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“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—”
