“No.” Marcellus jerked the curtain back.
“I’ll do it.” She peered through a torn curtain into another room. Scrolls scattered haphazardly across a shelf, wax tablets piled on a low table. The tablinum. “Oh, I want to see the villa accounts.” One proper wifely skill that she actually enjoyed. She grabbed for Marcellus’ candle.
He yanked the candle away. Anger flashed across his face, his body rigid next to her. A crow cawed outside, the sound echoing through the eerie stillness.
She sucked in a breath as her eyes tracked Marcellus. Marrying him was a good idea. Right?
A mask dropped over his face, a mask with a smile. “Another time.” He slid his hand around the curve of her waist and tugged her to him.
She let the faded curtain drop through her fingers.
The candle flickered as Marcellus moved to the main chamber at the front of the house. He twisted the brass handle on the door.
Her sandal squeaked against the tile. She took one step forward. His body swept her into the room.
The door swung shut with a creak. Marcellus touched the candle to an oil lamp and light flamed. Only embers smoldered in the fireplace, the faint red light illuminating two marble nymphs, which held the heavy mantel.
Breeze puffed at the curtains. The bronze curtain loops clinked as Marcellus drew the cloth shut, blocking out the darkening sky.
Gwen shifted her feet on the cold tile. Aulia would look for her. How distressed was her friend? She shouldn’t have abandoned Aulia like this. Crime filled Rome’s streets at night, but she had her knife and Marcellus would walk with her if she asked.
If she left for Aulia’s house now, Mother and Father would never know what she’d almost done this night.
She could always do this next month or the month after. Gwen rubbed her sweaty thumb over her palm. She’d like some answers to the dozens of questions Marcellus always avoided.
Outside the room, the tramp of heavy footsteps sounded. They stopped in front of the door.
Taking a seat on the couch, Marcellus beckoned Gwen.
She walked toward him slowly. Her tunica brushed against his knee as she looked down at the man who could become her husband this night. The candlelight played across his taut face.
“Sit here.” He indicated his legs.
Cheeks blazing hot, she slid her foot back. She’d waited two years for Marcellus; he could wait another few months for her. Once she convinced Father and Mother not to hate him, she’d feel much more certain that she didn’t delude herself about his merits.
His hands shot out and closed around her waist. He tugged her down on him. One arm behind her, he rested the other on her legs.
She squirmed. “Marcellus, I think that—”
Rather than turning to her, Marcellus sat perfectly still, ear cocked.
A hand rapped against the plaster. A woman’s voice called through the door. “That firewood you asked for, Marcellus.”
“Come in,” he said.
Touching his knee, Gwen tried to slide off his legs.
Marcellus shook his head and pointed to the doorway with his chin. He held her fast.
The door creaked open, and the cook entered, a stack of wood in her arms. The woman hadn’t recognized her all evening, so she could still leave for Aulia’s house with impunity. Once the woman left, she’d tell Marcellus to go with her to Aulia’s house.
Eric and Cara would come tomorrow, too. She should give them her full attention.
“Build a fire,” Marcellus said to the cook.
“Good. Good.” Bending over the embers, the cook started laying logs. “Your wife will welcome the warmth on this blustery night.”
“She’s not my wife.”
“Oh.” The cook’s eyes widened eagerly.
Gwen cringed against Marcellus. Shoving against his legs, she tried to stand, but he pinned her against him.
Pressing against her shoulder, Marcellus tilted her off-balance. His hand behind her head, his lips found hers. Cold air rushed against her leg as he pushed her tunica up past her knee. He jerked the brooch off her tunica’s left shoulder and the cloth slid down, almost uncovering her chest.
With his lips pressed against her, his body over hers on this narrow couch, she could barely breathe. Gwen shoved against his chest.
Marcellus clamped his hands over her body. “Give me one more moment,” he whispered so tenderly her gaze flew to his.
Shoving the last log on the fire, the cook moved to the door. “I’ll just be going then.” Her curious gaze lingered on them one moment longer.
As if unhearing, Marcellus stroked his knuckles down her cheek. “I love you, Gwen Paterculi.”
The cook gasped. “Paterculi!”
Marcellus pulled Gwen back up. Her tunica slid down, revealing cleavage.
The cook clomped out of the doorway and Marcellus’ grip went limp.
Tearing away from him, Gwen flung herself against the opposite end of the couch. She tugged her tunica up and glared at him. “Are you quite done manhandling me?”
He smiled at her. “Want a better kiss?”
“I’ll kiss you when I want to kiss you, which most certainly is not now.” She dug the brooch pin into the shoulder of her tunica, securing the fabric.
“Fair enough. Though I would mention that the cook’s gossiping tongue has just bought your father’s agreement to this marriage you desire.”
And ensured she no longer had the choice to change her mind and head for Aulia’s house. Gwen’s breathing increased. Her heart pounded against her chest.
She didn’t wish to change her mind. She didn’t. Did she? “That’s good. I guess.” Better to do this now than wait a month and lose her courage. Still….
Leaning forward, Marcellus moved his mouth over hers. His hand hot on her waist, he yanked up the skirt of her tunica with his other. He brushed his fingers against her leg.
She glanced across the wool rug to the roaring fire. A game of knucklebones sat in a dusty basket on a shelf by the mantel. She clasped Marcellus’ hand, tugging it away from her tunica. “Play knucklebones with me.”
He brushed his hand across her hair, tugging two hairpins out. “Afraid?”
“A little. Not too much.” Her chest rose and fell with shallow breaths. She’d wanted to marry Marcellus for months now. Tonight her dreams were realized. True?
He pulled another hairpin out and tangled his fingers in her falling hair. “You needn’t be. You’re safe now.”
“Safe from what?”
He stood and walked to the fire. The basket of knucklebones spilled across the white tile hearth. With a toss of his wrist, he rolled the die and caught up knucklebones. “Beat that.” His mouth parted in a smile that stole her breath away.
“With ease.” Grabbing a coverlet from the bed, she crossed to him. Her knee touched his as she sat, cross-legged. She tossed the die and caught up eight knucklebones. “I used to play this game as a child. What was your favorite pastime as a child in this villa?” She’d show Marcellus her fuller’s shop tomorrow.
He wrenched away from her as if she’d burned him. A shiver passed through his body.
“Marcellus?” She touched his shoulder. He shoved back against the shelf edge. She ran her finger down his arm. “Don’t draw away from me.”
“Another command from a patrician?”
“Marcellus?” She cocked her head as she gazed into those green eyes. The firelight flickered across his hard irises.
“Never mind, Gwen. I know you’re different.” He pulled her against his chest.
“Different than what?” Hand on his knee, she twisted to him.
“Be still and watch the fire with me.” His moody eyes glared into the flames. His eyes held so much anger, but his arm circled her stomach gently.
She leaned back against his chest. A burning log split, falling deeper into the fire as flames soared high. Marcellus’ heart thudded, his body so tense. She tugged against his arm to sit up straight. Her shou
lder scraped against his as she rotated. “Marcellus, why did the mention of your childhood make you angry?”
“I said be still.” He clenched his fingers against his knee, violence in his words.
Slowly, she leaned back against him. He wrapped his arms around her. Dusk covered the room as the fire crackled. His breathing relaxed, his body sinking against the shelf frame. His arms still pinioned her to his chest, so hard, so forceful, even though his touch was light. The bandage on his upper arm brushed her, proof of brutal days in the Dacian War.
She loved this man. Her love and force of will would mold him into who he should be. She’d get him to attend First Day services too, and he’d convert soon enough.
So why did the feel of his quiet breaths blowing across her face send a prickle of fear through her?
Chapter 12
Gwen blinked as sunlight streamed around the edges of the curtain. The hard floor pressed into her back, cushioned only by a thin rug. Regular breaths blew on her ear. Marcellus’ arm rested over her, a coverlet rumpled between them.
“Wake up.” She shook him. She was tall for a woman, and he didn’t have many handbreadths of height on her, but his muscles bunched so hard, his body dense. “We forgot! My father won’t agree to the marriage if we haven’t….”
“Quiet, delicia, the day is yet young. I do not plan to neglect you.” Marcellus rolled over in the cover.
Gwen grabbed one corner and yanked. His body weighed down the coverlet, his big shoulder pinning the cloth. His eyes still slid half shut. “My father could come at any moment. He won’t agree to the marriage unless we’ve… unless you’ve….”
With a grin, Marcellus rolled toward her. He raised himself on his elbow. “Deflowered his favorite daughter?”
“If you must put it that way. Perhaps if we hurry, we still can before he arrives.”
With a yawn, Marcellus snaked his arm around her and pulled her to the floor beside him. “Never fear, you stayed overnight at the house of someone with my reputation. Your father will believe you’re not fit to marry a swineherd.”
Lowering her eyebrows into a scowl, she sat right back up. “Not fit?”
Stifling another yawn, Marcellus shoved himself to a sitting position. “Your complete loss of value on the marriage market is the only reason he’d possibly accept this marriage.”
Her skin bristled. “Father wasn’t trying to sell me.”
“No, Roman fathers call it betrothal, don’t they?”
Ecce, this is why she loved Marcellus. He agreed that Rome treated women abominably. “Father’s not like that, though. He only wants what’s best for me.”
“Then why did you defy him?” Marcellus captured her lips. Leaning forward, he pressed his body down on hers.
In moments, she lay on her back again.
His mouth parted in a smile as he gazed at her. “I changed my mind, delicia. You spoke truth. Deflowering you before your father arrives is of the utmost importance.” He hooked his fingers in her belt. The buckle fell away.
She fixed her gaze on him, trying to read those green eyes. She fidgeted.
A booming sound split the courtyard. The shelf on the wall vibrated, a small statue trembling. A thundering noise rose as the clang of insistent raining against metal shattered the air.
Sunshine lit the sky, no thunderclouds in sight. Gwen shoved her hands against the tile. “What’s that?”
Marcellus rolled off her. “I could be wrong, but my guess is your father.”
“Oh.” Heat surged through Gwen’s body. Grabbing Marcellus’ hand, she retreated into his arms.
“I suppose I should go meet your father before the gate breaks.” With a groan, Marcellus stood.
Gwen clung to his hand. “What will he say? He’ll be so hurt. I’ve never crossed him like this before.”
“Hurt’s better than anger and a cohort of legionaries at the door.”
“No, it’s not.” She leaped to her feet. “Hurt makes you feel like a loathsome daughter.” What would Father say? Had Wryn come too? How had she ever thought this a good idea?
“Delicia, the time for guilt was—” Marcellus flicked his gaze out a gap in the curtains to the sundial in the courtyard. “Four watches of the night and three hours ago.”
“I can’t face him.” Grasping Marcellus’ arm, she buried her face in his shoulder. His tunic smelled of him, the soothing scent of olive trees and river greenery.
“You can stay here a few moments if you like,” he caressed her back, “but I assume your father will insist on seeing you before signing any betrothal agreement.” Pushing her hands off, he stepped toward the door.
See Father? A sick feeling churned her stomach. “Marcellus, I can’t.”
“You didn’t know this would happen when you chose to stay?”
“I… well….” Gwen retreated into the couch. Grabbing a pillow, she hugged it in front of her.
Marcellus leaned down carelessly and kissed her, the brush of his lips a world away as her heart slammed against her ribs. With a grin, he tweaked her cheek. “Cheer up, delicia. Just get through the legate’s tirades, and then we have a marriage to consummate.”
His sandals clapped against the tile as he shoved past the door into the hall beyond. Gwen dug her fingers into the couch arm. In moments, she’d see Father.
The sound of pounding filled the villa. Marcellus took a deep breath. Far sooner than he’d like, he’d stand in front of the Shadow Man facing death over his decision to marry, not kill, Gwen. Before that, Fabius would drag him in front of Consul Julius threatening scourging and a return to slavery over this illegitimate marriage. Meeting Aquilus Paterculi couldn’t possibly prove worse.
He stood at the heavy door and nodded to Bruno. It was the last barricade before they reached the courtyard and the gate which, from the sound of the thundering, would give way soon. “Have the rabble surround the courtyard.”
Outside, the pounding ceased.
Shoving the door open, Marcellus strode out as Petiphor tugged the gate open. The legate marched into the courtyard and planted his feet, his hand resting on his gladius. His two sons, both taller than he, stood beside him. They wore weapons too.
“Is my daughter here?” Aquilus Paterculi boomed.
Marcellus took a deep breath. Bravado aside, this was a legate, soon-to-be consul if one believed the Roman rumor mill. Still, consuls would die in his slave revolt the same as lesser men.
“Shh.” Wryn motioned to his father. “It’s just the servants’ rumor. If it’s false, you don’t want the street to hear.”
Eric glanced at Marcellus as if sizing him up. “I told them you wouldn’t. Not with Gwen anyway.”
Marcellus met the man’s gaze. Eric was tolerable for a patrician. He’d married that blacksmith’s daughter, Cara. He’d always admired Eric for that. Not like the other patricians. He’d warned Eric that night almost two years ago before Victor Ocelli drugged him.
“Is she here?” Aquilus Paterculi stepped into his space.
Marcellus hooked his thumbs in his belt. “Yes.”
“I spoke up for you! How dare you.” Eric swung his fist.
Jerking back, Marcellus clenched his rapidly bruising jawbone. “Contemptio usus marriage, that’s all I did.”
“I told you, no!” Aquilus Paterculi’s face flamed. “You cannot marry her. Contemptio usus is with parental consent.”
“Officially, you don’t need parents.” Marcellus rubbed his jaw, gaze on Eric’s still balled fists. The sound of the rabble circling the space came from the edge of the courtyard.
Fumes rose from Aquilus. “Maybe for women of infamia. My daughter is a Paterculi. What you did was no marriage, but a lecherous—”
“I want to marry her,” Marcellus said.
“Of course, you want to marry her,” Aquilus Paterculi yelled. “She has a king’s dowry, and you’d try any means to obtain it.”
“Where’s Gwen?” Wryn asked.
One did have to give Wr
yn credit for taking the news more calmly than any other in this whole family of raging males.
“Salve.” Gwen stepped into the courtyard. Her sleep-tussled hair hung to her waist, and she hadn’t replaced her belt, so her tunica flapped about her body, the perfect vision of a ruined innocent.
Her black ringlets glistened in the sunshine, her lips so vivid one could pluck rubies from them and her eyes, ah, her eyes. Those dark eyes could soothe a wounded child or flash with flames to bring down emperors, and on this day, she’d chosen him.
“Eric, Wryn, Father, how are you?” Gwen let her hands hang by her sides.
“I told you he was a wretch. Now do you believe me?” Aquilus Paterculi’s voice oscillated between anger and pity.
“Don’t talk about Marcellus that way.” Gwen’s pink blush flamed red.
“You don’t want a villain like him. Come away.” Aquilus Paterculi reached for her hand.
Gwen dug her hands into her hips, jutting red silk out. “I was here overnight. You have to let me marry him.”
Her father glowered. “You’re a Paterculi. I’ll patch it up.”
Marcellus’ eyelids widened. Aquilus Paterculi thought he could patch this up? Or was it possible the man cared about his daughter’s happiness more than the infamia that would cloud his family’s honor if he refused this marriage? No, absurd.
Gwen stiffened her ivory shoulders. “I want Marcellus.”
She stuck with him anyway. Which, entirely apart from love, was the intelligent thing to do. No world existed where one could patch this up.
Aquilus hardened his jaw. “Gwen, I’m not leaving you here with this villain.”
Gwen held her head high. “If you make me leave, I’ll run away and come back. What will that do to my reputation?”
Also, he had a score of trained men at the edge of this courtyard. The legate would need a much larger army to get his daughter away this day.
Aquilus Paterculi moved his gaze from his daughter to Marcellus, and he glowered. “I should have you crucified.”
Stance spread, Marcellus smiled back at his almost father-in-law.
Aquilus turned to Wryn. “The marriage contract.”
To Deceive an Empire: Love and Warfare series book 3 Page 13