Man Eater

On the other hand, survival was high on Claudia’s agenda and extra security (no matter what tall, dark, handsome form it came packaged in) was not to be sniffed at. Sergius’ guards had done bugger all when she was nearly fed to the crocodiles-and, as for the army, Macer had laughed in her face. Fed up with house arrest, was she? Well, he had a nice warm lock-up available if she preferred,

And Marcus had a point. The attack could come from anywhere… Since there was no obvious suspect, the whole family fell under suspicion. Claudia parted her lips and hoped it resembled a suitably abject smile. ‘Let’s call a truce.’

It seemed to take a fair bit of adjustment on his part, but Orbilio caved in eventually. He lifted his gaming cup, still full of wine. ‘To you,’ he said.

‘To peace,’ she corrected. Why was it from this angle the moon lit exactly one half of his face and that one paltry little flame managed to light the other?

Orbilio kissed the lip of the dice cup to the lip of her glass. ‘What about to friendship?’

She felt her heart thumping against her ribcage, and when she nodded, albeit reluctantly, a curl fell over her eye. ‘To friendship.’ Dammit, where did that stupid little quiver in her voice come from?

‘What about to,’ his own pitch had dropped to a gruff rasp, ‘to more than friendship?’

A pulse was beating at the base of his throat, and Claudia watched the light of the lantern flicker in the shine of his unruly mop, saw it reflect dark hairs on the back of his hand.

So much from one little flame, how hard it has to work in the cloying blackness.

Too much.

‘Too soon,’ she said, and the faience pendant round her neck threatened to choke her.

‘Too bad.’ Orbilio’s face broke into a sad, lopsided grin and, taking Claudia’s nose between his thumb and his index finger, he gave it a gentle tweak. ‘That really is too bloody bad,’ he said quietly.

XXIV

The party was in full swing by the time Marcus Cornelius Orbilio had composed himself. On the pretext of checking the security of the courtyard, the animal sheds, the barns and the outhouses, his feet had covered some considerable distance and it was only now, standing barefoot on the marble floor of the atrium, that he fully appreciated the benefits of his own handmade patrician boots. Making his inspection, Orbilio had been only too glad of the cheap woollen tunic which itched and the rough leather sandals which flipped and flopped and chafed and blistered. They took his mind off a woman with wild curls and wilder eyes who kindled a white-hot passion inside him.

For the past hour or more he had breathed nothing but the acid stench of animal ordure, yet he could taste only the heavy, heady spice of her perfume. Was he being fanciful in thinking, in that distinctive mix of rare aromatics, there was a faint hint of the Indus Valley, the subtle fragrance of Babylonian lilies? He had been to Babylonia, spent long, hot nights under her stars as longhaired men in embroidered robes played thin and haunting melodies for the dancing girls, and he still remembered how those same girls jangled as they swayed in time to the music and the graceful way they arched under his love-making.

He wanted to take Claudia to Babylon, to Nineveh, now, this minute. He wanted to show her the wide, open skies, the rich, fertile plains, feel the baking sun of the desert, the sluggish pull of the Euphrates. He wanted to sail with her down the Tigris, show her ancient sites and magical rites, mysteries and pyramids and strange symbols etched on the walls. But most of all, by the gods yes, most of all he’d wanted to pull her into his arms and claim her as his own.

There on her bed, which was soft and springy and smelled of nothing but her, he had wanted to kiss and caress her, slowly, tenderly, nibbling and nuzzling until the crowing of the cock when the first motes of dust danced in shafts of early-morning sunshine and then-and then Orbilio rammed his feet back into his penitent sandals and winced at the blisters with an emotion close to pleasure. He was so close, dammit, so close! Spearing his fingers through his hair, he remembered the rise and fall of her breasts in that slinky blue tunic, the one wayward curl which caught in her eyelashes, the way her tongue darted over her lips to cover the tremor in her voice.

He could have pursued it.