Love Me Once (The Infamous Forresters Book 3)

by Eliza Lloyd

  “Shelene, I am no longer with the Home Office. Bathurst can no longer make demands on my time.”

  “Oh, I get to do that now?”

  “Yes! As you wish.”

  “You are not understanding me, or you wouldn’t be so glib in proclaiming your intentions are pure and honest while I explain my fear. I will go with you to Cadiz and we will bring Udad and Papa since it is a buying expedition.”

  “I’ll make the arrangements.” Roman stood, staring down at her from his lofty height. “When are you going to believe me? A month from now? A year? I will not wait that long to be your husband again. I may have failed you as a man, but we will make no progress living separate lives. I will come to your room tonight, after dark. Do not bar the doors from me, Shelene. I would hate to wake Antonio by bursting through a locked door. I would shout to the world that I want you and that I love you, but I will allow you and everyone in the household to think that you have the upper hand. For now.”

  “If I say no?”

  “Antonio will wonder, one day, why he has no siblings. I can’t let that happen.”

  Shelene watched him walk away, knowing he was serious. She soothed a few loose strands of hair back and then walked toward her workroom.

  When she was troubled or worried, art was the best antidote, aside from Antonio.

  Roman. Roman. Roman. There was nothing so clear to her as her love for him. In spite of denying him, she yearned for him. Every moment. Every day.

  She forced her gaze upon the stained glass. The blue was working beautifully in the window. She thought she would be able to deliver the frame to Father Etienne within the week. She walked to the shelving where she kept her other projects and pulled out the circular frame from the top shelf.

  She’d started it when she found out she was pregnant. A child should know who his father was, and Shelene had started a stained glass of Roman’s visage. Just from his shoulders up. All the colored glass was separated. The lead was ready. The putty. But when it came to his face, she couldn’t see him clearly.

  Once Uncle had delivered the horrific news, she’d put the project away, unable to face the emptiness of the stained glass or life without Roman.

  Why couldn’t she just accept Roman as he was? Mama had done it with Papa. She’d endured. She’d grabbed joy where she could find it.

  A piece of paper fluttered beneath the wooden frame. It was a free-hand drawing of Roman that she’d completed years ago when she was drowning in love for him. She’d drawn him to perfection, and aside from a few new wrinkles at his eyes, he looked much the same, even after his distressing voyage.

  Putting everything away again, Shelene left the room and hurried up the stairs to check on Tono. Mrs. Johns sat on the floor with him, a blanket spread out so he could roll about and chew on his few playthings. He didn’t even notice Shelene.

  “Mrs. Johns, I’m going to ride for a while. I should be back in two hours or so.”

  “Are you taking a companion?”

  “No.” She rarely took a riding companion. This wasn’t England. “Why do you ask?”

  “Señor Forrester has asked us all to be especially vigilant for the time being.”

  “Oh, he has, has he?” Wasn’t that just like him…?

  Well, yes it was. She shouldn’t be at all surprised that he was being cautious what with his distrust of Uncle Francisco. If she weren’t Roman’s wife and Uncle’s niece, could she be honest with herself and admit that her uncle’s turnabout was suspicious and troubling?

  And with such impeccable timing.

  He’d arrived just as she’d needed someone who had a semblance of strength and direction. And he’d recognized her time of weakness. What would it take to find out if Uncle’s pardon was legitimate? Roman would have already checked. He had his sources. Had he discovered anything?

  One of the Arabians, Arsu, waited outside already saddled. Shelene patted the beautiful bay and pressed her nose into the horse’s neck, inhaling the earthy scent of hay and barn and sweat.

  She stepped to the mounting block and swung into the saddle. While living in London, she had little to do and few people with whom to speak. Aside from her stained-glass art and tea with her mother and Martina, she’d been basically alone. Oh, there were those few times when she’d been invited to minor balls.

  Here in Spain, she could not get away from anyone. Night and day, the household was a whirlwind of activity. There was very little time to smell the fragrance of the earth and feel the wind blow through her hair.

  The horse was strong between her legs and loped along with an easy gait. Arsu was a joy to ride. God, she was so happy to be home. Aside from her memories of Mama, her time in London was a blur of forgetfulness. Here, her childhood came alive. Here, her love for Roman had blossomed. Here, her family would thrive long into the future.

  She rode north toward the water and hills. Once she had traveled about two miles, she could see Arco de la Frontera’s white homes hanging on the cliff’s edge.

  One other wonderful thing about riding: It was easy to forget one’s problems. Only the rider and horse mattered. Steering the horse along a worn path. Ducking tree limbs or using caution over rocky terrain. Just her and the horse.

  Around a bend in the trail, Shelene pulled the horse to a stop. She turned her head, letting her ear identify the sound—she thought of men talking. But perhaps not. The river had its own language.

  Father Etienne appeared on horseback, directing his horse through some brush. “Oh, Señora Forrester! What a pleasant surprise.”

  “Buenos días!” Shelene was still on Las Colinas land, but there were several little homes and a few small villages with two or three families that dotted the landscape. “You are the last person I expected to see today, though I was thinking about you this morning.”

  “I hope in prayer.”

  She laughed, patting her horse’s neck. “No. Actually I was stirred up over the stained glass and why it has taken me so long to finish.”

  “Patience is a virtue.”

  “I’m sure your parishioners are tired of staring at the wooden insert where the beautiful glass should be.”

  He waved her concern away. “You are far from home,” he said. “And no accompanying rider. I would think after the incident several days ago, your husband would be more cautious with his family.”

  “Father, you of all people know I have an independent will.”

  “An independent will should not supplant a cautious mind.” He removed his hat and fanned his face.

  “You sound like Roman.”

  “I trust all is well with your marriage since your husband’s return? We have not discussed the difficulties that have arisen since your marriage.”

  “Should we not do that in the cool of the church instead of on this warm morning?”

  “I am at your service should you wish to do so. If you still wish to pursue the unmentionable subject, we should have a very deep discussion. Señor Navarro would no doubt be happy if you were of that mind.”

  “It is a difficulty, Father, but I have my son to think of now. And since Roman is home, I am sure he would contest any such thoughts or actions.”

  “That is good. You are a credit to the Belgrano name. And to your father.”

  “Are you returning to Arco de la Frontera? Perhaps I can ride along with you?” she asked.

  “The company would be most welcome.” He plopped his hat on his sweat-speckled brow and clucked, his horse responding to his command. “It is a perfect day, is it not?” he said.

  “Yes, and more than anything, I want to keep the peace in our wonderful valley.”

  “With God’s grace and our prayers, I am sure that will happen. Are you worried?”

  “Since Roman has returned, he has been distrustful of my uncle. You know his past. I very much want to believe him.”

  “I am in the business of forgiveness. But I understand your husband’s past is the business of suspicion.”

  She
lene laughed. “You know him so well!”

  “But not as well as you. I am sure you can convince Señor Forrester that forgiveness is the best choice.”

  “Roman is a man of truth. I think he would rather ride to Madrid and have an audience with the king about my uncle’s pardon. One word from him, and I think my husband would be silenced on the matter.”

  “More like Doubting Thomas than John. He must see to believe.”

  “Hmm, that is a good analogy, Father. I think even Roman would agree with that.”

  In between their conversations and their silent ruminating, they arrived at the bridge, taking Father Etienne back into the small city.

  He motioned a quick Sign of the Cross with his fingertips and bid her adiós.

  Forgiveness? An odd memory came to her. Even when she had petitioned him about an annulment, he had not advised her to forgive her husband. Nor did he do so today.

  Is that what she wanted? Permission to forgive Roman?

  Chapter Fifteen

  Shelene couldn’t enjoy the generous supper laid out after dark. Tía Ana-María and Papa had talked nonstop. She watched with curiosity as Papa kept patting the back of her aunt’s hand. She didn’t like where her odd thoughts were going, instead glancing at her husband who stared back at her.

  Shelene let those thoughts wonder to Roman’s promise to assert his husbandly privileges. Could she blame him? She had never known him to be unfaithful to her, but surely he must have been over the years. A beautiful woman who might tempt him on a lonely night. A courtesan he might hire to relieve a building need. Another espía who could understand his requirement for secrecy and privacy.

  “If you will excuse me, I want to see Tono before he is put to bed,” she said.

  Both men jumped to their feet and wished her a good night. In his room, Antonio was already drowsy, so she fed him quickly and Durra took him off to bed.

  Earlier, she’d ordered a bath to be prepared. She still smelled of horses and the light sweat that had beaded and dried during her exertions. And why was she going to the trouble? Was it so she could insist she did not care? That she did not want him as her husband? Or to prove that she was an honorable, dutiful Spanish wife?

  Or something she was too cowardly to admit? I want him. I want him as I have always wanted him.

  How long was she going to fight him? Until she forced him to leave over her perceived animosity and anger?

  Would the thing she most feared, his leaving, be the reason he left? No, he would never leave Antonio. And where would he go? Return to England to see his family? Of course, someday. But Antonio would bind him in ways she never could. Why couldn’t she be more clever, and stop being ruled by her emotions? Oh, she pretended a certain iron will, when she had too. How could she have endured without it?

  She disrobed and stepped into the warm water, sinking to her chin. She rubbed the bar of soap against a soft cloth and started scrubbing at her neck, working downward. She didn’t have time to wash and dry her hair.

  He wanted her. He made no pretense about that. She could give him the victory a man such as he craved. She could succumb to his clever maneuverings and let him think it was all his idea. He would enjoy such a challenge, such a sweet conquest.

  And wouldn’t she enjoy the thrill of being with him again? She hadn’t forgotten a single moment of their intimacies.

  When would Roman arrive?

  One of the household servants, probably Martina, had set a rail and robe out, the usual request when she bathed, but she was nowhere to be found. Shelene dried with a fluffy towel, sat down to apply a soothing lotion that Sakina’s daughter made, then pulled on her gown. Strolling toward the double doors that opened to a balcony overlooking the valley, she stepped out and breathed in the night air.

  It was heavy with fragrant flowers, farm animal smells and the heat of the day.

  She heard his voice then, coming from Antonio’s room. Muffled, but conversational. He was enthralled with Antonio, and for that she was thankful. She could envision him leaning over the crib to examine his sleeping son.

  Roman wanted her to know he had arrived. She took a breath, and stepped back to the room, leaning against the jamb of the double door. When she heard the doorknob, she pulled her robe tighter. Her heart beat rapidly and her mouth had gone dry.

  “Shelene,” he said, closing the door behind him. He leaned against it, staring at her. “You look beautiful,” he said. “More beautiful than any woman I’ve ever seen.”

  “Even in all your travels?”

  “Especially. I’ve met many women with whom I can compare you. They were all lacking. Not a night has gone by when I didn’t think of you.”

  He strolled closer to her. A step away, he reached for her hand. “You know why I am here.”

  “I know.” Was she giving in too easily? Were his charms so great and her desire for him so uncontrollable? She could justify her actions, couldn’t she? He had brought her father home, after all. He had given her the greatest joy in life with the birth of Antonio.

  She could do this one thing, but had she truly forgiven him?

  “You loved me once, Shelene.”

  She glanced at him, so handsome, so noble. What woman in her right mind would turn him away? Surely he would have to do something worse than break his word when it involved searching the world for her father?

  He wrapped his free hand around her waist and pulled her near. “We have a lifetime ahead of us. Let’s not allow another day go by where we are not together.”

  The wind blew in through the door, stirring the robe against her legs and sending a sensual thrill through her body, made worse by Roman’s nearness.

  She turned toward the bed; he pulled the doors closed behind her, then stared as she removed her outer robe and climbed into bed.

  “I would appreciate it if you did not wake Antonio.”

  He laughed. “I think you have forgotten who makes all the noise in this marriage,” he said. Roman stood at the bedside and licked his fingers before dousing two of the three candles.

  She watched as he sat at the end of the bed and bent to remove his boots—the same that he’d worn when he’d departed from Nantes, now worn, abused and barely useful. At least he’d gotten a few new clothes.

  “This isn’t a duty, Shelene,” he said without looking at her. “I want it to be a joy for you.”

  She couldn’t help but chuckle. “I’m not the woman of our wedding night, simple and untried. But my mother and Martina have assured me it is my duty, so you will have to do your best to prove otherwise.”

  “My best, eh?” He removed and folded his jacket, then worked at the buttons on this shirt and sleeves.

  “Well, in your weakened state, you might be unable to do anything but hold yourself up.”

  “Wife, you underestimate me.” He stared at her then, maybe a little surprised that she wasn’t buried in her bed covers and cowering in maidenly fear.

  He stood, shedding his trousers as if it were the most natural thing in the world. Naked, he strolled toward the bureau with the pitcher and basin. He washed his face and used the damp towel along his body, but he kept her from seeing his manhood. Shelene’s gaze followed his movements, though.

  He was still strong, with well-defined muscles in his arms and legs and stomach, but so much thinner. He’d been resolutely silent about what had happened while in Argentina. So had Papa, but one good look at Oliver, and Shelene knew how difficult it must have been.

  But Roman remained strong in ways Shelene would never understand. Not truly. In time, maybe he would feel comfortable discussing more of the finer points of his interesting and secret life.

  Shelene gasped. “What happened?” She threw the covers back and hurried to him, seeing the horrible, but healed, gash at his side. She ran her fingers along the scar, and Roman flinched.

  “It happened months ago. Before I went to Argentina. You are not to worry. It no longer hurts.”

  “When? Why?”


  “One of your uncle’s men saw me when we were in Nantes. I was meeting one of my contacts…that morning I went missing for a few days. He tried to kill me.”

  “Oh, dear God! Why didn’t you tell me? Why didn’t Joaquin?”

  “For a lot of reasons, but mostly to protect you. That attack was one of the reasons I insisted you return to Spain.” He turned then, and she felt his desire, strong and hard against her. He slipped his arms about her waist and lifted her to her toes. She wrapped her arms about his neck.

  His hungry kiss warmed her. She opened her mouth to him, reliving the thrills of intimacy that coursed through her body those nights long ago.

  Roman swept her up and carried her to the bed. She floated into the mattress, and he positioned himself over her. Her rail fell across the top of her thighs. He slipped his hand beneath it and soothed upward, baring her body, finding her breast and kneading slowly.

  “I’ll try to please you, Shelene. Forgive me if I cannot.”

  She would be pleased no matter the outcome. How many opportunities had Roman had over the years to fall in love with another woman? To never return?

  He braced on one arm, his other lifting away the material between them. He caressed her skin lightly, but with fire in his touch. She arched against him, feeling his manhood against her thigh. She brushed her hand over his face, tracing his dark brows and strong cheekbones.

  She cupped the back of his head and pulled his face to hers, placing a kiss upon his lips. “That’s for bringing my father home.” She kissed him again. “And that’s for my son.” Her fingers stroked his hair and she gazed into his eyes. She pressed several more sweet kisses along his lips, but said nothing more.

  “What were those for?”

  “All the children we shall have in the future.”

  He reached between them. When she felt the gentle play as he rubbed his manhood along the wet folds between her legs, she melted a little. “Yes,” she said.

  His searching was with sureness, and he pressed into her with a slow push, filling her. His jaw clenched. His body held in tight control.