Love Me Once (The Infamous Forresters Book 3)

by Eliza Lloyd

  “Roman? What is it?”

  “I think the journey is over, that’s all,” he said.

  “If I go back to Spain, what will you be doing?” She knew. She knew what Roman always did in such a situation. He braved the danger. He went it alone.

  He glanced toward Martina then to her, staring intently, causing a nervous thrill to burst inside. “Behaving myself.” He’d leaned toward her and lowered his voice so Martina couldn’t hear. “I should apologize for my behavior last night. Except I don’t regret it and I’m not sorry.”

  She wouldn’t respond, but…oh, so many buts.

  After Martina had berated her last night—in fact, had flayed her from head to toe—Shelene had reinforced her levees and moats against Roman’s charms. She mustn’t let him in. Oh, she mustn’t, no matter Martina’s finger-wagging.

  No matter that Martina was right.

  As a lady’s maid, Martina was without compare. As a specially appointed duenna and stand-in for Shelene’s mother, she could be harsh and without forgiveness. Of course, Martina had demanded Roman do the honorable thing and marry Shelene. Martina wasn’t so bold to say her words in front of Roman, though. The only thing that had saved Shelene was the fact only the three of them knew of the momentary indiscretion.

  Shelene had sat without speaking, letting Martina’s anger burn out, then she crawled beneath the bed covers and thought about how her lips had tingled when Roman kissed her.

  And Martina did not know Roman had proposed marriage more than once. She might have viewed him more kindly had she known and insisted more fervently that Shelene obey the dictates of society.

  “There’s something you’re not telling me,” Shelene said. Those few words were a distraction. He was not really thinking of last night. He was thinking ahead. He was getting ready to leave her again.

  “I will see that you are all aboard the first ship to Cadiz, before I leave Brest. There’s no reason to stay here any longer.”

  She was surprised, but she shouldn’t have been. This week, these few days seeing Roman again, was an anomaly. One of those things that was more accident than fate. Not a cosmic convergence but a sad coincidence.

  “I will hire a man to escort you,” he said absently. His eyes darted left then right, glazed with purpose. There he goes. But to where?

  “That is unnecessary. I have Martina and Joaquin.” How many times had she been in this situation? “When will I see you again?”

  “Tomorrow morning. At breakfast.”

  “That isn’t what I meant.”

  Roman returned from his distant thoughts, blinked a few times then stared at her, as if it were the first time he’d seen her. “I just need to know you are safe and content, Shelene, even if you are not with me.”

  “You are going to South America, aren’t you? You doubt some part of Laurent’s story?”

  “No, that’s not it.” He ran a hand over his head, his fingers messing his hair. A strange tell from a man so composed, so indecipherable. “I have to leave. There are duties to which I must attend.”

  She clutched his arm. “Tell me.”

  He placed his hand over hers and gently pried her fingers loose. “My employ requires I keep secrets. This is about more than your father and my brother.”

  She had quelled her anger long enough. “Martina, please excuse us for a moment.”

  “I should stay,” Martina said.

  “Martina, please.” Shelene could not fight two battles at once, and this one with Roman seemed important and life-altering. Martina left the room, pulling the door shut behind her. She would be lurking nearby, ready to rescue Shelene from the undisciplined rogue the moment she heard the slightest desperate cry from her charge.

  She glanced toward Roman, troubled at the truths staring in her face. “You asked me about trust, and you wonder why I am unable to take your hand in matrimony. How am I to spend my life, only knowing half of you and wondering about the other half? It is all or nothing.”

  “The few days I spend with you are better than all the days of another’s life,” he said.

  Roman knew how to tear her heart in two.

  “I always thought I was the romantic, but it’s you, Roman, searching for your grand adventure and returning to the impatient arms of your waiting woman. Well, my arms are empty and my heart heavy. The few days I spend with you are making me bitter and lonely.”

  Roman took her shoulders and gripped hard. There was a gleam she had never seen—a little crazed and a lot determined. “All right. Then today is your opportunity. We marry tomorrow. I finish my one last assignment for Bathurst and then I return to Spain to be with you. Forever.”

  She stared, her mouth open. Roman also knew how to surprise her. “That wasn’t romantic at all.”

  “No. It’s the realism you want. Tomorrow or never. I’m not going to wait into perpetuity. I’m not going to torture us both with unfulfilled needs and desires. You can marry anyone, yet you’ve waited. Why? We both know the answer.”

  Shelene couldn’t deny his words. They were in the middle of such difficult circumstances. He couldn’t be serious now.

  “It’s time to break this impasse,” he said with all seriousness.

  “It’s not a game,” she pled. Could she do it? Could she trust him enough to marry today and place all her faith in the hope he would come back to her this one last time? Her being yearned for him. Even now the pull of attraction was nearly impossible to ignore, her body practically arching toward his.

  “It’s never been a game,” he whispered. “But this is check. If you think it is checkmate, I will go on with my life and you can go on with yours.”

  How did she answer this challenge? Spending her life with Roman had never seemed such a real possibility, and yet there was this frightful chasm she had to leap.

  “If we marry tomorrow, then I go with you. I’m not going to be separated from my husband. Not for a week, not for a month, not for a year.”

  Roman took a deep breath and turned away. “That is impossible. You know what I do is dangerous, and I won’t jeopardize your life.”

  “But what is my life without you?” Tears formed but she blinked them back. She shook with want and denial and fear. The back of her throat burned.

  “And what is my future, knowing the woman I love has hardened her heart toward me?”

  “I haven’t. You know I haven’t.” A tear fell but she didn’t swipe it away. She did not care that she was red-faced and wide-eyed.

  “Then say yes. Put an end to our misery and loneliness.”

  “Then you must also say yes. Take me with you. Don’t leave me alone. Not now. Not ever.”

  He stepped toward her and looped one arm about her waist, pulling her close. She had resisted him for so long, but today, all she could feel was the need to be next to him, touching and holding him. She rested her head against his hard chest to feel the easy movement of his breath.

  Roman kissed the top of her head. “I suppose if I don’t agree, you will sneak aboard my ship as a stowaway.”

  “If I could escape Martina’s clutches, perhaps.”

  “So, this is it? You will marry me tomorrow?”

  “Yes, I will be your wife. And you will take me with you.”

  “To the ends of the earth.”

  Chapter Four

  Shelene was a true beauty, and worth every moment he’d had to wait to see her standing in front of a minister. He’d not planned to say his vows in French, or for that matter, marry anyplace but St. George’s in London. Mother would give him an earful when she saw him next, for encouraging such a shoddy affair. English dukes’ sons did not marry in obscurity.

  Or in France.

  He, who dealt in the harsh realities of life, knew that such opportunities were not to be missed. The circumstances weren’t ideal, and the realities of his past gnawed at his common sense, but Shelene had said yes.

  And he’d never been happier as the minister intoned the final words and Shelene re
sponded.

  “Oui, I do,” she said. There was a look in her gaze that implored him to keep his word. To be the faithful, loving husband of her maidenly fantasies. To abandon his current mistress, England, and be faithful only to her.

  He bent to kiss her, a quick peck that would offend no one’s sensibilities.

  And it was done.

  Shelene was his wife.

  And he would not touch her until he knew he could be a real husband to her. The idea was bad on its face. There was still Belgrano to consider, and the trip to Argentina, but at least Roman would have provided for her. And that made him happier still.

  Undoubtedly, her parents had designated a guardian for her, and that honored person would reside in Spain. Her heart was there, and he’d always known that is where she would spend the majority of her life. He’d made plans to spend his life in Spain as well. But he was her husband now, and her safety and happiness was in his hands.

  Martina hugged Shelene, then turned to him. “Oh, señor. This is a wonderful day.”

  “Indeed, it is,” he responded. She clasped his hand then pressed her dry lips to the back of it, her kiss fervent and pleading. She urged God’s blessing upon him and Shelene, along with the hope for a quiver full of children. The little dark-headed arrows would have to wait.

  Joaquin, Martina’s son, also shook his hand and smiled, a wry grin. Wishful, considering his youth and the fleshly needs that went with age. Roman clapped him on the back.

  So, this was his family now. Shelene and her entourage. There were others, of course, still in Spain. Those he had known for years but gave up because he and Shelene could not find common ground.

  A month ago, he would have said it was all but impossible. Maybe he was wrong, and they had changed. Maybe the time apart had made them realize the wonderful truth. They were not meant to be apart.

  Signatures were applied to the license and church registry. Goodbyes and thank-yous were dispensed, and Shelene clutched his arm as they walked from the church.

  Roman quelled the fear of the upcoming journey and what it might mean for them. In the recesses of his heart, he knew the truth. Oliver and Commodore Hightower were dead, but he had to ask those last few questions before his mind accepted the truth. And Belgrano? He would not harm Shelene, but he would certainly do his worst against Roman, and that he must prevent. Besides, Belgrano was not the primary objective, and Bathurst had relieved him of the hard duty of capturing the man and returning him to Spain.

  However, he had every intention of returning to Spain with his new bride.

  Shelene stopped and turned to stare into his eyes. “I love you, and I will until I draw my last breath.”

  Roman wrapped his arms about her waist and lifted her, kissing her fully on the lips in sight of all Brest. She flung her hands about his neck, and he turned her full circle before setting her to her feet again. Breathless. Excited.

  Ready to start their life together. Ready to challenge fate to do its worst.

  * * * * *

  The masted ship bobbed on the water, ready to take them on their journey of discovery. Shelene might have been excited about the prospect except for the words Roman had just announced. They stood on the dock, about to proceed up the ship’s squeaky wooden ramp. With the cacophony around the ship, she wasn’t sure she heard Roman correctly.

  “What do you mean?”

  “You are sharing a cabin with Martina.”

  “Martina?”

  “Yes.”

  “No.”

  “Yes.”

  “I will not, not when I have a husband.” She had not waited all these years for Roman, only to find out they would not have a wedding night. Possibly for weeks.

  “I’m your wife,” she said meekly. Her hot blood usually simmered before it boiled.

  “Shelene, I’m not spending our first night together in a cramped, uncleanly, ordinary box. And worse, on a bed that is barely large enough for one, let alone two.”

  “You’ve used every excuse the past week. We have had seven days to consummate our union. And now this.” For seven days he’d been busy with travel arrangements, he said. A change of his will, he said. Talking with so and so, he said. But he’d spent every morning with her at breakfast, for an hour, and every evening after dinner, he’d sat with her in a private room at the inn, not in his room or hers. He’d read a book to her in French, while she’d held his free hand and played with his fingers.

  They’d played chess. He’d feigned a few not-so-strategic moves, thinking to make the game appear competitive, until she actually beat him then he’d sat back in surprise. They’d whispered. They’d laughed. She drew a portrait of him with charcoal. And he talked. Questions, really. All about what she had done for the past years. They didn’t touch intimately except for his knee which, with his long legs, rested against hers. Such a touch was hard to ignore. It was all she could think of as they tried to converse. He did it on purpose, of course, since he did nothing she considered husbandly.

  More and more, she was reminded of all those doubts she had about Roman and them together.

  She had promised to trust him but refusing to consummate their marriage did not inspire confidence.

  “There is time. We need to renew our friendship, before we…you know.” He wagged his brows and tightened his grip about her waist, pulling her uncomfortably close. They were standing near the ship’s boarding ramp, within view of the entire crew and the rabble on the docks. Now he decided to embrace her.

  “I don’t know, and that is the point of my argument,” she said.

  He leaned toward her. “And you wish all Brest to know this also?” Roman smiled, a brief, knowing smile that irritated her. Why did it seem he held all the cards, all the time? “I am a patient tutor, and a tutor never rushes,” he said.

  She flushed, he grinned more broadly.

  “But…if we don’t…that means we aren’t…really married.” She had lowered her voice and he leaned toward her listening intently. He made her weak.

  “I know what it means, but we are married and no one can say differently.” He waved Joaquin over. “Joaquin, the trunks, please.” Roman had taken over the traveling household and the boy jumped to pull trunks and valises from the carriage, then hauled them aboard the ship.

  “Some teacher. We could have a private classroom and yet you are willing to keep the door closed to our lessons.”

  “All in good time,” he promised. “Come, let us board and settle for the trip.”

  She wrapped her arm in his. “After Nantes, where do we go?”

  “First the Caribbean then Buenos Aires.”

  “Several weeks then?”

  “Yes, depending upon the weather.”

  Later, they stood at the deck railing. The sails snapped as the wind filled the canvas and the noise of humans was muted by sounds of the sea: the gulls squawking, the thwap of water against the hull.

  “How did this happen?” Shelene asked. “We don’t see each other for two years and now we are married.”

  “Living right, I suppose. I don’t want to believe in something as random as luck,” Roman said. “Are you having second thoughts?”

  “Second, third and fourth thoughts.” She covered his hand, wishing she wasn’t wearing gloves. Wishing that marriage to Roman didn’t seem like marriage to a stranger.

  “I admit it’s a bit unconventional, but I have reasons,” he said.

  “Which I wish you would share with me. Tell me a secret, Roman. Something about your life that I don’t know. Tell me a secret every day, because I feel like I don’t know the man you’ve become.”

  “Secrets? I have plenty of those. Don’t you?”

  She laughed, her brows winging in surprise. “Me? Have a secret? Martina has guarded me for the last two years, at Mama’s urging. Which I never understood. I didn’t know anyone in London and if I did, I certainly wouldn’t give the family cause for concern.”

  “No one? There wasn’t some young earl
who took an interest in you? A wealthy merchantman’s son? You didn’t walk in Hyde Park? Attend the opera?”

  “Of course I did.” She felt heat rise through her chest and up her neck, but hopefully he wouldn’t notice. He couldn’t know anyhow.

  “So, the Earl of Chadwick didn’t ask you to marry him?”

  She raised her chin, her brows furrowed. “Who told you?”

  “I have informants.”

  “What if I had said yes to him? You wouldn’t be so smug.”

  “Impossible.”

  “I should have said yes, just to teach you a lesson.”

  He laughed, little wrinkles formed near his eyes. “You taught me a lesson when you said, ‘Don’t come back.’ A very harsh lesson, wife. So why did you say no?”

  “How do you do that? Turn the question around? You were supposed to be telling me secrets, not the other way around.” She brushed at the hairs whipping around her face, tucking them behind her ear only to have them return with the next gust of wind.

  “Was Chadwick’s proposal supposed to be a secret?”

  “No.”

  “Well, he was boasting to everyone at White’s. He made it sound as if you’d said yes. I got drunk that night because I worried that it truly was the end for us. And that’s my secret.”

  Her shoulders slumped. Maybe it was relief, or maybe it was that she held Roman to such a high standard. He was mortal, after all.

  “You believed him?” She soothed her hand up his arm, enjoying the hard feel of him.

  “Drink and emotion are a terrible brew.”

  “I never said yes. How could I? I’d only known him for two weeks. In the end, Mother had to send him away. He became rather a nuisance, standing at our door twice a day with posies and poetry books. However, he had a nice gig and the prettiest brown thoroughbreds,” she admitted.

  “Some thoroughbreds are prettier than others.”

  She laughed a little, though she was more than curious about how he knew such things. “When you were in London, why didn’t you visit me and Mother?”

  “A bit of selfishness. And self-preservation.”