick dark hair that held only faint hints of copper like her own tresses. Chattering and laughing, they ran to their father, arms outstretched with joy despite the murmured reprimand of their nursemaid.
And Steve—The cold mask he’d worn only a moment before had vanished, replaced by a softly tender light in his eyes and a genuine curve of his mouth into a smile that was at the same time loving and indulgent as he greeted his children.
All this Ginny saw in the space of an instant as the children heeded their nurse’s instructions and curbed their first wild joy into a more sedate greeting.
“Good morning, Papa,” Laura piped, her childish treble quavering with suppressed delight as she strove for self-discipline. “It is very good to see you.”
“And you, poppet.” An affectionate drag of his hand through her curls tousled them. Adoring eyes gazed up at her father, that love mirrored in the blue eyes so like hers.
Laura Luisa Encarnaciόn Morgan—the name was larger than the child, Ginny thought irrelevantly. Her gaze shifted to Franco, who stood beside his sister with a grave solemnity that reminded her suddenly of Steve’s grandfather, Don Francisco, the old martinet who was the regal and demanding head of the Alvarado family. But, of course, he was named after him—Francisco Alvarado Morgan—so perhaps it was only fitting that he should remind her of the old gentleman.
Already Franco was a bit taller than his sister, his dark head a shade above hers, his bearing that of a young soldier.
Ginny’s heart lurched. She didn’t know them—her own flesh and blood. These children she had carried beneath her heart for nine months, had fought so fiercely to protect…and she did not know them.
Steve was talking to them, asking questions and listening to their answers with an interest that could not be feigned, and they chattered without reservation. Ginny watched with her heart in her throat, aching to reach out but unwilling to intrude. She felt suddenly like an interloper in a clique that excluded her. Could this be the man she had always considered coldly dangerous? This man who had gone to one knee on the floor to help a child button her hightop shoes? Impossible to believe, if she had not witnessed it for herself. The ruthless gunman of her experience was a gentle, loving father to his two children.
Tears stung her eyes, and she did not know if they were for her loss or the fact that Steve had finally become the man she had never thought he wanted to be….
A soft voice murmured in her ear, “Be patient, Ginette, and they will learn to know you soon. After all, it has been so long since they last saw you, and they were so small.”
Tante Celine. A gentle hand was on her shoulder, the soft squeeze familiar and comforting. Her aunt’s reminder eased some of the pain Ginny felt at the realization she was a stranger to her children, and she managed a nod. It was true, yet to wait, quietly watching while her children seemed oblivious to her existence, was the hardest thing she had ever done.
Another rose petal fell soundlessly to the gleaming tabletop, a bloodred tear that felt as if it came from her heart. Would they accept her? Or had she been gone from them so long they would resent her absence? Oh, how could she tell them of all she had endured, the nights she had longed for them, planned their futures together?
The enormity of her past soared like a specter to haunt her as she watched them quietly, regret deeply scouring her with razor-sharp talons. It was not regret for what she had done, but what she had not done—the nights she had not been there to tuck them into their beds, to sing them to sleep and to comfort childish tears. Oh, please God, do not let it be too late!
Then finally Steve glanced up at her, his mouth slanted in the half-mocking smile that had the power to make her heart drop to her toes.
“Laura, Franco,” he said, “we have a guest with us this morning.”
A guest! Ginny’s eyes flashed, but she held her tongue and her breath as two pairs of childish eyes turned toward her with frank curiosity.
“She is very pretty,” Laura blurted, then caught her lower lip between tiny white teeth. “I mean, good morning, madame.”
Amazingly, Laura sketched a graceful curtsy, her hands even holding out the folds of her short dress as she dipped slightly. Franco matched his sister’s gracious gesture with a brief bow from the waist, and his gaze was just as frank.
“Bonjour, madame,” he said, the French words smooth and fluid on his tongue, an obvious challenge to his sister. Green eyes flecked with gold regarded her gravely from beneath his lashes.
“Bonjour,” Ginny replied just as solemnly. “It is very nice to see you both again.”
She restrained the urge to go to her knees and gather them into her arms, uncertain how they would respond. Did they not remember her at all? Had they completely forgotten their mother?
Then Laura took a step forward, placing her hands on Ginny’s knees, dark-blue eyes so much like her father’s staring up earnestly.
“Madame, I do know you, is it not so?”
“Yes, Laura, you do.” Ginny took a deep breath and put her hand over the child’s. “Though it has been some
