What would going to bed with Marius be like? she wondered. She’d never imagined wanting to share a bed, let alone her body, with any man, but something about him made her curious. No, more than that, positively aroused by the idea. He’d awoken yearnings she hadn’t known she possessed and yet it hadn’t just been a physical attraction either. Despite her initial irritation and his customary sternness, she’d felt drawn to him as a person, too, genuinely wanting to know more about his past, even wanting to tell him about hers as well. She’d come perilously close to telling him everything, as if he were the kind of man she could tell everything to, although she’d settled for a half-truth instead, admitting that her mother was a Briton without specifying which side of the wall she’d come from.
It had been a moment of madness, one that had put them both at risk. They’d been standing on the ramparts in full view of anyone who’d cared to look up, though fortunately they’d been far enough from the barrack blocks that she didn’t think anyone had. There had been no sign of the guard when she’d run away either, as if the very sight of Marius had been enough to dismiss him, but it had still been a dangerous thing to do. If anyone had seen them together, it would have looked like a tryst and then Scaevola would definitely have refused to marry her, and Tarquinius would have had no compunction about cutting her and Julia off completely—and then where would they be?
If only she’d been the one to put a stop to their kiss! Then she might have maintained some semblance of dignity, but she hadn’t. She’d wanted to carry on, to do more than just touch him, to feel his lips moulded against hers and his hands on the rest of her body, so much that for one insane moment she’d risked her whole future and that of her daughter, too.
She must have been mad, but what about Marius? What had he wanted? For a few seconds, she’d thought that he’d wanted to kiss her as well. He’d bent his head as if he’d been going to, but then he’d drawn away and apologised, as if it had just been an instinctive reaction that he regretted. He’d even tried to take the blame, apologising again for touching her while she was grieving, as if she ought to be grieving, which in other circumstances she supposed she would have agreed with.
She rested her head against the door frame and groaned softly. What must he think of her now, a recent widow wandering around an army camp on her own, betrothed to one man and throwing herself into the arms of another? It was no wonder he’d pulled away. He’d probably been horrified—although he hadn’t seemed horrified. His expression had looked torn, as if he’d been genuinely surprised by his own reaction to her, as if, perhaps, he’d been fighting his own inclinations when he’d pulled away. Was that why he’d done it, not from repulsion, but because he’d been trying to do the honourable thing?
There was no way to know and absolutely no way to find out. All she did know was that it couldn’t happen again. She couldn’t afford to get swept up in physical sensations, no matter how pleasurable they promised to be. That was all they were, after all, physical sensations, not emotional ones. She’d only met Marius the day before and surely it was impossible to develop deeper feelings for any man so quickly, no matter how close she might have felt to him.
She liked him, that was all, liked his straightforward manner and air of stern dependability. Even his insistence on escorting her back to the villa was appealing in an irritating sort of way. The fact that he’d been prepared to wait, that he hadn’t simply ordered her to return, even more so. But the very fact that she liked him was also the reason why she had to avoid him from now on. He wanted to become Senior Centurion and he wouldn’t get promoted by being seen alone with his senior officer’s new bride. As for her, she was there to marry Scaevola and that was what she had to do, for Julia’s sake, no matter what her own personal desires. She had to build a secure future for her daughter, even if it meant sacrificing her own.
Besides, it was enough, she told herself, the love that she felt for her daughter. It was the reason why she’d submitted to another unwanted, arranged marriage in the first place, putting aside her own hopes and dreams. She’d hoped, as she’d almost told Marius on the walkway, that she might one day build a different kind of relationship with a man, a new husband of her own choosing, a man she could be herself with, her real self, without judgement or condemnation. But who was to say that Marius wouldn’t behave the same way as Scaevola if he ever discovered the whole truth about her, if he discovered that her mother wasn’t just Briton, but Caledonian, too? Not to mention the rest of it. What made him any different to any other man? He was a Roman from Rome itself! What made him special except for a feeling?
‘Ah, there you are.’ Hermenia bustled up behind her, bearing a cup filled with what looked and smelled like warm milk. ‘You must be famished, my dear. You were fast asleep when I came to find you last night and I didn’t want to wake you. The pair of you looked so cosy.’
‘I’m sorry. I meant to come back and say goodnight, but...’
‘Nonsense, it’s a horrendous journey. I ought to know—I’ve made it often enough. Here...’ Hermenia passed her the milk ‘...I’ve flavoured it with honey for sweetness. Now I’m afraid that you have to pay for your accommodation here by spending all of your free time with me. I’m so pleased to have another woman to talk to and your daughter is perfectly adorable. I have two sons, both of them grown now, but between you and me I always wanted a girl. I should warn you, I intend to spoil her terribly.’
‘I think she’d like that.’ Livia smiled at the thought. It would make a nice change for Julia to be spoiled by anybody. ‘Aren’t there any other women in the fort?’
‘Not many.’ Hermenia sighed. ‘The new Emperor’s changed the rules about soldiers being allowed to marry, but it’s still early days and a lot of the officers’ wives prefer to stay in Eboracum.’
‘Didn’t you want to stay there, too?’
‘Not a bit.’ The older woman shook her head vehemently. ‘I’ve been at Nerva’s side for twenty-five years and I intend to stay there to the end. A few discomforts don’t bother me, not that there are many now that repairs to the villa are finished, but not everyone’s cut out to be a military wife.’
‘I’m not sure I am either.’
‘Well, I am sure. I knew the moment I saw you that you weren’t like the rest.’
Livia took a sip of milk to hide her expression. Hermenia’s warm tone made it sound like a compliment, but she’d spent so much of her life not belonging that she couldn’t help but wonder if there was another meaning behind the words.
‘By the by—’ Hermenia gave her a shrewd look ‘—I noticed that you went out for a walk this morning.’
‘Ye-es.’ She forced herself to sound casual, though the memory of her walk sent a sharp thrill shooting down her spine. Foolishly she’d assumed that no one would have noticed her absence. Now she didn’t know what to do with her expression. ‘I wanted a look around.’
‘Alone?’
‘Yes.’ She took another sip of milk, bracing herself to mention Marius’s name. If she didn’t mention him, then it would be more incriminating if Hermenia found out about their meeting from someone else, though she was sure the guilt must be obvious on her face.
‘I met Centurion Varro on the ramparts. He told me I shouldn’t be out on my own.’
‘He’s right. At that time in the morning, half the men aren’t even dressed.’ The older woman chuckled. ‘You might have seen more than you bargained for.’
‘I just wanted some time on my own to think.’
‘Of course.’ Hermenia put a hand on her arm. ‘It’s just lucky that it was Marius who found you. He’s a good man and an excellent soldier. My husband trusts him more than anyone else in the Legion, but then they go back a long way. He’s known Marius since he was a boy.’
‘Yes, he told me he joined the army at fourteen.’
‘Marius told you that?’ Hermenia looked surprised. ‘Well, it’s
true, although I admit I didn’t approve of Nerva turning a blind eye to his age at the time. But it was what the boy wanted and, in all honesty, there was nowhere else for him to go. After what happened to his father he didn’t have many choices. Nerva always felt bad about that, not that he could have done any more to help than he did, but it was still a terrible thing.’
‘What happened to his father?’ Livia lifted her eyebrows in surprise. Marius had mentioned his father being a senior centurion, but what was so bad about that? Although he’d said something about family honour, too...
Hermenia’s expression seemed to waver for a moment and then settle again. ‘Something that’s better left in the past. Nothing for you to worry about anyway, but he and my husband were great friends. That’s why Nerva sponsored Marius when he enlisted. He felt responsible for him in a way. It’s why he’s always kept a close eye on him, too, not that he needs it any more.’
‘Yes. He seems very...’ she sought for a suitably bland word, not wanting to say anything that might arouse suspicion ‘...competent.’
‘He is.’ Hermenia gave her a nudge with her elbow. ‘Handsome, too.’
‘I suppose so.’ She drained the last of her milk in a hurry. ‘Although he looks very stern.’
‘He has a lot to be stern about.’ The elbow nudged outwards again. ‘But he’s certainly more of a man than Scaevola. Not as well connected obviously, but superior in other ways that matter. If I were twenty years younger... Come now, you’ve been married before. You know what I mean.’
‘No.’ Livia felt herself blushing. She didn’t know what the other woman meant, not exactly, although since meeting Marius she was beginning to get a clearer idea.
‘Ah.’ Hermenia’s eyes filled with sympathy. ‘Your first marriage wasn’t a happy one, then?’
‘I...’ She hesitated, instinctively about to deny it, and then shook her head. ‘No.’
‘Oh, my dear... Well, try not to worry about Scaevola. Yesterday was bound to be difficult for both of you. You’d never met before and he’s...’
‘An arrogant, opinionated boy?’
‘Ye-es.’ Hermenia made a face although she didn’t deny it. ‘He has a high opinion of himself, it’s true, but I’m sure tonight will be different.’
‘Tonight?’
‘Nerva’s inviting him for dinner. I’m sure you’ll get along better now that you’ve both had a chance to sleep on it.’
‘Oh.’ She didn’t think any such thing. Instead she felt a definite sinking feeling.
‘In the meantime, we’ll have a pleasant day together. I’m sure you’d like a bath and a change of clothes. Then I can show you around properly.’
‘Yes, thank you, I’d like that very much.’ She forced herself to smile. After all, perhaps Hermenia was right and she’d simply got off to a bad start with Scaevola. She ought at least to give him a second chance.
‘Good.’ Hermenia looked relieved. ‘Then it’s all settled. I’m sure by tonight he’ll be a whole different man.’
Livia clamped her lips together. If Scaevola was going to be a whole different man, then she knew exactly which one she’d want him to be.
Chapter Eight
Marius dismounted from his horse outside the villa, dust-covered and in dire need of a bath. He’d ridden a third of the way along the wall and back that day, trying to find out if his suspicions had any basis, but no one had seen any sign of activity to the north—a fact that was worrying enough in itself. More than anything, he wanted to take off his armour and relax in the caldarium, but he had a report to make first. He only wished that he could make it somewhere else.
According to Pulex, Nerva was busy entertaining Scaevola and his new bride and he would have preferred to walk to the furthest end of the wall than intrude upon that particular occasion. No matter how hard he’d ridden, pushing both himself and his horse to their limits, he’d been unable to get Livia out of his mind.
The way she’d looked standing on the palisade that morning, her red curls blazing in the light of dawn, was seared into his mind’s eye, eclipsing all else. As for his body... His blood seemed to turn into a fiery torrent every time he thought of her, which was far too often for comfort, both figuratively and literally. He’d spent half of his time reliving the moment when he’d circled his hands around her waist and pulled her against him, savouring the memory of her soft curves. The experience had been more than a little unnerving, as if he’d been riding through a mist all day, his mind only half on a task that ought to occupy his full attention.
At intervals, he’d tried to persuade himself that nothing had really happened between them. Yes, he’d held her in his arms, but only because she’d walked into him—even if the length of time it had taken for him to release her again belied that argument. Deep down, however, he knew that something had happened, something he’d been trying to resist and deny ever since he’d first laid eyes on her. There had been a moment of mutual recognition, of shared desire, one that he’d only just been able to stop from turning into something else, though it had taken all his self-control to do so. He’d felt an attraction to her from the start, but she was there to marry Scaevola, a tribune, not a lowly centurion like him. He’d heard stories of high-ranking ladies who liked to dally with soldiers, but she didn’t seem like that type...
Worse than that, she was newly widowed. She’d told him that it was barely two months since her husband’s funeral, which meant that she was surely still grieving. Her reluctance to marry again had been obvious on their journey to Coria and no matter what the attraction between them—if it really had been attraction and not wishful thinking on his part—she was clearly still vulnerable. Only a cur would take advantage of that.
Or a man like Scaevola.
He gave a message to one of the servants, fervently hoping that Nerva would come out to the atrium to speak with him, dismayed to find himself summoned to the dining room instead.
He muttered an oath, unstrapping his armour and putting it aside. At the end of a long day it felt ten times as heavy as it had at the start, though he would gladly have worn it a whole other day just for the chance to turn round and leave again. Instead he followed the smell of incense and cooked food through the villa, clenching his jaw as he entered the triclinium.
By the look of things, the banquet was already nearing its end. The two couples were reclining on couches around a low central table laden with a dessert course of pickled fruits, pear tarts, honey cakes and stuffed dates. He was vaguely aware of it all looking and smelling delicious, but the very thought of eating made him feel nauseated, his stomach lurching into his hobnailed boots at the sight of Livia.
She was dressed in an orange tunic pinned at the shoulder with a bronze brooch that both complemented and emphasised the copper shade of her hair, piled high on her head in what looked like a hundred tightly coiled ringlets. Bronze earrings, a bronze necklace and bronze bracelets completed the effect, as if she were determined to make the colour as conspicuous as possible. He didn’t know which he admired more, the spirit of defiance or the stunning result, though he had a feeling that both would be wasted on Scaevola.
‘Marius!’
Hermenia waved a greeting and he allowed himself a tight smile. Nerva’s wife was one of his favourite people in the entire Roman army. Her warm manner and innate common sense made her a surrogate mother to the younger recruits and an object of respect for the older. He knew that any one of his men, himself included, would lay down his life to defend her if necessary, though he also knew that she herself was more than competent with a sword. She had more sensitivity than her open demeanour suggested, too. In all the long years that he’d known her, he’d never once heard her criticise or condemn his father—which was more than could be said for most of the officers.
‘Apologies for the interruption, but I came to make my report.’ He bowed to both ladies and then tore his eyes
away quickly from Livia. She’d looked up briefly when he’d entered, shifting to an upright position before dropping her gaze to the floor, a faint blush suffusing her cheeks, though her expression itself seemed oddly empty, as if she were wearing a mask.
‘The report can wait until tomorrow.’ Nerva gestured to a spare couch, his face noticeably flushed with wine. ‘Sit down and join us.’
‘Thank you, sir, but it’s been a long day...’
‘Just one, Marius. Come, it’s a celebration. You can’t refuse a drink.’
‘Let him go if he wishes.’ Hermenia put a restraining hand on her husband’s arm, but he only shook his head more insistently.
‘No, he works too hard. Sit down, Centurion. That’s an order.’
‘As you wish, sir.’
Marius sat on the edge of the couch, swallowing another, more violent oath and regretting that he’d come anywhere near the villa. He ought to have known from experience that Nerva enjoyed his wine far too much to want to deal with official business in the evenings. He’d clearly drunk enough to forget his own advice from the previous day as well. If he’d been sober then he would never have asked him to sit in the same room as Scaevola.
‘Here.’ Nerva passed him a cup of wine before refilling and raising his own. ‘To Lucius and Livia. May their marriage be as long and happy as mine has been.’
Marius raised the cup to his mouth and then lowered it again untouched. Livia seemed reluctant to drink, too, he noticed, her cup barely skimming her lips, though Scaevola drained his in a few short gulps. Seated on adjacent couches, neither of them looked very happy about it. The bride’s spine was as straight as a javelin, while the groom was sprawled in an inelegant heap.
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