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‘No,’ she said. ‘Don’t apologise. Just…forget it.’
She felt his eyes on her as she tried to pin her garment together with hands that were shaking.
‘Here,’ he said, taking the fibula from her, pushing her nervous hands aside. ‘Let me do that.’
It made her angry that he could speak and act so calmly while she felt she’d been blown through a tempest. It made her angry that her breasts still tingled and that he seemed to know it, the back and side of his hands torturing her aching flesh as he pinned her garment into place. She made an exasperated sound and looked up to the ceiling until he finished.
She wasn’t angry with Lucan; she was angry with herself. What had she been thinking, to let desire carry her away like that? If they hadn’t been interrupted, she’d have given herself to him, and that would have been a disaster too deep for words.
If they hadn’t been interrupted, Severina would have given herself to him, and that would have been a triumph too perfect for words.
As it was, Lucan wanted to grin and crow with success; his first assault had gone better than expected. She remembered now how hot the fire had once blazed between them. Her guard lowered long enough to taste her hungers and that was good, one more reason to wed him. Desire wasn’t the best foundation for a lifetime, but it would do.
‘Aren’t you going to take your medicine?’ she said, gesturing towards the table. ‘Your head’s probably hurting.’
Ah, the old distraction trick…too simple, something he’d encountered enough times to recognise it right away. He held back a smile.
‘I’m hurting, all right. But my head’s the least of my worries.’
She glanced down at his arousal and flushed scarlet. She worried her lower lip with her teeth, a nervous gesture that suddenly had him imagining a pleasingly wicked scenario.
‘I didn’t mean for that to happen,’ she said, looking away. ‘It can’t happen again. Not if our marriage is to be for business only, without conjugal obligations.’
‘Then you’re agreeing to marry me?’
Her frown was fierce, but her hesitation was good news for him. At least she wasn’t rejecting his proposal outright.
‘I’m agreeing to think about it,’ she said finally. ‘I won’t be rushed into anything so important.’
‘I’m not rushing you. But the hearing’s in three weeks.’
‘I know that. You’ll have an answer before then.’
‘I’d rather have you before then.’
She glanced up sharply. She’d caught the undercurrent of sensual meaning, but he wouldn’t recant.
‘Can I trust you?’ she asked suddenly, her eyes narrowing in appraisal. ‘We’re to have a business arrangement, but then you kiss me?’
‘You did not protest.’
She had the grace to blush.
He moved closer and took her gently into his arms. ‘I wish to understand you,’ he said quietly. ‘Tell me your fears, Severina, and I will fight them for you.’
He felt her slight shudder. ‘You can’t fight them, Lucan. I have to work them out for myself.’
He was silent for a moment, considering. ‘At least let me fight the censor for you.’
‘Of course. I can’t do that without you.’
‘Then trust me. Let me move into the inn and pretend I’m the owner. Let me escort you to the architect tomorrow so we can draft building plans. Let us do that much, only that much. You can decide the rest later.’
She turned her face up to him and for a moment he almost stopped breathing, struck by her beauty and the fear in her eyes. He wanted to touch her, to caress the soft skin of her cheek, to smooth the furrow from her brow, to kiss those gently parted lips…
‘Do you really think doing those things will help?’
‘We can’t let Marcus Terentius take it without a fight.’
‘No,’ she said. ‘We can’t.’
Their gazes locked. Lucan’s chest tightened painfully. And then because he couldn’t help himself, he lowered his head and gave in to the temptation to kiss her again—lightly, sweetly, a mere whisper of desire.
‘I’ll return for you in the morning. We’ll take your construction ideas to an architect friend of mine and get an estimate of the cost,’ he said. ‘You’ll agree to that, won’t you? No harm in knowing all you can before making a decision, right?’
He knew he had her there. Nobody admired ignorance.
‘Yes, I’ll do that much,’ she said. ‘It can’t hurt.’
Lucan smiled and moved to the door. ‘Sleep sweetly, Severina.’
But he knew, from the flare of desire in her eyes as he pulled away, that Severina would have as hard a time resting as he, and that her biggest fear would be for her heart, not her inn.
Chapter Five
When Severina awoke, the sun illuminated the sky outside her window with soft peach light. She rose and washed quickly, wincing at her stiffness as she shrugged into a tunic of pale blue linen. She’d slept little and was tired.
But the work of the inn wouldn’t wait and it couldn’t all be done by her few slaves, even if it was hard not to eye her mattress and cool sheets without regret. Her bed was comfortable, the most sumptuous in the inn. Its stout ebony frame was carved with Egyptian motifs that reminded her of her childhood.
Its mattress was thick and soft, but during the night she’d have sworn someone had replaced the cotton with boulders. She’d tossed for hours, unable to quiet the anxious whirl of thought. The few times her weariness had overcome her, she’d been jerked back to wakefulness by strange things. The memory of a man’s green-gold eyes. The scent of Lucan on her pillow. And once, she thought she heard his laughter in another part of the house.
She’d foolishly thought herself prepared to meet him again. She’d bolstered herself for it. In a city as large as Rome, they must inevitably meet. They shared friends. They shopped the same markets and enjoyed the same entertainments. She’d always known the day would come when she’d feel someone’s gaze and suddenly look up into dark-fringed, oddly slanted tiger eyes. She’d practised the smile, prepared the words. Lucan. How nice to see you again. You‘re looking very well…
But the moment had gone nothing like she’d planned.
And then he’d appeared in her bedroom and she’d smashed a bronze figurine into his skull. He’d proposed something outrageous and she’d almost agreed, just before she’d made a fool of herself because the old feelings had still been there. Oh, how they’d been there.
It seemed unreal now, like something out of a dream. But it wasn’t. The statuette remained there on a nearby table, mute evidence that she hadn’t imagined everything.
And besides that, one had to have actually slept in order to dream.
The only good thing about the restless night was that she’d decided on several improvements to the inn. She wasn’t sure she could marry Lucan, but it wouldn’t hurt to consider his proposition.
He’d told her to spare no expense, that his coffers were deep and he could afford anything she needed.
She wasn’t so sure. She’d never seen evidence of his wealth. He’d been a soldier, and everyone knew that even experienced officers like Lucan didn’t command a huge salary. He’d occasionally spoken of business ventures, but none had seemed particularly lucrative.
Rich men lived in grand houses, and Lucan lived simply.
Rich men had fine garb, and Lucan dressed in ordinary clothing, letting his fair looks serve him well enough.
A simple man without great wealth, but she hadn’t cared. Mostly she’d admired his integrity and his golden male beauty, not sure she was worthy of him. She usually felt plain and mousy. Her chestnut hair tended to be unruly. Her eyes were grey. Grey. How boring.
And yet, Lucan had thought her beautiful and wanted her. Sometimes the look in his eyes had taken her breath. She’d known with surety that he kept his body tightly reined.
Now she was pleased that he had. Physical union with Lucan would have been too wonderful to forsake. She wouldn’t have been able to walk away. But more than once she’d wondered—what would it have been like to be loved by a man like that?
Last night she’d come close to knowing.
For hours afterwards she’d thought of him and foolishly yearned for what almost happened between them. To make love with him would be foolish, even dangerous, if she hoped to remain free, but her body had wanted its way.
Lucan would return soon. She’d better forget that desire and concentrate on her inn instead.
Lucan told her to make construction plans, but she’d been modest in her choices because Lucan wasn’t a rich man. He had no fine mansion, no slaves. He had no gilded litter, no rich clothing, no jewelled rings. No clients waited in his atrium every morning to shower him with praise as they would for a wealthy nobleman.
Perhaps he’d saved his soldier’s pay. Maybe he’d hoarded his share of the rich spoils of Dacia. But it was likely that masculine pride forced him to claim more wealth than he truly possessed.
So she kept her construction plans to a minimum. She could use a larger kitchen, but moving out one wall would provide enough space. A larger dining area could be had by the same method, allowing for several more dining couches.
There were already ample bedrooms, thanks to the inn’s dubious past as a brothel. And the bathing room across the courtyard was a marvel of design. Sumptuous with pristine Carrara marble, it contained one large heated pool and a smaller unheated one. Surrounding the pools were comfortable seats for conversing.
That bath and the toileting facility beside it that had actual running water were two of the main selling points of the property, and Severina was extremely proud of them. She might add more to them in the future, but she wouldn’t do it now at Lucan’s expense.
She wanted to give Orthrus and Ariadne some privacy, however. The slaves’ quarters were small and uncomfortable. Ariadne currently shared a room with the cook, but after the wedding, she’d share Orthrus’s bed. Orthrus, however, currently slept with young Juvenal. It wouldn’t be proper for Juvenal and the cook to share a room, so Severina had been fretting about what to do.
She’d planned to sacrifice one of the bedrooms usually rented to paying guests. But the disadvantages of that were obvious, given her need to make a profit.
Unless she went along with Lucan’s proposal.
During the long, wakeful night she’d realised that the flat roof of the kitchen could become the floor of a small apartment built above it. The space wouldn’t be luxurious, but it would be private, a perfect little nest for lovers and a quaint but serviceable home when their babies began to come.
Severina had no doubt, given the way Orthrus looked at Ariadne and the way she looked at him in return, that babies wouldn’t be long in coming. Severina had once seen that same look pass between Donatus and Lelia, and now they had two beautiful sons.
Severina wondered whether the addition could possibly be completed by Ariadne’s wedding day. She’d like to surprise the couple with it, clean and comfortably furnished and ready for the special glories of their wedding night.
Severina could imagine their reactions already. Ariadne would squeal and then cry. Orthrus would stand dumbfounded, his huge, work-roughened hands clenching and unclenching in the struggle for words.
But his eyes would shine, and so would Ariadne’s, and it was that thought that now made Severina eager for the coming day despite her lack of sleep.
She and Lucan would fight to save the inn. Maybe she’d even consider marriage to Lucan as a business arrangement—just long enough to foil the censor, and only because people she loved were depending on her.
Severina took a deep breath and straightened her shoulders, feeling a lot like the gladiatrix of old.
Chapter Six
Lucan’s blood was singing. It always hummed through his veins hard and fast whenever he faced a challenge. It was one of the few things he’d liked about being a soldier. Maybe the only thing.
The exhilaration hadn’t compensated for the long, weary days chasing down Rome’s enemies on the back of a horse. It hadn’t eased the unholy memories of watching men die. But the raw excitement that was the prelude to battle had at least given him something pleasant in the chaos.
Maybe that feeling was what he’d once sought in his youthful pursuit of women. Maybe that feeling, combined with lust, explained his desire to conquer.
But he’d been younger then and too foolish to understand that sleeping with the wives of senior officers wasn’t worth the excitement.
For that stupidity he’d been sent to a legion in Antioch as a punitive measure. Donatus had finally unsnarled the situation and brought Lucan back to his own cavalry, but the experience had been a humbling one for Lucan.
And a good one, too. He’d learned about consequences. And while in Antioch, he’d met men unlike any he’d known before. He admired their integrity and ultimately followed them into their Christian faith.
With that decision, he abandoned the pursuit of sin, but found he missed its fine exhilaration—until he chanced upon something that provided a similar fascination.
He’d been hosting a visiting Christian missionary and somehow the conversation at the dinner table turned to matters of money. Lucan believed, as did many others who practised his faith, that riches were a corrupting influence. Was it not the rich who exploited his fellow believers? Did not the wealthy put his brothers into chains and kill them?
‘It’s not that simple,’ the missionary had cautioned. ‘Money is amoral, neither good nor evil. It only becomes one or the other in the hands of the one who possesses it.’
The corners of the older man’s eyes crinkled as he smiled gently. ‘Money can be put to good use. I couldn’t continue my ministry, for example, if not for the generosity of those who work hard to have funds to spare for me.’
‘But that’s different,’ Lucan protested. ‘Of course we must share the good news we’ve received. Didn’t the Lord say so?’
‘He did. But he didn’t leave behind the gold for us to use, did he?’ The missionary chuckled. ‘That becomes our task, Lucan. To go to the world, yes. But if we can’t go ourselves, then to give to those who can. The more money is in our hands to give, the more people we send and the more people we serve. With money we help the poor, relieving the plight of widows and orphans. Wealth in the hands of a man strong enough to remain uncorrupted by it can be a powerful thing.’
Lucan pondered that. It was a seed planted in fertile soil. It gave him new purpose.
To make money became his goal. To do that, he would learn about business and become good at it. He would grow the wealth he had, and he would use it for good purposes. Money would be made to serve a worthy master.
For three years now he’d pursued that goal intently, discovering latent talents within himself. He lived frugally to have a surplus of funds. He invested that surplus in carefully researched properties. Gradually he’d expanded his assets.
Strangely, the world now seemed full of opportunities. There were many open doors for a man with eyes to see them. He had a knack for making money, a golden touch. Everything he did prospered. He believed it was due to the favour of his God, who understood his heart and knew his purpose. He enjoyed giving money to needy people and good causes.
Whatever the cause, Lucan found in business the excitement he craved. Negotiating terms gave him a creative outlet for his intelligence. It even helped curb his need for physical gratification, providing a safe valve for dispersing his strong male needs.
And it had made him wealthy, although Lucan hadn’t needed the money for himself until now.
It seemed a rare event that today all three of his most intense passions converged—a woman for whom he cared, a business transaction that challenged his skills, and a moral imperative to right a wrong.
No wonder he could scarcely breathe.
Yet he worried, fearing disappointment again. Hadn’t he already hurt enough?
Severina needed him right now. She’d do nearly anything to protect her dream. But when the crisis passed, she’d certainly divorce him. Her independence mattered more to her than anything. More than he mattered.
Lucan now paced Severina’s peaceful, colonnaded atrium, agitated by these thoughts as he waited. He halted and took a deep breath, seeking calm as he took in all the small details of his surroundings.
He realised with pride that Severina had done much with the place. The fountain in the middle of the open courtyard sparkled with clear, clean water. Around it were lush plantings and elegant statuary. Comfortable silk cushions in muted, earthy tones of terra cotta and olive green softened stone benches and invited her guests to enjoy cool shade and the musical splash of water.
‘You’re here early.’ Severina’s voice startled him from his reverie. He looked up to see her standing uneasily in the door of the triclinium, watching him.
He ignored the sudden trip-hammer of his heart. It wasn’t fair that she stood illuminated in sunshine—like a dream, like a goddess, surrounded by light.
So beautiful.
