Page 10

Five years ago

F elix surveyed the crowded dining room from its periphery, the red-painted wall at his back.

He had just settled into Ostia a week ago, and this was his first social outing—a dinner party hosted by an acquaintance of his mother.

He knew no one else in Ostia, so this would be an important step in making connections, building alliances, and identifying his enemies.

The sweet scent of perfumed oil from several lit candelabra mixed with the savory aroma of food, as appetizers circulated on trays borne by slaves throughout the mingling guests.

In the opposite corner of the room, a musician strummed a cithara, its notes blending into the hum of conversation and laughter.

His gaze flicked over the assembled people, trying to glean what he could from their interactions.

He pinpointed a few married couples, as well as one couple flirting who definitely weren’t married to each other.

Then there was a small group of women talking amongst themselves, and a corresponding group of men.

The women kept glancing over at the men, and Felix suspected they were complaining about their husbands.

A throat cleared next to him and a female voice spoke. “Excuse me, sir, but this is a dinner party, not a chariot race.”

Felix blinked, pulling himself out of his analysis, and looked to his left.

A woman—a beautiful woman—regarded him with a raised eyebrow and a slight smile.

She wore a dress of emerald green, belted at the waist with a thin gold chain.

Her hair gleamed bronze in the flickering lamplight.

A red carnelian necklace encircled her throat, echoing the color of her hair.

Her hazel eyes commanded Felix’s attention—pools of inviting warmth he would be happy to drown in.

As soon as that ridiculous sentiment occurred to him, he chided himself. Women, as a rule, did not catch Felix’s notice like this. Of course, he could appreciate a woman’s beauty. But he was not the sort of man to be rendered weak-kneed and bewildered by a pretty smile or tempting figure.

She’d spoken to him, and he had to say something back. What had she said, something about a chariot race? “Beg pardon?” he managed.

Her smile grew, bringing further light to her eyes.

That smile seemed to warm him all the way down to his toes.

“You’re watching the party like my son watches a chariot race.

Trying to figure out who’s taking the lead, who might be about to make a move for a better position, who’s on the verge of crashing. ”

A prickle of discomfort crept over him at how quickly she had assessed the direction of his thoughts. “I’m new to Ostia,” he said in defense. “I was merely trying to get the lay of the land.”

“I see,” she said, taking a sip from the wine cup held in her delicate fingers. “I thought you looked unfamiliar. My name is Lucretia.”

He nodded to her. “Lucius Avitus Felix.”

“Where have you moved here from?”

“Rome,” he answered. Was she the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen? His brain attempted to flick through the faces of other women he knew, eager to compare her to her peers, but suddenly his mind was blank, hers the only face he could conjure.

“Ah, the big city. Ostia must seem like a sleepy little village in comparison.” The noise in the room behind them—which Felix had momentarily forgotten existed—swelled as a burst of laughter rang out from another cluster of people, and Lucretia stepped closer to him to hear his response.

The folds of her dress touched the fabric of his tunic, and he felt the whisper of contact like a flame.

Dis, what was wrong with him? Or was this how other men felt around those they desired?

He’d often noticed that he didn’t have quite the same interest in pursuing carnal pleasures, either with women or with men, as others of his set.

As a younger man, when his peers were extolling the skills of this or that popular courtesan, Felix had found more interest in his studies.

And now he simply didn’t have time for such indulgences.

At the end of a long day spent negotiating with shipbuilders or meeting with artisans to get the best price on their wares, all he wanted to do was fall into bed on his own.

But this woman cast his celibacy into doubt. Suddenly, he became acutely aware of what he’d been missing.

Lucretia tilted her head, waiting for a response, and he struggled to turn his mind back to what they were discussing. Rome…Ostia…sleepy little village…

“On the contrary,” he replied. “Ostia has a certain energy that Rome lacks. The merchants and sailors, hailing from all over the world…Rome feels stagnant by comparison.” Rome, while large, was full of politicians and social climbers, and Ostia’s single-minded focus on commerce and trade was refreshing.

Someone passing too close jostled Lucretia from behind, and she stumbled forward a step, colliding with him.

For one brief, delicious moment, her body—her warm, soft body—pressed against him from shoulder to hip.

The banked desire kindled by the mere sight of her flared to life.

A tingle of heat spread over his skin, an unaccustomed, restless feeling.

The gallant thing to do would have been to gently catch her arm and help her find her feet. But Felix’s mind was too addled by her proximity to act, and by the time he’d mastered himself, she had already separated herself with a murmured apology.

“I will leave you to your surveillance, Lucius Avitus Felix.” She inclined her head. “I must rejoin my husband.” She swept away, her brilliant green skirts trailing in her wake.

The word husband sent an unpleasant but absurd pang through him. Of course she was married. She appeared to be in her late twenties, perhaps a handful of years older than him, and she had mentioned a son.

Felix watched as she went up to the cluster of men and slid between two of them, effortlessly inserting herself into their group. The man to her right rested a possessive hand on the small of her back. Felix’s gaze snapped to his face.

That man was Gnaeus Cornelius, proprietor of a prominent shipping business here in Ostia. If Felix hoped to ever achieve unquestioned dominion over commerce in Ostia, Cornelius would have to fall.

And this woman—the only one to ever catch Felix’s attention in this way—was his wife.

He appraised the way Lucretia and her husband interacted as the conversation took place around them.

When she spoke, Cornelius angled his head toward her with a deferential nod, prompting the rest of the men to listen to her.

But the hand he’d placed on her back had fallen after only a moment, and they stood next to each other without touching.

Felix detected affection and mutual respect borne of a years-long marriage, but no great passion or adoration.

Well, that was nothing surprising. It was like that with most married couples of his acquaintance—except his mother and stepfather, who still behaved with stomach-turning ardor after nearly fifteen years of marriage.

But their marriage was the exception, Felix gathered, and he had little desire to entangle himself in matrimony to a woman he would come to only tolerate.

Maybe, if he ever met another woman who stirred the feelings Lucretia had, who made him forget his surroundings and stumble over his words… maybe then he’d consider marriage.

Felix kept his distance at that first dinner party. The social scene in Ostia was not large, so he saw Lucretia again, with and without her husband.

Both she and Cornelius were universally well-liked, though while Cornelius was more reserved, Lucretia was open and generous with her laughter and smiles.

Any time there was a new guest at one of these parties, Lucretia never failed to figure out a way to draw them into the conversation, make them feel included.

She was witty without being cruel, friendly without being simpering.

He realized that was exactly what she’d been doing when she approached him at that first party.

She’d noticed him standing off to the side, not speaking to anyone, so she’d engaged him.

A kind, welcoming thing to do. He’d been too stupefied with desire at the time to recognize it.

Now every time he saw her doing the same thing to another newcomer, a spike of jealousy twisted in his chest.

He expected his interest in her to fade over time, but each time he saw her, he still had that disconcerting reaction to her presence.

They occasionally exchanged words, never anything more than small talk, but he found himself always managing to position himself within earshot of her at the dinner table.

He struggled to take his eyes off of her face, always laughing and animated, and more often than not his food grew cold on his plate as he drank in the sight of her.

It was just an infatuation. Perhaps he was overdue for one, as he’d never experienced this before.

But it was damned inconvenient. How could he make conversation about the price of olive oil and the cost to ship it from Greece to Egypt when Lucretia was in his line of sight, nibbling a slice of fruit or chuckling at someone else’s joke?

He should simply distance himself from her: stop attending the same parties, or at the very least stop sitting within view of her. But that was easier said than done.

“Hello, Felix,” she greeted him, smiling, at a dinner party about three months into their acquaintance. “Are you settling in well to Ostia?” They were in the atrium of their host’s house, as guests were still arriving, milling around before the formal meal began.

He returned the smile, though the expression felt awkward on his face, like an ill-fitting pair of sandals. “The sea air is a vast improvement.”

“My husband finds it so invigorating he spends every other month at sea,” she replied, an acknowledgement that Cornelius was absent that evening. “Perhaps you should try it.” A teasing lilt entered her voice.

Was she criticizing him for not joining his ship captains on voyages to other ports? “I trust my captains.”

Her eyebrows drew together. “As does Cornelius.” Her voice lost its softness.

He realized she thought he was disparaging Cornelius’s management of his business. “I only meant—I’m sure you wish he did not spend so much time away.” He cursed his idiocy. He had not meant to spend their first real conversation in months talking about her husband and how much she must miss him.

She gave a graceful shrug. “My son Marcus keeps me more than busy when his father is away.”

So was that an admission that she didn’t pine for her husband? “You must be lonely often.”

“I could say the same of you. You live alone, do you not? Are you lonely, Felix?”

That question had never occurred to him.

“I—well—” He didn’t know the answer to her question, but as he stammered, a wild impulse seized him.

Maybe there was one way to fix this inconvenient attraction.

Surely, if he were to bed her—the thought alone sent a flare of heat through him—he would no longer be so enraptured by her.

A married woman who’d already given her husband a son, and whose husband was often away for weeks or months at a time, might easily welcome the attentions of another.

The idea seemed rational and insane at the same time.

“If I was lonely,” he said, the words spilling from his mouth like grain from a split-open sack, “would you permit me to pay you a visit, when your husband is away?”

Felix had never attempted to seduce a woman before, and he instantly realized he’d made a misstep.

Her full lips parted for a moment in the barest flicker of surprise, before a cool mantle of politeness blanketed her. “I have found that I am quite capable of entertaining myself. But—” She put a hand on his shoulder and spun him around.

Her touch made his heart race, and he fought to concentrate on what she was saying.

“That lady over there…” She nudged him toward a dark-haired woman wearing a pair of heavy emerald earrings. “…is generally welcoming of visitors, as I understand.” She gave him a formal nod, then slipped away to join another conversation.

Felix stared after her. Embarrassment crawled up his skin, and he wished the stone floor of the dining room would open up and swallow him down to the underworld.

The rational part of his brain insisted there was nothing to be embarrassed about. He’d never felt embarrassed after a business proposition being refused, and surely this wasn’t much different.

But the creeping discomfiture remained. He gave himself a shudder, attempting to shake it off, and released a long breath.

He could already think of a dozen ways he might have approached the matter differently.

Anything would have been better than what he’d just done—baldly asking her if she’d sleep with him after never sharing more than small talk with her.

Idiot .

Even so, he sensed that even the most suave overture would have been rejected just as soundly. He would not be so impolite as to press his suit a second time. Lucretia did not want him, so the matter was closed.