‘There is nothing to discuss.’ Her eyes blazed at him. ‘As I said, it was old business, family business.’
Aro gritted his teeth until his jaw hurt. It angered him that she should cling to her old family and consort with his sworn enemy.
‘You belong to my family now. Any business you had with this man is past.’
‘Aro.’ Ofellius leant towards him, his garlic-tinged breath near Aro’s ear. ‘I shall look forward to seeing the dance your lady wife will lead you.’
Aro lifted his eyebrow. ‘It will be me who does the leading in my house.’
‘Kiss the bride.’
Lydia attempted to ignore the singing and shouting that accompanied the procession as it wound its way from the lower slopes of the Palatine across the Circus Maximus and up into the Aventine district, past the firmly shut market stalls and shops. The crowds had been much sparser when she married Titus. But this time she had married the head of the most important trading house in Rome, and it appeared as if half the Palatine and the entire Aventine were there.
As they reached the crest of the Aventine hill, she gave one last glance over her shoulder towards the marbled villas and lush gardens of the Palatine, but her father’s house had long since disappeared from view. Her father had stayed at the villa, but Sulpicia as her matron of honour followed a few steps behind her. Lydia tried to step on the uneven cobblestones with a firm tread and her head held high.
Her old life was finished and her new one had not yet begun. She existed as a statue might, not having any real life of her own. Lydia blinked quickly and tried to tell herself that her thoughts were ridiculous.
She was the same person, no matter which family she belonged to. Veratii blood ran in her veins, not Fabii, despite the words she had been forced to utter during the marriage ceremony.
In the golden glow of the torchlight, she could see Aro rolling nuts towards the children who lined the route to ensure a fertile marriage. He smiled and joked with a few of the crowd, pausing to beckon to a shy child and place the nut in the child’s hand. His only reward was a huge beaming grin before the child raced off to join others in a game of pick up the nuts. Aro gave a satisfied smile and continued on.
What sort of man was he? The Sea Wolf of Sulpicia’s stories? Or a man with a generous heart?
On this procession, she saw his little kindnesses and jovial side. But when he and Ofellius had confronted each other in the atrium, she’d feared there would be bloodshed, that her wedding day would be marred. Thankfully, nothing had come of it.
She had been tempted to confide about the missing shipment of fish sauce, and Ofellius’s less than useful response, but he had not given her a chance. Her lips twisted. No doubt, he would have repeated the advice he had given back in the study, and would have laughed at her for making the mistake. She did not intend to give him any opportunities to ridicule her like Titus had done.
Aro’s laughter rang out as he replied to a particularly vulgar comment from one of the crowd. The chant was taken up and repeated by a number of sailors. Lydia’s cheek burned and she was glad she was wearing the veil. The image the remark conjured up in her mind of bodies entwined was hard to dispel.
‘At last, the house.’ Aro gestured towards a townhouse, perched on the top of the Aventine hill, far away from the slum that occupied the lower slopes. A light breeze blew and the scent of pine wafted in front of Lydia. ‘Not much, but it will do.’
‘It is more than adequate. It’s beautiful.’ Lydia regarded the tastefully proportioned building with its large black oak door standing open, a pool of warm light beckoning her in.
A white cloth covered in green laurel leaves mixed with juniper was laid at the entrance. Aro’s arms lifted Lydia up before she had a chance to protest. She was held close to his chest and his heart thumped in her ears as he cleared the greenery with one giant step.
His arms held her for another heartbeat, strong and warm. Her throat constricted around a sudden unexpected blockage. Against all reason, she felt safe in those arms. Then they loosened and she was set on to the black-and-white marbled floor.
Lydia made a show of straightening her robes. Her mouth and throat were parched. She could do nothing but watch Aro and try to keep her mind away from the bedding with a man she barely knew.
A long betrothal had preceded her marriage to Titus, so she had known what to expect. She had lived with Titus’s mother and father for a while. Titus had been more like a younger brother or a companion. His touch had never made her feel the way Aro’s touch had done.
Beyond Sulpicia’s lurid stories and the brief glimpses she had seen of Aro, she knew nothing of him as a person or how he treated women. If Titus had changed so drastically, what about Aro? Would he become the snarling wolf of her dream?
‘Have you caught your breath?’ His low voice rumbled in her ear. ‘My household wishes to welcome you with the traditional gifts.’
Lydia gazed through the orange veil, waiting for the fire and water to be presented to her. Everything about the villa exuded great wealth. She had heard of the fabulous wealth of the merchants, but had not quite believed it. She believed it now. There would be no need for strategically placed oil lamps. No charcoal brazier mark was on the marble tiles and the frescoes were of a deeper hue than she had seen before except in Crassus’s villa and his wealth was legendary.
‘May the fire always burn bright on the hearth and the water flow freely with you as mistress of this house.’ Aro indicated the lamp and the basin of water. ‘Make my house a home, Lydia.’
‘That task will be my duty as well as my pleasure.’ Lydia forced the words from her mouth on the third attempt. She wanted to believe he meant the words, but his eyes appeared glacial. She placed her fingertips briefly on each of the offerings, then stepped back as custom demanded.
‘Behold your new mistress.’ Aro drew back her veil. ‘Obey her as you would me.’
The assembled servants bowed low and murmured appreciative noise, but Lydia thought she detected fear in their eyes. With a start she also realised that not one was a woman. Because she had left Beroe with Sulpicia, she would be a woman in a house of men. She lifted her chin and stared at them.
‘I will do my best to be a good mistress, to be a Roman matron in the tradition of the old tales.’
A softening of his eyes to warm amber showed she had used the correct words.
‘I am sure you will. And it is time we finish the public ceremony.’ His warm fingers touched her elbow and guided her forwards towards the next part of the ceremony—the formal putting to bed in the bridal chamber. Sulpicia and the other guests would depart and she’d be alone with Fabius Aro.
A fake bed, with effigies of a bride and groom, had been set up in the atrium to keep the evil spirits away from the marital chamber. Lydia gave Aro a sideways glance as they passed to see if he noticed it, but the flickering oil lamps threw shadows on his face, preventing her from reading any emotion.
What was he thinking, this husband of hers?
Exactly why had he married her? She knew her reasons for marriage, but his?
She had to suppose he wanted to enter Roman society. Marriage to an old established family would give him entry to the best circles and the most select dinner tables where the true business of Rome was conducted. She forced her arms to stay at her sides.
Was it too much to ask for—to be wanted for herself rather than for her family connections? She wanted to have more of a purpose in her life than gossip.
She ignored the growing trembling in her stomach and allowed Aro to guide her into the luxurious room with its blazing charcoal brazier, table laden with silver fruit platters and amber goblets filled with wine. And the bed strewn with cushions and embroidered blankets.
‘I bring your distaff and spindle, the symbols of your industrious nature. Use them well,’ Sulpicia said, nearly treading on Lydia’s gown. She made a surprised clucking noise in the back of her throat. Lydia knew she was weighing up the co
st of the furnishings. ‘You will have no need of your cloak here.’
This was it, the final act of the marriage ceremony. Lydia paused. Everything would be fine. She knew that. It was merely a matter of getting through tonight and hoping that she did not displease him. She became aware everyone was staring at her, expecting her to play her part.
With trembling fingers, Lydia undid her orange palla. It fell to the ground with a soft whoosh. Next she undid the metal choker, handing it to the waiting Sulpicia.
She turned to Aro, and held her breath. With one sharp movement of his dagger, he sliced through the Herculean-knotted belt that bound her gown beneath her breasts. The assembled throng cheered. Aro handed the severed cord to Sulpicia, who bowed and left the room, closing the door with a loud click behind her.
Chapter Six
A few good-natured calls and whistles echoed through the heavy oak door, sounds of merriment and laughter, but inside the room, Lydia stood as if rooted to the spot. Aro appeared unaffected as he crossed the room and poured a cup of wine from the jug. He held it out to her, but she shook her head. How could she think about wine when the bed appeared bigger with each breath that she took?
She watched his long fingers as they curled around the cup of wine, remembered the feel of his mouth against hers and the wild fire that passed through her body.
What would it be like to be pressed against his firm chest?
He made no move towards her, but stood in the middle of the room, watching her with his tawny eyes.
‘It sounds as if they will carry on all night,’ she said, nodding towards the door. She needed to say something, anything to break the spell, to get her mind away from the shape of his mouth.
‘Who?’ His eyebrow raised in question. A smile twitched at the corner of his mouth. ‘It will quieten soon. Most are my men and their families, and the ships sail tomorrow. They will have a long voyage ahead of them if they start with sore heads.’
‘Do you depart as well?’ Lydia asked. His insistence on the marriage made sense if he was about to depart. Once he left, she’d be free to do what she wanted, but she had no status in this house. It was quite possible that the servants would use the excuse of waiting until the master came back. It was against her nature simply to sit, spin and gossip. She wanted to be useful. She wanted to use her mind to run this house and perhaps even to help out with his business. It was not unheard of for women to manage a family’s business while her husband was away. Maybe not tomorrow, but in time…‘How long will you be gone?’
He set the cup down, the glass clinking softly against the table. His lips drew back in a curve. On some it might have passed for a smile.
‘Alas, the head of a merchant house rarely sails. My days are spent chasing up missing shipments of grain. All roads lead to Rome with trade.’ The words were lightly said, but his body gave the impression of a wolf about to spring. ‘A dull existence, but one which ensures a rather longer life than battling against Neptune and his fury.’
‘The Sea Wolf no longer puts to sea?’ The name rolled off her tongue before she could stop it.
‘You know the name.’ The shadows in his face heightened and she found it impossible to tell if he was displeased.
‘I have heard it.’
‘Do not believe every story you hear.’
‘I never do.’ Lydia raised her head and met his gaze full on. ‘In Rome, there are many with silver tongues, and a smooth manner.’
‘Spoken by one who has encountered such men before? Or has your father kept you away from such things?’
‘My father…’ Lydia hesitated.
How much did he know about her relationship with her father, and his illness? How could she begin to explain that where he had once encouraged her to be interested in business and learning, since his illness, he seemed to have forgotten she even existed?
He had become like a different person. Her father, but not the gentle but firm man she remembered. Sometimes it was as if a Fury had touched his mind. He spoke sharply without cause, losing his temper over little things, and then later, after the temper left him, becoming quiet and almost childlike with little or no memory of his outbursts.
Would Aro understand? Or would he seek to use the knowledge to his advantage?
Her hands touched the crimson net that imprisoned her hair. Now she wished that she had stayed to hear the conversation between Aro and her father. Her father’s final words echoed in her brain—keep the family’s business secret. If her father had kept it a secret, she owed him her loyalty.
‘My father allowed me some measure of freedom. He thought it best for me to learn what the world was like. After my mother’s death, he encouraged me to take charge of the household.’
‘And you think you will have to give all that up now.’ A statement, not a question, but quietly said with a firm authority.
‘I have no idea.’ She held palms upwards, showing she had nothing to hide. ‘From my father’s business dealings, I have heard of the Lupan House. Stories about the Sea Wolf and his exploits swirl about the Forum, but I know little of the man. I judge people by what I know of them, not by the stories the gossips spout in the market place.’
‘You will know more of the man hereafter.’ A low husky laugh filled the room, a laugh that made the warmth in her belly grow and curl around her insides, reminding her of the kiss they had shared and how her body had reacted to it. ‘A wife should not be ignorant of her husband or his desires.’
‘Quintus…’ Lydia rolled his first name around on her tongue. ‘Where does that come from? Are you the fifth brother?’
‘It is an old family name, and one I never use, one I dislike. It was my father’s name and his before that. The last person to use it was my mother.’
‘What shall I call you?’ In the back of her mind a little voice kept chiming—he has no desire for you to call him by his first name. First names are for intimates. He does not intend for you to be anything but a trophy.
‘Aro will suffice, Lydia Fabia. It pleases me much more. It is the name I chose.’ He stretched out his arms in a welcoming gesture, but a flash of pain crossed his face.
‘You’re hurt.’
‘It is nothing. Piso and I had a minor disagreement yesterday with some locals. I bruised my wrist and my side.’ He held out his hand and in the flickering light, Lydia could see purple bruising on his arm. ‘It will teach me to be a little quicker the next time. It appears I strained my shoulder again when I lifted you just now.’
‘You shouldn’t have carried me over the threshold. You have injured yourself far more. That was foolish of you.’ Silently, she cursed for not having noticing sooner. She should have. She prided herself on noticing little things.
‘It is but a small thing.’ He gave a soft laugh, but one which did strange things to her insides. ‘What sort of bridegroom would I have been if I had failed to carry my bride into her new house?’
‘I would have understood.’
‘I want all the omens to be good for this marriage.’ His voice was no more than whisper, a whisper that sent shivers down her back.
‘I have some salve, my own special recipe,’ she said, concentrating on the purple marks, rather than on his golden gaze. ‘My father finds it effective against his aches and pains. He swears by it. Or at least he used to.’ Lydia found the need to be truthful.
‘Sounds soothing.’ His fingers captured hers, and held them next to his wrist. ‘Like your hands.’
‘I can get the ointment if you wish. It will be with my things.’ She started towards the door, then stopped, remembering where she was. ‘If you will let me know where I might find my things…’
His fingers reached out, touched her jaw with a light butterfly caress. ‘Later.’
Her breath caught in her throat as his hands entangled themselves in the hair net and pulled it off, freeing her hair. One by one the pins that held the elaborate hairstyle in place fell to the ground. Her hair fell in waves, cascading about
her face and upper body.
‘Beautiful,’ he murmured against her ear. ‘Like the sea on a summer’s night, rippling in the moonlight.’
‘You are speaking nonsense.’ Lydia shook her head, but a surge of pleasure swept through her at the compliment. ‘It is hair. I can never get it to stay in place properly. Beroe despairs.’
‘Finer than silk.’ His hands ran through her hair, lifting it to his lips.
Lydia held her body still. She did not want to do anything wrong. She had no wish to anger him. The memory of her last wedding night and its humiliation was too raw.
His hand stroked her head and she leant back slightly, revealing her throat. His lips touched her neck just above her gown. His thumb slipped underneath the gown, touching her with a firm but insistent stroke. An involuntary shiver went through her.
Immediately, Aro stiffened. His hand withdrew and he regarded her face.
‘Tell me what is wrong. All evening, something has bothered you.’ Aro’s voice was a warm whisper in her ear. ‘Tell me what it is you fear about me. What is it about my touch that displeases you?’
‘I had not expected the marriage to make you my master.’ Lydia felt her throat close and forced the words out around the sudden lump. If she gave in to his touch, she would be no better than the whores and courtesans who plied their trade in the alleyways and bars around the Forum. What would he think of her? ‘It is rarely done. I had thought my father would stay my guardian.’
His hand withdrew and he moved away from her. She heard the sound of wine being poured.
‘I do not blow with fashions. A cum manu marriage was good enough for my parents. It is good enough for me. My mother never questioned the wisdom of the thing.’
‘Times change,’ Lydia said between gritted teeth. No doubt his mother was a paragon of virtue who spun all her family’s cloth and always deferred to her husband’s wishes as well. ‘My parents were married sine manu. Cum manu is only for those seeking to become the high priest of Juno. Are you seeking that office?’
Sold and Seduced Page 7
