The sincerity in his tone was unmistakable, and she drew in a soft breath of relief. There would be no constraint or silent reproaches between them now, for after all, each had chosen the path more suitable for their lives.

“Will you dance this waltz with me, Ginny, with Esteban’s permission, of course?”

Steve took Ginny’s empty champagne glass from her hand as Richard escorted her onto the crowded floor. The music was loud, but not deafening, so that they did not have to speak loudly to be heard.

“Ginny, are you as content as you seem?”

“I am very happy, Richard. I have my children with me at last, and Steve and I are trying to work out all the problems of our past. It’s not easy, of course, but I knew it wouldn’t be. So much has happened between us, and to us, that it will take time to sort out our feelings, to come to terms with everything.”

“Ah.” His hand on the small of her back flexed as he guided her in a sweep across the floor. “You may not recall, but when I used to ask you if you were happy, you always said you were content. Now I ask if you are content, and you tell me you are happy. Oh, do not look distressed, Ginny, for I always knew I didn’t have your heart, not the way I wanted it. And I suppose it’s just as well, after all that happened.”

She thought of Gulbehar, the wife Richard had taken at the sultan’s wishes, and the vindictiveness of her attempt to kill Ginny and her unborn child so that she would be the first wife, and her child, his heir.

“I do not see your wife with you tonight. I presume she is still in Persia?”

“Steve didn’t tell you—Gulbehar and our son died of a fever.”

“Oh, I’m sorry.” It was a reflexive sympathy, murmured automatically, but she was sorry, for Richard’s loss if not for the woman who had tried to kill her.

She should have known Richard would perceive her true thoughts, for he squeezed her hand, smiling sadly.

“You are not sorry she cannot hurt you anymore, I’m sure, Ginny, for what she did to you was truly terrible. There are no pardons for it, no penances to atone for her actions. You lost our child, and nearly died as well. Now she has died, and so did our child.”

She looked up at him, saw in his eyes the sorrow he felt, the loss, and said, “Yes, but I have forgiven her. If she had not poisoned me, perhaps I would not have regained my sight, and perhaps I would not now be here, but still in Stamboul instead of—”

When she halted, he smiled. “Instead of with the man you love. Yes, I know. I always knew.”