Pity mixed with disapproval in Aulia’s expression.
Gwen scoffed, but then she dug her teeth into her lip. “Don’t tell my familia about this incident. They’d think they were right about Marcellus.”
“Right about what? That he’s a dangerous man? You ever thought he wasn’t?” Livia wrapped her baby’s blanket tighter.
With the swish of tunicas, her friends disappeared. Unlike her friends, though, she didn’t fear Marcellus.
Stomping her sandals against the tile as loud as a legionary, she marched to Marcellus. He stood by the back rooms, deep in a whispered conversation with Bruno. He turned.
She looked into the eyes of the man she’d married. His bronzed lips enticed her to place her kiss on them. His muscled arms tensed, those arms she’d defied her familia to linger in. Though she probably should, she’d not draw a knife on him their second day of marriage.
Smiling, he reached for her hand.
She clasped her hands tightly against her elbows. “I expect next time I invite my friends, you’ll be much less rude.”
Marcellus stiffened. “You can’t invite them back.”
“Why ever not? This summer, we need to choose a day to hold a dinner party, welcome some of Rome’s society into the villa.” That would help the gossip die down and, oh, to host a dinner party as matron of her own villa.
“We’re not hosting any gatherings.”
“What do you mean, we’re not hosting any gatherings?” She grabbed his hand. “Everyone does.”
“I don’t.”
She stared at him.
“Come riding with me.” He slid his arm around her waist.
“This conversation isn’t over.”
“Of course, delicia.” He curved his arm around her, and even though she dragged her feet, he swept her past the back of the atrium through the garden. A rickety-looking stable squatted in the back of the villa. A horse neighed from within.
“I wanted you to show me your stables.” With a smile, Gwen stepped toward the ramshackle building. Why did all the Marcellus villa look like it had received no care for years?
Marcellus blocked her path with his arm. “Bruno will get the horse.”
“Horses. I want to choose my own steed.”
He slid both hands over her stomach, holding her against his front. Bending over her shoulder, he pressed his lips against hers. “There’s a place by the river I want to show you. It always reminds me of you, my love.”
An unimpressive brown horse whinnied as Bruno led it out of the cracked door.
“You can’t just grab me whenever you don’t want me to do something. Also, honeyed words don’t excuse how you acted to my friends. Now I’m choosing my own horse.” Shoving Marcellus’ hands away, she strode toward the stable door.
Marcellus jumped forward. He closed his hands around her waist. With one motion, he lifted her to the horse’s withers, both her feet hanging on one side.
“No. I’ve ridden my own horse since I learned to walk.” She grabbed the pommel and shifted toward the earth.
“But I want you to ride with me.” He swung up behind her and cinched his arm around her waist.
She never rode in front of a man. She shoved against him, feet pointed to the ground.
Marcellus spurred the horse to a canter. Its hooves clattered against the courtyard and past the villa, then out the gate.
Fingers on the horse’s mane, she stared at him. The unaccustomed position jostled her. The horse’s hooves pounded down the street as Marcellus urged the horse faster.
“Look, can you see the Tiber ahead, delicia? I can smell its fragrance.” His breath blew across her ear, his chest warm against her back.
“I don’t care.” She squirmed. The movement rubbed her legs against his, her body full on against his chest. She grabbed for the reins and swung one leg up to straddle the horse like a man.
“You don’t even know where we’re going.” Holding the reins out to the left with one hand, he locked his other arm around her, binding her to his chest.
She slapped her hand against the horse’s withers. “We’re going home for me to get my own horse. Given your arrogant attitude, I might ride somewhere entirely separate from you.” Like to inquire about the servant position at the Tellnus house. She’d spoken to two women this morning who needed work.
He grinned at her. “Scarcely inspiring me to surrender the reins.”
The wretched man. She shoved at his chest.
He laughed. “I’d kiss you right now, but I think I’d fall off the horse.”
A groan slid through her teeth and she collapsed back against him. At least, unlike other patrician men, he didn’t remind her of her place when she railed against him. Even when she’d presented the most preposterous of egalitarian ideas to him, ones that would have had Wryn scoffing and even Father taken aback, Marcellus had agreed and said the amount of power patrician males wielded was obscene.
His arms encircled her like summer sunshine as she leaned against his chest, her body touching the man she’d wanted for two years now. As a Paterculi through her familia, she wielded more political influence than Marcellus could ever hope to obtain. When she wished to put him in his place, she could. Today, though, the sun shone bright, and his arms surrounded her.
The city faded into the distance, and Rome’s hills angled to the Tiber below. The wind whipped around them.
The breeze blew his tunic against his chest, outlining the muscles she’d only seen once before Fabius interrupted. She had, however, memorized every sinew in those hands which, quite against her wishes, held the reins.
His smile lit his eyes. “You bear the scent of lilac blossoms. Though I can’t say the flowers adorn you when you adorn them.”
Her heart stirred within her. Even if she delayed proving to him that she held the reins in this marriage, not him, she still shouldn’t forgive him quite yet for throwing her friends from the villa.
A grove of pine trees enclosed them. The thundering of a waterfall sounded from the secluded trees beyond.
“You look like Venus with the sunshine glinting off your hair, your beauty as dark as starlit nights.” Reaching up, he tugged her down from the mount. “I wonder if you can work magic with that hair when it falls over your shoulders.”
“You threw my friends out of the house.” She shoved his hands away from her waist and marched across the grass to the raging waterfall. Ducking, she entered a dense grove. The scent of pines surrounded her, their low-hanging branches blocking sight. A pace beyond, a majestic waterfall crashed over slick rocks, splashing water high in mist-filled clouds. She slid to a seat among the pine needles.
Marcellus’ footsteps sounded behind her. Kneeling next to her, he held up a handful of red blossoms. “Know why these flowers remind me of you?”
She drew her arms across her chest. “No.”
“One breath of them and all else fades. You can only linger in their aroma.”
“They’re just poppies.” Sap stained her tunica as she scooted back against the pine trunk. “They grow in many gardens this time of year.”
“But have you smelled them?” He held out his cupped hands.
She bent to smell them. They did smell like honey and summer days.
He released them, and they fell down the front of her tunica, catching on the folds of her blue silk. He gestured across the raging water. “We should come here in the moonlight, watch the stars rise over the Tiber.”
She forced herself to grunt, but she wanted to smile. Watching the stars here, surrounded by the crash of the waterfall, would take one’s breath away. The pines made a fortress around them, blocking all sight in this secluded grove.
He touched her ankle and slid his hand underneath her tunica. Tingles of heat shot up her leg. “I couldn’t live without your love.”
Neither could she, yet he had a rude awakening coming. The poor man apparently held the deluded idea that a Paterculi wife could be as easily managed as Dacian native
s. Still, she’d like to lose her maidenhood before she taught him that lesson.
With a click, the brooch that held her tunica gave way to his fingers. His hands felt like massaging oil, moving down her body. He moved his mouth over hers. He tasted of honeyed wine. “A month ago, a year ago, I’d never have dared to dream we’d have this moment.”
“I knew you wanted to marry me, despite that you forced me to give you that childish ultimatum before admitting it.” She smiled at him.
“Just kiss me, domina.” His hands were hot on her body.
She didn’t pull back as he moved so close to her that his clothes brushed hers. His kisses enchanted her, and she pressed her lips against his mouth as she touched his broad shoulders. Something lingered in his eye. “Why do you call me domina?”
“Because it’s who you are.” With one motion, he tore her tunica down, ripping silk. Expensive silk.
“Take more care, Marcellus.”
He charged on.
Good thing she welcomed his kisses, felt pleasure at the crush of his body against hers, and a tingling of excitement as their clothes came off here underneath the covering branches of this pine grove.
Because she wasn’t half-convinced he’d stop if she didn’t.
Chapter 17
Gathering her feet underneath her on the mattress, Gwen leaned over the wax tablet and wrote: Break Claudia’s betrothal.
How? Discover something politically embarrassing to hold over Claudia’s father? Find a more well-connected man who, unlike this Atilius, wasn’t brutish so Claudia’s father would choose him instead? Also, she needed to check on the fuller’s shop tomorrow and see how the older woman she’d hired to mix the fuller’s earth did.
Afternoon sunlight lit the wax. She tugged a pine needle from her hair. The door creaked open, and Marcellus walked in. Sweat stains covered his plain tunic, and the clash of steel against steel still sounded in the gardens beyond. She’d try her blade against his soon enough, but first, she needed to puzzle out a way to fix this for Claudia, especially since she was at fault for Claudia’s predicament. Also, she still needed to discover some legal recourse if Drusus hit Livia again.
Bending over her, Marcellus brushed his fingers against her cheek. “What’s knit your brow, delicia?”
“Livia got her children back.”
“I’m glad to hear it.”
“Now she’s married to that wretched Drusus again. I wish I could do something to help her.” With a groan, Gwen flopped against the bed’s headboard.
“Or you could do something to hurt Drusus.”
Resting her cheek against polished wood, she looked to Marcellus. “What good would that do? Unless Drusus’ pain aided Livia, like with this horse accident, what would his suffering accomplish?”
“Revenge.”
She pursed her lips. “Revenge? I mean, I do hate Drusus, but my concern for Livia is much deeper than any hate I have for her husband.”
Marcellus shook his head. “Hate’s stronger than love.”
“No, it isn’t.” She reached for his hand. “I love you more than I could ever hate Drusus.”
He didn’t clasp her hand back. “People you love can be taken away. No one can take away your hate.”
“You’ll never lose me.”
A wry expression crossed his face.
“Did you lose so many beloved comrades in the Dacian War?” Sliding onto his legs, she examined his face. A tingle ran through her as she touched the man who was hers now.
He grunted. “No.”
“Who did you lose then?” She ran her finger down his jawbone, gentle against that ugly bruise her familia had made.
A darkness hung in his eyes. He caught up the tablet her skirt half-covered. “What’s this?”
She dropped her hand to his knee. Twisting, she pulled her legs up under her and leaned back against his chest. “I’m mulling over ways to make Claudia run away from her betrothed. Suggestions?”
Marcellus wrapped his arms around her shoulders and held her tight against him. “Claudia will never give up the riches of her patrician life.”
“The betrothed’s horrid. She’d be better off living in poverty. Perhaps I could find a nice equestrian woman for her to live with, or—”
“Claudia’s been trained to obey her father her entire life.” Marcellus plucked a pine needle from Gwen’s hair. “She’ll not all at once work up the courage to flout him now.”
“I defied my father in marriage, and he is a far, far better man than Claudia’s father.”
“True, but I very much doubt you were trained to obey any man, delicia.” He traced his finger over her ear as his eyes laughed at her.
She twisted between his legs to face him. “I’ll warn you now, if you think you’ll accomplish what eighteen years with the best familia in the Empire did not, you won’t.” He could thank his charm she hadn’t pulled a knife on him yet, but if he continued acting as he had, it would happen soon.
“I’d never wish to change you.”
She clasped her arms around her drawn-up knees. “Or force my friends out of the house? Or bodily haul me to that river today?”
“That beautiful river with lotus blossoms, I’ll remind you.” He grinned at her and rested both hands on her drawn-up knees. “It’s what your Jesus said. All are equal, male or female, slave or free.”
“Jesus also said not to take revenge.”
“What?”
She dropped her knees to the mattress, crossing her legs in front of her, but his hands still touched them. “It’s in that scroll I gave you. Give it to me, and I’ll show you.”
Bending, he reached under the mattress and handed her the scroll.
The parchment crinkled underneath her fingers. She stabbed the Greek words. “Look here, vengeance is mine, I shall repay says the Lord.”
Marcellus snorted. “Only part I agree with is ‘vengeance is mine, I shall repay.’ Because I shall repay.”
She glanced at his bronzed face. So much anger burned there. What must he have been like as a tribune, armed with a gladius, with a host of men obeying his orders? Looking at him now, she could almost believe the stories true. “Repay who? Dacian tribes?”
“I’ve no quarrel with the Dacians.”
“Then why do you have the reputation as the most brutal war hero ever to sack that province? Also, where are your battle scars?”
“Spent so much time looking at my body this morning, delicia?” His grin eclipsed the anger. Bending over her, he touched his mouth to hers.
Hands on his shoulders, she looked into his eyes. “Where?”
“Perhaps you should look again.” He unhooked his belt.
“Marcellus, you never answer my questions.” Another thing she’d change about him this month.
“Don’t I?” He quirked one eyebrow as he stood. Swinging the cabinet door open, he removed a linen tunic and shoved the soiled brown wool off his shoulders.
“Are you going somewhere?”
“A dinner party.” He splashed water over his face. The droplets clung to his cheekbones, glistening in the sunlight that streamed through the broad window.
“Oh,” she smiled, “I’ll make ready. We need to bring a physician to the carpenter’s shop on the way there though for a baby’s rash.” Rising, she flipped open the cedar box on top of the cabinet. Her jewels and gold shone inside. She dangled one, a gold chain with delicate leaves hanging from it.
“It’s hosted by Victor Ocelli, the same man who tried to assassinate your father and brother last year. You needn’t go if you feel unsafe.”
Gwen dropped the necklace. The gold clattered into the box. “If you believe Victor to have been behind that plot, why are you going?”
“Have to, delicia.” He slid his hand beneath her hair, his bare chest touching her. He pressed his mouth to hers. The burning a village story that Claudia had told was false anyway. She’d seen his entire body this morning, and not a single burn marked it. Unless that bandage on
his arm hid one. He never removed it, night or day.
“I want to be with you.”
“Think you might want to wear this then?” He opened his hand. An iron betrothal ring lay in his palm.
“Will you put it on, my husband?” She held out her left hand.
For a moment, his hand seemed to tremble. He slid the ring on her finger.
“The symbol of a lifetime together.” She smiled.
He seized her. Tugging her head against his shoulder, he bent, and his face touched her hair.
She glanced up. “Is that a tear?” She wiped her thumb against his hard cheekbones. Wetness touched her skin.
“Of course not, delicia.” The mask dropped over his features.
As they walked the streets of Rome, Gwen kept stride with Marcellus. The physician had said the baby’s rash would pass soon. When she showed Marcellus the baby she rescued, unlike Wryn, he smiled and even held the baby.
Marcellus slid his hand over hers. The fading sun painted the clouds a brilliant array of colors. At the entrance to the Ocelli villa, a porter showed them in. Victor stood at the front of the hall with his wife, a girl several years younger than her whose thick stola didn’t fully hide the curve of a growing baby.
Victor looked at Gwen.
She froze. She hadn’t seen Victor since Britannia. If not for Eric’s heroics, both her older brothers and her father would no longer walk this earth. Though Wryn could never prove the Ocellis’ guilt in a court of law, Victor knew she knew.
Marcellus’ breath blew against her ear. “We have to greet the hosts. I’m sorry.” He circled his arm around her waist.
She pressed back against his arm as he moved forward.
“Victor. Iulia.” Marcellus inclined his head.
“Marcellus.” Victor clasped his hand at the wrist as if they were great friends.
Gwen furrowed her brow as an uncomfortable feeling slithered down her spine.
“Gwen, it’s been some years since a Paterculi’s been under this roof.” Victor’s sinister smile showed white teeth.
“She’s a Marcellus now.” Marcellus dug his fingers into her waist, his grip so tight—as if he feared something.
To Deceive an Empire: Love and Warfare series book 3 Page 18
