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‘You can cook?’ He sounded surprised.
‘Yes, my mother taught me. I used to cook for my father all the time. I’m out of practice, but I haven’t forgotten how. I enjoy it.’
‘Then why are you out of practice?’ Dark eyes regarded her questioningly. ‘Didn’t you cook for your husband?’
‘No-o.’ She dropped her gaze quickly. ‘Julius said it wasn’t appropriate for someone in my position. He said they weren?
??t the skills of a lady.’
‘Ah. Fortunately, they’re just the sort of skills needed for a soldier’s wife, although not perhaps on her wedding day. I’m sure Hermenia will be planning some kind of dinner even if we have to keep it quiet from Scaevola.’
‘Oh... Yes, of course.’
Her momentary disappointment was quickly replaced by panic. In the impulse of the moment she’d forgotten that it was their wedding meal they’d be eating tonight—which meant that tonight was also their wedding night! Why on earth had she just offered to cook? She doubted that she’d be able to eat a mouthful. She’d barely been able to eat breakfast.
‘He must have been an important man, your husband.’ Marius’s tone shifted subtly.
‘I suppose so, in Lindum anyway. He was a wine merchant. He and Tarquinius were business associates and friends until...’ She faltered, biting her lip before she gave too much away.
‘Until?’
‘Until they weren’t.’
‘I see.’ He didn’t push the subject. ‘He came from a good family, too, I presume?’
‘Mmm.’ She made a pretence of examining some bread loaves. She definitely didn’t want to talk about that. Julius had considered his family one of the oldest and most distinguished in the city, until she’d come along, that was.
‘Do you want some bread?’ He stopped beside her, looking faintly surprised. No wonder, she realised, when the Legate’s villa was so amply stocked with its own provisions.
‘No, I was just...’ she racked her brains, failing to think up a suitable excuse ‘...looking.’
‘Ah.’ He sounded unconvinced as they continued on to a stall selling furs and woollen garments. ‘Now, this is more like it.’ He picked up a cloak and held it against her. ‘How about this one?’
‘Red?’ She regarded it dubiously and then gestured at her hair. ‘You don’t think I’ll look a little too bright?’
‘No, I think it’ll suit you.’ His gaze flickered with a look of something like appreciation, his dark eyes seeming to turn even darker despite the bright sunshine. ‘You’ll look like a legionary, too.’
‘So I’ll fit in with the crowd?’ The idea struck her as both funny and sad at the same time.
‘Not unless I make you wear a helmet, which I won’t. I want to see your hair, not hide it.’
She felt a warm, fuzzy feeling that seemed to start in her chest and then spread outwards, suffusing her whole upper body in a vivid pink glow.
‘Well, it certainly looks warm.’ As if that would explain why she suddenly looked like a beetroot!
She lifted a hand, hoping the movement might distract him. ‘It feels lovely and soft, too. Can I try it on?’
‘Of course.’
He opened it up for her, unwrapping the long folds and then draping them gently about her shoulders. She tensed as his fingers brushed lightly against her back, the warmth of them seeming to penetrate all the way through the fleece to her skin. Then he tugged the ends of the cloak together under her chin and she felt as though he were gathering her into his arms, just as he had the night before. The thought made her temperature soar even higher, as if she were wearing ten layers of wool rather than one.
‘What do you think?’
What did she think? Her heart was pounding so rapidly she found it hard to concentrate on the question. He was standing only a few inches away, towering above her so that, unless she wanted to stare at his chest, she had to tilt her chin up to look at him. When she did their eyes locked and she felt a familiar spark pass between them, one that seemed to render her completely speechless and immobile at the same time. What did she think? She was thinking that he felt strong and safe and honourable and that she wanted nothing more than for him to take the cloak off again, preferably along with the rest of her clothes, too.
‘Mama?’
Julia’s voice interrupted her daydream and she dropped her chin quickly. ‘Yes, dear?’
