Ginny sank down into the high-backed copper tub, the water fragrant with oil of roses and a hint of musk, the scent filling her nose, the steamy waves of heat curling around her in a comforting shroud. A fat sponge floated in the water, and she scrubbed herself with it, raking it over her arms, legs, breasts and belly as if trying to scrape away the residue of the past hours, rubbing until her skin was bright pink and almost raw.

“More hot water, Carmen,” she demanded when it grew cool, suddenly seized with the urgent need to wash away all traces of Rafael Luna, of her humiliation and anguish. She washed until Carmen protested that she could not bring any more hot water up the narrow stairs for her bath.

“There is no more water in the cistern, señora, and no doubt in the entire city after tonight!”

Worry creased the maid’s face, and she stood wringing her hands, anxious that her señora was so perturbed.

“It’s hot enough, Carmen, gracias. Lay out my dressing gown, and I will get out of the tub in a moment.”

Ginny closed her eyes and lay her head back against the edge of the tub, her skin tingling all over from the harsh abrasion of the sponge. Why did things always go awry? Was she ever to know peace? Ever to feel safe?

And Steve—Oh, I wish he had killed Rafael Luna! A feeling of nausea washed over her, tinged with regret, with a suddenly fierce yearning to find Steve and tell him that she loved him, that it had not been what he might think.

Why did I just stand there and let him walk away? Why didn’t I follow him, make him listen to me? Just once I would like for him to believe in me without having to defend myself!

Damn him. It wasn’t as if he were so very innocent, after all, was it? No, there was Francesca, the woman whom Luna loved so much he was willing to destroy the wife of the man who had taken her from him—and there was Elizabeth Cady.

Elizabeth Cady…

What did she look like? Did she still love Steve? Had he left her behind as he had so many others, without a promise, only a careless farewell, or perhaps the gift of a dress or some trinket…?

Anger began to replace the heartache, a slow fire igniting, the embers fanned to a steady flame.

I might as well know everything about him.

Why should she not? He knew everything about her—and what he didn’t know, he could certainly guess. God, the look in his eyes when he saw me standing there, that horrible Luna with his hands on me like that. What does he think of me now!