“Do you think I cannot buy you another gown, Ginny my love?” He tugged loose his tie, his fingers efficient and swift. “I’ve purchased more gowns from Worth than he has no doubt sold to the entire country of France.”

“Yes, but not all of them were for me.” It was an automatic response to his teasing, but she regretted it the moment the words were out. Why remind him of all the women in his life?

His dark brow lifted and his eyes narrowed slightly as he met her gaze. “They should have been,” he said quietly, leaving her momentarily speechless.

There was something so different about him. Oh, yes, he had changed. He looked the same, with his wicked eyes and smile, his air of danger and darkly lean good looks that were still a magnet for women of all ages. But there was a difference now. Beneath the outer hardness of his face and manner there was a taciturn regard that baffled her.

They had slept apart since the night when he had pulled her into the house she shared with Pierre and Tante Celine, but there had been no explanation. That night he had brought her to his house and his bed, and she had spent it in his arms, feverish kisses, caresses, hungry words of love and reunion all that was between them until the early hours of morning.

But after that, a careful distance, a polite detachment between them, as if they were still protagonists instead of husband and wife trying to find common ground again. It was awkward, a courteous fiction as transparent as morning mist.

At first, she had been so weary in body and soul, still tentative in their new relationship, that she had not wanted more from him. But now she could not help but wonder if he wanted her at all. Did he? Or had he tired of her? After all, she was nearly thirty now and had been through so much. But her mirror told her she was still firm and youthful, her skin barely showing signs of motherhood. The marks she’d gotten while carrying the twins had faded to faint silvery tracks like pale spiderwebs, barely perceptible on her belly and thighs.

A little clumsily, feeling damnably awkward, she said, “I suppose you managed to finish your business this evening? You must have, for I hardly saw you the rest of the night, not until our late supper.”

“Complaints, Ginny?”

“Questions.” She unhooked the emerald necklace circling her neck and placed it in a velvet box, then removed the matching earrings that dangled from her lobes. They clinked softly as she dropped them into the box, splashes of green against soft black velvet.