Watching Ginny over the rim of his glass, Brandon caught the slight frown that puckered her brow; candlelight gleamed in her green eyes, exotic eyes that had been inherited from another man. It had been painful to realize that he was not her real father, had not been the love of her mother’s life, as Genevieve had been of his. But he could not change that, could not change the fact that most of the world knew Ginny as his daughter. He had been too long in the habit of considering her as his child to stop it now.

Twisting the stem of the wineglass between his thumb and fingers, he smiled faintly. “I purchased the old Delery plantation, out on the River Road. It has been neglected for far too long, but was in surprisingly good condition. I’ve been restoring it as best I can, though it is difficult for me to personally supervise the workmen as much as I would like.”

It was an oblique reference to the limp that still dogged his every step, and though he should thank God that he could walk at all, for the rest of his life he would struggle with pain because of the bullet still lodged in his back. An assassin’s bullet, meant for another man, perhaps, though for a long time he’d had his doubts.

But that, too, was behind him, and he had resumed his seat in Congress, reelected by voters grateful and relieved that he blunted as much of the effects of Reconstruction for them as possible, while still promoting the New South of the post-Civil War. As a native Virginian, he walked a tightrope between North and South, both factions believing him to be in their corner. It was a delicate balance, held on to with grim tenacity at times, and at any moment capable of being wrested away from him by a careless decision.

“Andre Delery?” Ginny’s face was pale, gemmed eyes like brilliant emeralds wide and shocked as she stared at him.

“Yes, the old Delery mansion. Since Andre’s death, it has been vacant, and went for taxes this past year. I bought it for a paltry amount. The craftsmanship is exquisite, and there are few like it left now. You must come out to see it, Ginny, for I know you appreciate rare beauty.”

“Yes, yes, of course,” she murmured as she looked down, fanned lashes veiling her eyes.

So it is true…. He had wondered if the rumors about her leaving New Orleans with Delery over a year ago when he’d been shot were valid; now he knew they were. Ah, tempestuous Ginny, as passionate and untamed as her mother had been cool and contained. He envied Morgan almost as much as he pitied him at times.

“Sonya,” Ginny said after a few minutes of desultory conversation, “I must visit the convenience. Would you care to go with me?”