Tainted (14 page)

It did not mean anything. So she liked him. Perhaps she
liked him far more than she should for her peace of mind. But when she’d
embarked on this liaison, she hadn’t imagined he possessed such a complex,
intriguing personality.

Three more weeks and the affair would end. She took a deep
breath and attempted to banish the inevitable. She would not think of that. Not
until the last possible moment.

She passed the ribbons to Elpis to deal with and rose onto
her toes to keep Gawain in her sight as the throng of bodies threatened to
conceal him. Although he looked relaxed, a strange tenseness clung to him, as
though he searched for someone without wishing to give himself away. Illicit
thrills raced through her. Was he searching for her?

Perhaps they could steal an hour to be together. She took a
couple of steps in his direction and then paused. Gawain’s gaze locked for a
brief moment on something across the square and instinctively Antonia followed
his glance.

An eerie shiver scuttled along her arms although she could
not fathom why. There was nothing unusual over there. Except for a fleeting
instance, she had the absolute certainty that an unspoken message had passed
between Gawain and a huge man dressed in peasant clothing.

Already the stranger had vanished into the crowd and she
shook her head, attempting to dislodge the foolish unease that drifted through
her mind. There had been no unspoken connection. And even if there had, what
did it matter? Gawain was entitled to communicate with whomever he wished. Even
if across the crowded forum was an unusual way to do it.

Even if the entire exchange did have a dark aura of
furtiveness about it.

She huffed out a breath and returned her attention to
Gawain. But he, too, had vanished.

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 was not 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 had asked about her relationship with the
praetor,
she’d
received the oddest impression that he had been jealous.

A foolish supposition. She did not 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 did not 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 had grown up? He had 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 in
the pit of her stomach.
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 did not 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 will 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 could not 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 had
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 will 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 had
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 am
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 did not 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 had 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 had 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 have not 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 did not 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 are 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 had marched across Cambria. But why was the
praetor
bringing it up now? It was not a crime to fight for your people. Gawain had not
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?