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“How dare you! You don’t know a thing about how I take care of my son. How could you? Off on another of your daring adventures while I take care of things at Las Colinas.”
“Shelene, must we be at odds over every single thing?” She reminded him of the wild Spanish girl he had fallen in love with all those years ago—hair blowing loosely in the wind, spirited, untamable. And now hurt to the quick by his actions.
“I thought you were dead! Do you expect me to so easily accept your return? To upend my life so thoroughly? Not once, but again and again. When you left without me, promising that you would take me. Again, when I am told you are dead? And now? The night before I was to remarry and start a new, peaceful life with a kind man. You expect too much. What love I had for you is gone. I won’t keep you from your son, but I will keep you from hurting me again.”
Roman pulled the reins, stopping the horse in the middle of the road. He jumped out and went to Shelene’s side, reaching for her and hoisting her to the ground.
She squealed. “Unhand me!”
Instead, he leaned into her, gripping one of her wrists and holding it to her side, his other hand at her waist. “Shouldn’t I be the one who is angry? Returning home to find my wife in the arms of another man? Akindone, to be sure. What did he mean to you? Is he the reason you are so disproportionately angry with me? I would think bringing home your father would warrant some leniency, if not complete forgiveness.”
“You bullish, arrogant man. Have consideration for my feelings for a change rather than the King of England’s. I’m sure His Majesty will be thrilled that you have returned one of his decorated commodores to his fleet.”
“Hasn’t he told you? Your father is retiring, just as I am.”
She clenched her jaw and looked away. There were no tears, but he suspected it was force of will which accomplished that.
He softened. “What do you want me to do to make things right?” He caressed the curve at her waist. “I regret that you were hurt by my actions, but I was the only one who might have been able to determine what happened to Oliver and your father. The only one. Was I to shirk my duty? Every day since I reached my majority, I have had to balance honor and dishonor, loyalty and infidelity. Love and hate. You are the one woman who understands why I do it.”
“Wrong. I pretended to understand, hoping you would one day see something besides your precious—just like Mother hoped Father would come home to stay. And now she’s gone. And there is no time to make amends.”
“But there is for us. We have all the time in the world.”
“There isn’t enough time between us to rebuild the trust you’ve destroyed. I will always respect you, Roman. I know the perils you endured, but the trust is gone and with it my love is diminished.”
“The first time I told you that I loved you—do you remember? It was the night we went riding and the moon was full.”
“I’m glad you remember. I’m glad, and I hope the memory will help you realize what you have missed out on all these years.”
“Oh, I know all right, and I have every intention of making up for lost time.”
“I never knew you to be such an optimist.”
Roman leaned closer. She smelled of the outdoors and the wind and the sun toasting her burnished skin and just a hint of Antonio’s not-so-pleasant baby smells. Oh, the nights he had drifted to sleep thinking of her in his arms again. Very often she was the singular reason he could keep going, knowing that only the truth would allow Shelene and his family to rest in their grief.
Her gaze had turned steely as he bent to press a kiss to her lips. She stayed motionless and let his lips warm hers.
“Was your fiancé such a poor kisser, you’ve grown out of practice?”
She said nothing.
“You did kiss him, didn’t you?”
“If it makes you jealous and opens your eyes, then yes. Often and with enthusiasm.”
“Liar,” he said, and pressed his lips to hers again. It was enough to feel the soft exhalation of her breath. She could not hide her innocence or her susceptibility.
It might take days, or weeks, but he would win out.
“We should go,” she said.
“We should, but I’m perfectly fine doing nothing but being with you.”
“Stop it. You are not a man for poetry and sweet words.”
“That’s correct,” he said, hands at her waist and lifting her to her carriage seat. “I am a man of action. And a man who plans.” He held her hand and kissed the back of it. God, he loved Spain. He loved Shelene in Spain, where she was herself and not a half-English pretender. She rarely wore tightly dressed hairstyles, few bonnets or gloves except during the most formal of occasions, but in one way she defied the customs and traditions of both countries. No one would tell her what she could say or do. Or how. Or when. “Don’t ever change, my beautiful wife. I wouldn’t know what to do with a lesser woman. Shelene, we are not going to be the couple who miss each other their entire lives. Two different directions. Two dreams.”
She pulled her hand away, tears in her eyes. “Don’t,” she said.
