It would not have made Ginny feel a bit better to know that Brandon was fully aware of Morgan’s penchant for danger and survival. It was that very nature that had prompted him to hire the man to guard wagonloads of gold—only to have them stolen, along with Ginny.

Ah, it may all be behind them, and he may wear this polite mask now, but he had not forgotten for an instant how Morgan worked, and he knew instinctively why he was here in New Orleans, though the pretense of returning to ready their home for their children was the prevailing story of the moment. Nor had he forgotten that when New Orleans was occupied by Union soldiers, then Union Captain Steve Morgan had seduced Sonya into his bed. It was not a thing a man was likely to forget, especially when Sonya became a shivering wreck in Morgan’s presence.

But politicians were adept at hiding their true feelings, and even now he could smile blandly as he said, “Mexico still enjoys peace with Spain, though relatively precarious. Díaz would threaten that peace, and send the entire country spiraling into chaos and revolution.”

“Spain is not the greatest enemy to Mexico, sir.” Steve lifted a dark brow, his smile just as prosaic. “At the moment, American politicians are the greatest threat.”

Damn the smiling bastard, did he really believe what he was saying? But what could one expect from a man so ruthless as to abandon his own wife to the riffraff life of the Juaristas, after all?

Schooling his tone, he said, “The United States has only Mexico’s best interest at heart, while her own citizens would destroy the country with greed.”

“And that has nothing at all to do with the fact that you, personally, stand to gain a fortune with your railroad interests, I presume.”

Brandon’s mouth tightened. “If I recall correctly, you own quite a few shares of Union Pacific and Central Pacific railroad stock yourself, Morgan.”

“True. But I have no intention of exploiting Mexico to increase the value. More wine, Senator?”

A waiter clad in spotless linen hovered at the table, solicitous and yet not overly so as befitted a well-trained sommelier. Wine, a crisp white Reisling, sparkled in crystal glasses. Taking his cue, Brandon turned the conversation to more mundane topics though he made a mental note to do some more investigation into Steve Morgan’s presence in New Orleans.

“Sonya, dear,” he said lightly to his wife, noting her pallor and quick, startled glance, “have you told Virginia about our new house yet?”

Looking almost guilty, Sonya shook her head. “No, I have not had—we have been so busy catching up on all that has happened since last we were together, that I have not mentioned it. You tell her about it, William, since it is all your work.”