The Roman. Caroline Storer

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СКАЧАТЬ slimness of her shoulders, downwards, until they rested on the sides of her ribcage. Slowly, they moved inwards, cupping the fullness of her breasts, and Justina jerked, feeling the sensitive flesh swell, her nipples pebbling with desire as he rubbed them through the thinness of her silk gown. Long suppressed sensations flushed into life, as she gloried in the feel of his hands on her body once more.

      “Marsallas,” she groaned against his lips, wanting so much more.

      “You want me don't you?” he whispered.

      “Yes. Oh yes-”

      Then reality hit her, as the full implication of what she was saying, what she was doing, impinged on her passion soaked mind. And this time it was she who pulled away, and as she stared at him, time seemed suspended as Marsallas watched her, his face giving nothing away.

      She felt shaken to the core by what had just happened, both of them caught up in the past and the present. Then, mercifully, the tension was broken by a loud rap on the door, the noise as loud as a thunder-clap in the stillness of the room.

      Diogenes! Of course! She realised belatedly. Her allotted time with Marsallas was up. The interruption broke the tension between them, and she whispered, “I…I have to go. Quintus-”

      She realised her mistake as soon as she uttered Quintus’s name when his face darkened, and his eyes narrowed into dark slits of anger. Then he turned abruptly, and walked away from her, returning to the table to pour another goblet of wine.

      “Yes. Go now while you can, Justina. I'm sure my uncle has need of you.” The words were hissed past tight lips, before he turned to her once again, his face closed, unreadable.

      Justina said nothing. She wanted to run over to him, beg his forgiveness, and explain everything.

      But she didn’t.

      Instead she turned, and wrenched open the door, leaving the room with as much dignity as she could, holding back the tears that threatened to fall.

      It was only when she heard a loud smash come from Marsallas’s quarters that her step faltered. Marsallas must have thrown his wine goblet on the floor in anger or frustration – or both …

      * * *

      Marsallas tapped the table with his index finger, looking up with bloodshot eyes to where Fabius sat opposite him.

      Fabius raised his eyebrows, but said nothing. Doing as Marsallas asked, he refilled his goblet with wine once more.

      “You have three races tomorrow, Marsallas. Is it wise to get so drunk?”

      Marsallas pulled a wry smile, and looked up at his friend, “Are you my mother now, Fabius?” he asked, his words slurred, and not waiting for an answer he lifted the goblet and drowned the contents in one giant gulp.

      “No, not your mother,” laughed Fabius, “But maybe your conscience. You, my friend, are going to have a mighty sore head in the morning.” And this time, without being asked, Fabius filled the goblet once more.

      But instead of drinking the wine, Marsallas merely stared down at the rich liquid, his mouth twisting, his mind racing. A long silence fell between the two men, both of them lost in their own thoughts until Marsallas broke it by muttering, “She is as slim and beautiful as I remember. It would have been something if she had gone to fat!”

      Marsallas looked up at Fabius, seeing the slight smile on the younger man's face. He grunted slightly, his own mouth twisting into a smile of sorts. “I’ve said that before haven’t I?”

      “Aye. A few times this evening.”

      Then as quickly as it came, Marsallas’s smile vanished. “I wanted to hate her, Fabius. But instead I kissed her,” he said, his voice thick with emotion. He saw Fabius’s eyebrows shoot up in surprise at his words. “See, I have shocked you now, eh?”

      Fabius nodded, before he leaned forward, “She told me she is staying at the inn near the Forum. She leaves tomorrow, after the Fifth Hour.”

      Marsallas assimilated that bit of news without responding, and another silence fell between them, both of them oblivious to the raucous laughter behind them as they sat at their table in the drinking den.

      “Was she your lover, Marsallas? In…in Herculaneum? Is that why she came here to see you?” Fabius finally asked, several minutes later.

      For several long seconds Marsallas said nothing. He desperately wanted to say “yes” to Fabius. To tell him that Justina had once been his lover in the true sense of the word. But that would be a lie. All he’d had ever done was kiss her, caress her, nothing more.

      He lifted his head, eventually meeting Fabius’s curious gaze. “You couldn’t be further from the truth if you tried, my friend. Justina was never my lover. She’s my uncle’s mistress!”

       CHAPTER TWO

      Justina looked out of the window, and stared down into the crowded Forum for what must have been the hundredth time. Patricians, plebeians, merchants and slaves all going about their daily business, totally oblivious to the woman who watched them all with anxious eyes.

      Would he come? The time was approaching for her and Diogenes to leave, but she wanted to wait until the last possible moment before she returned to Herculaneum, just in case he turned up.

      She worried her bottom lip with small white teeth, thinking about their meeting yesterday. He had looked at her with such hatred, but then he had kissed her with such passion, and then such tenderness, that she had been overwhelmed. And when the kiss had ended, and she'd left his quarters, frustration had eaten away at her, for failing to explain anything to him. But then what had she expected? It was obvious that he still loathed the very sight of her after all these years.

      Justina sighed, and moved away from the window back to the bed. She finished packing the small amount of clothes she had brought with her, the chore taking her mind off the long journey ahead of her, and the conversation she would be required to have with Quintus. She dreaded what his reaction would be, once she told him that she had failed to persuade Marsallas to return. And even though she knew he would be too weak to retaliate, Quintus still managed to cause her stomach to clench in fear. And, of course, he still had Secundus to do his bidding…

      Just thinking of Quintus’s cruel, and hated, overseer caused her to shiver in repulsion. Secundus acted as Quintus's right hand man, effectively running the villa, and had done so ever since Quintus’s gradual decline in health several years ago meant he couldn't control his slaves - and her - as he used too. But Secundus was even crueller than Quintus if that were possible, and he meted out such horrific punishments on any of the slaves that incurred his wrath, that even Quintus, had on occasions, had to intervene and tell him to stop, such were the extent of their injuries.

      He’d also been her nemesis these past two years, ever since he had arrived at the villa. He watched her every movement, his snake-like eyes missing nothing as they stripped her body bare, and he always seemed to be near her, waiting for any excuse to touch her. It had become so unbearable at times that she had even been forced to inform Quintus. Thankfully, Quintus had warned him off, and the touching had stopped for a while, but then slowly, insidiously, СКАЧАТЬ