She couldn’t refute that. Ginny gazed down at her father for a long moment, then asked softly, “Were you more worried about me, or about the gold he took?”

“Don’t be ridiculous, Virginia. You’ve always been worth more to me than any amount of gold.”

It was a facile reassurance, made with the aplomb of a politician, but lacking in sincerity. Brandon didn’t meet her eyes, but kept his face stubbornly averted.

Ginny didn’t stay much longer. When she left, she bade him farewell and gave him a perfunctory kiss, then called for her escort to bring her mount.

“Must you leave so soon, Ginny?” Sonya looked worried. “I would feel better if you would allow me to send Franklin with you as an additional escort.”

“Girard is quite capable, thank you. Steve hired him, and I have faith in his judgment.”

Sonya slid an uncertain glance toward the lean young man bringing Ginny’s horse, but only nodded. Their farewell was only slightly less awkward than the one with her father, and Ginny was unsettled and agitated as they left.

It was not a very comfortable departure, Ginny thought as she rode back along the curving river road that swept from the old Delery plantation along the banks of the Mississippi and down to New Orleans. Both Sonya and her father had acted so strange, as if—as if trying to tell her something. Perhaps she should have talked more to Sonya, or listened to her. But really, in light of all that had happened between them, it was difficult to trust her completely.

“Madame Morgan,” Girard said respectfully as their horses slowed to a trot at the city limits, “it is best if we ride along Magazine Street until we reach Canal. I do not think it safe here.”

A brisk wind had sprung up, blowing Ginny’s copper hair loose from the confines of the straw bonnet tied upon her head. The smells of late summer were in the air, vying with the more pungent scent of river debris and the mélange of cargo being unloaded on nearby docks. It was noisy, the serenity of the road behind them dissipating in a beehive of activity and swaying masts and the belching smoke of riverboats and steamers. Rough boatmen swarmed the clutter of cargo stacked along the wharves, some of them pausing to turn and look as they drew near.

As she pushed her blowing hair from her eyes, Ginny saw a familiar face among the men, and drew her mount to a halt. “Wait a moment, Girard. I see someone I know.”

He saw her at almost the same time, and a cheeky grin split his face as Paco Davis climbed the bluff to approach her where she waited on the rise overlooking the docks.

“You’re as beautiful as always, Ginny. Have you forgiven me yet?”