As Sure as the Dawn(32)

“May I go now, my lord?” she said tautly.

“Not yet.” He began his exercises again, leaving her to stand for several minutes in silence.

She stood rigid, waiting. He took pleasure looking at her and even greater pleasure in her vexation. Let her grind her teeth as she made him do. He let the moment stretch to two, three, four. Then he dropped the beam.

“You may go. But remember this: The next time you wish to speak to me, send Lagos first to ask my permission!”





6


Gallus sent word that Sertes had been sighted coming up the road from Ephesus. Atretes swore under his breath, in no mood to deal with him. He almost told Gallus to refuse him entrance to the villa and then thought better of it. Though he cared nothing about giving offense to Roman officials, he knew instinctively that Sertes was one to handle with great caution.

“Admit him and bring him to the triclinium,” he said, and Gallus departed. “Lagos, bring wine and have the cook prepare food for us.”

“Yes, my lord,” Lagos said. “Is there anything else?”

Atretes frowned, his mind working quickly. He remembered all too clearly the interest Sertes had shown toward Rizpah and the baby during his last visit. “Tell the widow to remain in her chambers. Make sure of it. Lock the door!”

“Yes, my lord.” Lagos hurried off to do his bidding.

“And have Pilia serve us!” Atretes shouted after him. The girl was pretty, perhaps pretty enough to divert Sertes from speculating about Rizpah. He would make sure of it.

Sertes clasped Atretes’ hand in greeting, smiling broadly at the warm welcome, shrewdly aware there was some hidden reason for it. “You are looking well, my friend,” he said, gripping Atretes’ upper arm.

“Sit. Enjoy some wine,” Atretes said, gesturing casually toward one of the comfortable cushioned couches while he reclined on one himself.

“After your last greeting, I expected to be turned away at the gate,” Sertes said, accepting the invitation.

“I thought of it, but you’d only persist.”

“You know me too well.” He smiled. “As I know you, Atretes. After months of seclusion, you must be mad for distraction. Otherwise, you wouldn’t be so amenable.”

Atretes turned a cynical gaze on him. “Perhaps, but I’m not mad enough to return to the arena.”

“A pity,” Sertes sighed, “but I live in hope.” He watched a pretty slave girl enter the room with wine. She served Atretes first. Sertes observed how Atretes’ gaze moved down over the girl’s lush curves in an intimate, almost fond, perusal. What was this? he wondered in annoyance. The girl’s skin took on a rosy hue. She seemed flustered when Atretes smiled at her. “Don’t forget my guest,” he said softly, running his hand down over her hip and patting her bottom lightly.

“I’m sorry, my lord,” she stammered and turned to Sertes.

When she departed, Sertes raised his brow. “A new acquisition?”

“I bought her for Julia.” He grinned roguishly. “She serves me instead.”

Sertes laughed, hiding his displeasure as he sipped his wine. “And what of the pretty widow I saw the last time?”

“Pilia is a better fit,” Atretes said and tried to remember if he’d told Sertes Rizpah was a widow. If he hadn’t, it boded an ill wind that Sertes knew anything about her.

How much more did he know?

Sertes assessed Atretes’ expression. “So you’ve tired of the other already?”

“Her expectations were greater than my intentions.”

“She is very beautiful.”

“Her tongue has the sting of a scorpion.”

“Sell her to me.”

Atretes’ blood went hot. “And waste her on a man who likes fair-skinned women from Britannia?” he said sardonically.

Sertes had seen a flash of fire before Atretes had hidden it. He smiled to himself. Pilia had been a pretty ploy and nothing more. Whatever relationship there had been between Atretes and Rizpah remained. “I can think of a dozen gladiators who would enjoy her company,” he said with a shrug, playing out his game while keeping surreptitious watch on Atretes’ reaction.

“What do you say?” Sertes said, a catlike smile playing on his lips. “Put a price on her.”

The fire within him turned to ice. “Let me think about it,” Atretes said, as though taking Sertes’ offer into consideration. He poured himself more wine. Leaning back, he grinned. “Of course, you’d have to take her squalling brat as well.” He watched Sertes’ eyes carefully and saw them flicker.

Atretes’ mention of the baby startled Sertes. If the child was Atretes’, surely he wouldn’t be so eager to dispose of it? “I forgot she had a baby.”