Tainted (3 page)

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 supposed 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?

“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 erratic, 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.