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There was a long moment of silence.
‘Trust me,’ he said, dropping the hand that ached to caress her skin. ‘No matter what’s passed between us, I’ll never let that censor take the inn from you.’
She swallowed hard. ‘Thank you. I do trust you, Lucan.’
‘Do you?’ His eyes searched her face. They both knew he spoke of more than the inn and the urgency of the moment. Confusion came into her eyes and in that confusion, Lucan understood how little their relationship had changed. There was still something deep within her that he didn’t understand, something holding her back. Maybe Severina had come to him, but she hadn’t come for him.
Angry at his own eager dreams, Lucan stepped away, putting distance between them before he made a fool of himself.
‘Come,’ he said. ‘The sooner we find those documents, the sooner the censor’s plans are overturned.’
They reached his apartment and went inside. Severina sat quietly beside Orthrus while Lucan searched through every record he owned. He was methodical to a fault; in his business dealings, he was unfailingly careful and organised, with everything catalogued neatly and in strict chronological order. The documentation for every other piece of property he owned, all were in their proper places, everything except for the one vital piece of documentation Severina needed. Only that one thing was missing.
Chapter Three
By the time Donatus and Lucan left the censor’s office the following day, the sun was high and blazed hot. They talked little as they headed to a nearby popina for a cool drink and food.
‘You want wine?’ Donatus asked as they made their way towards the counter where delicious smells wafted from clay jars set into the stone surface. ‘They have good wine here, laced with honey and herbs for a flavour different from most.’
Lucan rubbed tension from the back of his neck. ‘No, not wine. Ask if they have beer. I need something more robust.’
Donatus nodded and Lucan moved away to find a table. It was well past mid-day so the place wasn’t crowded. Even so, he hardly noticed the few people who came and went. His mind was restless and disturbed after the interview they’d just had with the censor.
Donatus returned with food and drink. He set it before Lucan and watched as his friend bit into his bread.
‘What’s this?’ he asked. ‘Not going to thank your god before you eat it?’
‘No.’
‘But you always do that.’
‘I don’t do it now.’
Donatus shrugged, hearing the low growl of warning in his friend’s voice. ‘All right. Whatever you say.’
He took up his own small circular loaf, pinched off a generous portion and dipped it into warm broth. ‘That censor made you angry, didn’t he?’
‘Furious.’
‘I thought for a moment there you might slam your fist into his face.’
‘I considered that. Among other things.’
‘Yes. As did I.’
‘He’s after her, Donatus. And we can’t prove anything, not with both our copies of the transaction completely gone—stolen, no doubt. But why Severina? Why her inn of all those in this city?’
‘He’s a predator. He goes after properties owned by poor Romans who can’t afford a legal defence, or foreigners, or women. But I thought he’d give up once we took up for her and he realised he’d have a fight on his hands.’
‘I’d hoped so, too.’
‘That part doesn’t make sense. I know he’s in good with the Emperor because he contributes much to Trajan’s coffers. But I’m a senator with powerful friends, and I’m also privy to the Emperor. Trajan was the one who gave me the inn to begin with, and I can call witnesses who’ll swear that I sold it to you. So why is Terentius pursuing Severina? I have a hard time believing he hates the thought of a successful woman so much.’
‘Maybe it was the amount of the sale that made him suspicious. Two sesterces? Maybe you shouldn’t have sold it to me for so little.’
‘It was mine to sell for any amount I chose. The price was a fair one since you’d risked your life to help protect my wife and find my son.’
‘Not to mention that the inn was a fairly sordid place when I took ownership. Don’t forget that.’
Donatus grimaced. ‘How could I? I got the dubious honour of painting over that disgusting mural on the atrium wall.’
Lucan laughed. ‘Can you imagine if Lelia had seen that? Or Severina, who once told me her skin crawled just knowing the place had once been a brothel? She might have refused to take it at all if she’d seen that mural and its lurid contents. But wouldn’t it be nice if all men were as well endowed as those in the paintings?’
‘Yes, and all women as well.’ Donatus laughed softly. He took another bite of his food. ‘The place looks vastly different now.’
‘Yes, it’s stunning. Few inns can match it in either opulence or comfort. Severina has a rare gift.’
‘No wonder the censor wants it.’
‘I’m not totally convinced he wants it,’ Lucan said quietly. ‘But he knows the one who does. So maybe he’s doing the dirty work in a way that won’t be questioned for somebody who’s paying him under the table. But who? It could be anybody.’
Both men were silent for a while, chewing their food and washing it down with beer. ‘So what are we going to do?’ Donatus said finally. ‘The inn’s not lost yet. We have some options. No good ones, but options none the less.’
Lucan drew in a deep breath.
He’d thought of one option that was a good one. One way that would absolutely work, without question, without challenge.
‘I’ll give you money,’ Donatus said. ‘There’ll be lawyers to pay for, and they cost—’
‘No.’
‘Look, I know you’ve got your pride. But if you can buy off that greedy bastard to give Severina a chance at a decent future, then—’
‘I don’t need your money, Donatus. I have my own. And besides that, there’s an even better way.’
Donatus eyed him suspiciously. ‘You won’t do something foolish, will you? The man does surely deserve a dire fate, but I don’t want to see you in gaol because of garbage like him.’
Lucan pushed away his now-empty plate. ‘I’m not going to gaol. I’m going to marry Severina.’
Donatus stared at Lucan incredulously for a moment, then laughed. ‘That’s perfect,’ he said. ‘The censor couldn’t do anything to either of you then. Not one damned thing.’
‘No.’
‘But sweet gods above…How are you going to talk Severina into that?’
Lucan met his friend’s half-amused, half-worried gaze. ‘That’s the part I haven’t worked out yet.’
Donatus looked up at the ceiling, studying its dark beams for a moment with a curiously gentle smile on his lips. He shook his head as he took up his beer. ‘Lucan, I’ve been your friend for a long time. I’ve ridden with you and wielded a sword with you and suffered through fevers with you. I’d probably even march through the land of the dead with you. But if you’re truly serious about marrying Severina, then…’ he gulped down a big swallow and set his goblet down with a thump ‘…this time, you’re on your own.’
Lucan nodded, knowing he’d never faced a more serious challenge. He’d never been more likely to come out wounded and battered. But…hell. The risk would be worth it if he succeeded.
And Lucan fully intended to succeed.
The afternoon shadows were lengthening by the time Lucan made his way home through a city bustling with life. He wended through the vendors of the Forum Holitorium, only half-aware of the chaos all around him because of the chaos within.
He’d made a hasty decision and spoken it aloud to Donatus before he’d thought.
It seemed the right thing at the time; Lucan was rarely ambivalent. He’d learned in battle to follow his instincts to clear, decisive action. Warriors who were too careful often missed the advantage of the moment, and losing an advantage meant losing lives.
But Lucan was no longer on a battlefield where men with weapons faced others in a straightforward and fair fight.
Love was anything but a straightforward and fair fight, and he now questioned whether he’d been momentarily insane to consider marriage with Severina.
Did he still love her, then?
No. Her rejection had gone bone-deep.
His love had not been shallow or self-serving. At the time, he’d believed it strong enough to withstand a lifetime of challenges, changes, joys and griefs.
But deep hurt seared emotion like a heated brand seared nerves and flesh, and so it had been for him. He was no longer angry. He didn’t want to retaliate or hurt Severina in return.
He’d like to say that he felt nothing, but that wasn’t true. He felt sadness. A lingering, bittersweet melancholy, as when summer gave way to autumn or a brave adversary fell in battle.
Yes, he felt sadness. Even in his dreams, he sometimes still mourned Severina’s loss.
Surprisingly, he’d dreamed of her often in recent weeks, usually following an evening in another woman’s company. That had startled him, made him uneasy, pierced him with guilt.
Until he admitted the truth. His desire for Severina still lived, perhaps the one emotion untouched by everything painful between them.
The lust didn’t actually surprise him. In another time, lust had been his most practised, most cherished sin.
To think of Severina without desire was impossible. He’d loved her and he’d wanted her. The two emotions had naturally gone together. He hadn’t consummated the desire for reasons he deemed important at the time, but the urge had been intense just the same.
Now maybe love had died, but the lust remained, as strong and pure as ever, mocking him with what he’d never taken, tormenting him with questions he couldn’t answer. What would it have been like to sheath himself in Severina? What was her most intimate smell…her taste? How would she have sounded at the pinnacle of passion, her cries mingling with his own rasping breath?
If he married her, he might yet know those answers. But lust by itself wasn’t a good reason to marry someone.
As for himself, he was now thirty years old. It was time he settled down, became domestic, sired children. But even now he couldn’t imagine himself in such a life with anyone but Severina.
He’d prefer that his wife love him, but marriage without love happened all the time to men of his class. His father, bearing down on him with all the authority of the pater familias, had mentioned several times the possibility of an arranged marriage in Lucan’s near future.
By marrying Severina, perhaps he’d satisfy everyone. He’d make his parents happy with heirs to secure his family’s holdings. He’d have a wife of his own choosing.
All afternoon long he waited for the cool of evening to descend on the bustling city, deep thoughts churning within him. At long length the disquiet abated; resignation took over.
He could do it.
He could take Severina’s hand and pledge a lifetime of fidelity and kindness. He needed heirs. She needed her business. It was the only way.
But would she agree?
He’d have to put the facts plainly before her. Marriage was the most certain way to protect her claim. No man—not the censor, not even the Emperor himself—could debate Lucan’s ownership then. Roman law made the husband responsible for all: wife, children, property. He’d be undisputed lord and master in the eyes of any jury who judged.
Lord and master.
Those words rang hollow, though, when he thought of Severina. She wasn’t docile. She was stubborn and intelligent, no man’s lapdog. She’d be led only if she chose to be led, and about that Lucan had no illusions.
Independence was important to her. She held on to it as to a lifeline. She’d refused to give it up even for love, and he’d never been sure why.
His first proposal of marriage had ended their relationship.
He still wondered at her reasons, and he still had no answers.
Too late now. The past was done, water under a bridge and gone on to the sea, but he’d learned from his mistakes.
He’d be far more careful with Severina this time around. He’d not make any outright assault on her cherished independence. He’d let the idea of marriage sink in slowly, a sneak-thief who captured her inch by inch.
And he’d be far more careful with his own heart. He’d wed her, but he’d not be twice the fool.
Chapter Four
He had three weeks. The date of the hearing had already been set. Only three weeks.
Lucan tried to avoid feeling urgency as he made his way through the darkness to Severina’s inn, but that deadline sounded a subliminal, ominous note through his every thought.
Or maybe it was the wine. He’d had several large goblets. He wasn’t drunk, but he was definitely feeling the effects of the alcohol.
Maybe he shouldn’t be trying to think through his situation while in this unsteady state, but he’d decided on a plan of action. It was unusual, as daring as some of the cavalry manoeuvres for which he and Donatus had been known. Simple. Decisive. A punitive strike at the enemy censor while capturing the female prize so dearly held and closely guarded.
The thought of it made Lucan’s pulse quicken. He liked a challenge. He thrived on momentum—life or death, winner takes all.
He could win the inn for Severina, and Severina for himself. He would exploit his strengths.
It wasn’t vanity to acknowledge that he knew how to use his good looks and charm to woo her. It was the simple truth. Other men teased him about his skill with women. Some openly envied what Lucan merely accepted. To captivate females came easily to him. With little or no effort on his part, women of all ages watched him, smiled at him, gravitated towards him. Some immediately offered themselves. Those who didn’t could usually be persuaded. His was a magnetic, almost bewitching power.
He’d not always used it responsibly, but he’d always used it well. And if he’d been selfish, well…he’d also left a satisfied woman behind when the tide of passion receded.
The only woman with whom he’d shown any noble restraint had been Severina. By the time he met her, his Christian faith had changed him. Severina would be his chosen mate for life, not a plaything for a season. But the result hadn’t been satisfactory.
So now he’d resort to the tried and true. For him, it would be familiar ground; for Severina, it would be a surprise attack at night. Uncharted territory.
Lucan smiled into the darkness as he made his way through the almost-empty streets towards Severina’s neighbourhood. She’d long ago given him his own key to the building, and now he wanted to talk to her.
He’d wake her if she slept. To find her groggy with sleep and unguarded might suit nicely, and he was surprisingly eager to begin the game. The thought stirred his blood. Even addled as he was, he didn’t doubt he could hold his own.
What small sound alerted her, Severina wasn’t sure. She’d been dozing lightly, caught in sleep somewhere between the anxieties of her day and the desperate need to rest. But the moment she awoke, she knew something was wrong.
The house was quiet in an odd, abnormal way, all except for the fountain in the colonnaded atrium. It sang softly as always, its stone-faced Grecian woman pouring water from an amphora in an eternal attempt to fill the larger pool.
