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Roman turned away and walked to the table, lifting one of the pitchers. The smell of hot chocolate wafted upward from one small decanter, and there was another with tea. He took a seat and waited for Shelene, not meaning to embarrass her. He’d thought intercourse was the closest two people could be. He couldn’t have been more wrong. A mother with her child, feeding her child, was much more intimate. And he felt like the intruder Shelene thought he was.
“He looks a lot like you,” she said quietly.
“Poor thing.”
He heard the briefest of snickers before she returned to her task. Those few consoling words the most she was going to offer in such circumstances. He sat at the table, pouring the chocolate and moving some of the small foods to a plate then downing several bites before he spoke.
“Your father isn’t going to be too happy that your uncle is here.” While Hightower had never issued a decree that Belgrano was to stay away, out of respect for his wife, he’d been forceful in other ways which certainly had kept the peace at Las Colinas. Belgrano was criminal. Poison to every person he touched.
Roman already knew that one of them would die before all was said and done. He had to make sure that Belgrano’s evil deeds did not touch Shelene or Antonio in the meantime.
“He knows. I’ve already gotten the lecture. The words sounded like they came right from your mouth, though. My hope was that we would have a few days of peace before we had to stir the kitchen pot about Uncle Francisco.”
“Hmm,” he said, not wanting to remind her of the bastard’s malevolent past. “Has our son been baptized?”
Shelene fastened her robe up and lifted Antonio to her shoulder again, patting his back. “We have gone on with life,” she said. “He was christened Antonio María Forrester Hightower. Not much of a Spanish name, like mine, but I suppose he will want to visit his grandmother someday and I want him to be accepted in English society when that happens.”
“Whether Hightower or Forrester, he will be hailed amongst theton, beau monde and military alike.” He would still be known as Antonio Forrester, even in Spain, as the maternal family name was listed last. “I have no plans to live in England again. My home is here, with you and my son.”
Shelene held Antonio tight and got to her feet, walking toward a raised bed where she placed him. She worked in the shadows, unknotting the cloth that wrapped his bottom. She worked quickly, removing the soiled garment, washing him with a damp cloth and knotting another piece around him.
“I knew you would be a good mother.”
“Good? I am swaddling my son. That is all.”
“I am sorry, Shelene. I can grovel if you wish,” he said.
Shelene patted Antonio then placed him in the crib, using her foot to rock it a few times. She didn’t look up. “I want the pain to end, Roman. And as long as you are here, I will never have peace.”
“El amor es como el agua que no se seca.”
“We no longer have forever. Our time is finished,” she said.
“I know you don’t believe that.”
“No, I do. My heart has no more room for you,” she said without emotion. “I accepted that you were gone. I willingly agreed to marry another man. I have a son who will require all my attention and devotion to raise to manhood. I have Las Colinas to pour all my effort into. There is no place for you.”
“You say nothing of love.”
“I no longer believe in love.”
“Even for our son? Your father? My brother? Oliver wants to see you and Antonio very much.”
“Don’t twist the meaning of my words. And of course I want to see Oliver before he returns to England.” At last, he had her interest. Oliver had been close to the Hightowers because of his relationship with the commodore. They knew each other well, but Oliver was in and out of port just like her father.
“He’s not going home until the end of summer. He still needs to regain his strength.” Roman pulled out one of the chairs at the table, inviting her to sit. And she accepted. A good sign, he thought.
“Where is he going to stay? Roman, he should stay here and not with some small hotelier who cannot take proper care of him.” She reached for the teapot and poured.
“He’s staying with me. I hired a nurse for him before we left Argentina.”
“But where? InArco de la Frontera?”
“No, at my home. What should be our home.”
“In Cadiz? I don’t—”
“Los Manantiales Azul.” He made a small gesture toward the more mountainous area to the west of Las Colinas.
