Conquered And Seduced. Lyn Randal
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His love had not been shallow or self-serving. At the time, he’d believed it strong enough to withstand a lifetime of challenges, changes, joys and griefs.
But deep hurt seared emotion like a heated brand seared nerves and flesh, and so it had been for him. He was no longer angry. He didn’t want to retaliate or hurt Severina in return.
He’d like to say that he felt nothing, but that wasn’t true. He felt sadness. A lingering, bittersweet melancholy, as when summer gave way to autumn or a brave adversary fell in battle.
Yes, he felt sadness. Even in his dreams, he sometimes still mourned Severina’s loss.
Surprisingly, he’d dreamed of her often in recent weeks, usually following an evening in another woman’s company. That had startled him, made him uneasy, pierced him with guilt.
Until he admitted the truth. His desire for Severina still lived, perhaps the one emotion untouched by everything painful between them.
The lust didn’t actually surprise him. In another time, lust had been his most practised, most cherished sin.
To think of Severina without desire was impossible. He’d loved her and he’d wanted her. The two emotions had naturally gone together. He hadn’t consummated the desire for reasons he deemed important at the time, but the urge had been intense just the same.
Now maybe love had died, but the lust remained, as strong and pure as ever, mocking him with what he’d never taken, tormenting him with questions he couldn’t answer. What would it have been like to sheath himself in Severina? What was her most intimate smell…her taste? How would she have sounded at the pinnacle of passion, her cries mingling with his own rasping breath?
If he married her, he might yet know those answers. But lust by itself wasn’t a good reason to marry someone.
As for himself, he was now thirty years old. It was time he settled down, became domestic, sired children. But even now he couldn’t imagine himself in such a life with anyone but Severina.
He’d prefer that his wife love him, but marriage without love happened all the time to men of his class. His father, bearing down on him with all the authority of the pater familias, had mentioned several times the possibility of an arranged marriage in Lucan’s near future.
By marrying Severina, perhaps he’d satisfy everyone. He’d make his parents happy with heirs to secure his family’s holdings. He’d have a wife of his own choosing.
All afternoon long he waited for the cool of evening to descend on the bustling city, deep thoughts churning within him. At long length the disquiet abated; resignation took over.
He could do it.
He could take Severina’s hand and pledge a lifetime of fidelity and kindness. He needed heirs. She needed her business. It was the only way.
But would she agree?
He’d have to put the facts plainly before her. Marriage was the most certain way to protect her claim. No man—not the censor, not even the Emperor himself—could debate Lucan’s ownership then. Roman law made the husband responsible for all: wife, children, property. He’d be undisputed lord and master in the eyes of any jury who judged.
Lord and master.
Those words rang hollow, though, when he thought of Severina. She wasn’t docile. She was stubborn and intelligent, no man’s lapdog. She’d be led only if she chose to be led, and about that Lucan had no illusions.
Independence was important to her. She held on to it as to a lifeline. She’d refused to give it up even for love, and he’d never been sure why.
His first proposal of marriage had ended their relationship.
He still wondered at her reasons, and he still had no answers.
Too late now. The past was done, water under a bridge and gone on to the sea, but he’d learned from his mistakes.
He’d be far more careful with Severina this time around. He’d not make any outright assault on her cherished independence. He’d let the idea of marriage sink in slowly, a sneak-thief who captured her inch by inch.
And he’d be far more careful with his own heart. He’d wed her, but he’d not be twice the fool.
Chapter Four
He had three weeks. The date of the hearing had already been set. Only three weeks.
Lucan tried to avoid feeling urgency as he made his way through the darkness to Severina’s inn, but that deadline sounded a subliminal, ominous note through his every thought.
Or maybe it was the wine. He’d had several large goblets. He wasn’t drunk, but he was definitely feeling the effects of the alcohol.
Maybe he shouldn’t be trying to think through his situation while in this unsteady state, but he’d decided on a plan of action. It was unusual, as daring as some of the cavalry manoeuvres for which he and Donatus had been known. Simple. Decisive. A punitive strike at the enemy censor while capturing the female prize so dearly held and closely guarded.
The thought of it made Lucan’s pulse quicken. He liked a challenge. He thrived on momentum—life or death, winner takes all.
He could win the inn for Severina, and Severina for himself. He would exploit his strengths.
It wasn’t vanity to acknowledge that he knew how to use his good looks and charm to woo her. It was the simple truth. Other men teased him about his skill with women. Some openly envied what Lucan merely accepted. To captivate females came easily to him. With little or no effort on his part, women of all ages watched him, smiled at him, gravitated towards him. Some immediately offered themselves. Those who didn’t could usually be persuaded. His was a magnetic, almost bewitching power.
He’d not always used it responsibly, but he’d always used it well. And if he’d been selfish, well…he’d also left a satisfied woman behind when the tide of passion receded.
The only woman with whom he’d shown any noble restraint had been Severina. By the time he met her, his Christian faith had changed him. Severina would be his chosen mate for life, not a plaything for a season. But the result hadn’t been satisfactory.
So now he’d resort to the tried and true. For him, it would be familiar ground; for Severina, it would be a surprise attack at night. Uncharted territory.
Lucan smiled into the darkness as he made his way through the almost-empty streets towards Severina’s neighbourhood. She’d long ago given him his own key to the building, and now he wanted to talk to her.
He’d wake her if she slept. To find her groggy with sleep and unguarded might suit nicely, and he was surprisingly eager to begin the game. The thought stirred his blood. Even addled as he was, he didn’t doubt he could hold his own.
What small sound alerted her, Severina wasn’t sure. She’d been dozing lightly, caught in sleep somewhere between the anxieties of her day and the desperate need to rest. But the moment she awoke, she knew something was wrong.
The house was quiet in an odd, abnormal way, all except for the fountain in the colonnaded atrium. It sang softly as always, its stone-faced Grecian woman pouring water from an amphora in an eternal attempt to fill the larger pool.
Severina lay still, listening intently. Did she imagine stealthy movements? Deliberate footsteps? Should she scream and wake her slaves? Should she hide?
Her heart pounded. She seemed unable to breathe. In the void of air, she heard a noise. The bump of a leather shoe against a table leg, followed by muffled sound as the intruder bit back a curse.
A stranger was in her home, not far from her bedroom. Anger surged through her, accompanied by a strong impulse to act. It occurred to her that this intrusion might be related to the censor’s visit. Somebody somewhere wanted this inn badly enough to frighten her. Or worse.
The