“We can do this one of two ways. We can make a run for the car, so we don’t have to face anybody right now, or we can hold up our heads, smile at the cameras, and show the world that we don’t have anything to hide.”

“Da!”

Mat came in the front door. Nealy wasn’t going to be spared.

His eyes found hers—the same gray eyes she’d gazed into this morning as his body moved inside her own. She wanted to cry until she couldn’t cry anymore, to scream at him because she loved him and he didn’t love her back. Instead, she arranged her features in a blank, polite mask.

He flinched, then went to Lucy and Button. Brushing his thumb over the baby’s cheek, he said, “You give ’em hell, Demon.”

He gazed down at Lucy, but her expression was a heartbreak happening and he didn’t try to touch her. Nealy swallowed and looked away.

“You watch out for yourself, ace. And try to behave.”

Lucy bit down on her lip and looked away.

Finally he moved toward Nealy, but everyone was watching them, and there was nothing left to say. His eyes clouded, and his voice had a rasp. “Have a good life, Nealy.”

She managed a stiff nod, turned to Lucy, and took the baby. Then she stepped back into the world she knew too well.

Cornelia Case had come in from the cold.

Chapter 21

21

“HOLLINGS HAS BEEN in the Senate for twelve years, Cornelia! I forbid you to go any farther with this nonsense.”

Nealy rubbed her eyes wearily, then looked up from her satinwood desk at James Litchfield. Her office was located in a sunny room at the rear of the Georgian home that had once belonged to Dennis, but now belonged to her. The estate sat on twenty wooded acres in Middleburg, the heart of Virginia hunt country. She’d always loved the place more than Dennis, who’d preferred Washington, and now she’d made it her permanent home.

The office was one of her favorite rooms—creamy walls with chalk-white trim, a mishmash of good antiques, and a cozy fireplace. Soft floral draperies hung at long, rectangular windows that looked out over a lush stretch of trees just beginning to wear fall colors.

She set down her pen. “Hollings is an idiot, and the people of Virginia deserve better. What did you put in your mouth, you little dickens?”

Button had been playing on the English needlepoint rug. Its delicate moss and rose pattern was strewn with a collection of her toys, along with a cardboard toilet paper roll, an empty oatmeal box, and kitchen measuring cups. Her eyes were innocent as she returned Nealy’s gaze, but her cheeks bulged with contraband, probably part of the dinner roll she’d been carrying around the day before.

“Take that away from her, Dad.”