The Roman’s Revenge. Caroline Storer
Чтение книги онлайн.
Читать онлайн книгу The Roman’s Revenge - Caroline Storer страница 4
Название: The Roman’s Revenge
Автор: Caroline Storer
Издательство: HarperCollins
Жанр: Историческая литература
isbn: 9780007568864
isbn:
No definitely not a slave. She didn’t even think he was liberti either. Again a freedman wouldn’t have been as bold as he’d been, she was sure of that. That only left merchant or sailor. She favoured sailor, as his threadbare tunic and powerful body were evidence of a life of hard work, whereas merchants tended to be rich older men, content to let others do the hard work.
Livia shivered as she remembered the few brief moments their eyes had met, and the words he’d spoken to her. His voice had been a low husky rasp which had sent tremors of desire through her. She had never felt such an attraction to a man before. It had been visceral and instantaneous and she had been acutely aware of the height and power of his body.
And although he was big, he carried muscle rather than excess flesh, and he carried it well.
Very well indeed. She could see the many hours spent working on the ship had honed his body to the peak of physical perfection, if the width of his shoulders were anything to go by. His skin was a deep golden bronze, testimony to his work outside. His hair, a deep dark brown, almost black like a raven’s wing, had lifted with the breeze which blew in off the sea, and Livia had wanted nothing more than to run her fingers through it and feel the strength of him as she pulled him into her arms…
She had to acknowledge he was one of the most physically perfect specimens of manhood she’d ever seen. He even rivalled the gladiators she had seen perform in Rome’s arenas.
Mesmerised by his physical beauty, her eyes had been drawn to the one thing that marred his perfection – a scar which ran across his left cheek up into the hairline of his dark brown hair. But even the scar didn’t detract from the handsomeness of his face, rather it added to it, giving him a hardened, tough look which made her heart beat faster. Temptation had clawed at her, a powerful urge, that made her want to step forward and reach out her hand to stroke the hard planes of his face, to feel the strength of his body for herself.
But she hadn’t of course. Dutiful daughters, and half-sisters, of one of Rome’s most powerful families didn’t do rebellious things like that. To do so would be to ruin her, and her family’s reputations. And the reputation, and standing of the Drusii amongst Rome’s elite, was the one thing which had been drummed into Livia from the moment she had been born.
So she shook her fanciful thoughts away. Thinking about handsome men, and how their bodies would feel against hers as they kissed her, was the thinking of young, foolish girls. And Livia was anything but foolish. Livia was practical, and dutiful, which was why she was on-board this ship, and on her way to marry someone she detested.
But for a moment she could dream couldn’t she?
The door to her cabin flew open with such a loud crash as it slammed against the wooden wall, it caused Livia to jump in shock. Trembling with fear, she lowered her hands; hands which had been clamped over her ears in the vain hope of drowning out the noise of the storm that had been raging for hours now, and the even more pitiful screams of the slaves trapped in the galley below.
She was about to get up from where she had sat huddled on her bunk to close the door, when eyes widened, and her breath hitched in something approaching fear, as she met the shadowed silhouette of the mocking stranger she had seen on her first day on board the ship three days ago.
Only this time, there was no trace of mockery on his partially shadowed face as he stood there.
Water streamed down his face, and his wet hair was plastered to his skull. His jaw was clenched so tightly, Livia could see a nerve pulsing there. His muscular chest rose and fell with exertion, the force of the storm raging outside obviously so fierce, he’d used every ounce of his strength to make his way to her cabin.
Once again Livia’s impression of him was of raw hard power, all broad shoulders and bulging biceps. His soaking wet tunic clung and moulded every muscle and sinew of his massive body, and she could even see the delineations of the slabs of hard muscle of his stomach through the thin material. Instantly she became aware of his potent masculinity.
As he stood silhouetted in the doorway of her cabin, filling the space with his height and breadth, Livia stared at him, unable to break eye contact, as if she were some small forest animal awaiting its fate at the hands of a much larger beast. She stiffened when he stepped into the cabin, his bulk shrinking the space with the full force of his presence.
Finally, she was able to see his eyes for the first time as he stepped in from the relative darkness behind him, and Livia couldn’t stop the tremor that shook her when she met his piercing gaze. A gaze, she noticed, which bored into hers with no emotion whatsoever evident in their grey depths.
His face was an inscrutable mask, and she realised with a jolt, he seemed to be fighting his own internal battle, as if he were somehow questioning his own reasoning as to why he was here in her cabin.
“Come with me. It is your only chance of staying alive,” he finally said, his voice rough as he stepped further into the cabin. He held his hand out towards her, the gesture forceful, demanding her attention, his open palm commanding a response from her.
Livia hesitated, unsure what to do as she weighed up his words. Her reluctance to go with him must have annoyed him, because she saw his lips flatten in irritation, and anger blazed in his grey eyes at her perceived resistance.
“If you do not come with me you will drown. Now give me your hand. Up on deck you will have a far better chance of survival.”
“But what about Magia? I…I can’t leave without Magia,” Livia pleaded, her eyes going to where her tire-woman lay comatose on the other bunk.
She saw him frown, before he looked away from her to where the old woman lay on her bunk bed.
“What ails her?” He demanded, his words clipped, harsh.
“She has been suffering with the sea sickness. She has been so very ill and I have been looking after her. When…when the storm started she fainted and I cannot rouse her.”
The man’s frown deepened, and the nerve twitching along his jaw line pulsed harder as he gritted his jaw, making the scar on his left cheek stand out even more before his eyes once more impaled hers. “I can’t take you both,” he bit out, “I need all my strength to fight the storm.”
“But I can’t leave without her! Please, I beg you. Help her,” Livia pleaded. She couldn’t leave Magia. The poor woman had been petrified from the first moment she had set foot on the trireme, and had been a virtual recluse in their cabin ever since. And if that wasn’t bad enough, she had suffered from such terrible sea sickness Livia had spent the whole time on board the ship tending to her. She couldn’t leave her; her conscience just wouldn’t let her.
The man stood staring down at her, before he nodded abruptly, “Come up on deck with me first, and I will return for her,” he said, his voice demanding, as he stared at her with a dark brooding look on his face.
Livia looked up into his harsh face for a long moment. Realising she had to trust him to return for Magia, she nodded in acquiescence and uncurled her body. As she stood up, she placed her left hand on the cabin wall to steady herself. The ship was rolling so much, she was in serious СКАЧАТЬ