Page 3 of Love Me Once

Roman hadn’t noticed, his gaze was all for Shelene, but yes, the shelves had been cleared of bric-a-brac. The pianoforte was covered with a large dust cloth. The house was both clean and quiet, whispering of death and aloneness.

“Shelene.” God, could he say anything but her name. He feared once words came tumbling out, he would wind up groveling at her feet, begging her to reconsider.

“There is nothing for me here. We came because of Papa. You must know that. How would it look to His Majesty to have one of his trusted commodores reside in Spain? So soon after the wars ended and with the capture of that little man?”

Roman had his own suspicions about why Commodore Hightower moved his family to London, after all these years, and it had nothing to do with the Royal Navy or the Napoleonic Wars.

It had everything to do with a romantic soul who believed a daughter should follow the passions of her heart. The commodore was an interesting and eccentric man, full of honor and humor. Doubtless, he went down with his ship, a smile upon his face.

Roman had humored himself into believing he was part of the reason she and her family took up residence in London, though he had spent much of the past years on the continent uncovering plots against the empire and assuring friends the Crown had only the best of intentions.

He humored himself but he did nothing about it, because he had not been willing to give up the excitement and challenge, and yes, the adulation of success.

“I thank you for coming, Roman. It might be the last time I see you…here in England.”

“Shelene, there is something I must tell you. About why I am here.”

She titled her head, peering into his eyes. “Yes?”

“There has been word from the Home Office. About the commodore. And theVictorious.”

Clutching the armrest of her settee, she glanced away toward the window. “I don’t want to hear it.”

“A French navy frigate saw theVictoriousgo down. With all hands. I am sorry.”

Such weak, ineffectual words, but it was all he could say.

She took a deep breath, crossed herself, then folded her hands together and closed her eyes. Her lips moved in prayer. Before she opened her eyes, she said, “And Oliver?”

“And Oliver,” he confirmed with a brief nod.

She reached for his hand and gripped hard. “I’m sorry. Oh, your poor mother.” Her brow was drawn, her gaze forlorn, as if Oliver’s death were the greater tragedy. “He hadn’t begun to live his life. The baby of the family. Oh, to think how she must be feeling to lose her youngest child.”

“We haven’t told her yet. I’m traveling to France to learn more. Ships can be misidentified, especially on the water during a storm. I would give you hope even when it seems hope is impossible.” Hollow assurance, but all he could offer Shelene.

“Mama always told me this day would come. Papa loved the sea. More than anything. Perhaps we can take comfort in knowing they died doing what they loved.”

Hadn’t she said something like that to him, once and long ago.You will die doing what you love, but I won’t live waiting for that day.

“So there really is nothing left for me in London,” she added. She sighed and closed her eyes again for a moment.

The stark realization that he would lose her forever—well, he had never believed they would be perpetually apart, but the months and years had marched on. He’d always wanted her; he wanted her still.

At one time, he’d planned for their future together in Spain. He’d not told her or Commodore Hightower. Plans could change in a heartbeat, but he had hope.

He’d lived a half-life buried in intrigue and danger. She lived with her mother. Alone. Without husband or children. And that was no life at all for a vibrant woman such as she.

In Spain, she’d had their large estate in Andalucía, her horses, her gardens, her stained glass. Did she still find the time to devote to her art? The small work on the table seemed an afterthought.

Dear God, what had he taken from her?

Love wasn’t supposed to kill but they had each died in their own way. Two stubborn people. Too young and impetuous to give in to the other’s needs.

“When will you leave for Spain?”

“Soon. I-I—” Tears welled in her eyes.

This was not the Shelene of his memories. Too much weight now burdened her shoulders.

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