That man was Gnaeus Cornelius, proprietor of a prominent shipping business here in Ostia. If Felix hoped to ever achieve unquestioned dominion over commerce in Ostia, Cornelius would have to fall.
And this woman—the only one to ever catch Felix’s attention in this way—was his wife.
He appraised the way Lucretia and her husband interacted as the conversation took place around them. When she spoke, Cornelius angled his head toward her with a deferential nod, prompting the rest of the men to listen to her. But the hand he’dplaced on her back had fallen after only a moment, and they stood next to each other without touching.
Felix detected affection and mutual respect borne of a years-long marriage, but no great passion or adoration.
Well, that was nothing surprising. It was like that with most married couples of his acquaintance—except his mother and stepfather, who still behaved with stomach-turning ardor after nearly fifteen years of marriage. But their marriage was the exception, Felix gathered, and he had little desire to entangle himself in matrimony to a woman he would come to only tolerate. Maybe, if he ever met another woman who stirred the feelings Lucretia had, who made him forget his surroundings and stumble over his words…maybe then he’d consider marriage.
Felix kept his distance at that first dinner party. The social scene in Ostia was not large, so he saw Lucretia again, with and without her husband.
Both she and Cornelius were universally well-liked, though while Cornelius was more reserved, Lucretia was open and generous with her laughter and smiles. Any time there was a new guest at one of these parties, Lucretia never failed to figure out a way to draw them into the conversation, make them feel included. She was witty without being cruel, friendly without being simpering.
He realized that was exactly what she’d been doing when she approached him at that first party. She’d noticed him standing off to the side, not speaking to anyone, so she’d engaged him. A kind, welcoming thing to do. He’d been too stupefied with desire at the time to recognize it. Now every time he saw her doing thesame thing to another newcomer, a spike of jealousy twisted in his chest.
He expected his interest in her to fade over time, but each time he saw her, he still had that disconcerting reaction to her presence. They occasionally exchanged words, never anything more than small talk, but he found himself always managing to position himself within earshot of her at the dinner table. He struggled to take his eyes off of her face, always laughing and animated, and more often than not his food grew cold on his plate as he drank in the sight of her.
It was just an infatuation. Perhaps he was overdue for one, as he’d never experienced this before. But it was damned inconvenient. How could he make conversation about the price of olive oil and the cost to ship it from Greece to Egypt when Lucretia was in his line of sight, nibbling a slice of fruit or chuckling at someone else’s joke?
He should simply distance himself from her: stop attending the same parties, or at the very least stop sitting within view of her. But that was easier said than done.
“Hello, Felix,” she greeted him, smiling, at a dinner party about three months into their acquaintance. “Are you settling in well to Ostia?” They were in the atrium of their host’s house, as guests were still arriving, milling around before the formal meal began.
He returned the smile, though the expression felt awkward on his face, like an ill-fitting pair of sandals. “The sea air is a vast improvement.”
“My husband finds it so invigorating he spends every other month at sea,” she replied, an acknowledgement that Cornelius was absent that evening. “Perhaps you should try it.” A teasing lilt entered her voice.
Was she criticizing him for not joining his ship captains on voyages to other ports? “I trust my captains.”
Her eyebrows drew together. “As does Cornelius.” Her voice lost its softness.
He realized she thought he was disparaging Cornelius’s management of his business. “I only meant—I’m sure you wish he did not spend so much time away.” He cursed his idiocy. He had not meant to spend their first real conversation in months talking about her husband and how much she must miss him.
She gave a graceful shrug. “My son Marcus keeps me more than busy when his father is away.”
So was that an admission that shedidn’tpine for her husband? “You must be lonely often.”
“I could say the same of you. You live alone, do you not? Are you lonely, Felix?”
That question had never occurred to him. “I—well—” He didn’t know the answer to her question, but as he stammered, a wild impulse seized him. Maybe there was one way to fix this inconvenient attraction. Surely, if he were to bed her—the thought alone sent a flare of heat through him—he would no longer be so enraptured by her. A married woman who’d already given her husband a son, and whose husband was often away for weeks or months at a time, might easily welcome the attentions of another.
The idea seemed rational and insane at the same time.
“If I was lonely,” he said, the words spilling from his mouth like grain from a split-open sack, “would you permit me to pay you a visit, when your husband is away?”
Felix had never attempted to seduce a woman before, and he instantly realized he’d made a misstep.
Her full lips parted for a moment in the barest flicker of surprise, before a cool mantle of politeness blanketed her. “I have found that I am quite capable of entertaining myself. But—” She put a hand on his shoulder and spun him around.
Her touch made his heart race, and he fought to concentrate on what she was saying.
“That lady over there…” She nudged him toward a dark-haired woman wearing a pair of heavy emerald earrings. “…is generally welcoming of visitors, as I understand.” She gave him a formal nod, then slipped away to join another conversation.
Felix stared after her. Embarrassment crawled up his skin, and he wished the stone floor of the dining room would open up and swallow him down to the underworld.
The rational part of his brain insisted there was nothing to be embarrassed about. He’d never felt embarrassed after a business proposition being refused, and surely this wasn’t much different.
But the creeping discomfiture remained. He gave himself a shudder, attempting to shake it off, and released a long breath. He could already think of a dozen ways he might have approached the matter differently.Anythingwould have been better than what he’d just done—baldly asking her if she’d sleep with him after never sharing more than small talk with her.
