She inhaled sharply, so that Pierre, who had been scanning the crowd for the lovely Lorna Prendergast—the American girl whose father was a friend of Steve’s and his partner, Sam Murdock, and who had accompanied Steve to London with her mother—turned to glance at her with surprise.

“What is the matter, Virginie?”

Quickly, she hid her sudden apprehension, for Pierre would only dismiss her misgivings if she voiced them.

“Nothing. Oh, except that I read this morning in the Times that there is trouble in Mexico between Lerdo and Díaz again. I had thought—hoped—that perhaps we could return soon, so the children can grow up with their heritage.”

“Leave England with the children? What does your husband have to say about that? Now that he is ambassador—a farce in my opinion—isn’t his presence required in London?”

“Oh, Pierre, I am certain that he will not stay here long. When has he ever remained in one place for long? Only Mexico has ever held him for any length of time, and then only because of his grandfather.” She tapped her folded fan lightly against her cousin’s arm, a playful smile on her lips masking the sudden narrowing of her eyes. “But you would know what Steve plans to do, would you not?”

“How would I know? Your husband does not confide in me, Virginie.”

“Does he not? I thought perhaps he spoke to you of his plans—of a possible return to Mexico.”

A flush darkened Pierre’s fair face, and he shook his head. “Do not involve me in your marital discussions, for you know how I feel. My God, you have only been back a month and already you are talking of leaving here!”

“But London is not my home. Pierre, I want to go home again, back to Mexico with my children, where they can grow up in the warm sunshine and life is less complicated.”

“Your life will never be uncomplicated,” he replied bluntly. “You will not allow it. I suppose you intend to take the children and leave if your husband does not agree? Or will you leave them behind again, as you have done far too often in the past?”