For long moments, Gawain held Antonia close, his body enveloping her back, his head against her shoulder. Her uneven breath and the erratic thunder of her heart cocooned him in a false sense of serenity. A haven of bliss, where nothing existed but the two of them.
Only when her legs began to shake with fatigue did he finally, reluctantly, withdraw from her addictive embrace. She whimpered and he nibbled kisses along her damp throat. He might have left her body but he had no intention of leaving her.
Not just yet.
He draped a sheet around her and they lay on their sides, facing each other. He brushed her tangled hair from her face, winding the stray curls around his fingers. His gaze never left hers. “Was it how you imagined?”
Her smile was tired, but dazzled him all the same. “It was beyond my wildest imaginings.”
With her hair enmeshed between his fingers, he stroked her flushed face with his knuckles. “Something you would like to do again?”
She gave an exhausted laugh and flattened her hand against his chest. “Very much.” She stroked him with the tips of her fingers, and it was oddly comforting. “But I’m not sure I could manage that again this night.”
He laughed and kissed the tip of her nose. He’d had no intention of doing any such thing. “Another night, then.”
“I shall look forward to it.” She shifted, and a fleeting frown marred her brow.
“Are you uncomfortable?” He propped himself up on his forearm. He hadn’t intended to finish so brutally. But her ragged gasps, her seductive writhing and the way she had clenched around him had all served to shatter his self-control.
No excuse. She had been a virgin. He should have taken more care.
She trailed her fingers along his jaw and across his mouth. He resisted the urge to suck her finger inside.
“Why the glower?” She traced the outline of his lips and then sighed, as if resigned that he had no intention of bypassing the question. “I’m not uncomfortable, Gawain. I feel pleasantly,” she hesitated for a moment and then shot him a sultry glance from beneath her lashes, “fucked.” Her blush deepened but a smile teased her lips. Enthralled, he couldn’t tear his gaze away. She truly was an enchantress. “But I must confess. I’m relieved I don’t have to spend all day tomorrow in the saddle. I fear my bottom would violently protest.”
“Next time I will not ride you so roughly.”
“Oh.” Her breath feathered across his hand as he cradled her jaw. “I was hoping that next time you might lose control earlier.”
Speechless, he stared at her. Despite her enchanting blush, she didn’t drop her gaze. She knew exactly what she meant and the knowledge that she didn’t consider herself a fragile piece of spun glass caused his cock to thicken in delicious anticipation.
His beautiful Roman might not be a warrior but she was far from the pampered, spoiled patrician he’d first imagined. Hadn’t she told him, the first time they had made love, that she wasn’t made of spun glass? But it wasn’t only her sensibilities that were tougher than he’d first assumed.
A satisfied smile curved his lips. “Beware of what you wish for, Antonia. Are you sure you could handle me if I lost control?”
She tugged him down beside her once again. “There’s nothing about you that I couldn’t handle.”
He threaded his fingers through hers and pressed their hands against her heart. Her words touched him but it was a bittersweet sensation. Antonia might think she could handle anything that concerned him but what would she do if she discovered he was a Druid?
Gods, what was he thinking? There were some things that could never be shared.
They lay in companionable silence, content to merely look in each other’s eyes. When was the last time he’d done this?
Never. Not even with Morwyn. Yet he couldn’t bring himself to move, to bring this strange sense of harmony to an end. Instead he traced a finger over the bracelets that adorned her wrist. They were of exquisite quality, but he expected nothing less from a family as wealthy as hers.
The gold locket around her throat drew his attention. Whenever they had met her earrings and bracelets had complemented her gowns but her locket remained constant. Idly he picked it up in his free hand and examined it as it lay on his palm. Antonia didn’t say anything but he felt her tense, as though he had just crossed an invisible and incomprehensible barrier.
He met her eyes. She stared back, oddly defiant. Intrigued by her attitude he didn’t allow the gold chain to slide through his fingers as had been his original intention. “This is a beautiful piece of craftsmanship.”
For a moment, he thought she wasn’t going to answer. Then she sighed and broke eye contact. “Yes. My father gave it to me on the day of my birth.”
He knew there was a genuine bond between Antonia and her father, but her reaction didn’t ring true to him. His thumb grazed the clasp and once again she stiffened. Why was she so alarmed at the prospect that he might open her locket and see what secrets she kept within?
Memory stirred. At the praetor’s insufferable feast, Antonia’s calm façade had cracked when Maximus had defended his daughter’s honor. Gawain knew Antonia had been pregnant in the past and from her reaction earlier this night, he guessed she had at least one daughter. Was it her children’s portrait she kept close to her heart? Had she been forced by her despicable former husband to leave them in Rome?
He allowed the locket to slide from his fingers and once again nestle between her breasts. Just days ago it hadn’t interested him one way or the other whether Antonia had children, or how many. But now it mattered. He wanted to know. Because whether they shared her life now or not, they were still a part of her.
She stared at his chest, deliberately avoiding his gaze. He lifted her chin with one finger and made her look at him. There might be secrets they were forced to keep from each other, but this wasn’t one of them.
“Would you allow me to look on the faces of your children, Antonia?”
The blood drained from her face and she stared at him in what looked abject horror. What had he said? Had he made a terrible mistake?
“What?” Her voice was a tortured whisper and she clutched at her locket as though she imagined he might snatch it from her. Unease snaked through his gut. This was far from the reaction he’d expected.
Why had he asked her? Why did he want to see her children? It could mean nothing to him. And yet it did. They were hers, and he wanted to know everything about her.
That realization did nothing to calm his rising unease.
“You do have children, don’t you, Antonia?” Why was she being so evasive? Why didn’t she want him to know of them? Most of all why did her reluctance to share something so important with him sting?
“I—” Her voice was husky. With a stab of shock, he realized she was vibrating with fear. “I conceived five babies. I lost my two sons during the sixth month of each pregnancy.”
Horror crawled along his spine at what she had suffered, and the crass insensitivity of his invasive questioning. Words were inadequate but he tried regardless. “Antonia. I’m sorry.”
She licked her lips and her fingers gripped his in a punishing vise, yet she seemed unaware that they still held hands. “I lost my daughters during the fifth and seventh months of pregnancy.”
Ice froze his veins. He’d imagined her daughters had survived. But she had lost them all. Not only lost them, but had been forced to go through the hazard of childbirth each time knowing, in her heart, they had no chance of survival.
Gods. No wonder shadows haunted her eyes. No wonder she wrapped herself in a façade of aloof detachment.
He stared into her lovely face and saw grief etched into every curve and shadow. How had he not seen it before?
He tugged her rigid hand up and kissed her knuckles. She hadn’t mentioned her third daughter and he didn’t have the heart to ask. It was clear what had happened. Her former husband had kept her in Rome.
“My last child was also a daughter.” Her voice was low but at least she no longer trembled. He tightened his grip on her hand, trying to infuse her with his strength. Trying to let her know, without the need for awkward words, that he was there for her. “I carried her to term.”
She was the child whose likeness Antonia carried against her heart. He still wanted to see her, but knew he would never again ask. By his thoughtless questioning, he had forced Antonia to relive the worst thing a woman could imagine. Yet those tragic events, that he couldn’t even begin to comprehend, had shaped her into the woman she was today. The woman he couldn’t shift from his mind.
The gods, no matter who they were or which people worshipped them, were cruel, callous and entirely self-serving. What harm had Antonia ever done that she should be so brutally punished?
“She lives in Rome?” His voice was hushed and while he was certain she did, there was always the chance Antonia had brought her to Britain. Perhaps, after all, her daughter did live with her.
Antonia expelled a harsh breath and once again he felt her body tense. “When my daughter was presented to her father he turned his back on her and ordered her death.”