Antonia stared in disbelief as Gawain entered the praetor’s atrium, along with Carys and her tribune. It had never occurred to her that he might attend. Why hadn’t he told her?
As pleasantries were exchanged, she tried to stop staring but wasn’t sure she succeeded. But he looked so magnificent, in spite of the foreign clothes he insisted on wearing. Or perhaps because of them. They certainly enhanced the seductive aura of primal power that radiated from him, without him making the slightest effort to impress.
Or perhaps she was simply biased.
He certainly gave the impression that they were scarcely acquainted, offering her a formal half bow that turned her knees weak. It was just as well he hadn’t touched her. She would likely dissolve into a puddle of mindless desire at his feet.
The image caused a wayward giggle to escape, and she hastily turned it into a cough before her lust disgraced her father’s name.
“Allow me the honor of escorting you, Lady Antonia,” the praetor said, taking her arm before she could bestow such honor his way. She resisted the urge to glance over her shoulder at Gawain. She might have imagined it, but when he’d asked about her relationship with the praetor, she’d received the oddest impression that he had been jealous.
A foolish supposition. She didn’t want Gawain to be jealous and why should he, in any case? Yet the feeling lingered and try as she might, she couldn’t deny the frisson of pleasure at the knowledge Gawain didn’t like the praetor’s over-possessive attitude.
“This townhouse is not up to the standards of those in other provinces,” he said as he led them into the dining room. “The quality of the mosaics is most disappointing but what can you expect from this barbarous land?”
Antonia sank onto one of the low couches and glanced at the other guests. Carys glared murder at the praetor’s back, her husband held her hand as though he feared she might follow through and Gawain’s face was impassive.
Her father simply looked resigned.
“Such workmanship takes years to perfect,” she said, silently astonished at the way Carys schooled her features and once again looked like the perfect patrician wife. “Once local craftsmen have the opportunity to study under the masters then they too will be able to create art to rival any in Rome.”
The corner of Gawain’s mouth twitched in obvious amusement at her counterstrike. It was only as she resisted the urge to smile back at him that she realized she had been staring at him.
“Very true.” The praetor nodded sagely and indicated his slaves should begin serving. “This is, after all, only a temporary lodging. Should I decide to remain in Camulodunum I’ll have a villa built to my own specifications.”
Antonia’s heart sank at the reminder that he might choose to stay in Camulodunum. Could she persuade her father to return to Gallia, to the town where she’d grown up? He’d only moved to Britannia when it became clear luxury goods were highly sought after by the newly settled Romans.
Despite her best intentions, once again she glanced at Gawain. If she moved to Gallia she would never see him again.
But as soon as Cassia arrived, their affair would end in any case. What difference would it make where she decided to live?
She tore her hypnotized stare from the oblivious Cambrian who sat upright on the opposite couch as if he were a royal chieftain entertaining a gaggle of lowly plebeians. She concentrated on a dish of dormice, sprinkled with honey and poppy seeds, which had been placed on the low table and tried to regulate her galloping thoughts.
When it came to Gawain, it made no difference where she lived. Except if she stayed in Camulodunum the chances were high that she would continue to see him. How could she not, if she and Carys maintained the tenuous friendship that was forming between them?
She would see him with other women. A hard knot formed deep in her breast. It did not matter. Yet she knew it did. Because the harsh truth was—she didn’t want Gawain being with any woman but her.
Antonia acknowledged that the feast was sumptuous. The praetor had obviously spared no expense and it was clear this was a feast designed to impress. But who was he trying to impress? Surely not her. And in his eyes, her father, a mere plebeian, was tolerated only because his vast network of contacts across the empire enabled him to source any luxury requested.
The tribune, then? She gave Maximus a surreptitious glance. It didn’t seem likely. Although Carys’ husband came from one of the premier families of the Senate, so too did the praetor.
“When are you returning to Rome, Maximus?” the praetor asked as slaves served the next course—a magnificent swan accompanied by a dozen different imported vegetables. “You are well overdue for promotion. I cannot fathom why you’ve remained in Britannia for so long.”
“Extraordinary circumstances,” Maximus said. “But I’ll be taking my wife and daughter to Rome very shortly.”
Of course. Antonia had forgotten that Carys would soon be leaving Camulodunum. So much for the friendship she had imagined them forging. But wasn’t this better? At least then there would be less chance of accidentally crossing paths with Gawain.
It was better. But she couldn’t embrace the knowledge.
“Your beauty will dazzle the jaded in Rome, my lady,” the praetor said, bestowing a benevolent smile in Carys’ direction. Carys offered him a tight smile in return, but Antonia knew that beneath that calm façade the other woman was seething.
A prickle of sympathy for the praetor shot through her breast. He was condescending to those he considered his social inferiors but, conversely, Antonia also knew that he was sincere in his compliment to Carys. Unfortunately for him, he had no idea that his perception of what constituted a compliment struck at the heart of Carys’ true nature.
A shiver trickled along her spine. What did she mean by her true nature? Antonia knew the Roman noblewoman persona that Carys presented to the world was merely a guise. But it was no great secret that Carys was a foreign princess of a conquered land. So why had that thought not only slid into her mind but remained with insidious intent?
As if there were more to Carys than Antonia imagined?
Gawain restrained himself from responding to the pompous old fuck’s remark, but only by filling his mouth with food that he didn’t even recognize. He looked over at Antonia but as always, she looked perfectly serene. Whereas he’d been battling a cursed erection from the moment he’d seen her in the atrium, she had remained cool and aloof, bestowing barely a chilly glance in his direction.
Gingerly he shifted position on the couch but it scarcely eased his discomfort. Only Antonia could do that. And he had every intention of ensuring she did so before this night was over.
It gave him dark amusement to know how responsive and uninhibited his reserved Roman noblewoman was when there was no one else around. Erotic images burned his mind and it was only with difficulty that he dragged himself back to the present.
Time enough later to indulge his fantasies.
The praetor was still droning on. “But doubtless in time you’ll provide Rome with many fine sons.”
Gawain choked and hastily tipped his goblet of wine down his throat. Intentionally or not, the Roman had just unforgivably insulted Carys by insinuating her daughter was less worthy than a son might be. There was no way she would let that comment pass.
“If the gods decree it,” Maximus said, sliding his fingers through Carys’. “If not, then I consider myself more than blessed to have a beautiful, healthy daughter.”
It galled, but the longer Gawain spent in Maximus’ company the more he could understand why Carys had fallen for him. From his experience, not many Roman men would defend their daughter in such a way.
He glanced at Antonia. She was staring at Maximus, a stricken look on her face, as though he had just predicted the end of the empire. His senses sharpened. He knew Antonia had borne children but he’d never asked her about them. Did they reside with her at her father’s?
Or had she been forced to leave them behind in Rome?
Whichever the outcome, her reaction told him volumes. Her former husband had not considered his daughters a blessing.
He wrenched his attention from her and looked at the praetor. “In our culture, our daughters are valued as highly as our sons.”
The praetor offered him a perfunctory smile. “I’m fortunate that the gods blessed me with three sons. But I have always privately wished for a daughter to dote upon.”
Gawain watched in disbelief as the praetor glanced at Antonia. Disbelief surged into outrage. Was he seriously suggesting that he wanted to sire a daughter with Antonia?
He glared in her direction but she was focused on her hands and once again, her true feelings were masked by that serene façade. She appeared unaware of both the praetor’s implication and his own ire. But one thing was for sure—whatever Antonia might imagine, the praetor wanted far more from her than mere friendship.
The interminable feast continued through the evening. Antonia dutifully tried each dish, but everything tasted of ashes. She could try to fool herself but the truth was painfully clear.
The praetor had declared his intent.
It wasn’t merely the way he kept glancing at her, or brushed his fingers across hers at every opportunity. He had openly stated his desire for a daughter, when he knew of her past history and of Scipio’s reaction to the daughters she had struggled to give birth to.
The thought of enduring another pregnancy, only for it to end in heartbreak and disaster, caused nausea to roil in her breast.
But that would never happen. She would never remarry and be at the mercy of another man’s obsessive desire to produce a son.
Or daughter.
The conversation flowed over her, a distant murmur. Several times the praetor attempted to engage her but the most she could manage was a polite, monosyllabic response. With every moment that passed, her unease mounted. If she didn’t manage to deflect his interest before Cassia arrived, how could she hope to keep her child’s existence a secret?
“Gawain.” The praetor’s voice jolted her back to the present. “You are blood kin to the tribune’s wife, is that correct?”
“Kin, but not blood bound.”
Antonia pushed her fears to the back of her mind. There was plenty of time to dwell on them later. But for now, she hoped she didn’t look as enthralled as she felt. In all of their many discussions, she had never outright asked Gawain about his connection to Carys. She’d simply taken it for granted that he was, indeed, her blood kin.
Why else would Maximus allow him to reside under the same roof as his wife?
Clearly the praetor thought that too, if his raised eyebrows were anything to go by. “And you have been in Camulodunum for how long?”
Gawain looked perfectly relaxed. But, as impossible as it should be, Antonia could feel tension spiking from him. It reminded her, with an uncanny ripple of alarm, of the way he’d looked earlier that day in the forum.
“I come and go,” Gawain said, which didn’t answer the question at all.
“This is merely an extended visit, then, not relocation?” The praetor eyed Gawain over the rim of his goblet. Antonia’s glance darted between the two men. It sounded suspiciously as though the praetor were interrogating Gawain.
“Gawain was kind enough to bring me news of my mother,” Carys said. “I haven’t seen her since before my marriage.”
“Ah.” The praetor turned to Carys. “Your mother still resides in Cambria?”
“Yes. She remained behind to care for elderly relatives.”
Carys’ gaze didn’t waver from the praetor. There was nothing controversial or strange about her statement. And yet Antonia had the absolute certainty that there was far more to the simple explanation than Carys’ words apparently conveyed.
“So you’re now a messenger, Gawain?” The praetor waved for a slave to refill his goblet. His eyes remained fixed on Gawain. “That must come hard to a man with your obvious warrior background.”
What was he doing? Antonia glared at the praetor but he appeared oblivious. Of course Gawain was a warrior. He had likely fought against the legions as they’d marched across Cambria. But why was the praetor bringing it up now? It wasn’t a crime to fight for your people. Gawain hadn’t been captured and sold as an enemy of Rome at the time. Those who accepted the rule of the empire, no matter how reluctantly, were not punished. Therefore, what was the praetor attempting to prove?
“Warriors,” Gawain said, his voice giving nothing away of his true feelings, “adapt.”
The praetor’s eyes narrowed, so slightly and so fleetingly Antonia almost missed it. But it was obvious from that telling reaction that Gawain’s response had not been what he expected.
So what had he expected? For Gawain to leap to his feet, dagger in hand, and demand that the praetor retracted his not-so-subtle insult? Why was he trying to undermine Gawain? Wasn’t it enough to know that the empire had conquered his land and people without rubbing Rome’s victory in his face?
“One must learn to adapt to survive,” her father said. “It is, after all, far better than the alternative.”
“Unless, of course, one is Roman.” The praetor smiled but it didn’t reach his eyes. “Surrender is never an option for the Eagle.”
Tension crackled in the room, causing the hair to rise on the back of her neck and along her arms. The praetor was deliberately baiting Gawain. Did he imagine Gawain such a savage that he would forsake good manners and attack his host in his own home?
Yet where were the praetor’s manners? She’d known him for many years and he’d never displayed such overt hostility in a social situation before.
“To the continuing good health of the Eagle.” Maximus raised his goblet. He still held Carys’ hand. As everyone followed suit, Antonia noticed Gawain’s hands remained planted on his knees. His face was impassive but he radiated coiled fury. She didn’t blame him. She was furious with the praetor on his behalf. “Excellent wine, Praetor,” Maximus said before he turned toward her father. “Is this part of your latest shipment, Faustus? Remind me to place an order.”
Her father responded and the conversation once again navigated calmer waters. But the animosity between Gawain and the praetor seethed beneath the surface, a poisonous serpent waiting to strike. And Antonia had the chilling certainty that tonight was just the beginning.