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  “Do you find my presence threatening, Lady Antonia?” The hint of mockery was back in his voice as though he did not care if she found his attentions a threat. But the oddest thing of all was that, deep in her soul, she didn’t fear that this Cambrian warrior would raise a hand in violence against her.

  It didn’t make sense. She could see his powerful biceps straining against his shirt and his physique put Scipio’s to shame. And yet she had never felt this certain of her safety when in the presence of her former husband.

  “Should I?” The question escaped before she could prevent it. Once again she watched, fascinated, as Gawain’s eyes darkened and this time she made no effort to correct her errant thought.

  His name was Gawain. She could call him that in her mind, if she wished. No one would ever know.

  “I would hope not.” His voice was low, his accent enchanting and an illicit quiver fluttered through her sensitized cleft. Juno. How could the mere sound of his voice do such a thing?

  “Your suppositions are unfounded.” She sounded breathless and there was nothing she could do about it. His dark eyes captivated her, and she could not tear her gaze away. “I do not fear you, Cambrian.”

  Once again he smiled, but this time it was a smile of masculine satisfaction without a trace of his former mockery. Strange little darts of desire attacked low, between her thighs, and disbelief spiked through her as decadent warmth slid sensuously through her damp channel.

  Her fingers twitched as the outrageous notion to push her hand between her thighs and press against her throbbing core fluttered through her distracted mind. Desperately she tried to concentrate on their conversation and not the exquisite sensations cascading through her breast and belly. But the man before her was the cause, and she could not look away.

  “I have no wish for you to fear me, Antonia.” She scarcely registered his lack of deference for her rank as the tip of his finger traced over her wrist. “I would never hurt you.” His finger trailed along the back of her hand, perilously close to where her fingers clutched her gown on her lap.

  Paralyzed, she stared at him and imagined, instead, how it would feel if Gawain slid his hand between her tightly pressed thighs. The thought scorched her senses and another exquisite wave of damp lust teased her swollen folds.

  Did he know the effect he had on her? It was a mortifying thought. She struggled to regain control of her senses, the use of her voice. And only then did the scandalous impropriety of his touch finally occur to her.

  She should pull her hand away. Stand up. Put distance between them. He might be a kin of her hostess, but he had no right to touch her so. No right to cause such shocking sensations to ricochet through her body with little more than a smoldering glance.

  But the shameful truth was, she enjoyed his touch. Even if all it comprised was the tip of one finger tracing across her knuckles. Where, earlier, his lips had also caressed.

  Her lips parted, an involuntary response to her parched lungs. Was this how her former friends had felt when they first encountered a future lover? Could she have been tempted, as a young bride back in Rome, if Gawain had sought her out?

  “I cannot fathom why you feel the need to tell me such a thing.” She pulled her hand free and resisted the temptation to wrap her arms around her waist in a forlorn gesture of self-comfort. It had taken less than a year of marriage for her to recoil from the thought of enduring more sex from a strange man than she had already suffered from her insatiable husband. “Why should I imagine you might wish to hurt me? You don’t even know me.”

  He leaned toward her and a heady essence of wild forests and dangerous passion mingled with the undeniable scent of raw, masculine arousal. He was so close she could see amber flecks in his dark eyes, and the sight transfixed her.

  “Not yet.” His provocative whisper weaved through her mind, his meaning unclear. Not yet? The intensity of his gaze seared her and through the erratic pounding that distorted her reason, she finally grasped his intention.

  Instead of outrage at his presumption, a flicker of excitement danced through her breast. It was insane that this virtual stranger could make her forget the indignities of her marriage bed so easily. But even as she knew she would never succumb to the desire that smoldered through her blood, she acknowledged its heady intoxication.

  Perhaps, if circumstances were different, she might have forsaken her good sense and indulged in an illicit liaison with this Cambrian warrior. Perhaps, in his arms, she might finally lay to rest the unending nightmare of Scipio’s demands.

  How terrifyingly seductive.

  “You presume greatly.” She tore her gaze from his and once again focused, unseeing, on the nearby marble column. That Gawain was practiced in the arts of seduction was clear. That he considered her simply another Roman noblewoman to conquer was also, unfortunately, quite obvious.

  She was too old and world weary to fall for his spurious, honeyed words. But still, knowing all this, she could not deny how much she enjoyed his undivided attention.

  “Would you have me presume otherwise?” Deprived of her hand, his finger trailed a sensuous path along her forearm and she fought the instinctive need to shiver in response. Was he so determined to have her?

  Another thought wormed into her mind. If she wasn’t so afraid of Gawain thinking her as incapable in bed as Scipio had often accused her, would she be so adamant in her refusal to verbally acknowledge his unspoken invitation?

  The truth stung. She would finish this masquerade now and for all time. After all, she was not a neglected Roman matron seeking a thrilling diversion to pass the idle hours. She was, as much as she ever could be, free to make her own path in life. And that life did not include a lover, no matter how tempted she might be.

  She turned to him, haughty words of dismissal ready on her tongue. And instead she was captivated by his long, dark blond hair that was so unlike any Roman man she had ever encountered.

  His face was bronzed from the sun and she guessed he was only a few years older than she. There was a predatory gleam in his eyes and an aura of triumph in the half-smile on his lips, as though he believed her surrender was both inevitable and imminent. His pagan earring, with its indecipherable engravings, sent a delicious, dangerous quiver along her spine, reminding her of just how different their worlds were.

  Her good intentions wavered and indecision simmered as hedonistic possibilities thudded through her mind. Did she dare embark on a fleeting affair? A brief interlude of passion before the next stage of her life began?

  Gawain watched as Antonia’s ice-blue eyes darkened with desire. She hadn’t encouraged his advances in the manner he’d imagined but her continued aloofness had, inexplicably, only increased his determination to have her begging for his touch.

  Except, far from waiting until she came to him, he’d been unable to keep away from her. Even now, his finger continued to caress her silky smooth skin and it took more willpower than he cared to admit not to pull her to her feet and into his arms. And shatter that icy, patrician reserve she wrapped around her like a cloak.

  It appeared she had no intention of answering his last question. Not that he wanted scintillating conversation with her. But Carys would not leave her guest alone for long and he intended to ensure plans for an assignation with this beautiful Roman were in place before she returned.

  “Antonia.” He had never initiated a clandestine meeting with a Roman woman before, but if that was what Antonia wanted then he was willing to unbend that far. She tilted her head and he was momentarily distracted by her perfect ringlet brushing against her slender throat. He would enjoy plunging his fingers through her immaculately styled hair, creating disarray where rigid order reigned supreme. “Antonia.” He said her name again, although he could not imagine why, and the foreign syllables caressed his tongue, his voice husky as vivid images of her pale golden hair, loosened from its torturous confines, cascaded over her naked breasts.

  Her tempting pink lips parted, her breath errat
ic, and her silk-swathed breasts tested his self-control to his outer limits.

  “How thoughtful of you to entertain my guest in my absence, Gawain.” Carys’ voice jarred his brain and he watched Antonia blink in apparent horror that they had been caught in such an intimate encounter. She should be thankful he hadn’t been in the midst of ravishing her lips when Carys returned. Another moment and he wasn’t certain he could have resisted.

  The realization that he might have succumbed to Antonia’s charms without her lifting a finger to encourage him did nothing to dampen his cursed lust but it did manage to blacken his mood. He stood, folded his arms, and then saw Antonia blanch as she caught sight of Carys’ daughter.

  An odd reaction. Did she imagine Carys would hand the babe to her and her pristine gown would become soiled?

  “Antonia, this is my daughter. She’s suffering with her baby teeth.” Carys, besotted with her little princess, appeared unaware of Antonia’s discomfort. For the first time Gawain wondered if she had any children of her own. Not that it made any difference to him. He wasn’t interested in discovering the details of her life. He was only interested in possessing her body.

  “How is my favorite girl?” He stroked the baby’s soft cheek and her smile of delight warmed his heart, as her smile always warmed his heart. It was ironic that the child of a Roman tribune had been the means of reminding him, three moons ago when he had first entered Camulodunon, that he still possessed a heart at all.

  “She is very beautiful.” Antonia’s words sounded perfunctory but he caught a strangely haunted look in her eyes. It reminded him of the look he’d seen earlier when she had turned to him. He’d been taken aback, considering the bantering nature of their conversation, but it had vanished within a moment and he had almost forgotten about it.

  “Yes,” Carys said as she rubbed noses with her child. “The goddess has truly blessed my little Nia.”

  “Nia?” Antonia sounded confused and Gawain told himself he hadn’t noticed the enchanting way she said the name. “Forgive me. Isn’t her name Valera?”

  “Nia is an ancient Celtic name.” He offered her a mirthless grin when she looked his way. And his fucking erection, which had barely diminished at all since Carys had returned, hardened farther at the sight of Antonia’s bemused expression. “She will not be kept in ignorance of her dual heritage.”

  He couldn’t fathom why he threw that in Antonia’s face. She was scarcely responsible for how the old ways were being insidiously eroded by the relentless spread of her empire. But she was responsible for his discomfort and although that was his problem, he was still irked by the fact she appeared utterly unaffected by the lust that steamed between them.

  Except when he touched her. She was far from unaffected then.

  Carys gave an impatient sigh and even though he didn’t bother to glance her way, he knew she was giving him yet another pointed glare.

  “You are correct, Antonia,” Carys said. “Her Roman name is Valera after my husband but we call her Nia Druantia, after my mother and her grandmother’s sister.”

  “You named your daughter after your mother?” Antonia’s eyes widened in clear disbelief. It was obvious such a notion had never crossed her mind before and Gawain smothered an impatient curse. Did no Roman woman possess the imagination to do such a thing? He disregarded the knowledge that no Roman woman possessed the right to do such a thing in the first place.

  “Yes.” There was a hint of defiance in Carys’ voice that he’d come to recognize when she felt threatened. But how could she feel threatened by a woman such as Antonia? He understood Carys’ need for circumspection when she accompanied her tribune into his social sphere. After all, like Gawain she was a Druid and if their secret was discovered crucifixion loomed on their horizon.

  It was the reason he took extra care in his undercover activities. While he might not be concerned on his own behalf he would rather cut his own throat than allow a shadow of suspicion to fall upon little Nia and her mother through their association with him.

  “I very much fear,” Antonia said, and once again she looked perfectly poised and as remote as one of the heathen Roman goddesses, “Rome is not as enlightened in such matters as your esteemed husband appears to be.”

  “Rome,” he couldn’t help himself, “could learn a great deal from the customs of its far-flung primitive provinces.”

  “I’m sure she could.” Although he towered over her, somehow she managed to look down her aristocratic nose at him. He discovered the experience both irritated and aroused in equal measure. “Whether she wishes to is another matter entirely.”

  Her response silenced the caustic rejoinder burning his throat. He had expected her to defend her cursed city, but why had he thought that? He already knew she did not appear to mourn the loss of its glittering lifestyle.

  Carys took instant advantage of his lack of response by handing Nia to Branwen, who had accompanied her into the courtyard, before sitting beside Antonia and engaging her in Rome-inspired conversation.

  There were a multitude of tasks he needed to undertake. There was no reason for him to remain, listening to idle chitchat about a city he had no intention of ever setting foot in. The realization that he had no idea whether or not Antonia planned to follow through on their attraction gnawed his guts. But worse than that was the knowledge that if she didn’t, he most certainly did not intend to let the matter rest.

  Chapter Four

  “I don’t know what you think you were doing, baiting Antonia in that fashion.” Carys gave him a regal glare after her husband and the merchant had finished their business and she returned from bidding her guests farewell. Branwen had taken Nia with her, and they were alone in the courtyard. “She’s not a Roman whore you can bed simply because the urge takes you.”

  He shrugged and prowled the length of the courtyard garden. It wasn’t as regimented as the other Roman courtyards he’d encountered in Britain but it was far too confined for his tastes.

  “You only met the woman this day, Carys. You have no idea what she’s really like.” Except Carys wasn’t the only one who had made such a swift assumption. Despite his low opinion of all things Roman, its women included, he was unable to level such an accusation at Antonia.

  “I know a great deal more than you might imagine.” She sounded the way she had back in Cymru, in the days before the Romans had invaded and all their lives had been turned inside out. “Cerridwen foretold Antonia’s arrival long before the merchant informed Maximus of his daughter’s plans. I won’t have you using her as you might any other Roman woman. Do you understand?”

  For a brief moment, a flare of dark longing seared his chest. Even after everything that had happened since the Romans had invaded, Carys was as intimate with Cerridwen as she had ever been.

  Yet from the moment he had left the sacred Isle of Mon and taken up with the rebels, his own god, Lugus, had been distant and unheeding of Gawain’s worship. Not once had the great god given any indication that Gawain was traveling the right path.

  But in time of war what other path could a warrior follow?

  He pushed his unease to the back of his mind, leaned his forearm against a column and flung Carys a sardonic grin.

  “I understand, princess. But Cerridwen doesn’t dictate earthly pleasure. And I intend to use the Roman in any way I desire. Don’t fool yourself that she’s uninterested. Her arousal scented the air in a most intoxicating manner.”

  Carys frowned. Obviously, that fact had entirely eluded her. Then she shook her head, as if dislodging displeasing thoughts and pressed her hand against his chest.

  “Dear Gawain.” Her voice no longer held her previous note of exasperation. “I don’t want to see you hurt again, that’s all. Antonia is not for you. Please, don’t get involved.”

  He laughed and threaded his fingers through hers. “Why do you imagine taking the Roman will hurt me? It’s only sex I seek with her. Nothing of any importance. Within a turn of the moon or less she will no
longer be even a memory.”

  “Perhaps.” Carys didn’t sound convinced. He couldn’t for the life of him fathom why she thought Antonia possessed the power to hurt him. No woman possessed that power. Not anymore. “But there’s a reason Cerridwen revealed Antonia’s existence to me, Gawain. And it certainly has nothing to do with her father’s wish that I find her another suitable husband.”

  His amusement vanished. “Another suitable husband? How many husbands do Roman noblewomen possess at any one time?”

  Carys pulled free of his hold and shot him a look that suggested she thought he was being deliberately obtuse.

  “The reason she left Rome,” she said, as she began to pull the jeweled pins from her hair to loosen it from the constrictive Roman style, “is because her husband divorced her.”

  Why hadn’t Antonia told him she was divorced? She’d deliberately let him believe she was still married. Why would she do that?

  “All the more reason,” he said, unsure why the fact Antonia hadn’t confided in him irked him so much, “for me to sample her charms before she’s auctioned off to another arse-licking patrician.”

  “If I have anything to do with it,” Carys said, “her next husband will not be an arse-licking anything.”

  He knew that was Carys’ attempt to make him laugh, but he was too fucking irritated. It was bad enough he lusted after Antonia in the first place. But to still want her, after knowing she had deliberately deceived him as to her marital status, was just plain infuriating.

  To compound it all, he couldn’t fathom why the knowledge even gave him pause. It did not matter. It wasn’t her trust he wanted. Just her shrieks of fulfillment as he fucked her senseless.

  And by the gods, he intended to quench this fire that raged through his blood no matter how Carys might disapprove. Antonia would part her thighs, he would have her and then she would be relegated to the back of his mind where all his conquests languished.