Page 7 of The Legionary Seduction (Roman Heirs #2)

V olusia and Max returned to town in late afternoon. Volusia regretfully parted from Max at the front door with a smile and a murmured goodbye. She had revealed too much to him, but it had felt good to talk to someone. Iris knew the state of her marriage, of course, and Volusia did confide in her, but Iris received all of Volusia’s confidences relating to Avitus with a calm, almost expressionless demeanor. Volusia understood—it would be inappropriate for a slave to express any frustration or rancor toward the master of the house, even if she was only sympathizing with Volusia.

But Max had seemed near outraged at the revelation of her passionless marriage. Vesta’s tits, he’d said. His language should scandalize her, but it brought a smile to her face, just like when they were adolescents. She sent a silent plea of forgiveness to the goddess of the hearth, and vowed to make a few extra sacrifices on Max’s behalf next time she was near a temple.

Volusia paused at the door of Avitus’s study. She heard no voices from within, so surmised that he was alone. She tapped on the door. “Avitus?”

“Come in.”

She entered, and crossed the room to lay the bundle of redcurrants on his desk. “I harvested some redcurrants for you.”

His face brightened, and he picked a berry from the top of the pile. “Your excursion was satisfactory?”

“The countryside is beautiful.” It was, but what she most remembered from the afternoon wasn’t the swell of hills or sparkle of sunlight on water, but Max’s face, the press of his hand on hers, his promise that she could trust him, always.

She shoved the memory aside. “I was chatting with the legionary who escorted me. He mentioned some interesting anecdotes about Petronax that I thought you should know.”

Avitus raised an eyebrow as he ate another berry. “Yes?”

Volusia seated herself in the chair across from his desk, wondering if she was overstepping by mentioning this. Ordinarily, she didn’t interfere in her husband’s affairs. But here, so far from home, she felt vulnerable, despite their high position. “There’s been some dissatisfaction since Petronax raised the taxes here.”

He waved a hand. “There is always dissatisfaction about taxes.”

“But isn’t he overstepping by hiking up the tax rate? He’s meant to be in charge of the legion, not the province.”

“He was acting governor before I arrived, Volusia. He was entitled to do as he wished. With respect, you understand little of these matters.”

She flinched at the dismissiveness of his tone. “I’m only trying to help. I heard you with Petronax earlier. I don’t think you should antagonize him. What were you arguing about?” she pressed.

His gaze became stony. “It’s none of your concern.”

“Is it Silvanus’s concern?” she shot back. “I bet you’re going to tell him everything. Maybe you already have. You tell him too much. He is your subordinate, after all.”

Never before had she questioned his relationship with Silvanus, but Max’s outrage at the state of her marriage had changed something inside her. Maybe she’d been wrong to be so accommodating, so amenable. Maybe she deserved more than a disinterested husband.

“You are my subordinate too, wife.” Ice coated his words. “I will speak of my business as I please, and your opinion is not required.” He rose from behind the desk and strode past her to the door, pausing in the doorway. “Tell the kitchen that I will take dinner in my room.”

With Silvanus, no doubt.

She gave a stiff nod, and he left. The pile of redcurrants remained forlorn on his desk.

Volusia bit her lip until it hurt. They had never argued like this before, perhaps because Volusia had never broken her role of the dutiful, agreeable wife. But now, the boundaries of their marriage, once safe and comfortable, felt oppressive, constricting, like a hairstyle braided too tight.

She rose from the chair and left the study. In the hallway, her feet itched to turn right, toward the atrium and front door where Max no doubt stood, silent and dependable. But she forced herself to turn left, and retreated to her bedroom.

As the sun dipped low in the sky, Max left the governor’s residence and returned to the buildings that comprised the legion’s camp at the edge of the town. Almost as soon as he set foot within the walls, one of Glabrio’s lackeys informed him that the centurion would like to see him.

Jupiter’s balls. Max stifled a groan. One of the grooms in the stables must have reported his presence to Glabrio.

Max set his jaw and turned in the direction of the centurion’s office, practicing excuses in his head. He entered the office and saluted in a way he hoped looked especially deferential. “Sir, you asked to see me?”

Glabrio, seated at his desk, steepled his fingers and fixed Max with an intensified version of his usual disapproving glare. “I was told you violated the terms of your punishment.”

Max endeavored to look as innocent as a newborn kitten. “Sir?”

“You were seen at the stables today. Were you not expressly forbidden from visiting the stables?”

“Yes, sir, but the lady Volusia requested to go riding. I thought it would be inappropriate to refuse her.”

Glabrio’s brows drew together. “What reason does a lady have for riding?”

“I believe she wished to see some of the countryside, sir, but I did not think it respectful to question her motives.”

“So you abandoned your post to go gallivanting around the countryside with the governor’s wife,” Glabrio said.

“On the contrary sir, I assumed I was carrying out my duty by ensuring the lady’s safety. And…” Max risked a small elaboration of the truth. He had a feeling he was on the verge of another punishment, so he needed to think fast to convince Glabrio that he’d acted correctly. “Governor Avitus himself encouraged it. He wished his wife to see more of the province but did not have time to escort her himself.” At least it was true enough that Avitus knew of their outing—even if he hadn’t explicitly encouraged it.

Glabrio’s lips tightened at this new information. “Be that as it may, I would urge you to be cautious of how you conduct yourself, legionary. I would never dare to impugn the lady’s honor, but it’s well known that Roman ladies who have been married for a time often seek distraction. And any legionary who dares to take such liberties will be dishonorably dismissed without delay.”

Max flushed. Could Glabrio tell how much he wanted to take liberties with Volusia? “On my honor, sir, nothing untoward happened while we were riding.”

“Nor will it in the future,” Glabrio said. “If the lady asks to ride again, you will decline. Is that clear?”

Max strove for a chastened expression, despite his relief that he seemed to have avoided a second punishment. “Yes, sir.”

“Dismissed.”

Max saluted once more, and hurried from the office before Glabrio could change his mind.

The day after his riding excursion with Volusia, Max’s mind was full of Volusia’s confession about her marriage as he stood guard by her front door. It wasn’t fair. She deserved a husband who worshiped the very air she breathed. Avitus never should have married Volusia if he couldn’t be the loving husband she deserved.

Would you be happier to see her blissfully satisfied in her marriage? an unpleasant voice in his head questioned.

Perhaps there was a small, selfish, uncharitable part of him that was glad he didn’t have to witness her marital bliss. But still, his heart ached at the thought of what the past ten years must have been like for her.

A throat cleared. Max straightened up quickly, hoping to see Volusia.

It wasn’t Volusia, but Iris, her fair-haired maid. Max leaned back against the wall and crossed his arms over his chest, trying to suppress his disappointment. He hadn’t seen much of Iris, but the few times their paths had crossed, she’d looked at him as if he were a pile of horse droppings in her way.

Nevertheless, he addressed her with respect. “Hello, Iris. Does Volusia need something?” Even if she did, she had a whole household full of servants to attend to her every need. She wouldn't need anything from him.

Iris shook her head and moved closer to the front door. She regarded Max with what he now recognized as her customary suspicious, disdainful stare, lips pursed and nostrils flared. “I wanted a word.”

He shrugged. “All right. I’ve got nothing but time.”

She glanced over her shoulder, into the atrium, and lowered her voice. “I wanted to warn you. Because it seems you're too thick to understand the situation for yourself.”

He raised an eyebrow. “What situation?”

She rolled her eyes. “Volusia, of course. Dis, soldiers really are stupid.”

“You don't have to insult me, Iris.”

She ignored him. “I tried to tell Volusia as much. Soldiers are just big dumb killers, every one of them. All you know how to do is say ‘yes sir, no sir, how many innocents should I slaughter today, sir?’” She clutched her fist to her chest in a mocking salute.

This was the most Iris had ever spoken to Max, and he noticed a Gallic lilt to her words. That, coupled with her curly, fair hair and sprinkling of freckles, made him realize she must be a native of Gaul. Thus, she'd have plenty of reasons to hate the Roman army.

Few of his legionary fellows would let such insolence—especially from a slave—pass without retaliation, but Max allowed the insults to roll off his back like water from a duck's feathers. “Why are you discussing me with Volusia?”

“I merely advised her that she should be careful. But of course there are limits to the advice I can give to my mistress. Which brings me to you.” She folded her arms. “If Avitus catches wind of what's going on between you, he will divorce her. She'll be separated from her son. And no doubt I'll be sold off somewhere terrible. You have no reason to care about me, but for the sake of Volusia and her son, you need to watch it. Keep your cock in your braccae, or you'll have me to answer to.”

Max stared at her. “Nothing's happened between us.”

Iris arched an eyebrow, clearly unconvinced. “You mean to tell me that you went off to the countryside for an entire afternoon, alone, and nothing happened?”

“Nothing happened,” he insisted. As much as I wanted something to . “Besides, her husband spends his nights with Silvanus. Why should he care what Volusia does?”

“Because men are hypocrites. Not that you know what that word means, I expect.”

“I know what a h-hypocrite is,” Max said. At least, he was pretty sure he did. “I'm telling you again, there's nothing inappropriate between us.”

“Then it should be easy for you to stop staring at her like a lovesick donkey,” Iris said.

“Well, I only have three more days on guard duty here,” Max snapped. He hadn’t realized his feelings for Volusia were so plain, if Iris had picked up on them. “You'll be rid of me in short order.”

On one hand, he was looking forward to resuming normal duties. But on the other hand, that would mean giving up the moments of delight when Volusia found an excuse to come see him. She took an uncanny interest in checking whether the front antechamber was perfectly swept, or ensuring that the lamps were properly filled. They were usually able to steal a few minutes of conversation each day.

“That's the best news I've heard all week,” Iris said with a wide, sarcastic smile. “Good day, legionary. May our paths never cross again.” She turned on her heel and left.

“The feeling is mutual,” Max muttered in the empty antechamber.

Later that day, Volusia found him, a mournful look on her face as she pretended to check the corners of the antechamber for dust. “Iris told me you’ll be leaving soon.”

Max nodded. “This was only meant to be a temporary stint. So I’ll be returning to normal duties soon.”

“Oh. I see. Normal duties.”

His heart twisted at her obvious disappointment. For a moment, he debated asking Glabrio to station him here permanently. He could see Volusia every day.

But despite the pleasure that seeing her brought him, guard duty was as monotonous as he’d feared. Even the endless drills that the legion undertook were better than this. He needed excitement, activity. And besides, he was still angling for a promotion to decurion. He needed to prove himself worthy to command his own men, and standing guard in a governor’s house was not the way to do that.

“I’m sorry,” he said.

“There’s no need to apologize,” she replied. “You have your duties. I have mine. Seeing you here was a pleasant surprise, and I’ve appreciated your friendship, but I think it best if we go back to the way things were.”

She meant the ten years of never seeing each other. Maybe Iris had succeeded in warning her away from him. He knew there was no other possible response she could have, but her words still made his chest feel tight with regret. “Yes.”

She turned to go.

“Wait,” he said. He crossed to her and took her hand—a shocking liberty in her own house, but she didn’t pull away. “Volusia, if you ever have need of me...” As the words came out, he realized how stupid they sounded. What need could she have of him? She had a husband and an entire staff to see to anything she might require. “I’ll be at your service,” he finished lamely.

But she looked up at him with a serious gaze. “Thank you, Max.”

He dropped her hand, and she left the antechamber. As she disappeared, he closed his fist, trying to preserve the warmth of her hand in his. He would likely never feel her touch again, and these memories would soon be all he had left of her.