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Laurent, the midshipman from the French vessel, theSurveillante, sat across from Roman, with his cap in hand. Shelene watched as Roman worked his magic and the sailor revealed every detail of what he saw that fateful day. The conversation was in French, and Shelene caught most of the particulars.
They sat at the same table Roman had occupied last night, only the table was cleared of writing utensils, and she was not putty in his hands. He really was not paying attention to her at all, not even a glance to see to her comfort. Could she blame him? He wanted information from Mr. Laurent, and he would get it. After Roman’s first two hard questions, Shelene was quite happy she was not on the receiving end of his interrogation.
Martina sat upright next to her, her arm wrapped in Shelene’s. Did she think Shelene would fly into Roman’s arms were she not so tightly protected? Maybe it wasn’t such a terrible idea, considering the illicit pleasure she’d experienced with last night’s embrace.
Roman wore a grey jacket and a new pair of grey trousers. His black hair looked magnificent against the white of his cravat. Mostly, he seemed the aristocrat he was born to be, and then with the sharp draw of his brow or the clench of his jaw, she could see why England trusted this man with its most important assignments. There was a fearless determination in him, as if he had all the answers and only needed confirmation.
“Oh,oui, it was theVictorious, Monsieur Forrester,” Laurent said.
“How can you be sure?”
“We were in port together in Buenos Aires mid-November, sir. I imagine we were there for the same reason, as both vessels had dignitaries off and on the ships. ’Course, I wasn’t privy to the information passed along.” Laurent glanced toward Shelene, as if he didn’t want to say anymore.
“Go on,” Roman prompted.
“There is no mistaking theVictorious. A fine vessel, even if she is British. But it is my opinion Commodore Hightower wasn’t in control of the vessel when she went down.”
Shelene must have let out a grunt of denial because Laurent glanced in her direction again and Roman turned his head slightly. Her fatherneverlost control of his ships.
“Why do you say that?” Roman asked.
“While we were in port, there was a disagreement on board between the sailors. We never heard what it was about, as theVictoriousleft port the next morning with the tide.”
Shelene was trying to interpret the word when she realized Laurent was discussing a fight aboard her father’s ship. Did Roman think that was significant?
“But how do you know you saw her go down?” he asked instead.
“Only one Caledonia-class vessel in the South Atlantic carrying one-hundred and twenty guns, sir. And if any commander can navigate a storm around Cape Horn, it’s Hightower. Everyone knows he was the finest sailor on the water.”
The Caledonia ships, first-rate and three decks, were the behemoths of the Royal Navy and one of the reasons Oliver Forrester was so keen to acquaint himself with Hightower. Not only was it an exclusive assignment, but Oliver planned to be in command of his own ship someday and there was no better way than being the second in command under one of the best in the admiralty. Oliver had spent many days with the Hightowers at the hacienda, just as Roman had.
Roman shot a half smile toward Shelene, and melancholy swept over her.Wasthe finest sailor.
“So, I watched her through my glass for about a minute. They were attempting to run downwind with their mainsail dropped. She was taking on water, no doubt. They were obviously trying to get through the storm quickly, but you don’t run off when there’s land and shallow water nearby.Mon dieu. Then she was gone.” Laurent twisted his cap again, taking his anxiety out on the misshapen wool.
“And you couldn’t mount a rescue?” Shelene asked, from behind Roman.
“No, Mademoiselle Hightower. Our hands were full keeping our own ship afloat. I’m sorry.”
Then Roman did what Roman does: he led the midshipman through a series of questions about their mission and their accomplishments. And the innocent sailor sang like a canary. It helped that two gold pieces lay on the table between the two men, and after the conversation, Roman slid them toward Laurent. He bobbed and bowed and thank-you-sirred as he scooped up the coins and departed.
Shelene approached Roman. “What do we do now?”
“You and your companions will go on to Spain,” he said.
“That’s it?”
“Shelene, you heard the man. He bore witness to theVictoriousgoing down.” His words were sharper than she was used to. Had he finally come to accept the truth of his brother’s death and her father’s? He shoved his hands in his trouser pockets and stared toward the hallway where Laurent disappeared.
“Roman? What is it?”
“I think the journey is over, that’s all,” he said.
“If I go back to Spain, what will you be doing?” She knew. She knew what Roman always did in such a situation. He braved the danger. He went it alone.
He glanced toward Martina then to her, staring intently, causing a nervous thrill to burst inside. “Behaving myself.” He’d leaned toward her and lowered his voice so Martina couldn’t hear. “I should apologize for my behavior last night. Except I don’t regret it and I’m not sorry.”
She wouldn’t respond, but…oh, so many buts.
