Defiantly, Ginny stared at him as she drained the last of her wine, then set the glass on the table with a distinct thud. “Yes, but do make it champagne, Steve darling. You know how I adore it.”

“Among other things,” he said easily, and beckoned for the sommelier to attend them.

Champagne was brought, an excellent vintage that was dry and bubbly, and she sipped it steadily as her mood grew dark and anxious. It seemed that every time either Bishop or Paco were anywhere near, the worst happened. It wasn’t that she particularly disliked either man, but only the turmoil they always brought with them.

It’s starting all over again…the uncertainty, the danger…I can feel it. Oh God, what if Sonya’s right?

Steve looked up and his eyes met hers, a clash of blue beneath his ridiculously long black lashes. A faint smile tucked one corner of his mouth inward, a wry gesture as he lifted his champagne glass.

“To the future, green-eyes. Wherever it takes us.”

It was, she thought with a mixture of despair and resignation, the précis of their relationship.

8

When the evening finally ended, Ginny found herself trapped into riding in a carriage with her father and Sonya. Dismay outweighed anger as Steve handed her into the open door of the waiting brougham and stepped back. Light from a coach lamp flickered over his face; she saw the grooves in his lean face deepen as he smiled.

“Aren’t you coming, Steve?” She leaned out and put her hand on the still open door when he made no move to get inside. His eyes were unreadable in the thick purple shadows as he shook his head.

“I’ll be home later. There are a few things I have to do first.”

Aware of her father and Sonya on the plush velvet squabs beside her, Ginny stifled the sharp comment on the tip of her tongue. Damn him, he was leaving her to field the inevitable questions from her father, and she didn’t think she could bear the strain of keeping up the appearance of nonchalance that would be required of her in their company.

“It’s late. Perhaps you should come home now,” she said pleasantly, and saw from the slight tuck of his mouth that he was all too aware of her irritation.

“You know I always hurry home to you, my love,” he said with the wicked, careless grin that reminded her of far too many times before. “I know you want to spend as much time with your father as you can before we leave again, and I won’t bore you with my tedious duties. Good night, Senator. Mrs. Brandon.” He inclined his head politely and stepped back from the brougham.

Ginny was neatly trapped, and he knew it. She sat back with a flounce, glaring at him as the door was shut and the brougham jerked forward.