by Eliza Lloyd
“I might have fallen to pieces if you had arrived without an announcement, but I would have been more than pleased to see you,” she said.
His words had an odd way of warming her. Another gust blew across the ship, and Shelene grabbed her bonnet.
“Let me take you inside,” he said.
“No, stay with me. We no longer have to spend another moment apart and that makes me extraordinarily happy.”
* * * * *
Nantes, lying upon the banks of the River Loire, was only a short, overnight journey from Brest, depending upon the tides, but the port was extremely busy, a remnant of its slave-trading days along with its proximity to Paris. Ships launched daily to ports around the globe, especially along the oft-used routes to the Caribbean and its rich resources of sugar, rum, coffee and tobacco.
Nine days of marriage and travel had almost killed Roman. Maybe his idea of celibacy was a bad one. Knowing his young, nubile wife was prancing about the cabin next door in her shift had left him wide-eyed from lack of sleep and hard from lack of companionship.
The only good from all this was that he had finally gotten her to say yes. He would not get her with child on this voyage. He would do all he could to keep her safe and protected. He still debated whether to reveal the secret that affected her most of all. That of her uncle’s treachery. Roman had no doubt that Belgrano’s activities would eventually come back to haunt them all if he wasn’t stopped.
Las Colinas was a handsome prize, easily forfeited given the nature of certain treasonous crimes. Roman had made some reasonable guesses as to why that hadn’t happened. And most of that had to do with English support during the Napoleonic Wars, along with Commodore Hightower’s wife owning the estate. The king was more interested in keeping the English happy than taking one estate among the thousands in Spain.
Belgrano wasn’t one to forget though, and the grudge against Roman was unforgivable, while Roman wasn’t the sort to let a man of Belgrano’s low caliber continue to wreak havoc.
Roman rapped on her cabin door, identical to his, with a low beam across the portal, on which he’d already knocked his head twice.
“Roman?” she said from inside.
“Yes. The dory is here to take us ashore.” They would travel on another ship via the Middle Passage, down the coast of Africa, then catch the trade winds to the Caribbean, where a final leg would deposit them in Buenos Aires. “Are you ready? Joaquin is here to remove your trunks.”
“Oh, yes. A moment more.”
“We must hurry or the captain will put us to work scrubbing the decks.”
She laughed. “Put Joaquin to work then. I’m not leaving until I’m properly dressed. I am a dignified, married Spanish woman, after all.”
He didn’t wait for an invite inside. He wanted to see his wife, so he opened the door, ducked, and stepped into the claustrophobic domain. Martina was behind Shelene, fastening up her day dress, but she was not unduly exposed, much to Roman’s chagrin. He wanted to see her naked, but he knew that wasn’t safe for his self-control.
“Oh, good morning,” she said to him. Her smile lit the room. She was in no danger of embarrassment, and he was in no mood to pretend virginal niceties, even though this separation had been his idea, foolish as it was.
“Shoo,” Martina said to her peeping son, who glanced around Roman’s broad back, but Martina allowed space for the man who claimed kinship to the partially dressed occupant. Roman proceeded around her and took up Martina’s job.
“Only a twelve-hour trip and you’ve had to change dresses?” he asked.
“Of course!”
Martina snipped something in Spanish and her son removed his cap.
“Martina can finish,” Shelene said over her shoulder. She held her dress, both hands holding her bodice firmly in place.
Roman tugged at the strings, which laced up the back of her dress. “I am just as capable and probably faster.” He pulled hard once and she sucked in her breath, one hand braced against the bed support.
“I have something to show you once we get to shore,” he said.
“Oh? Will I like it?”
“I don’t know. I think so. The city has a new omnibus and we are going to tour on it, and perhaps buy you a wedding ring along the way.”
“A wedding ring? With a large stone?”
“The largest.” The tugging and hooking was a matter of rhythm and he tied the laces with a pretty bow. “There.”
She turned conveniently finding a place in his arms. “A diamond or a ruby?”
“Why not both?”
“Thank you.” She took a deep breath, smoothed her hands down the front of her dress and fluffed her skirts. Then she completely surprised him by gripping his jacket lapels and pushing to her toes. “A kiss is in order, don’t you think?”
“For lacing a dress? Martina might be sad to lose her position as a lady’s maid.” He wrapped his hands around her waist, not caring that they were not alone. He kissed her quickly.
Martina hmpfed and continued packing the last trunk, pretending she wasn’t trapped with the newly married couple in the small room.
“Good morning, my Lady Forrester,” Roman said, as if he were seeing her for the first time. He pressed his lips to hers again and felt the welcoming response, making it all the more difficult to stay away from her. Or say no to her or spend another second of his life without her.
When they separated, she was smiling brightly, which must have matched the grin on his own face. He was ready for a lifetime of mornings with his new wife.
All the memories of their youth flooded his mind and heart. Joy was not something he had experienced while protecting the Crown. That was a different feeling, much like falling from a great height and not knowing when one would land and how hard. It was exhilaration coupled with fear.
Shelene was the soft comfort of a bed during a rainstorm. She was the vitality of heart and blood. Everything about her radiated beauty and warmth and he’d missed it and her.
Seeing her in London had been about duty, but it had unleashed his tightly held control. He had arrived at a place in his life where only she and they mattered. Where their children and their future came together in a bright burst of hope and love.
And where danger and intrigue lost their brilliance.
Had the sinking of the Victorious shined a revealing light on what was important in his life? Or had age given him some wisdom? Had the death of his brother opened his eyes?
The door slammed shut as Martina and Joaquin carried out the first small trunk.
Shelene’s eyes sparkled. “Are you sure we cannot consummate our vows? We will be on land tonight.”
“In my mind, I am sure.”
She nestled closer, her body pleasantly firm against his groin. “I don’t tempt you in the least?” She pouted a little, her red lips forming a perfect moue.
He kissed her again, more leisurely and more deeply. She opened her mouth to his, and he wondered why he was so adamant about waiting. They could die at sea. Dysentery might lay them low. Any number of tragedies could befall them, and he might die without knowing the pleasures of her body. A few warm kisses were nothing compared to what they might enjoy.
And Shelene, the innocent she was, might die never knowing a man. A tragedy indeed.
He blinked a few times. “You are blinding me from my duty.”
“What? That of husband? Or as the king’s agent?” The last was spoken with some derision. While half-English, she embraced her Spanish heritage with both arms. The coquette batted her lashes, offering him all.
“I must get you and our belongings off this ship. Joaquin!”
The door creaked open, and the dark-haired boy peeked in. “Yes, mi’lord? Mama said I was to wait until you gave me instructions.”
“Come in then. Don’t delay.” He pointed to the baggage, while Shelene hid behind him, tying her bonnet. Joaquin hoisted one trunk to his shoulder. The other would require two, so Roman grabbed the opposit
e-side leather strap in one hand and Shelene’s hand with the other. She plucked up her small valise.
At the outdoor hatch, Shelene popped open a parasol and watched as a trunk descended on the pulley rope. Joaquin flew off next in the boatswain’s chair, with its well-used leather straps, securing ropes and wooden slat, letting out a loud whoop as he descended with frightening speed. Martina followed, clinging to the seemingly flimsy ropes of the same chair.
“That’s not very dignified,” Shelene said, watching her lady’s maid hang precariously over the water before she was pulled into the dory. “What if I fall?”
“You’ll get wet.”
She tapped his arm affectionately. “Your humor eludes me, sir.”
The empty swing was hauled back up. “’Oo’s next?” one of the sailors yelled.
“I would much prefer to walk down a sturdy plank,” Shelene said, peering over the ship’s railing.
“It’s the best we ’ave, miss.”
“Oh dear.”
“Come now. It’s your turn,” Roman prompted. He took her parasol, folded it and whistled to Joaquin. When Joaquin looked up, Roman tossed it overboard, watching as the boy caught it with ease. He hoisted her by the waist and sat her on the flat board. “Don’t let go. Joaquin will be waiting for you. Hold on.”
Even though she was smiling, her knuckles were white from her fist-tight grip of the two ropes. As she was jettisoned away from the ship, she let out a scream, which followed her to the safety of the next boat. Her feet were planted on the dory’s floorboards before anyone had a chance to worry about a fall. Roman stared at her; she smiled up and waved back at him.
Lastly, Roman made the trip. As he settled in the same swing chair, which suddenly seemed a bit delicate beneath his weight, he glanced across the ship’s bow.
There was no mistaking the gaze of the man staring back. A war enemy, one of those people with whom paths, and swords, had crossed. Hatred burned in his gaze, but before Roman could react or think, he was whisked up and over the side of the ship.
The woman who greeted him at the dory was his greatest treasure. One whose future he must protect from his past.
Shelene was still wide-eyed with excitement, when he stood beside her, tugging at her arm to induce her into sitting still. “That was fun. I don’t know if I want to do it again anytime soon, but…did you get the feeling your heart was going to burst from your chest when they dropped you so suddenly from such a great height?”
“Yes.” He wanted to catch her up in his arms and whirl her around. Of course, a boat was not the place for playfulness. It was no place to protect her from his enemies either.
Why had he waited so long? Why had he built an army of adversaries when he could have had a lifetime of peace with Shelene and their children?
She had no idea what he had experienced in life; it would be refreshing to watch as they traveled the world together. Maybe it would restore his innocence. Maybe, eventually, his enemies would forget him.
Once everyone was settled, the oarsman stroked oak blades evenly against the water and rowed them ashore. Roman glanced back to see his enemy at the ship’s rail. Pietro was unmistakable, especially with the distinguished filmy white of his left eye. Scarred from cheek through brow and forehead, the gash disappeared into his hairline. A gift from Roman when Pietro had been hired to assassinate him. One of Belgrano’s men, adrift while the mercenary was in prison.
Surely it was only a grudge now, and he had no cause to worry. Lately, Crown activities had been more diplomatic in nature than swashbuckling espionage. But since Belgrano had escaped it wouldn’t be long before he gathered his like-minded men.
He stared at Shelene, the wisps of her hair gently flitting in the wind. She was the best and worst decision of his life.
It was just as well he and Shelene would leave Nantes soon. First Belgrano. Now Pietro. The crew wouldn’t be free from their ship for a few days; enough time for him and Shelene to be on their way.
Something very close to regret churned through his being. He hadn’t given a thought to how the thing that had kept them apart might also be the thing to separate them in a more permanent, devastating way.
Chapter Five
The next day, Shelene still admired her new wedding ring but suddenly removed it from her finger and placed the bauble in the black velvet box from which it came.
“You’ve grown tired of its beauty?” Roman asked. “And your vows?”
“No. I am reveling in my temporary euphoria.”
“Temporary?”
“A bride cannot be truly happy when her husband wishes to remain celibate for months on end. My euphoria ends each night when it is time to find my bed. My lonely, empty bed.”
“What has that got to do with your ring? Your expensive ring?”
They sat in a private room, taking dinner. The loud dining area was closed off, leaving them alone. Their conversation had been light and pleasant and mostly about their days in Spain, when they were innocently and naively in love. Plus, there were a few tentative forays into what they would do once they returned to Spain. She wanted to ask about their time apart, about his adventures, about those things they had once whispered under the trees in the orchard.
“We are married now. The ring is only a symbol; my words to you are by far more important,” she said.
He reached across the table and placed his hand over hers. “As mine are to you, but I would feel better if the ring remained upon your pretty finger.”
“I’m not seventeen anymore, Roman. As much as I love jewelry, I don’t think it wise to be wearing such a bauble around Nantes and on the ship. It will be safely hidden away until it is entirely safe to wear.”
He took her fingers, holding them lightly and brushing his thumb over her nails. “Shelene, I have an urgent task in the morning. I’ll be gone when you wake.”
She set aside her fork. “Does it have something to do with the note you received earlier?”
“It does.” Roman braced his elbows on the table.
“Your mistress?” she asked. Shelene fiddled with the lace fichu she wore around her neck and tucked demurely in her bodice. There was a round brooch with a lavender-colored stone in the middle, holding the edges together. She quickly opened it, unfastened the clip and set it on the table near her plate, fingering the smoothness of the stone as the conversation continued.
“Yes. She’s always been demanding.”
“Demanding? I would hate to speak poorly of the Crown’s minions.”
“No, you wouldn’t.”
She laughed at the truth of his words. “Whatever the note said, why did you not pen a quick response telling Bathurst, or whoever,” she said with a wave of her hand, “that you are now married and have no time for their mischief?” She reached for the lace fichu and began a slow tug, easing it from her neck.
“If only it were so simple.”
She draped the lace over her lap and leaned forward. Would he even notice her breasts in light of the untimely missive? Was he so caught up in his past, he wouldn’t notice what she was offering? That which he should have already taken? A display of her body would surely entice him.
Persuading Roman to have intercourse should not be so difficult. And she hated to think of the real reasons why he insisted upon waiting.
He’d returned to his meal; she sipped at her wine.
“You are bothered?” He smiled tightly and didn’t look her in the eye until he was more composed—at least she thought so.
“Roman, you have no idea how happy it would make me, if once, just once, you would share with me. I have no one to spill your secrets too. I would hold them close to my heart.”
“Women aren’t meant to carry such burdens. Allow me to shoulder all the weight in our family.”
“If I didn’t know you so well, I would be gravely offended that you think so little of womankind. Especially a Spanish woman.”
“My blue blood exerts itself at the worst times. And y
ou know, that I know, you are the one woman in all Britain’s dominion with a will forged in steel.”
“I am not sure that is a compliment.”
“It is. Of the highest order.” He gazed at her, a bit of devilry in his eyes.
Shelene ignored the rest of her dinner and slowly pushed from the table, flicking the top few buttons of her dress as she crossed to him. When she strolled behind him, she ran her hand across his broad shoulders. Indeed, he could carry the weight of many such burdens.
Roman gripped her hand. “What are you about, wife? We are in public.”
“Ah, I actually got your attention,” she said. “And I think you know, but if I need to make it plain, I could show you.” They had flirted when they first fell in love, but they’d had the sharp gaze of her parents watching them closely—her mother much more so than her father.
“You know we can’t. Not when we have such a long journey, with infinite peril, ahead of us.”
His lap was also broad and could easily carry her weight. She eased onto his thighs, her bum securely nestled, then wrapped one arm around his neck. His arm settled about her waist; one hand dropped to her thigh. Willingly or not, he pulled her closer.
She ran her fingers through his hair, then leaned in to press a kiss to his lips. Pretending she knew what she was doing was probably a mistake, but when he responded, searing heat melted her bones.
The kiss was sweet and hard; teasing and tortuous. When she broke away, she was panting. Roman’s eyelids had masted, and he examined her with interest. “Don’t play with me, Shelene. You might get burned.”
“Ack. Maldito,” she said softly before pressing her face into his neck, frustrated, wanting her husband fully. And thinking he smelled good enough to eat. “I don’t know what I’m asking for, but I want you. And I want you to want me in return.”
“My God, you have no idea. It is all I can do to stay away from you.”
“Because of your duty?”
“Because I’m disciplined. Because I see the consequences of all my actions. We will be back in Spain within a year. We will be free to enjoy all the benefits of our marriage then.”
