Tainted Read online

  Was he Carys’ lover? Did the tribune know? Many of her former friends had enjoyed illicit liaisons with slaves or those in their husband’s employ. But even the most brazen would not display her unfaithfulness before a complete stranger.

  “Come, Gawain,” Carys said, still speaking Latin, as she tugged the Briton by his hand. “There’s someone I want you to meet.”

  Antonia tried to ignore the way her stomach churned and she gripped her fingers together in spite of her best intentions. Why would Carys wish to introduce her to this Briton? Why did she have the sudden urge to be violently ill?

  “Antonia, this is Gawain, my beloved kin from my homeland.” Her kin? Antonia stared at Gawain’s long-sleeved shirt and the braccae that encased each of his powerfully muscled legs. Outside she had merely noted his clothes were not those of a Roman but now she realized that they were, in fact, of good quality linen. How had she imagined for even a moment that he was a slave? “Gawain,” Carys continued, turning to the now unsmiling Briton—Cambrian. “This is Antonia, daughter of our esteemed merchant, Drusus Antonius Faustus.”

  For a long, agonizing moment, Antonia looked up into his dark eyes as insane images of fleeing this courtyard flashed through her mind. He towered over her, a threatening presence of pure masculinity, and everything about him radiated a raw, primitive danger. Only now did she acknowledge that the torque around his throat was nothing like a slave ring. It gleamed like silver and its intricate engravings were similar to those that adorned his savagely compelling earring.

  “My pleasure.” His husky voice and erotically seductive accent caressed her skin like a lover’s touch and sank into her blood like a dreaded fever. His free hand reached for her and panic thudded through her blood, squeezing the air from her lungs and making it hard to draw breath.

  Years ago, as a young bride, she had dreamed of a man such as him. One who could ignite her senses with barely a glance and cause her flesh to smolder with a single sultry word. But she had been a girl then. She was a woman now. And she could not afford to indulge in foolish fantasies that would lead nowhere. He had made his contempt for her clear. His attitude now was nothing but an insincere display so as not to offend his kin.

  She could ignore him. And disgrace her father’s name.

  But she had disgraced her father enough. It wouldn’t kill her to allow this Cambrian to take her hand. She would endure his touch one last time. The gods knew she had endured far worse.

  Yet it took every particle of nerve she possessed to unclench her fingers and raise her hand.

  She caught the mocking gleam in his eyes as he took her hand in his calloused grip and lowered his head toward her. Her mouth dried as his lips brushed across her knuckles, his touch deliberately languorous as though he knew full well how she battled not to tremble at the contact.

  Then, still holding her hand, he looked up at her and the lust and fury blazing in his eyes scorched her like a furnace to Hades.

  Chapter Two

  Gawain slowly caressed his thumb across the soft skin of the Roman’s fingers and cursed how his blood thundered through his veins at the provocative touch. She looked at him with cool disdain, her blue eyes reminding him of a cloudless sky in the moments before a frost descended.

  But she couldn’t fool him. He’d seen her desire back on the road, before she had managed to hide it. And now she looked at him as though he was little better than a slave. A native of a country her fucking emperor had conquered.

  She attempted to free her hand and he tightened his grip. Her people might have subdued the vast majority of his, but no Roman dictated his movements. For an endless moment, he met her silent challenge and only when her eyes began to darken with reluctant acknowledgment of their mutual lust, did he finally allow her to pull free.

  “Will you join us, Gawain?”

  He knew Carys’ question was pure formality. She didn’t expect him to stay while she entertained a spoiled Roman female. He had no wish to stay. The news he had for Carys could be given to her later, but the way the Roman stiffened in response to Carys’ question irked.

  It was clear she wanted him to leave. Conversely, he decided that he would remain.

  “Thank you.” He offered Carys a sardonic smile and then ignored the pointed glare she sent his way. It was obvious she was going to berate him for his bad manners once her irritating guest had departed. He folded his arms and leaned against one of the pretentious Roman columns that surrounded the courtyard garden. “Do you intend to stay long on this primitive isle, Lady Antonia?”

  She inclined her head in a regal manner and one pale golden ringlet trailed across the elegant curve of her shoulder.

  “I intend to stay for as long as my father decrees.”

  Gawain tore his fascinated gaze from her cursed ringlet. Of course she would stay until her father told her otherwise. She was a Roman woman, and Roman women did only what their men folk commanded of them. But instead of responding to her comment, his gaze became fixed on the riot of curls and waves of her hair, held in place by glittering, gem-encrusted pins.

  He had the savage urge to rip those pins from her and watch that glorious hair tumble in abandoned disarray over her naked shoulders. The image was so vivid in his mind that his cock, already aroused since his first encounter with Antonia on the road, hardened with anticipation.

  She was a Roman. But it made no difference. He wanted to fuck her and by the gods he’d find a way to have her, and soon.

  “Antonia only arrived in Britain six days ago.” There was a hint of censure in Carys’ voice. Did she know what he wanted to do with her fragile little guest? He smothered a grim smile. Carys might pretend to be the perfect Roman matron in public, but at heart she was a princess of Cymru. He had no doubt that she knew exactly what his intentions toward the Roman entailed.

  “Is this the first time you have ventured beyond the cradle of Rome?” He resisted the urge to shift position. It wouldn’t do any good. The only position that would ease his discomfort was having Antonia on her hands and knees in front of him while he fucked her from behind. While he plunged his hands into her golden curls and tangled her hair around his fingers.

  Gingerly he shifted his back against the marble column but as he had already known, it did nothing to diminish his cursed erection. When Antonia deigned to favor him with a glance, it only increased the raw need pounding through his blood. She need only drop her gaze to see how much he wanted her. Would she feign shock at the sight?

  “I was born in Gallia.” There was a haughty note in her voice and her eyes didn’t waver from his. “I didn’t venture into the cradle of Rome until I was fourteen years old.”

  For a moment, he was distracted from his fantasy of hearing Antonia scream in ecstasy as he hammered between her naked thighs. Not only had she repeated his less than complimentary words back at him. But he also detected a scathing undertone that was all her own.

  “So you’re not a Roman noblewoman born and bred?”

  “Gawain.” There was an edge to Carys’ voice. “If you cannot be civil to Antonia then perhaps you should take your leave.”

  “Do you find my manner uncivil, Lady Antonia?” He offered her a mocking smile, daring her to respond. She might not have been born in Rome, but she was a Roman from the top of her elaborately curled hair to her daintily clad feet and in public, Roman women rarely spoke their mind.

  “I find your manner unsurprising.” Antonia smiled back at him, but her eyes were glacial. “And civility is a matter of perspective.”

  He managed to contain his own surprise at her response, but only just. He’d bantered with several highborn Roman women since leaving his beloved homeland two turns of the wheel ago. But none of them had so bluntly inferred that they considered him a rude bastard.

  But then, none of them had stirred his lust to the degree Antonia managed with barely a glance. He wasn’t sure why that fact irritated him so much or why he felt the need to bait her with barbed remarks. Was it becau
se he knew she hated the heat that flared between them? The knowledge that she battled, even now, to prevent him from seeing the need in her eyes?

  Whatever the reason, her reply only stoked his lust further. And, gods curse it, that wasn’t all. Her answer intrigued him on a level that no Roman had the right to touch.

  “Your perspective,” he said, “is one I shall enjoy exploring.”

  “Alas,” Antonia’s voice dripped ice and illogically stoked his blood with flames of scorching desire. “My perspective is not available for such exploration.”

  “Indeed, Gawain.” Only those who knew Carys well would recognize the fury beneath her level tone. “I can’t imagine what you’re suggesting.” Her tone implied she knew exactly what he was suggesting and was deeply affronted by his nerve.

  He tossed her a dark glance. She might think this fragile-looking Roman needed protection from his attention but she was wrong. He could taste Antonia’s repressed arousal in the fragranced air, could feel the fiery bonds of need that weaved between them. Could see the angry battle between lust and propriety behind the calm façade she presented to the world.

  The other Roman women he’d fucked might not have stirred his cock so violently, but he’d been aware of their interest from the moment they had met. In public, they behaved like model wives. In private, he’d shared their luscious charms and taken grim pleasure in the knowledge that those aloof foreign women had come apart beneath his invasion. It was a hollow satisfaction, but all he could gain, in knowing he invaded the women of Rome in response to how Rome invaded his own land and people.

  Antonia was no different. Once he engineered a moment for them to be alone, she would discard her false pretenses and welcome his barbaric touch.

  They all welcomed his barbaric touch. They swooned with orgasmic delight at the thought of fucking a primitive barbarian. None of them imagined it was not simply their bodies he coveted. None of them guessed it was the information he gleaned from their arrogant husbands that truly interested him.

  Yet Antonia was not with her husband. The thought hammered through his mind, mocking his previous thoughts. And illuminating the reason why her presence so enraged his senses.

  He wanted her. But he could learn nothing of use from fraternizing with her. Like all her contemporaries that he’d met, she might be frustrated, bored and eager for an illicit liaison despite how she attempted to hide her true feelings. But with all the others, while he’d never felt the need to decline their advances, he had never experienced the urge to initiate such an encounter.

  Yet he could think of little else when it came to Antonia.

  “I suggest nothing, Carys.” His voice was harsher than he intended. Gods. He might not care that Carys knew he desired the little Roman but he certainly didn’t want her guessing just how badly he wanted her. “If my words have offended the lady Antonia then I trust she will accept my apologies.”

  “Apologies are unnecessary.” Antonia smoothed the white silk of her long gown, her lashes lowered so he could no longer see her ice-blue eyes. “I’m not easily offended. Life in Rome is not for the faint of heart.”

  It was the second time she had referred to Rome in less than glowing terms. Every other Roman woman he’d met had bemoaned the fact they had been torn from the civilized center of the world and thrust into a primitive province on the edge of the empire. Shortly afterward, he impaled them, and they forgot their discontent as they gasped with delight at the pleasures available from willing natives.

  Carys pounced on Antonia’s comment and began to ask her questions of Rome. Gawain gritted his teeth and held his tongue. Carys cared nothing for Rome or its people. All she cared about was that her beloved husband and child and her goddess, Cerridwen, survived and prospered, and for that Carys would do whatever she had to. Even if she had to embrace the enemy in the corrupt heart of its empire.

  He realized he was staring at Antonia’s profile. She sat on the stone bench like a goddess in the flesh, the graceful folds of her gown enhancing the curves of her body in a sensual caress. Her cursedly provocative ringlet brushed her shoulder as she inclined her head toward Carys, and a pale blush stained her aristocratic cheeks as though she were fully aware of his intense scrutiny.

  She was beautiful, pampered and nothing like the kind of women he preferred. Did she even possess the knowledge of how to wield a bow, never mind the strength required to use one? He doubted she had the first idea how to use a dagger except as an implement to spear her food. Yet he couldn’t drag his mesmerized gaze from her.

  It made no sense. Except for the ethereal quality of her beauty, she was the same as every other Roman woman he’d had since he’d left the sacred Druid Isle of Mon.

  None of them were warriors. None of them were capable of defending themselves against attack. Not once had he been unable to tear his gaze from any of them. He could scarcely even remember the last time white hot lust had seared his veins and the primal need to rut like a savage had thundered through his senses.

  But this elegant creature, in her foreign gown and jewelry, bewitched him. Was it because she tried so hard to deny her desire? That had never affected him before. If a Roman woman was faithful to her husband, he had never felt the urge to change her mind.

  He had no idea of Antonia’s marital status. He cared nothing for her marital status. But he would discover the game she played and she would learn that he followed no rules but his own.

  Chapter Three

  Antonia forced herself to concentrate on Carys and her animated conversation. But every nerve quivered with acute awareness that the glowering Cambrian continued to direct his entire attention her way.

  She wouldn’t look at him. Let him imagine he could intimidate her with his pointed remarks and disdainful glances. If he wanted to direct his hatred of her people onto her, there was little she could do about it.

  But she certainly wouldn’t give him the satisfaction of realizing just how deeply his disregard affected her.

  It was only lust. The shocking refrain would not be silenced, no matter how desperately she tried. She, whose stomach heaved at the thought of submitting to another man ever again, found his brutal demeanor inexplicably alluring. And the Cambrian, despite his obvious distaste for all of Rome, appeared unable to stop looking at her.

  Carys raised her eyebrows enquiringly and heat flooded Antonia’s face as she realized the other woman had asked a question. What had they been talking about?

  “My lady.” A feminine voice sounded from across the courtyard and Antonia breathed a silent sigh of relief at her reprieve, barely registering the odd way the slave addressed her mistress. “I’m sorry to disturb, but Branwen requests your presence.”

  “Oh.” Carys leaned toward Antonia in an intimate manner. “Branwen looks after my daughter. Forgive me. I will not be long.” She stood up and Antonia focused on her fingers, clenched in her lap, and battled to keep the anguish that threatened to over spill her heart locked deep within her breast.

  Her father hadn’t mentioned that the tribune and his wife had a daughter. But why would he? A daughter was of no account in the wider Roman world, no matter that her own father had always showered her with genuine devotion.

  And besides, her father was blessedly unaware that for one brief, glorious moment a year ago he had possessed a perfect granddaughter.

  Buried injustice and raw grief stirred, no matter how hard she tried to keep her emotions contained. He would always be linked to her beloved daughter, even though he would never learn of her existence.

  “Does your husband plan on joining you in Britain, Lady Antonia?”

  Her chest constricted and the pain tangled with the ache engulfing her heart. The Cambrian stood by her side, unheeding of any pretense of propriety, and she did not dare look up at him in case he saw the darkness in her soul.

  “I believe that to be unlikely.” Her voice was cool. She had learned to hide her feelings well during the interminable years of her marriage. She suppos
ed she should admit that she was divorced and no longer belonged to Scipio, but it was none of the Cambrian’s concern. “He is devoted to furthering his career in the Senate.”

  “At the expense of allowing his exquisite wife to travel unchaperoned?” There was a hint of mockery in his tone and she couldn’t help but glance his way. His legs were alarmingly close to her and for one heart-stopping moment, her gaze stalled on the unmistakable proof of his arousal.

  Goddess.

  She hastily looked away and caught sight of the slave girl who had brought Carys the message standing some distance off, beyond the fountain. A poor chaperone indeed. Yet somehow, the knowledge that she was all but alone with this tough Cambrian warrior didn’t terrify her as she knew it should.

  No. It did not terrify her. But her heart thudded erratically in her breast and she found it hard to draw breath. The heat from his body reached out to her and caressed her naked arms. A foolish thing to imagine and yet why else was her skin prickling in awareness? Why else did fire smolder her blood and cause her face to burn?

  “I was adequately chaperoned on the journey to Britannia. And I’m safe enough under the protection of my father.”

  From the corner of her eye she watched as Gawain—the Cambrian—crouched by her side. He appeared determined to unnerve her. She refused to look him in the eye and focused on a nearby column with feigned fascination.

  “Your father is not here now, my lady.” Was that amusement in his voice? She forgot about keeping her distance and turned to him. His smile faltered for a moment as though something in her expression shocked him, although she couldn’t think what.

  “Do you mean to threaten me with violence now my hostess is gone?” Perhaps she had learned to hide her feelings, but something about this barbarian made it impossible for her to hold her tongue, the way a gently born Roman woman should. Hadn’t her former husband told her that a thousand times in the early days of their marriage? And hadn’t he then qualified his words by reminding her of her inferior heritage?