Love Me Once (The Infamous Forresters Book 3)

by Eliza Lloyd

  “Everything is absolutely beautiful, isn’t it?” Shelene said.

  “Everything, my dearest,” her aunt said.

  Shelene felt tears start and she quickly pulled the drink to her lips. She listened to the talk of rebuilding Spain, the beauty of Las Colinas, the new estate being built nearby, the future, the wedding. He heart pounded uncomfortably in her chest.

  There was every reason to be joyful.

  If only she loved Raúl, as she had loved Roman. If only she loved him at all.

  If only her uncle had not arrived, washed clean of his past atrocities with the swipe of the King’s signature and seal.

  If only her uncle’s man had not arrived later and bore the tragic news of Roman’s demise.

  Uncle Francisco had smoothed his path, being the solicitous brother to Ana-María; the protective uncle to Shelene; the guardian of Las Colinas; the long-lost white knight returning triumphantly.

  Initially, her grief had been unbearable. But sometime, sometime in the following weeks, Shelene’s mind had turned to the likely possibility that when Uncle Francisco had heard she’d married Roman—his sworn enemy—he had done something to harm him. But how?

  Hatred had always run deeper than compassion with him. There was no forgiveness and Shelene found such feelings stirred in her too.

  She hadn’t forgiven Roman for leaving her. She hadn’t forgiven her uncle for his high-handed management of her life, and she hadn’t forgiven him for what she had imagined he’d done.

  “Dear Shelene,” Raúl said as he approached again, holding out his hand. “There is a faction demanding our presence on the dance floor. I do not want them to become unruly.”

  “It is only the fine-quality drink that is inciting them. Surely, it is not our dancing skill.”

  “I don’t know about that. I think you are light on your feet, and I am quite graceful when I have a woman in my arms,” Raúl said.

  “Fanfarrón! Let us see if your dance abilities match your boastful words,” she said. They had danced together a few times. Tonight, of course, and at two other celebrations. This would be their first paso doble.

  He took her left hand in his right. They each stamped their feet in the appel, a sharp tap against the stone floor. Shelene took her red skirt and waved it as if she tempted an angered bull in the ring. The quick tempo had started, pushing her heart to beat at the same time that would soon match their steps. A few other couples had joined them on the floor.

  The dance kept their hands connected while they moved their bodies in parallel motions—together and apart as their feet moved in double-time. The dance had grown from the famed march of the Spanish military and the movements were quick and precise, Raúl holding her securely with each turn and drop. Then he spun her about, and she lifted her hands over her head, her fingers gracefully turning. Her skirt whirled in a circle about her legs. Raúl struck the floor with his feet, and she turned into his arms.

  And then they were alone on the floor, everyone watching the stunning betrothed couple, as they turned and whirled into the last steps.

  Raúl stopped mid-dance and glanced toward the parting crowd.

  Shelene’s skirts wrapped around her legs again as she came to a stop, looking in the same direction. She opened her mouth to speak, reached out to brace against something solid but nothing was there, including the earth beneath her feet.

  “Papa?” she said. “Roman?”

  The candles went dark as her vision collapsed into a single pinpoint of light. Her breath came hard and the spinning she’d done on the floor now swirled in her head. Her knees buckled, but the floor felt like a soft bed when she landed.

  Chapter Nine

  Martina leaned over Shelene as she lay in her bed and pressed a wet cloth to her forehead. Roman sat next to the bed, holding Shelene’s hand. “You ought to leave, Señor Forrester. She’s had quite a shock.”

  Shelene moaned; her eyes fluttered. He tried to smile, something reassuring but she remained stuporous.

  “When she wakes, fetch me. I will be outside the door.”

  He exhaled deeply. There had been no grand plan to surprise her or delight her with his return. No jubilation as he swept her up in his arms. Oh, hell, that was exactly what he had hoped.

  Roman stood at the balcony’s edge, leaning against a support pillar. The wrought-iron railing ran the length of the second floor, overlooking the interior courtyard where a large fountain tinkled with happiness. The fountain was singular in appearance, and he knew without asking that Shelene had designed it, probably made it too. There were five bowls with clear water, varying in size. The bowls were stained glass in a loose design—all shades of blue, put together with an artist’s eyes for harmony and beauty. He thought it must be spectacular with the sun shining into the courtyard.

  The birdcages were covered, the finches quiet.

  He watched the comings and goings of the household and its guests without being observed in return. Music still played in the background. Mayhap some of the guests did not yet know the significance of his arrival. A silly thought. Of course, the gossip would have spread like a grass fire in August.

  He had just wanted to see her, to be home. Just like her father had. The whole event had been rather surreal, walking into a party with the inhabitants of the entire region in attendance. Then seeing all eyes on Shelene as she danced with some abandon on the stone tiles.

  She’d looked happy. She’d looked as if she were amongst her people.

  Her faced had gone white when she’d seen him. And then the slow faint as her eyes rolled back in her head.

  There had been a number of caballeros who’d muscled in to assist Shelene. Roman had the husband’s right. With a stern look, the Las Colinas seas had parted and Roman swept her up. Her dancing partner had looked heartily offended, but Roman ignored him, knowing the details would be laid upon his ears shortly.

  If only Shelene would open her eyes and call to him. I am home, my love.

  Almost a half-hour later, Martina eased through the door. “She’ll be fine, mi’lord. She’s not ready to see you yet.” Roman was impressed that Martina had not asked about her son, Joaquin, but she must have assumed that if Roman were alive and well, so was he. Martina was still the devoted duenna he’d known her to be.

  He should have known the shock would have been great, but he had come and gone from her life several times and she had never fainted at the sight of him. She’d only gotten angrier over time.

  “We thought you were dead,” Martina whispered.

  “Dead?” Dead? Ah, things had changed!

  “Yes. You were gone for so long.”

  “I want to see her now. Tell her I want to see her.”

  “A moment, Señor Forrester.”

  Martina peeked out the door again and waved him in. She then busied herself on the other side of the room while he hurried to Shelene and sat on the bed, clasping her hand.

  “Shelene, my darling. I am sorry for the unannounced appearance.” He examined her face; still the beautiful woman she had been since the first moment she’d captured his attention.

  “Oh my God,” she said. “It can’t be. Not after all this time.” She pulled her hand away from his. “Where’s Papa?” she asked.

  “Shelene? Are you able to sit up?” Roman asked.

  “I want to see Papa.”

  “Martina, would you fetch him? He’s in the room across the hall,” Roman said. He was preparing to rest. For him, the months had been long and hard and the relief of being home had caused a wave of exhaustion. The emotion of seeing his daughter had been his undoing. Shelene’s aunt had taken charge of Hightower; no surprise since he’d been married to her sister for near thirty years.

  Shelene rubbed her hands over her face, her fingertips against her eyeballs.

  “What is it, Shelene? I told you I would come home.”

  “You promised me we would be together. You promised.” She looked straight ahead. “Was I supposed to run into y
our arms? A ghost?”

  “You’ve fallen in love with someone else?” he asked, thinking of the dandy who’d danced with her earlier on this long, strange night.

  “What if I had? Who would blame me?”

  “I suspect legions, since you are married to me.”

  “What do you want from me, Roman? I’ve tried. I’ve waited. I’ve loved. I’ve done everything that a good Spanish woman should do for the man she loves. But it’s never been enough for you.”

  She sat up and swung her legs over the bed, her back to him. “We were told you were dead! I grieved. Grieved! Because this time, of all the times, I believed it. I didn’t think it was possible that you could break my heart yet again. And break it so thoroughly.” She looked over her shoulder at him. “I never really knew you, Roman. I loved the fiction I thought you were.”

  Roman knew he would face an angry wife, but this was something he had not prepared for—that she might have grown to hate him for his betrayal. But what was the emotion she felt after her anger had turned to grief coupled with the guilt she must have felt for feeling the anger in the first place?

  The door opened, letting in the background noise of the party and a little fresh air. At the sight of his daughter, Hightower’s shoulders slumped in relief.

  “Papa!” Shelene jumped from the bed as Hightower entered the room. “Oh, Papa!” Hightower was only an inch taller than Shelene. She wrapped both arms around his neck and held tight.

  “My dear girl. How I have missed you.” He cupped her face in his hands, then kissed one cheek. “I should have been with you when your mother died. I am so sorry.”

  “You shouldn’t have died yourself!” she said, then laughed through her tears. “I never thought I would see you again.”

  “We have Roman to thank for that. It was touch-and-go there for some months. But we can chat about that later.” He hugged her tight again, and Roman felt a little awkward intruding on this private moment. He wanted his own private moments with his wife, but he could bide his time. She would be his next assignment, his next and last mission.

  In Roman’s assessment, Shelene wasn’t suffering from some small distemper; her bones were brittle with anger, and it was all directed at him.

  Shelene sighed and took her father’s hands. “What can I do for you? Food? A bath? A doctor? Sleep?”

  “No, I just want to look at you.”

  “You surely want a glass of madeira?” she lightly teased.

  “Your aunt already beat you to the offer. In fact, I enjoyed two very fine glasses while you were asleep.”

  “I fainted. You can’t blame me.”

  “No one blames you for anything. It was just as much a shock for you as it was for me when I saw Roman trudging up the path to find us in our little shelter. What happened was a shock, to have my men betray me so and I’ll never really understand why. Thank God Oliver was there. And thank God Roman didn’t take no for an answer. We could have died and no one would have known the truth.”

  Tears pooled in her eyes. “Every day I lit a candle for you, Papa. Praying for your soul and a peaceful rest. I am so happy you’ve returned to me.”

  Hightower squeezed her in his embrace again. “Mi querida. Don’t cry. Now is not the time to cry. Now is the time for joy.”

  After a few more minutes of private whispers, Shelene straightened her shoulders. She turned to Roman. “Roman, I am sorry, but you cannot stay here tonight. The house is full of guests and there are no available rooms.”

  “I don’t need a separate room, not when I can sleep in my wife’s bed.” Roman’s habit was to stare hard at a perceived adversary. He kept his gaze hooded and forced his expression to remain passive. She wasn’t the enemy, but she was treating him like one.

  “There, there. Let’s not quibble. Roman can sleep in my room. I will take the couch. It would be a far sight more comfortable than anything we’ve slept on in the last several months,” her father said.

  “Commodore, that is a generous offer, but Shelene and I will sleep in the same room.”

  “How dare you tell me what will happen in my home!” she snapped at Roman. “You arrive without notice, interrupt my wedding celebration and think we are just going to pick up where we left off? No. You’ve lied to me once too often. You’ve hurt me once too often. You no longer get the benefit of the doubt. You no longer get my trust or affection or love. There is nothing for you here. With all my heart, I thank you for bringing Papa home. I do. But no more, Roman. I can’t take any more heartbreak from you.”

  He understood her feelings—she’d been consistent in explaining his inadequate response to their acquaintance. Before it had always been about Roman’s devotion to England. He had no more excuses.

  “Do you want to tell your betrothed there won’t be a marriage or do you want me to tell him?”

  “Raúl is none of your business. I will tell him what he needs to be told.”

  “I expect the gossip downstairs has deflated any of his hopes and dreams,” Roman said.

  “Like mine? I want to spend time with my father, Roman. Do you have your own conveyance? Or do I need to make arrangements to have you taken into Arco de la Frontera?”

  “Now, Shelene—”

  “Papa! This is business between me and Roman,” she snapped.

  “Mr. Forrester deserves the highest respect. And his brother was my boon companion during those hellish months after the mutiny. I won’t have this, daughter.”

  Roman clapped Hightower on the shoulder. “There is no problem, Commodore. I can stay nearby. Shelene and I can settle our issues in the light of day, when we are not angry or tired. When we are reminded that our love is impossible to discard.” He appealed to Shelene again. “Will tomorrow be suitable to discuss my inconvenient return?”

  “Since I won’t be getting married, I will have some available time.”

  He stepped toward her, intending to press a kiss to her lips. He knew he was putting his hand in the mouth of a tigress. Of course, that was why he did it. As he neared her lips, he could see the spark of rage in her green eyes. And smell the fresh gardenias and soap that wafted about her. She turned her face away at the last minute so that he kissed her cheek.

  “Good night, Roman,” she said.

  “Good night, Shelene. Commodore.” Roman bowed to them both and departed. “I will send Martina to you,” he said at the door.

  He knew his way around the large estate. He’d been part of the culture at Las Colinas for years, coming and going when he was in Spain. Always finding the time to visit the Hightowers, feeling much like a son of the family. Until Hightower had moved them to England and Roman’s duties had kept him on the continent.

  He avoided anyone dressed in silk and sought out Brahim and Sakina, whom he’d known just as long as he’d known the Hightowers. They were as much as part of Las Colinas as Shelene and the commodore. Instead, he found Martina and Joaquin sitting in the small garden near the kitchen where an assortment of herbs were grown in the crevasses of a rock wall. They spoke for a few minutes before Martina trotted off to assist Shelene.

  “Well, mi’lord, where are we off to?” Joaquin asked. Roman had given up correcting Joaquin’s use of lord whenever he was addressed. They were in Spain where his title didn’t matter to anyone.

  “I’m going to my home. You are staying here with your mother. She has missed you.”

  “No! I will not. Wherever you are going, I am going.”

  “Are you prepared to walk the two miles to my estate?”

  Joaquin clucked his tongue. “You forget, I am a worker at Las Colinas since my birth. We’ll get a carriage. We will go anywhere you want to go, but I don’t understand why you are not staying here. This way. But you, too, know where the carriage house is.”

  “Lead on,” Roman said.

  Once the horse was hitched to the cabriolet, they loaded up their few belongings. “I do not understand it, mi’lord. This is your home. You are married to the mistress of
the house, and we creep away in the middle of the night.”

  “We aren’t creeping, and you don’t need to go with me. And I explained it to you that I have a house in the hills.”

  “Yes, yes. You sent Mr. Oliver and Mrs. Spencer to this secret house you have that Señora Forrester knows nothing about.”

  “It’s not a secret. It was just land until a few years ago. I haven’t seen the house yet, and I don’t know why I’m telling you this again since I’ve explained it all several times.”

  “You are angry that Señora Forrester was going to marry Señor Navarro.”

  “Navarro? Is that his name?” Roman clucked his tongue and tapped the horse with a flick of the whip, encouraging the horse to move just a little faster.

  “I understand. I would be angry too if my woman wanted to marry another man.”

  The cabriolet creaked along. The horse’s hooves were muffled by the dirt path they traveled. And Joaquin had not stopped talking.

  “She doesn’t want to marry another man,” Roman said.

  “Mama said she did. I think it had something to do with the estate and Señor Navarro’s vast landholdings. And her uncle said it was the best match in the country. Mama said he is a good man.”

  “I don’t need to hear all the gossip from the kitchen, Joaquin.”

  “Gossip? My mother is Señora Forrester’s duenna and has been for years. She knows everything that happens and doesn’t need to gossip.”

  “Doesn’t your mother need you? You’ve been gone for months.”

  “I told her all the happened.”

  “All?”

  “What was important.”

  The horse slowed as they went up the last grade. Roman glanced up at the house on the hill. Since the floor plans had been drawn, he had imagined the finished home in his mind’s eye. Long ago, he’d planned for the day when he and Shelene would have their own home. With their children running wild through the hills, not the stoic, ordered existence of children in England.