Page 24 of The Legionary Seduction (Roman Heirs #2)

W hen Max arrived home at twilight, a note waited for him, placed on the table next to his bed. His heart leaped when he opened it and saw that it was from Volusia. She wrote to say that she’d reached out to one of the consuls, and he’d agreed to meet with her tomorrow at noon. She asked Max to come with her to share his side of the story.

Max pilfered a blank wax tablet from Aelius’s study and scrawled a quick reply— “I’ll be there” —then asked Paris to deliver it before darkness fell.

At noon the next day, Max traveled to the address Volusia had given him. In an attempt to look like someone whose word could be trusted, he wore a tunic borrowed from Aelius, pale green with blue embroidery edging the sleeves and hem. It was a bit tight in the shoulders, but Crispina had been confident that he looked trustworthy and respectable. The civilian clothes felt strange, much too light without the weight of chainmail armor on his shoulders or a sword strapped to his waist.

Just as Max arrived outside the stately home, a litter borne by four burly men pulled up on the street. The slaves set the litter down carefully, and one of them extended a hand to help the lady within.

Volusia descended from the litter, a vision in crimson fabric. Max caught his breath. She looked like a lady of Rome through and through. A gossamer-thin palla was secured to her hair with pearl-tipped pins, flowing down her back from the top of her head to her ankles. Beneath, she wore a red stola which left her arms bare. It was belted at the waist, drawing attention to the curves of her breasts and hips. The stola was traditionally only worn by married women, not widows, and Max saw the message in her clothing choice. Today, she was Avitus’s wife, come to seek justice for her husband.

Max ran a hand over his chin, feeling a few pricks of stubble. He wished he’d paid more attention shaving this morning. Despite his fine clothes, he suddenly felt scruffy and unkempt in comparison to her.

Volusia smiled when she saw him, but it wasn’t her usual smile, full of warmth and light. A veneer of dignity, like just-formed ice on a lake, veiled her features. “Thank you for coming.”

“Of course,” he said. “I promised I’d help you, however I can.”

One of the litter bearers had gone ahead to knock on the door and announce their presence. The door opened, and a slave within conducted them into the atrium. A huge collection of at least a dozen portrait heads—ancestors of the family—dominated the space. Based on their number, they must have gone back centuries.

A man in his early forties entered the atrium. He wore a long tunic that reached his ankles, and several gold and silver bangles weighed down his arms. He shared the same wide forehead and weak chin of the portrait heads in the center of the atrium, so Max surmised that this was the man they’d come to meet, the consul Hortensius.

“Volusia, how lovely to”—Hortensius broke off when he saw Max, standing at Volusia’s elbow, but recovered smoothly—“see you again. I didn’t realize we’d have company.” He took her hand and kissed it.

“This is Maximus Herminius, the legionary I spoke of in my letter,” Volusia said. “Max, please meet Aulus Licinius Hortensius.”

Max clasped arms with Hortensius, muttering a polite greeting. Volusia and Hortensius clearly knew each other already, which she hadn’t mentioned.

“My condolences on your husband’s death,” Hortensius said. “Despite my fierce jealousy of him, Rome lost a great man.”

The pieces started to come together in Max’s mind. Volusia and Hortensius knew each other, and Hortensius admitted jealousy of Volusia’s husband. Hortensius must be a past suitor.

And now Volusia was free to marry again, and would be in search of an influential husband just like the weak-chinned man standing before them.

Jealousy knotted in Max’s stomach. He drew himself up, straightening his shoulders inside the too-tight tunic. He was taller than Hortensius, and he doubted the consul could even lift a sword with the bangles weighing down his scrawny arms.

Volusia and Hortensius were talking, and as they moved toward another room, Max hurried to follow. His jealous fantasies had distracted him.

“Your letter was most concerning,” Hortensius said. “I hope you don’t mind, but I did some asking around yesterday, and I made contact with the centurion you spoke of.”

“You spoke with Glabrio?” Volusia asked.

Hortensius drew them toward a door off the atrium that must be his study. “Yes, and I—”

Volusia stopped short as she entered the doorway, and Max almost ran into her from behind. She drew in a sharp breath.

“—invited him here to sort out this matter,” Hortensius finished.

Next to Hortensius’s desk, Glabrio stood, beefy arms crossed over his chest. His customary glower deepened as his gaze moved from Volusia to Max.

Old habit made Max’s arm twitch as if to salute, but he forced his arm to remain by his side. He was no longer Glabrio’s subordinate.

Volusia’s small hands clenched into fists. “Hortensius, he tried to kill me! How can you think it a good idea for him to be here? I don’t feel safe.”

Hortensius seated himself behind his desk. “As consul, I’m accustomed to hearing both sides of a matter before I come to a decision.”

“I mean you no harm, lady,” Glabrio said, his voice gravelly. “On my honor as a soldier.”

Max didn’t like having Glabrio here any more than Volusia did, but to leave would show weakness or a lack of conviction in what they had to say. He leaned down to murmur in her ear, “It will be all right. Just ignore him and speak to Hortensius.”

She took a long breath and nodded. “Fine.”

There was only one chair opposite Hortensius’s desk, so Volusia seated herself while Max and Glabrio remained standing, glaring at each other.

“Surprised to see us?” Max said.

Glabrio scowled. “I’ll see you dragged before a tribunal if it’s the last thing I do.”

Volusia fixed him with an icy stare. “You’ll do no such thing.”

Hortensius raised his hands. “We’re not here for this sort of talk. Volusia, you claim that Glabrio attempted to kill you on orders from Petronax, the commander of the legion stationed in Narbo. Glabrio, what do you have to say to that?”

Glabrio stepped forward. “It’s true, sir. I was carrying out a direct order from my commanding officer.”

Hortensius’s thin eyebrows rose. “Did you know why Petronax gave this order?”

Glabrio shook his head. “I did not, sir. It’s not my place to question orders. My duty is to obey.”

“You’re a sheep with a sword,” Max said. “How much did your last shearing yield?”

Volusia bit her lip, and Max recognized the expression on her face from long-ago dinner parties: she was trying not to laugh.

“Silence, legionary!” Glabrio roared. “You will not address me with such insolence.”

“I’m not your legionary anymore,” Max said. “You have no more authority over me than any citizen.”

“Let us not raise our voices in front of the lady,” Hortensius interjected sternly.

Volusia inclined her head in dignified gratitude, but Max caught a glimpse of the smile twitching at her lips.

Hortensius addressed Glabrio once more. “So you do not deny attempting to take Volusia’s life, but you would swear before a court and the gods that you were acting on an order from Petronax?”

Glabrio nodded. “I’ll make any oath required. I was merely carrying out my duty.”

The centurion’s indifference was disgusting. Max murmured a soft “ba-aa” which made Volusia snort with laughter. She parlayed the sound into a cough, pressing a hand delicately to her mouth.

Glabrio’s face purpled. Hortensius glanced at Volusia with concern. “Are you well, lady? Should I have some wine brought?”

“No, thank you,” Volusia said, her voice steady. “Just a momentary tickle.” She turned her head to cast Max a reproving look.

“I have another question.” Hortensius rested his elbows on the desk and steepled his fingertips. “There were several other legionaries as part of the escort, correct? Were they given the same order by Petronax?”

Glabrio shook his head. “Petronax gave the order to me directly.”

“So you”—Hortensius fixed his gaze on Max—“were the only one who saw fit to disobey. Why was that?”

Max opened his mouth, but Glabrio spoke first. “It was plain as day. There was an inappropriate attachment between the two of them.” He waved a disdainful hand at Max and Volusia. “Always skulking around the horses in the evening, and sitting close around the campfire.”

Hortensius’s brows drew together, and he looked at Volusia. “Is that so?”

“We’re childhood friends,” she hurried to say. “Of course Max didn’t want to see any harm come to me. Frankly, I was offended that none of the other soldiers stood up against such a blatant transgression. It’s disgraceful.”

Hortensius turned to Max. “Your answer? Why were you the only one to stand against your centurion?”

The smart reply would have been to agree with Volusia. She wasn’t wrong, after all. But the truth rose to his lips before he could stop it, rushing out in a torrent of careless words.

“Because I l—”

“Legionary Maximus’s motives for defending me are irrelevant,” Volusia said sharply. Her gaze lingered on him, much softer than her words. In that moment, Max knew: she understood what he’d been so foolishly about to confess.

Because I love her.

He allowed himself to sink into the depths of her hazel eyes, to forget Hortensius, Glabrio, even the threat of a tribunal. It was the truth: the painful, aching truth.

Volusia drew her gaze back to the consul and the centurion. “All that matters is that I was put at risk because Petronax was afraid of what I knew about my husband’s death.”

“That brings us to the actual manner of your husband’s death.” Hortensius’s face assumed an expression that was likely supposed to be sympathetic but instead made him look like a pouting child. “I know such things are difficult to speak of, but your letter made no mention of any proof that Avitus was murdered. Did you find poison in the kitchen? Or speak with a slave who had been bribed to spike his wine?”

Volusia bit her lip, this time in dismay. “No, I…I admit I have no idea how he could have been poisoned. We ate from the same platters, drank wine poured from the same jug.” Her shoulders slumped.

“Unfortunately, if you have no proof that foul play was involved in Avitus’s death, then it will be very difficult to move forward here,” Hortensius said.

“But I told you about the wax tablet I found,” Volusia insisted. “Clearly Petronax was involved in something unsavory.”

“The tablet was just your husband’s musings. There’s not even a clear connection to Petronax.” Hortensius’s voice was slow and gentle, as if trying to placate a child on the verge of a tantrum. His tone infuriated Max, but he bit his tongue. Picking a fight with a consul was not going to help their situation.

Volusia pointed an accusatory finger at Glabrio. “It’s been established that Petronax tried to have me killed. Surely that warrants investigation on its own.”

Hortensius glanced at Glabrio. “Perhaps it does. I’ll draft a letter to Petronax to inquire why he gave that order.”

“A letter?” Volusia’s tone sounded as disbelieving as if Hortensius had suggested she grow wings and fly to Gaul to ask Petronax herself. “It will take weeks to arrive, and he will just ignore it and pretend it got lost on the way. A letter will not see justice done for my husband. Or restore the position that Max lost by defending me.”

Hortensius waved a hand. “As for that, I’m sure there’s a legion in Syria or Egypt that could use a legionary. He can easily be reassigned.” The consul spoke of Max as if he weren’t there. “As for Petronax, he has been a capable commander for many years. Such men are rare, and it’s inadvisable to make enemies of them, especially during these troubled times.” He leaned forward, his gaze earnest. “Without firm proof, this is all I can do. Quite frankly, it’s more than I should do, but I do want to help you, Volusia, if I can.”

Volusia let out a tight sigh. “I understand.”

Was she really going to give up that easily? Max waited for her to come up with something else, but she was silent. He itched to protest, but forced himself to stay quiet. This was Volusia’s battle to fight, and she understood these political machinations better than he did.

Glabrio stepped toward the door. “If my work here is done, I will return to my other duties.” He glared at Max. “You’re very lucky you have friends in high places, legionary, or else I’d have you dragged straight from here to a tribunal.”

Max rolled his eyes.

Hortensius rose from behind his desk. “I’m sure we’ll have your word that nothing of the sort will occur, centurion. The legionary acted honorably, even if he did disobey your orders.”

Glabrio gave a reluctant nod. Hortensius moved to escort him out of the study and back into the atrium. Max started to follow, but Volusia hung back, lingering in the doorway to the study.

“Max,” she whispered, gazing up at him. “What you said…were about to say…”

He let out a deep, shuddering breath. The words came back to him, still on the tip of his tongue after she’d interrupted him earlier. “I love you.” His heart gave a painful clench at finally admitting it. “I loved you when I was seventeen. I loved you when I stepped in front of Glabrio’s sword. And I love you still, Volusia.”

Consternation flickered across her face, and she opened her mouth. His stomach knotted, unsure of what she’d say. But before she could speak, Hortensius returned, having seen Glabrio off.

“I was wondering if I might have a word before you leave,” the consul said, then glanced pointedly at Max. “A private word.”

“I don’t think we have anything more to say, Hortensius,” Volusia said. “You’ve made your position quite clear.”

He reached for her hand, which made Max’s teeth grind together. “You must understand, Volusia, I was speaking as Hortensius the consul earlier. I have a responsibility to hear all sides of a matter, and as much as I sympathize with your efforts, I can’t act unilaterally without proof.”

Volusia lowered her gaze. Max wished she would yank her hand back, but she allowed him to keep touching her. “I understand. I appreciate your sense of duty.”

“Now, if we could speak further…” He cast another significant glance at Max.

“Max, would you wait for me outside?” Volusia asked. “I’m sure this will just be a moment.”

Max narrowed his eyes. He had no intention of leaving Volusia alone with Hortensius. “I’ll wait in the atrium.” He took a few steps out of the study and planted himself in front of a column, where he still had a clear view of the two where they stood inside the study.

Hortensius gave an irritated sigh and lowered his voice, but Max could hear clearly. “As I said, before I was speaking as Hortensius the consul. But if you might permit me to speak as Hortensius the man, who has always held you in high regard…”

Max’s fingers clenched into fists.

“I would be remiss if I did not offer whatever assistance I can, as a simple citizen rather than a consul. I know widowhood can be a fraught position for a woman.”

“Thank you, but Avitus’s estate has left me quite secure,” Volusia said.

“That is good to hear. But I know you have a son, and he will no doubt feel the loss of his father keenly in the coming years. You’ll recall that my own wife died without blessing me with any children. I have always desired a family, and given my respect for your late husband it would be an honor to contribute to his son’s upbringing.”

Max stared in disbelief. Was this bastard really proposing marriage, after setting Volusia up to face the man who’d tried to kill her, and refusing to take action on her accusations?

Max willed Volusia to slap Hortensius. If she didn’t, he was more than happy to step in and deck the consul.

But Volusia showed no outrage. She smiled sweetly. “Your offer is kind, and well-received. I’m sure you’ll understand that with my husband so recently deceased, I’ll need to take some time to sort out his affairs and determine what path is best for me and my son.”

“Of course, of course.” Hortensius placed a hand on Volusia’s shoulder, and Max’s jaw clenched so hard he expected to crack a tooth. “You know where to find me if you have need of me.”

Volusia gave a dignified nod, and allowed Hortensius to conduct her out of the study. Max fell into step behind her. He gave Hortensius one last glare before they passed through the front door and back out onto the street.

The heavy door swung closed behind them. Max turned to Volusia, anger simmering over every inch of his skin. “The nerve of that bastard,” he growled.

She glanced up at him. “Hortensius? I thought he was quite respectful.”

“He wants to fuck you.”

“Language. And he’s just an old friend.”

“An old friend who wants to fuck you.”

She arched an eyebrow. “Sound familiar?”

He had no rebuttal to that, so he changed strategy. “He set you up by inviting Glabrio there. The man who tried to kill you.”

She let out a long sigh. “Yes, that was rather unpleasant of him, but he was right that he needs to hear all sides of something. His fair-minded approach is why he was elected consul.”

“So are you going to marry him then?” It was not a prudent question, nor a polite one, but it was out of Max’s mouth before he could stop it.

“Maybe,” she said evenly. “I want a father for my son. And I want a husband for myself, someone who’s there for me every day. Anything less would be little better than what I had with Avitus. But before I think of such things, I have to resolve this business about Petronax.” She kneaded a hand against her temple. “I keep trying to go back to that night, that dinner where he must have consumed the poison. I must have missed something. I wish I’d spoken to Silvanus more about it. Maybe he would have remembered something that I missed.”

The mention of Silvanus sparked Max’s recollection of his uncertain sighting at the baths. “Are you sure he stayed in Narbo?” Max asked. “It’s just that I was almost sure I saw him at the baths the other day.”

She frowned and shook her head. “Silvanus in Rome? I don’t think so.”

Max shrugged. “Maybe it wasn’t him, but I could have sworn it was.”

“That’s odd,” she said. “If he’s already back in Rome, he must have left right after we did. I offered for him to travel with us, but he said he’d accepted a permanent position in the province. He doesn’t even have any family in Rome.”

“I guess he changed his mind,” Max said.

“I’ll have someone find him—if he is here, that is,” Volusia said. “If he could remember something that proves Avitus was murdered, then Hortensius will have to listen to me.” She put a hand on his arm. “Thank you, Max. For everything.”

He helped her into the waiting litter, and stepped back as the four litter-bearers prepared to lift it.

“Wait,” Volusia called, and they stilled. She beckoned Max closer, leaning out of the litter to speak in a soft voice. “About what you said earlier… I won’t be able to stop thinking of it for some time. Max, I love you too, but…”

He could think of several conclusions to that sentence.

I love you…but my stepfather hates you.

But I love my son more.

But not enough.

He’d known since he was seventeen that his love for her was doomed. The past few weeks had only made that clearer. There were too many obstacles: Rufus’s hatred of him, her son’s need for an influential stepfather, even the fact that she’d want to live in Rome while he couldn’t stand the city.

“I know,” he said, his voice suddenly hoarse. “I still love you, though.” The words might have been the most futile he’d ever spoken, but at least he could hear how they sounded as they hung in the air, and see the warmth that spread across her face, mixed with uncertainty. Speaking them aloud turned his decade-old longing into something real, something he could grasp onto even if Volusia would never be his.

And hearing from her lips that she loved him, too—well, that could be enough to sustain him until the end of his days.

He stepped back from the litter. The litter-bearers bent and lifted the litter in a smooth motion, then set off down the street. Max watched the litter disappear around the corner.

He needed to seriously consider Hortensius’s offer of joining a far-off legion in Syria or Egypt. The military life was the only thing he knew, after all. If not the army, what would he do with himself? Maybe, if he traveled east, the hot desert sun would finally burn away thoughts of Volusia.