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‘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...’
