‘No.’ He looked as though he were wrestling
with himself. ‘I only want to regain it, to restore my family honour.’
‘Oh.’
She sucked the insides of her cheeks, surprised by the depth of emotion behind the words. Some instinct told her not to ask any more. Whatever had happened to his family honour, his feelings about it were clearly still painful and she didn’t want to pry. She had no right to ask anyway, still less to offer comfort, no matter how tempted she was to reach out a hand towards him, to stroke the tightly locked muscles of his jaw and soothe away his frown lines... The tension between them was palpable again and pulsing even more strongly, as if her attempts to dispel it had only brought them closer together. Maybe she ought to have gone back to the villa when she’d had the chance, she thought with a gulp, although she still didn’t want to leave. So much for familiarity breeding contempt. The more time she spent with him, the more she wanted to. The closer she wanted to be...
He cleared his throat, looking visibly relieved when she didn’t ask any more questions.
‘What of your family?’ he asked one of her instead. ‘You’re from Lindum?’
‘Close by, yes.’ She grabbed at the words eagerly. ‘My father had an estate in the country to the south and I was born and raised there. I had a very happy childhood.’
‘Only your childhood?’
She winced. ‘My mother died of a fever when I was ten and my father four years later. They were devoted to each other and her loss affected his health. I think the only reason he survived as long as he did was for me. He knew that I’d be alone afterwards.’
‘What about your brother?’
‘Tarquinius is only my half-brother.’
‘Ah.’
He acknowledged the difference in one short word and she pressed her lips together, trying to dispel the feeling of bitterness. What was she doing anyway? Talking about herself would only bring them closer together and she ought to be putting distance between them instead. This was the point where she really ought to stop talking and leave, but the need to vent her anger at Tarquinius seemed to be stronger than common sense. Besides which, she wanted to keep talking to Marius, she realised. Tension aside, he was surprisingly easy to talk to.
‘We have different mothers and he hated mine. He called her...’ she paused, unwilling to repeat the words out loud ‘...names. I suppose it was inevitable that the feeling would extend to me. I only met him for the first time when I was thirteen and he made his opinion of me clear straight away.’
‘Why did he hate her?’
‘What?’ She froze at the question.
‘You just said he hated your mother. Why?’
‘Why?’ She swallowed, trying to come up with a convincing-sounding lie and settling on several half-truths instead. ‘Maybe because he thought our father was too old to marry again. Maybe because he was worried she only wanted his money. Or maybe because she was a Briton.’
‘So I assumed.’
She blinked, taken aback by his matter-of-fact tone. ‘You did?’
‘Your hair...’ He half-raised a hand and then dropped it again. ‘It’s quite distinctive.’
‘Oh.’ For a moment, she’d thought he’d been about to touch her. ‘Yes. Tarquinius hated that, too.’
‘I didn’t say I hated it.’
‘No...’ She was surprised by his defensive reaction. ‘I meant that he hated my hair as well as my mother.’
‘Ah... Of course.’ A muscle in his jaw twitched. ‘But he’s still your brother, whatever he thinks of your hair. If you don’t want to marry Scaevola, then surely you can tell him so?’
‘Do you think it’s so easy?’ She gave an incredulous laugh. ‘Yes, I suppose you do. A man is free to choose his own future. A woman doesn’t have that luxury. I had no choice with my first marriage, let alone now. I’m under Tarquinius’s protection, which means I have to do everything he says. So if you’re suggesting that I appeal to his better nature, then it’s impossible. You can’t appeal to a conscience that isn’t there!’
She was breathing deeply by the time she finished speaking and for a few seconds there was silence, with only the sound of their combined breathing stirring the air between them.
‘I’m sorry. I should have considered.’ His voice was gentler when he finally spoke again. ‘How old were you when you married?’
‘Fourteen. So it seems we have one thing in common.’ She gave a brittle laugh at the irony. ‘We both started out in the world early.’
Fourteen. So young and afraid and utterly alone. That was what she remembered most of all, being lonely, although at the time Julius had still seemed infinitely preferable to Tarquinius.