Ginny flashed a bright smile to hide her turmoil. “No, no, of course not. Just a bit weary. The twins were quite insistent that I join them on their picnic today, and it began to rain and we had to run back to the pony trap. I hope Laura does not take a chill.”

“I’m certain she will be just fine. She is stronger than she appears, and Franco is such a sturdy child.”

Diverted by the thoughts of her children, Ginny nodded in agreement, her smile growing pensive.

This past month getting to know the twins had been the best days of her life, but though Laura readily accepted her, Franco was more guarded. He was so like Steve, and she thought ruefully that she now knew what Don Francisco had meant when he had said his grandson was a hellion as a child. He must have been, for she saw the same reckless streak in Franco.

Just yesterday he had climbed to the top of one of the huge old trees in the back garden, defying his nurse’s pleas to come down until she came to Ginny in hysterics. It had been terrifying to see the small boy so high, clinging to a thick limb and pretending he was not afraid, stubbornly refusing to come down until Ginny had shrugged carelessly and said that he must be very brave to be so high, but his father would be home soon and he must come down so he could tell him how far he had climbed.

Then she had held her breath as Franco made his way down the tree, limb by limb, until he was on the ground again and the footmen were allowed to put away the ladders that Madame Dupree had summoned. Yes, he was very like Steve, she thought with a mixture of resignation and dismay, just as daring, just as reckless.

As if her thoughts had summoned him, she saw Steve enter the ballroom and pause just inside an arched doorway. His lean build and dark features were achingly familiar, and still had the power to quicken her heartbeat. It was all only a thin veneer, the urbanity he donned as casually as a silk jacket to hide his true nature. And it was that trait women seemed to recognize in him, the air of repressed danger that made Steve Morgan an exciting challenge.

Too often, the eager women who tried to tame him found to their sorrow that he could not be domesticated like some feral cat. But perhaps that was what drew them.

Ginny waited, frowning slightly as she heard the buzz of excited voices escalate and her aunt’s sudden, muffled exclamation.

“What is it, Tante?”

Celine seemed flustered, her eyes anxious, her smile too quick. “Do not react hastily, Ginette!”

“But why should I, Tante?”