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“In my mind, I am sure.”
She nestled closer, her body pleasantly firm against his groin. “I don’t tempt you in the least?” She pouted a little, her red lips forming a perfect moue.
He kissed her again, more leisurely and more deeply. She opened her mouth to his, and he wondered why he was so adamant about waiting. They could die at sea. Dysentery might lay them low. Any number of tragedies could befall them, and he might die without knowing the pleasures of her body. A few warm kisses were nothing compared to what they might enjoy.
And Shelene, the innocent she was, might die never knowing a man. A tragedy indeed.
He blinked a few times. “You are blinding me from my duty.”
“What? That of husband? Or as the king’s agent?” The last was spoken with some derision. While half-English, she embraced her Spanish heritage with both arms. The coquette batted her lashes, offering him all.
“I must get you and our belongings off this ship. Joaquin!”
The door creaked open, and the dark-haired boy peeked in. “Yes, mi’lord? Mama said I was to wait until you gave me instructions.”
“Come in then. Don’t delay.” He pointed to the baggage, while Shelene hid behind him, tying her bonnet. Joaquin hoisted one trunk to his shoulder. The other would require two, so Roman grabbed the opposite-side leather strap in one hand and Shelene’s hand with the other. She plucked up her small valise.
At the outdoor hatch, Shelene popped open a parasol and watched as a trunk descended on the pulley rope. Joaquin flew off next in the boatswain’s chair, with its well-used leather straps, securing ropes and wooden slat, letting out a loud whoop as he descended with frightening speed. Martina followed, clinging to the seemingly flimsy ropes of the same chair.
“That’s not very dignified,” Shelene said, watching her lady’s maid hang precariously over the water before she was pulled into the dory. “What if I fall?”
“You’ll get wet.”
She tapped his arm affectionately. “Your humor eludes me, sir.”
The empty swing was hauled back up. “’Oo’s next?” one of the sailors yelled.
“I would much prefer to walk down a sturdy plank,” Shelene said, peering over the ship’s railing.
“It’s the best we ’ave, miss.”
“Oh dear.”
“Come now. It’s your turn,” Roman prompted. He took her parasol, folded it and whistled to Joaquin. When Joaquin looked up, Roman tossed it overboard, watching as the boy caught it with ease. He hoisted her by the waist and sat her on the flat board. “Don’t let go. Joaquin will be waiting for you. Hold on.”
Even though she was smiling, her knuckles were white from her fist-tight grip of the two ropes. As she was jettisoned away from the ship, she let out a scream, which followed her to the safety of the next boat. Her feet were planted on the dory’s floorboards before anyone had a chance to worry about a fall. Roman stared at her; she smiled up and waved back at him.
Lastly, Roman made the trip. As he settled in the same swing chair, which suddenly seemed a bit delicate beneath his weight, he glanced across the ship’s bow.
There was no mistaking the gaze of the man staring back. A war enemy, one of those people with whom paths, and swords, had crossed. Hatred burned in his gaze, but before Roman could react or think, he was whisked up and over the side of the ship.
The woman who greeted him at the dory was his greatest treasure. One whose future he must protect from his past.
Shelene was still wide-eyed with excitement, when he stood beside her, tugging at her arm to induce her into sitting still. “That was fun. I don’t know if I want to do it again anytime soon, but…did you get the feeling your heart was going to burst from your chest when they dropped you so suddenly from such a great height?”
“Yes.” He wanted to catch her up in his arms and whirl her around. Of course, a boat was not the place for playfulness. It was no place to protect her from his enemies either.
Why had he waited so long? Why had he built an army of adversaries when he could have had a lifetime of peace with Shelene and their children?
She had no idea what he had experienced in life; it would be refreshing to watch as they traveled the world together. Maybe it would restore his innocence. Maybe, eventually, his enemies would forget him.
Once everyone was settled, the oarsman stroked oak blades evenly against the water and rowed them ashore. Roman glanced back to see his enemy at the ship’s rail. Pietro was unmistakable, especially with the distinguished filmy white of his left eye. Scarred from cheek through brow and forehead, the gash disappeared into his hairline. A gift from Roman when Pietro had been hired to assassinate him. One of Belgrano’s men, adrift while the mercenary was in prison.
Surely it was only a grudge now, and he had no cause to worry. Lately, Crown activities had been more diplomatic in nature than swashbuckling espionage. But since Belgrano had escaped it wouldn’t be long before he gathered his like-minded men.
He stared at Shelene, the wisps of her hair gently flitting in the wind. She was the best and worst decision of his life.
It was just as well he and Shelene would leave Nantes soon. First Belgrano. Now Pietro. The crew wouldn’t be free from their ship for a few days; enough time for him and Shelene to be on their way.
Something very close to regret churned through his being. He hadn’t given a thought to how the thing that had kept them apart might also be the thing to separate them in a more permanent, devastating way.
