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Chapter One
Roman Forrester had few ambitions aside from the great privilege of serving king and country. He’d been soldier and spy. He’d been beaten, shot, stabbed and near hanged during the worst of those years. During the best? Ambassador, liaison, journalist, gambler.
And now, bearer of bad news.
His horse, Bronte, named after one of the immortal horses of Helios, the great sun god, carried Roman toward his destination with the slow gait of an animal past his prime. The steed had seen one too many battles and had taken one too many stumbles in service to his master. This would be one of his last rides. Roman would put the faithful horse to pasture, sending him to Long Leaf to graze on green grass and grow fat on winter oats, but sadly, Roman couldn’t imagine finding another such gallant.
But Bronte was as mortal as the two who had perished aboard theHMS Victorious, also in service to the King.
Jessum Hightower, Commodore—and father of the woman Roman loved.
Oliver Forrester, First Lieutenant—and youngest brother of the Forrester family.
A week ago, he’d gotten the horrific and unbelievable news from the Home Office. A ship had docked in Brest, France, a main military port, with the news that theVictorioushad gone down in the roughest waters in the world, around Cape Horn. The waves had battered the ship, causing it to list mercilessly until finally dragged under, all hands on board.
He’d left Long Leaf late last night, dreading the next morning hours.
Roman did not want to believe, but theVictorioushad been at sea for fifteen months and was three weeks overdue at Portsmouth. He didn’t want to believe but he did. Roman was in the business of bad news.
He had delivered the news to his older brother, Adam, the Duke of Sterling, and another of his brothers, Joshua, a few days ago. They’d agreed not to share the news with other family members just yet—not until Roman had a chance to investigate the veracity of the claims.
Their other brother, Nicolas, was on an expedition in the Canadas. He was Oliver’s twin. Did Nicolas already have a sense of Oliver’s demise?
Roman trusted Adam to parlay the news at the right time and with the gentleness needed for their aged mother. He’d keep Adam informed of his progress—good or bad.
But first, he had the unpleasant task of bearing the unhappy news to Shelene Hightower and her mother, Commodore Hightower’s daughter and his long-suffering wife. Shelene was his only living child.
Shelene was Roman’s only other ambition.
As Roman rode, the wretched hopelessness he carried deep in his heart spread to his belly and his head. This news would only confirm all that Shelene thought of England, its empire and Roman’s long dedication to it.
After he broke the news to her, he would travel on to Brest, France, to find the vessel and its captain who’d brought the news to shore. Roman wanted details, not some hearsay based on a possible sighting of a downed ship.
Still, the ship bearing the tidings was theSurveillante, a sixty-gun frigate of the French Navy. His suspicious mind dared to ask the question of why a French war vessel was perusing the waters of the South Atlantic. But that question would be for the War Department to examine. And maybe require him to visit the French ambassador—one never knew when a significant piece of information affected English interests. It was both his job and his nature to be suspicious of anything the French did. And the other concern was, of course, the Spanish interest in South America. Currently, there was a conflagration of independence movements and wars and other troubles in the area, which Roman would have to navigate.
But not today.
He drew Bronte’s reins and halted the horse in front of the Hightower townhouse, a modest structure of three floors. Their home in Spain was a grand mansion near a lake inAndalucía, a home Shelene would inherit someday, a gift passed from mother to daughter on the Belgrano side of the family. Roman had enjoyed many months with the Hightowers; time he considered some of the best days of his life, away from deception and war.
When Roman’s brother Oliver had found out about the commodore’s exemplary career with the Royal Navy, and his friendship with Roman, he’d begged Roman for an introduction.
And this is where it had all led. To Oliver’s death and that of the commodore.
Roman dismounted. A lad rushed up to secure his horse, and Roman dropped a coin in the boy’s hand before he headed toward the mews, Bronte blowing a satisfied snort.
A quick glance toward the drawing room window revealed a woman.
He looked once and then back again. Shelene.
Shelene.
He hadn’t seen her in two years.
Two years was two years too long. Sadly, one of many times he’d been in and out of her life. Today would be another.
The curtain was pulled back with one hand, and she was not at all embarrassed to be caught staring at him. Her glossy black hair was pulled into a severe bun. Not one loose strand. Her chin tilted upward.
Proud. Unyielding.
