“I know. And I won’t bother to tell you not to, but I will tell you I’m fine. Better than fine.”

“We heard that Peter’s to be married again.” Her teeth went on edge. “To Candace Litchfield.”

“Word travels,” Laura murmured.

“People are more than pleased to spread that sort of news. Are you all right with it?”

“I was upset initially,” she admitted, remembering that hammer blow to the midsection when they’d made the announcement that night at the club. “A knee-jerk reaction, really. It was mostly the idea of Candy being stepmother to my babies and worry about how the girls would handle it.”

“And?” he said quietly, his hand over hers.

“And now that it’s all settled in, it just doesn’t matter.” She turned her hand under his, squeezed. “Really doesn’t matter at all. The girls have adjusted. They’ll go to the wedding in May because it’s the right thing for them to do. They don’t particularly care for Candy, but they’ll be polite. Then they’ll come home,” she added, “and we’ll get on with our lives.”

“They’re good girls,” Thomas agreed. “Good, sharp girls. I know it’s not easy for them, but they have you. So it’s you I’m concerned with.”

“There’s no need. In fact, I’ve come to the conclusion that Peter and Candy are perfectly suited. I couldn’t be more happy for them.”

He waited a beat, ran his tongue around his teeth. “That’s nasty.”

“Yes.” She sighed lavishly. “It is. I like it.”

“That’s my girl.”

“Now, let’s talk about something much more interesting.” She sat back again, grinning. “Let me tell you about the impromptu boxing match in the lobby today.”

When Susan came back in, it was to the roar of her husband’s laughter and the rich undertone of her daughter’s. She stood for a minute, enjoying the scene. She could count every week, every month, that had passed since she had seen her little girl laugh that freely.

Gnawing her lip, she considered. If Michael Fury had anything to do with it, she owed him. Whatever Annie might think. As a woman, she understood and appreciated the need of another woman to have, at least once, at least briefly, a dangerous man in her life.

As a mother . . . well, they would see.

“Tommy, your granddaughters want a kiss good night.”

He was up like a shot. “I’ll have to give them one, then.”

“And no more than one story,” Susan murmured to him as he passed. “No matter how much you want to play.”

He pinched her cheek, winked, and walked on.

“That should keep him busy for an hour.” Susan glided over to the liquor cabinet, poured herself a brandy. “And will give you time to tell me about Michael Fury.”