It’s starting all over again…the uncertainty, the danger…I can feel it. Oh God, what if Sonya’s right?
Steve looked up and his eyes met hers, a clash of blue beneath his ridiculously long black lashes. A faint smile tucked one corner of his mouth inward, a wry gesture as he lifted his champagne glass.
“To the future, green-eyes. Wherever it takes us.”
It was, she thought with a mixture of despair and resignation, the précis of their relationship.
8
When the evening finally ended, Ginny found herself trapped into riding in a carriage with her father and Sonya. Dismay outweighed anger as Steve handed her into the open door of the waiting brougham and stepped back. Light from a coach lamp flickered over his face; she saw the grooves in his lean face deepen as he smiled.
“Aren’t you coming, Steve?” She leaned out and put her hand on the still open door when he made no move to get inside. His eyes were unreadable in the thick purple shadows as he shook his head.
“I’ll be home later. There are a few things I have to do first.”
Aware of her father and Sonya on the plush velvet squabs beside her, Ginny stifled the sharp comment on the tip of her tongue. Damn him, he was leaving her to field the inevitable questions from her father, and she didn’t think she could bear the strain of keeping up the appearance of nonchalance that would be required of her in their company.
“It’s late. Perhaps you should come home now,” she said pleasantly, and saw from the slight tuck of his mouth that he was all too aware of her irritation.
“You know I always hurry home to you, my love,” he said with the wicked, careless grin that reminded her of far too many times before. “I know you want to spend as much time with your father as you can before we leave again, and I won’t bore you with my tedious duties. Good night, Senator. Mrs. Brandon.” He inclined his head politely and stepped back from the brougham.
Ginny was neatly trapped, and he knew it. She sat back with a flounce, glaring at him as the door was shut and the brougham jerked forward.
It was an uncomfortable ride to the little house near the corner of Royal and Hospital Street, but thankfully brief. A single gas lamp illuminated the narrow street, and a light rain had begun to fall, glistening on cobblestones and misting the air when the brougham rolled to a smooth halt before the house. Ginny was reminded once again of a layered cake, the house’s pink brick walls and delicate iron balconies like ornate frosting decorating the second story.
As the coachman leaped down and came to open the door, the vehicle dipped slightly. Ginny paused with her hand still clinging to the leather strap that dangled from the frame. Her father said, “I hope that my unpleasant conversation with your husband did not cause you any trouble, Virginia.”
Awkwardly, she half turned. “I was unaware there was any unpleasantness until now.”
“Ah, well, I would not quite call it unpleasantness, perhaps, though he and I certainly do not agree on the tense situation in Mexico. There will be another revolution unless it’s prevented. This time it could affect all the landowners there. As you are one of them, I would think you would be a bit more concerned about your holdings.”
There was a note of censure in his voice.
“William…” Sonya put a hand on his arm. “I do not think this is the right time or place—”
“My dear, there is always a right time or place for a discussion that may well affect Virginia’s future and even her well-being.” Beneath his mild tone lurked an icy rebuke, and Sonya’s hand dropped from his arm as if burned.
“It is not necessary to worry about me,” Ginny said to him firmly. “Steve is more than capable of seeing to my safety and the security of our holdings. After all, Don Francisco is still an influential man in Mexico, and is well-acquainted with both Sebastián Lerdo de Tejada and Porfirio Díaz. For that matter, so am I.”
“While I admire Señor Alvarado’s political connections, I do not think Steve’s grandfather has as much influence as you presume. He is an old man now, and has kept out of the political fray as much as possible. If I remember correctly, he was unable to keep you safe from that French Colonel Devereaux. Or am I mistaken?”
Sonya swallowed a gasp, and Ginny shuddered at the memory of the events that had changed her life so radically. Nightmares still haunted her sleep on occasion, snatches of painful memories that came only when she was powerless to hold them at bay.
Her chin came up and her gaze was direct. “No, you are quite correct. But that was not Don Francisco’s fault. It was mine alone. I made the choice. At the time I thought it was the right one.”
Ginny stepped from the brougham and turned back to meet the senator’s eyes. “Now, if you don’t mind, it’s late and I’m quite weary.”
Once inside the house, shivering at the dampness that lingered in rooms unheated by a welcoming fire, she knew that she had not heard the last of this from either her father or Sonya.
God, would the past always come back to haunt her? It didn’t matter where she went, there were all these reminders of painful losses, events that had molded and shaped her life and her love—Steve.
Of everything, he was the only constant, and at the same time, the most unpredictable aspect of her life. She wanted to be certain of him, always certain of their love and their future together.
And just where is he tonight? Damn him, he knows how I hate being uninformed about his actions—especially when it is my future that’s
