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‘It’s a matter of principle.’ His eyes narrowed sharply. ‘I’m a proud Roman and good at my job. I uphold the laws and put the interests of her citizens first.’
Her male citizens, Severina thought.
‘It angers me that women like you flout our laws. Their profits rightfully belong to fathers and husbands, to men of skill and intelligence.’
Those who don’t spend it on drink and prostitutes.
‘Women with money are too independent. They don’t need marriage. They don’t want husbands and children. They scorn the virtues that lend a woman worth.’
Severina put a hand to her lips to hold in the hot words. She was only too familiar with the ideal of womanhood that most Roman men cherished, someone fertile and docile. A meek child bride who allowed herself to be used hard in the marriage bed and birthed a child every year. One who admired her husband’s accomplishments, but had few of her own.
‘You’re being very quiet,’ the censor said with a smug expression. ‘You’ve nothing to say in your defence?’
‘Only what I said before. Livius Lucan owns this inn.’
‘Then I hope, for your sake, that he’ll be able to substantiate that claim. For if he cannot, I will make an example out of you.’
‘Is that a threat?’
‘It’s a promise.’ The censor’s lips twisted cruelly. ‘There’ll be a hearing, of course, and witnesses will testify. If you’re telling the truth, you’ve nothing to fear. But if you’ve lied, I will take you down.’
He glanced around the room. ‘This really is a lovely place, you know. If you lose it, it won’t be hard to find a man interested in it.’
Severina sucked in a hard breath. So that was the game? He’d confiscate her inn and sell it for his own gain?
‘You’re despicable.’
The man’s laughter was not pleasant. ‘You’ve no idea.’
It was a nightmare. Surely. Just a bad dream.
But it wasn’t. The censor still stood before her, looking around the room as if he owned it already.
‘The hearing’s in three weeks,’ he said, handing her a parchment bearing the details and a large, official-looking seal. ‘Do be on time. I’m a busy man. I don’t like to be kept waiting.’
Of course you wouldn’t, you greasy fat cat, Severina thought as she watched him leave. You want to crush as many poor, struggling women as you can before the day’s done.
She stood for a moment in rank confusion, unsure of her next move. Was this a simple misunderstanding or was there something—someone—far more insidious involved? Severina chewed her lip and considered. Had her past caught up with her? Was it time to leave Rome and move on?
Five years. She’d run for five years, but her old enemy hadn’t caught her yet. She’d begun to feel safe, to build a new life, to imagine a settled existence.
True, she’d had a few twinges of doubt when Donatus had given her the inn. To work in the public made her uneasy, but she’d needed the income and owning a business of her own had been the fulfilment of her dreams.
The chances of being discovered had seemed small. She’d changed drastically from the thin, pale-faced girl she’d been when she’d left her past behind at age fifteen, and Rome was a vast city with a population of millions. But had her luck now played out? She couldn’t be sure.
Severina pivoted sharply, calling for Ariadne. ‘My palla,’ she said in response to the younger woman’s anxious question. ‘And please find Orthrus to accompany me. I must go to Lucan.’
Chapter Two
‘I should warn you,’ Orthrus said, slanting his dark gaze towards Severina as they neared Lucan’s apartment. ‘Master Lucan’s changed. He’s not the same as before.’
Severina heard the slight censure in her slave’s voice, but ignored it. Her slaves remained on good terms with Lucan, and Orthrus visited him often.
‘How is he different?’
‘You know how much his faith meant to him? How he’d become a leader among the Christians here in Rome? He’s turned away from that now. He doesn’t attend their meetings. He doesn’t talk about their God. I don’t think he even prays.’
Severina halted in the street. ‘Lucan’s no longer a Christian? But he was…’
‘So faithful? Yes. But in losing you, he lost that, too.’
This news shook Severina. Lucan’s faith had mattered to him. It had been the bedrock of his life even before they’d met. It had once rescued him from a dissolute life, leading him away from strong drink and women, leading him towards peace and purpose.
Lucan’s Christian faith had mattered to her, too. Because of it, he’d cared for her differently from all the women of his past, building their love on a foundation of trust rather than desire.
But Lucan no longer believed? How could that be?
‘You’re blaming me, Orthrus?’
‘No, mistress,’ he said. ‘I’m saying only that a lot of things changed for him after you left.’
Orthrus did blame her. She could see it in his eyes. Or perhaps her imagination played tricks, making her feel guilty—again.
She pushed the feeling aside. She didn’t have time to consider all her reasons for ending the relationship with Lucan.
It hadn’t been her fault that love had caught her by surprise. She’d never meant to lose herself to those fierce, sweet emotions. She shouldn’t have ignored the risks, but she’d foolishly wanted to be happy for just a little while.
And Lucan had made her happy. As sunny in personality as in appearance, he found humour everywhere and made her laugh. He cherished her, listened to her, valued her opinions and forced her to question her distrust of strong men, teaching her by his example that true strength in a man was sometimes very gentle.
But he’d wanted to marry her. He loved her. He was serious about it. He’d never offered marriage to any other woman.
He meant to hold her for ever, and Severina had been forced to face reality. Anxiety choked her happiness. All her memories, all her old fears found life again.
She’d fought hard for her independence, but a husband would own her. In the eyes of society and the law, Lucan could demand her complete obedience, and that thought filled her with unreasonable panic.
There were other reasons, too. Reasons that clawed at her from the past, reminding her that she must be careful of men and especially those who valued religion too much. Even something as valuable as faith could be a weapon in the wrong hands.
‘Master Lucan hasn’t completely returned to his old ways,’ Orthrus said. ‘He’s been seeing women socially, but I don’t think he’s been intimate with any of them. Maybe he’d like to, but…’ Orthrus glanced at his mistress ‘…his heart’s not ready and so it hasn’t worked out.’
‘Orthrus, please…’ Severina began walking again, as if to lead Orthrus away from the topic. To think of Lucan still hurt. To think of him with other women hurt more.
‘He hasn’t been drinking much, though,’ Orthrus said, quickly falling into pace beside her. ‘He got drunk only once, the same night you…but that was understandable.’
‘Let’s not discuss this.’
Orthrus ignored her. ‘Instead, he’s working all the time. Like a madman. He sleeps little, doesn’t eat well…he’s driving himself into the ground.’
Severina looked away. ‘Which apartment?’ she asked, indicating the long row before them with a slight jerk of her head.
During her time with Lucan, he’d lived with their mutual friends Donatus and Lelia, but he’d moved out after Severina ended the relationship. She’d been relieved at the time, unwilling to see him. And now…?
‘This way,’ Orthrus said. ‘Follow me.’
Nobody answered their repeated knocking at Lucan’s door. Orthrus swore softly. They’d walked a long distance, but Lucan wasn’t home.
‘It’s all right,’ Severina said. ‘We’ll come back tomorrow.’
‘Wait. Maybe I know where to find him. He’s bought a run-down property nearby. He’s probably there, directing the labourers who are restoring it.’
Severina’s eyebrows rose. ‘Lucan’s doing that?’
Orthrus smiled. ‘He’s shown a talent for it. Come, I’ll show you.’
He led Severina back the way they’d come, steering her left and through a maze of streets until they approached a dwelling that had once been a ramshackle building, its yard overgrown with weeds and covered with debris. Severina now gaped at the change in the property. In place of the ugly old building stood an attractive new one. The cluttered and weed-strewn lot had been replaced by a paved courtyard, complete with a fountain and lush plantings. Even now workmen were setting out trees and shrubs, sweating in the growing heat.
Her gaze immediately found the one labourer whose muscular back she recognised, and whose familiar lean hips and legs worked powerfully as he and another man struggled to lower a tree into a hole in the ground.
Lucan.
‘More to the left,’ she heard him say. ‘Centre it, Maro. That’s it. Now set it down. We’ll let Catulus cover the root ball. He’s got the shovel.’
Severina watched in abject fascination as Lucan straightened and grinned happily at Maro, his smile dazzling. And then, as if he sensed her presence like she’d sensed his, his eyes found her.
Their gazes locked.
For a moment, neither could move or speak. The entire universe narrowed to the short distance between them.
Lucan was the first to break the gaze. ‘Excuse me,’ he said to Maro, gesturing towards Orthrus and Severina. ‘It looks like I’m being summoned away. Buteo will help you.’
The other man nodded. Lucan turned, hesitating almost imperceptibly before he came towards her.
Like one in a dream, she noticed that he wiped dirt from his large hands against his coarse tunic, that there was a faint rasp of his callused skin as he shook hands with Orthrus.
She marvelled that Lucan showed respect to the slave, but it was like him to do that. Just as he was one of the few Romans who’d be out here sweating alongside his hired labourers.
‘Severina,’ he said.
The one word, softly spoken, almost a sigh.
He clasped her shoulders in both hands before giving her the customary greeting of friendship, a light, quick kiss to first one cheek and then the other. ‘Why have you come?’
She had trouble finding words with his heat so close, with his hand still firm on her shoulder, searing her skin even through the cloth of her palla. She was devastated by his nearness, by the masculine scent that enveloped her, by the startling golden light in his eyes and the shimmer of sunlight in the blond streaks of his shoulder-length, honeycoloured hair.
‘I need you.’ The words rushed out before she thought.
Amusement made him unbearably attractive. His grin flashed, deepening the dimple in his cheek. He pressed his palm to his chest, drawing her attention down to the lean, tanned fingers splayed against hard muscle and bone there. ‘Be still, my heart,’ he groaned, winking at Orthrus. ‘For I can hardly assuage a lady’s passion here in this public place.’
Severina’s face flamed at Orthrus’s laughter, low and undeniably male. ‘That is not my need,’ she said in her haughtiest tone.
‘My apologies, then,’ Lucan said, sketching a slight bow. ‘But a man can always hope, can’t he?’
And there was hope in his gaze, flickering to life within the golden-flecked light.
No, no! Don’t do this to me, Lucan. I can hardly bear it.
‘A censor came to the inn this morning,’ she said. ‘He’s investigating the ownership of the inn.’
Lucan shrugged. ‘So? Let him investigate. I own the inn; he’ll discover that soon enough.’
‘But that’s the problem. He says there’s nothing to substantiate your claim. No paperwork to prove you’re the titular owner, and…’ she drew in a deep breath ‘…many witnesses who’ll testify that I am. He’s threatening to make an example of me.’
Lucan’s eyes narrowed. ‘Who is this censor? What’s his name?’
‘Marcus Terentius.’
‘Not good.’
Orthrus frowned. ‘Why?’
‘He’s formidable. The most corrupt official in all of Rome, known for ruthlessness, vicious to anyone who stands in his way.’
Severina began to fear. ‘But we can defeat him, can’t we, Lucan? You have the documentation to prove your legal claim to the inn, don’t you?’
She breathed again when he nodded.
‘It’s back at my apartment.’ Lucan glanced towards the men working behind him. ‘Let me tell these others to break for lunch while we walk there together.’
Severina was afraid. Lucan knew it.
He studied her now as she walked between him and Orthrus, worry evident in her eyes and in the tight, anxious line of her body.
He’d long made a study of her. It was habitual, once his favoured pastime. Since his religious beliefs had denied him the intimacy of her body until marriage, he’d focused instead on knowing every other thing about her. He had memorised the lilt and cadence of her speech, the way sunlight brought fire to her chestnut hair, the sultry lowering of her dark eyelashes when desire coursed through her cool grey eyes.
Such intimacy with a woman had been a new experience for one who’d made a careless sport of sex in his pre-Christian days. Chastity had been the most demanding challenge of his lifetime, but with Severina, he’d deliberately chosen it. She would not be like the others.
Slowly he’d come to understand the reasons why the God of his faith demanded it. Sexual intimacy was fairly easy, but often deceptive. It was in the waiting that one began to truly know a lover, without the interference of carnal desire. It fostered deep emotional intimacy, the only foundation strong enough for the mating bond of a lifetime.
To his great sorrow, Lucan hadn’t achieved that lifetime bond. But he’d learned Severina and knew her. Walking at her side now and feeling her tension, he was keenly aware of her fear and desperate to ease it.
‘Thank you for your help,’ she said quietly. ‘I was worried you wouldn’t be willing.’
He stopped in the street. He lifted his hand to cradle her jaw, holding her in place with a gentle, familiar touch. Surprise came into her eyes. Her lips parted; she struggled to breathe. She tried to look away, but Lucan held her gaze. He wondered if she could see in his expression how much he wanted to kiss her.
‘Of course I’ll help you,’ he said in a low voice. ‘The inn is our joint responsibility, one I willingly agreed to shoulder with you. I’ll always be here if you need me.’
My love.
He almost added the words by habit. Were they still true? He wasn’t sure. Pain and hurt had confused him. He was pleased that he’d caught the words in time, but he couldn’t halt the surge of emotion that accompanied them.
