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When he first knew Shelene, she’d worn her hair loose, allowing the wind to blow through it—riding her horse, walking through the immense gardens or along the lakeshore. She was constantly brushing strands away and tucking them behind her ear. And smiling. Always smiling.
Now, she had no reason to smile. Her mother gone. Her father drowned. And Roman, he was a heartache she had not overcome. He could see it in the lines of her face and the serious gaze in her eye.
“You shouldn’t be alone.”
She laughed, then laughed again before setting her fingers to her lips. “I’m sorry. And what do you propose?”
“Marriage. You can’t be surprised that I would renew my offer, considering all that has happened.”
“No. Flabbergasted is more like it.”
“Why?”
“Oh, Roman, you truly believe that every woman rushes into marriage when she’s faced with such stark change? I have alternatives.”
“It is the most likely possibility. For any woman. No matter her station.”
“For an English girl perhaps.”
“You’re half English. You’re not half tempted?”
She laughed again. “You have a powerfulwifewho tempts you with intrigues beyond my ability. I must seem boring in comparison to England.”
“Ah, England. More a mistress than a wife, I’ve always thought. I can leave her when it’s time. A wife is forever.”
“No woman would marry, knowing that a mistress took up so much of her beloved’s time. At least any woman with a pony of respectability.”
“Shelene, we can spar, or we can look at our situation honestly. You know I love you. I know that you will never marry anyone but me. Yet you resist the most obvious solution to our joint happiness.”
“Love and marriage. They are not mutually exclusive.” They stared at one another. He tried to decide which of them was more stubborn. And which of them was right.
She continued, “I can be alone—there are my cousins, there are books and my glasswork, there is travel. But I wouldn’t do to my children what my father did to me and my mother. I won’t let you do it to children we might share. I can love you from afar, Roman, but I cannot love you closely.”
The chasm seemed deep and wide at times. He could see the other side, but he could not cross over.
He braced his elbows against his knees, his hands joined. “What will it take then? I lay my life at your feet, all my worldly goods and the honor of my words. Yet that is not enough.”
“I cannot share you, Roman. It is as simple and as complicated as that.”
He took her hand, entwining his fingers with hers. Her hands had always been soft and delicate. Her fingers lithe but strong.
And her heart, stronger still.
“Why are we talking about this now?” she asked. “All was settled between us when you last left Spain.”
He rubbed his thumb over her knuckles. “Nothing has ever been settled for me.”
Even in the firelight, he could see the blush that heated her face.
“I should return to my room.” She pushed to her feet, but Roman did not release her hand. Instead, he tugged and she tumbled into his lap.
He wrapped his arms around her waist. She held his gaze, her mouth opened as she took a small breath. Her fingers brushed the skin of his neck. And their breath mingled as suppressed mutual attraction burst into an inferno.
“Roman, I ca—”
“Shh,” he said.
The wool blanket was a hindrance and he pushed it down her arm, exposing the fine lines of her neck and the decorous round of a lacy bodice. He traced a finger across her collarbone, and she moaned. She closed her eyes in painful, untried ecstasy.
