Suddenly, as the door swung silently open on its well-greased hinges, a fish hook tangled deep inside her and began to pull. Damn his eyes, why couldn't Orbilio be married, bald, fat or ugly, why did he have to have a twinkle in his eye? Bloody unfair that the Fates had bestowed on him an easy lope and that sceptical, lop-sided grin, because sometimes, when she couldn't sleep at night or when her mind drifted at the baths, Claudia would find herself musing on what it would be like, his lips on hers, his strong hands exploring nooks and crannies — although equally quickly she'd snap out of it. He was patrician, rich and clever, with integrity all but tattooed on his cheekbones. She came from an altogether different class and walked a tightrope between what was legal (very little) and what was not.
And as any rope walker will tell you, the last thing they need is some berk yanking on the balance pole, no matter how tall and wavy-haired and rugged!
Besides. Any lustful feelings were on her side only. He'd never even made a move, in all the months she'd known him, in all the adventures they had shared together.
His sights were on the Senate, not her bed!
In the shadows she noticed a small shape, dark and shifting. It slithered forward. Bending down, she scooped it up and thrust it in to Flea's disbelieving arms.
And as Claudia Seferius swept into Orbilio's lofty vestibule, she couldn't help wondering what propitiation the gods of this magnificent cedarwood threshold demanded.
She had a feeling it would be one colossal slice of humble pie!
Chapter Eleven
Marcus Cornelius Orbilio did not need the soldier stationed in his porch to tell him who had taken a fancy to wrenching his front-door knocker from its gleaming silver hinge. Only one woman in the whole of Rome possessed passion on that scale! Any other time and his heart would have lifted, but today, he realised, the gods had answered his prayers. Every bloody one.
He had prayed for a reason to be taken off the Roll of Honour.
He had prayed for a juicy murder case.
He had prayed for the ensuing scandal to be attached to a high-profile family.
He had prayed that one day Claudia Seferius would come to him and not the other way round…
Pinching the bridge of his nose, Orbilio recalled the old Corinthian proverb: Be careful what you wish for, it may yet come true. Remus, his head ached so abominably, otherwise he'd remember the name of the nymph who had, in return for a favour, asked the gods for immortality and, because she beseeched them so pityingly, had had her wish granted. Only later, of course, did she come to realise that what she should have sought was perpetual youth, because as the years passed she grew ever older, ever more shrivelled, her body bent and wasting away, but with no chance of her misery ending. Orbilio knew how she felt.
'Present for you!'
A black squirming object was suddenly stuffed in to his arms, although Claudia seemed to be experiencing a certain difficulty owing to the fact that there was a young woman manacled to one of her wrists. Orbilio felt the room — indeed his whole world — spin.
'His name is Doodlebug and he's a pedigree thingamijig, fully house-trained, of course. Now say thank you.'
'Er…'
'My pleasure, Marcus. What are friends for.'
'You… bought him? For me?' The day Claudia Seferius gave him presents was the day Hades put up a sign advertising day trips! Besides. There was something vaguely familiar about those big, amber eyes and the even bigger nose which pressed its icy wetness into the crook of his elbow then promptly fell asleep.
'A breeder on the Aventine,' she said breezily. 'Sound chap. Supplies guard dogs to the rich and famous. Now, while I'm here-'
Guard dogs! A shiver ran down his spine. No wonder the puppy looked familiar. That slavering monster three doors up had recently birthed a litter and as Orbilio tenderly stroked the solid rolls of fat, the bare pink podge of stomach, his ears remained pricked for the sound of Momma's claws skidding across the mosaic demanding her runaway babe's return. With his spare hand Orbilio protected his jugular vein.
'I need some advice,' Claudia was saying.
'You need a key.' He indicated the iron shackles linking the two women together.
'No, I don't. And for gods' sake, Orbilio, what's the matter with you? You keep twitching your neck. Do you have a sore throat?'
'Not yet.' For a small pup, Son of Disemboweller seemed extraordinarily heavy, but as Marcus lowered his arm, the look of censure from the two young women immobilised him faster than the Gorgon's glare. Marcus felt sure the gods were laughing.
'My problem,' Claudia began, 'is-'
'How long have you been into S and M?'
'Marcus Cornelius, will you please pay attention!'
'What does he mean, S and M?' It was the first time the chainlink had spoken. Until now, her eyes had been sweeping round Orbilio's atrium, and he had a feeling they had priced every item they landed on.
'Ignore him,' Claudia snapped. 'He's having a cheap dig at your cropped hair, the gangly gait and your obvious quarrel with that frock.'
'What?' Animal eyes burned into Marcus. 'Are you suggesting I'm some sort of pervert, mate?'
'Lesbians aren't perverts,' he corrected her, but the creature was taking no prisoners.
'Listen, I ain't here because I like it!' She jangled the chain at her wrist.
'I'm prepared to swap places,' Marcus offered generously, ignoring the twin fireballs which shot from Claudia's eyes.
'I'm here, coz she — ' the girl's head jerked at Claudia — 'is trying to pin that sodding kidnap on yours truly and I ain't having it!'
'Kidnap?' Such were the Shockwaves down Marcus's arm that the jerk woke the pup, who promptly relieved himself down his richly embroidered, lushly dyed, fine patrician tunic. 'And who might you be?' he asked, setting Doodlebug down and mopping his tunic.
'Flea, and I'm innocent, I tell ya. Get her to cut me loose.'
Huge amber eyes rolled up from the mosaic. Did she say, fleas? As a measure of his anxiety, the puppy deposited a more solid little mess and Orbilio wondered how much more Jupiter could pack into the space of one small day.
'Orbilio.' Claudia reached into her robe and drew out a key. In one fluid movement, the manacles were off her wrist and Flea found herself chained instead to the leg of a wrought-iron bench. Claudia's tone softened, became silky. 'Marcus.'
'What do you want?'
Claudia glided into the courtyard, where Flea's howls of protest couldn't carry. Here the sticky breeze was blocked out by high walls redolent with the smell of the climbing roses and sweet briar which scrambled over them and the blue glazed pots of heliotrope, night stocks, oregano and dill dotted beneath them.
'Tut, tut, you men, you're always in such a rush.' She positioned herself on a white marble bench beneath the statue of Venus and patted the empty space beside her. 'Why don't you pour us a nice glass of wine?
He closed his eyes, to try and shut out the curls piled high on top of her head (apart from three, which had tumbled loose over her left ear). He tried to ignore the gown which hugged the fullness of her breasts, showed the fierce points of her nipples and revealed hints of sun-bronzed cleavage in the breeze. He resisted the urge to inhale the spicy perfume which trailed around her, or hook those ringlets in his little finger and return them to their rightful mooring posts.
'Claudia, this is not a convenient time.' His eyes rested on the legionary standing in the shadows. 'What is it you want?'