He met her gaze for a moment, then his eyes slid to focus on something behind her. His jaw clenched in a mulish expression. “No.”
Frustration rose in her chest, a hot, prickly tide. “Don’t lie to me, Marcus.”
He narrowed his eyes. “Are you accusing me of something?”
“You took that money. I don’t know why, as your allowance is more than generous, but—”
“Search me, then.” He waved an arm around the room. “If you think I’ve taken it, then surely you’ll find it here.”
She doubted that was true, as she would bet double the amount he’d taken that he’d spent it already. “Consider this a warning. If I notice anything else missing, I’ll dock your allowance by that amount.”
He shrugged again, an affectation of nonchalance.
Lucretia left the room, closing the door behind her. She crossed through the atrium, taking deep breaths in an attempt to ease the powerless frustration clogging her throat. Lately, talking to Marcus felt more like negotiating with a recalcitrant supplier than interacting with her son.
She paused in front of the ancestral shrine at the side of the atrium. Here, a collection of death masks were mounted on plinths, allowing the ancestors of the Cornelius family to keep watch over their descendants. The most recent death mask was her husband’s. She gazed at his face, remembering a simpler time when they had been a happy family of three. When Cornelius was on a sea voyage, she used to take Marcus to theharbor to watch the ships coming in and out. He would crow with delight every time he spotted a new set of sails, asking eagerly if Papa was on that ship. The game never got old, even when Cornelius was gone for weeks at a time.
Those homecomings had been the best. Even now, she could feel the tight clasp of her husband’s arms around her as he stepped onto the dock, could recall Marcus jumping up and down with excitement as Cornelius showed them the treasures he’d brought back from Syracuse or New Carthage or Melita.
Their marriage seemed strongest when they missed each other. After the joy of each homecoming faded, their interactions would inevitably turn stiff and uncertain, cordial rather than tender. But there was always another voyage on the horizon, and another joyous return.
Then, a year ago, Cornelius and his ship had not returned. Eventually, she’d received word of the shipwreck, the entire crew lost in an unlucky storm. After his death, Lucretia had not been able to set foot within sight of the harbor, the memories too raw and painful. But, as she became determined to keep his business running, she forced herself to, in order to inspect her ships and speak with her captains.
Now, she laid a hand gently atop Cornelius’s mask. She sent up a silent prayer that he would watch over Marcus, impart some of his steadiness and maturity to their son.
But she felt no answering spark, no sense that Cornelius was listening. She withdrew her hand with a sigh. Perhaps his message was clear. Lucretia would have to deal with their son on her own.
Chapter 3
Lucretia muttered a curse as she gazed down at the two letters that had come for her. She was in her study at home, where she sometimes attended to matters in the morning before heading to her office in the Square of the Guilds. Since the room opened onto the sunlit atrium, her study at home had better light than her office, though it too was packed with boxes of records and correspondence.
Felix had been busy in the few days since she had refused his proposal. One of her investors now requested to liquidate his shares, and another had informed her he was selling his holdings in her business to another individual.
She had no doubt about who that other individual might be.
Felix was trying to pick off her investors one by one, either buying their shares outright or convincing them to liquidate. Luckily, these two held only minor stakes, so it wouldn’t cause an immediate problem. But if it continued, things became far less certain.
Her fists clenched at his audacity. He was trying to destabilize her, to steal her business out from beneath her very feet.
She needed to get ahead of him.
Her largest investor, a friend of her husband’s named Publius Calpurnius Lentulus, held nearly a one-third stake in her business. If Felix got to Lentulus, that would create serious problems. She needed to make sure that didn’t happen.
Lucretia donned a palla to cover her hair, then made her way into the streets. She walked the few blocks to Lentulus’s house, where she was swiftly admitted into the atrium. Helvetia, Lentulus’s wife, collected antique pottery and proudly displayed her most ostentatious pieces on plinths around the atrium. As Lucretia waited, she surveyed the closest one, a large water jug featuring a trio of libidinous satyrs.
Helvetia greeted her a few moments later. “Lucretia! How lovely to see you.” Helvetia kissed her on both cheeks. She was a kind woman about ten years older than Lucretia’s thirty-four years, with warm brown eyes and the beginnings of smile lines around her mouth.
Lucretia returned the greeting. “I hoped I might find Lentulus at home?”
“He is.” Helvetia raised her voice to a pitch that made Lucretia wince. “Husband!”
The man poked his head out from the doorway to his study, a room off the atrium. “What is it? Oh, Lucretia.” He emerged fully, joining them in the atrium. Lentulus was about fifty, a few years older than Cornelius had been, and his dark hair was now streaked with gray. He bent to kiss Lucretia’s cheek. “Were we expecting you?”
“No,” Lucretia said. “I’m sorry for the intrusion. I merely had a quick business matter to discuss.”
Helvetia bowed her head with a smile. “Sounds extremely dull, so I will leave you to it.” She left the atrium.
Lentulus conducted her to his study, where Lucretia sat opposite his desk.
