The Gladiator's Mistress (Champions of Rome) (20 page)

“Shall we walk in the garden while there is still some light?” Paullus asked.

Phaedra guided Paullus to the garden. A few other people milled about, enjoying the cool breath of evening. They nodded to each other in passing. Near a statue of Daphne, caught in the moment when flesh turned to wood, the older man paused. Phaedra settled down on a nearby marble bench. “You wish to make a wager,” he said. “I know how crude it is for the aristocracy to speak of such things, but I assure you I can handle the details with the greatest discretion.”

Phaedra never wagered, had not even when she was married to Marcus and had a vast fortune to command. She started to correct Paullus’s mistake, but stopped before she spoke.

She could place a bet. By placing a wager on Valens, she demonstrated a belief in his winning. Like Fortunada, Phaedra had no coin. Perhaps she could persuade her father to place the wager. No, she wanted to personally bet on her lover.

“The necklace you wear must be worth a quarter of a million sesterces,” said Paullus.

Phaedra touched the emerald that hung round her neck. The skin under the jewel tingled. “Explain to me how this works.”

Paullus stood taller. “You entrust me with what you wish to wager, say, your necklace. I have a jeweler with whom I work. I sell the necklace to him, on your behalf, and then take the coin paid and place a wager. I take care of all the details, and no one need ever know of your involvement.”

“If I bet this necklace on Valens winning all of his matches and he won, how much coin would I receive?”

Paullus paused and mumbled to himself for a moment. “More than thirty-seven million sesterces. Call it thirty-four million after my commission for arranging your wager.”

Thirty-four million sesterces.
The possibility left her dizzy with possibilities. She would never have to worry about money again. True, it was less than Acestes had by tenfold, but it was more than she needed. She reached behind her neck and loosened the clasp. “Bet this on Valens winning all of his games.”

“My lady, you understand that no one thinks he can win them all. That is why the odds are so high. He is expected to win his first match. The odds are three to two. You would still make one hundred and twenty-five thousand sesterces after you bought your necklace back. Not a bad investment.”

She believed in Valens and his invincibility, because to do anything else was to accept his death. “Take it.” She held out the necklace and wondered what Acestes would say when he noticed its absence. Yet if she won, then Phaedra need never care what Acestes thought or noticed again. “I am not very fond of this piece of jewelry.”

Paullus took the necklace and slipped it into a cloth sack he wore at his waist. “I shall make the bet first thing in the morning and pray that Fortune smiles upon you.”

“I pray for the same thing myself.”

“Now, if you will excuse me,” said Paullus, “the opulence of villas such as this leaves many of my men ill at ease, and nervous gladiators rarely win. I must return to them.”

In the first moments of twilight, the leaves and flowers of the garden were losing some of their vibrancy, but with the sun setting, the heat diminished. Like the villa itself, the garden sprawled in many different directions. Flower beds lined gravel paths. Arbors hung overhead. Trees, heavy with the scents of fruit and flowers, stood nearby. Alcoves formed by the contours of the house lay hidden behind the greenery. Yes, the garden, very much like the villa, was a grand place, or could be, if tended to. But its neglect was evident as spiny weeds poked out of flower beds and gangly flowers fought roses and jasmine for soil. Dead branches reached out from trees that needed pruning.

Phaedra heard footfalls on the gravel path. Without looking up, she knew Valens had come.

“I thought I might find you here,” he said.

She turned. Her mouth went dry, yet she smiled because to look upon Valens brought her joy. Muscles created hard planes and deep divides on his arms and legs. His broad shoulders and tall posture showcased his power and vitality.

He wore a short-sleeved tunic of burnt orange. The color brought out coppery strands in his dark brown hair. His eyes showed more green than hazel. His tanned shoulders held the slightest tint of pink, and Phaedra guessed he had spent most of the last two days training out of doors. She noticed a deep purple bruise on his thigh. Phaedra reached out to touch it, but stopped lest she embarrass them both. “You are injured.”

“I am a gladiator,” he said. After a pause, Valens added, “Again.”

“I heard,” she said. “I also heard of the circumstances. You are a very brave and noble man, Valens Secundus.”

He shook his head. “I failed my sister. That is why she strayed.”

“I do not believe you failed her for a moment.”

“I wish that were so,” he said. He gestured toward the bench on which she sat. “Might I join you?”

“I am not sure that my virtue is safe with you around.”

He stared, openmouthed.

Phaedra made room for him on the bench. “It was a joke. Apparently, not a very good one.”

Valens chuckled as he sat. “No, it was funny. I just never imagined you to be one to tease.”

“It appears that with you I can be convinced to try many new things.”

He moved closer. His arm grazed hers and Phaedra’s innermost muscles tightened.

“Good,” he said. “I worried that you regretted what we had done.”

“I will never regret being with you.”

He moved closer still. Her flesh tingled in the spots where they touched. Shoulder to shoulder, side of hand to side of hand, knee to knee. In the garden, even in nooks such as where they sat, they might still be visible if someone knew where to look. The heat from his body and his scent of leather and costmary washed over her. She no longer cared who saw or what they thought.

And yet, tomorrow Valens might be dead. If someone saw them tonight, she would be alone and ruined. She hesitated, then moved aside so their shoulders and knees no longer touched. The sides of their hands still rested one by the other. She needed to tell Valens about the guards who watched his home and his sister. Although it was a betrayal of Acestes, Phaedra never considered it dishonest. Her loyalty belonged to Valens.

“There is something you must know. Acestes has two men watching your villa at all times. They have been ordered to follow your sister and arrest her if she tries to leave the city.”

“Why do you tell me this?”

“If it were me, I would try to get my sister from Rome and hidden.”

Valens shrugged and Phaedra took it to mean that he had been thinking the same thing.

Phaedra shifted so their shoulders once more touched. “You are very brave for saving your sister,” she said.

“Antonice,” Valens said, “lived with my mother, a woman who enjoyed the company of many men. I should have been in the apartment more, monitored my sister’s life more, allowed fewer men into my mother’s life. I am the patriarch of my family and never acted like it.”

“So, you blame yourself for not beating your mother’s suitors.”

“Suitors.” He snorted. “None ever presented a suit for marriage, trust me.”

Phaedra laughed. “Your honest confession scandalizes me. So I will shock you with an honest confession of my own. You men think to control us women, but we have ideas and thoughts, and at times we make up our own mind.”

“Like when you decided to marry General Acestes a day after bedding me. Or are you going to blame a man for that as well?”

Chapter 34

Valens

Valens should have kept his mouth closed.

Wide-eyed, Phaedra gaped at him. He swore under his breath and berated himself for his accusation. What could he say now? As impossible as unringing a bell—he knew of no way to take back his words.

Phaedra stood, her hands clenched at her sides. “I should go,” she said.

“Wait.” He held her closed fist with his fingertips.

Slipping from his grip, she walked along the pathway and deeper into the garden. Valens leaned his elbows on his knees, heavy with shame and regret. For a moment he convinced himself that Phaedra had lied to him. Valens even told himself that his stupid comment was for the best if it severed their relationship completely and irrevocably.

As much as he wanted to, Valens could not believe his own lies. Seeing her with Acestes as they greeted guests pained him more than any wound received in the arena. Phaedra and the general were the same type. They attended the same parties, knew the same people. For all his money and fame, Valens would never be one of them. He would never be able to love Phaedra as he wanted. Instead, he needed to pretend that she did not matter.

He could not do it.

He could not cut Phaedra out of his life. He wanted to be with her even if he had a single day left to live. He needed her.
Especially
if he had a single day to live.

He found her in an alcove, sitting on a bench with her back to the path. An olive tree grew nearby and almost shielded her from view. Her spine lengthened as he approached.

“Apologies,” he said.

She looked over her shoulder, regarding him for an instant, before turning away. “You owe me nothing, Gladiator.”

Valens surveyed the garden. He neither saw nor heard anyone. Thinking they might escape notice in this secluded spot, he sat beside her and rested his chin on her shoulder. Being close to Phaedra was the best place he had ever been. “Do not call me Gladiator. You know my name.”

“But you are a gladiator, are you not? We are all trapped by what we are more than by who we are. I am a daughter of an aristocratic house and cannot escape that any more than you can escape who you are. Sometimes we have to use what we are to help those we love.”

“I must fight to save my sister, and you must marry to save your father.”

“Exactly,” she said.

Her words saddened him. “What happened to the girl I met in the garden who challenged me to change my fate?”

Phaedra shrugged. Her shoulder rose and fell under his chin. “That night she was made to believe that anything was possible. Now she knows better.”

“I attended this banquet to see you, to speak to you, not to argue,” he said. “I am truly sorry for what I said earlier.”

She turned her face to him and her breath tickled his cheek. Valens’s cock stirred and he pressed his chest closer to her back.

“I am glad you came,” she said. “There is much I wanted to tell you.”

“I am here now. I am listening.”

She leaned into him. They fit together perfectly. Valens wanted to keep Phaedra near him until he died. He tried not to think that if he lost in the arena tomorrow, the Fates would have granted his final wish.

“I am a better person for having known you,” she said. “I wanted you to know.”

“In case I die tomorrow,” he said.

“I want you to live forever,” she said.

“If I survive this, I shall leave Rome,” he said. Until that moment Valens had not known he had a plan beyond winning his three fights. “I shall take my sister out of the city and away from all the temptations.”

“Away from Rome means away from me,” she said. “Or am I the temptation?”

“I cannot watch as you live your life with Acestes, or any man, for that matter.”

“I see,” she said.

Perhaps she did, but for now he wanted to sit next to her. Her back rested on his chest, and the long shadows of dusk gave way to darkness of night. A few insects chirped as the air cooled.

“I should return,” she said as she stood. “I have been gone far too long and must be missed by now. May the gods protect you, Valens Secundus. I will think of you always.”

He knew that he should let her go. Yet in letting her leave, he was lost.

“Wait,” he said.

She stopped. Valens moved to stand next to Phaedra and placed his palms on her shoulders. His large, callused hands looked too big and clumsy.

Her breath caught in her throat, the sound light and full of air. She had not rejected him. He traced her cheek down to her neck and back up again. He ran his fingers down her arms. His fingers entwined with hers. He pulled her close.

He needed her. He wanted to lose himself and the world inside of Phaedra.

This was a moment meant to be lived.

Valens brought his mouth down on hers. Her tender lips parted and he breathed her in as she mewed. Yes, she wanted him almost as much as he wanted her. His hands traveled to her breasts, and he felt the hard peaks of her nipples through the binding cloth and the silk of her gown. He moved his mouth to her neck, trailing kisses to the point where throat and shoulder met. She wound her fingers through his hair.

Valens’s cock throbbed. He needed release. He needed Phaedra to give him that exquisite pain.

He reached between her legs and pulled up her gown fistful by fistful. Her naked thighs tangled with his, and he felt heat coming from her sex even before he touched her. Holding the gown up between their bodies, Valens rubbed her most tender spot.

She gasped. Valens Secundus, Champion of Rome and lover of Phaedra. The titles fit, did they not?

He drew small circles with the pad of his thumb as she pressed against his hand. The power to make the woman he loved breathless with her release left Valens so hard he thought he might fall over. He leaned into her, trapping his cock near her belly. She wiggled against him, as his sensitive tip shuddered with anticipated pleasure.

“I want you,” he said.

“Yes,” she said. “Take me here. Take me now.”

For her, he would risk everything, including discovery. At the same time, he did not want to make life harder for either of them. He hated the thought of Phaedra marrying Acestes. But even he, a dumb bastard from the Suburra, saw the obvious advantages of her union with the general.

Valens looked around and saw no windows or doors or any view to the house. A tree shielded them from the rest of the garden. The darkness hid their movements. Maybe they did have enough privacy. In many ways he wanted the world to know that Phaedra belonged to him, no matter whom she wed. But to be caught in the act would be disastrous for them both. Secure in their limited privacy, Valens lowered his head and kissed her hard, tasting her honeyed breath, taking possession of her for now and always.

Pulling his tunic over his hips, Valens sat on a wall that surrounded a flower bed. He shifted Phaedra onto his lap with her legs on the outside of his own. He entered her all the way in two thrusts. Soft and wet, she surrounded him and massaged his cock with her innermost muscles. Gripping Phaedra’s waist, he slid her up and down. He looked between them to the place where he disappeared inside her.

By all the gods, he loved this woman.

He loved the way she smelled, the feel of her kisses, the softness of her skin. He loved that she believed in him. He loved that she was beautiful but seemed unconscious of it. He loved who he was when he was with her, because Valens saw himself through Phaedra’s eyes.

The Fates were bitches, horrible hags. An odd thought to have while making love to a woman in a not-very-private garden, he knew. But he could not help but curse them as he entered Phaedra a little bit farther. During his life the Fates had been kind, granting him everything—fame, money, prestige. Never did they see fit to give him a woman to love. Now the hags had brought Phaedra to him for a few fleeting moments. Worse yet, both he and she knew their time was temporary and that soon they would be torn apart. That made these moments more precious, and at the same time, empty.

Phaedra wrapped her legs around Valens’s waist, taking his shaft inside her deeper than before. He supported her weight, holding her firm bottom in his hands. Shifting, moving, massaging. He did not want to climax, not yet, but the pressure built and Valens could no longer contain his seed. He spilled inside of her, and his cock throbbed with each beat of his heart.

He promised himself that he would do anything in his power to make her his own. Valens nuzzled his nose into her hair. She smelled of lavender and warmth and their lovemaking. The pounding pulse in his ear slowed and quieted. Far away, but not far enough, he heard Acestes speaking. “You said you saw her come this way.” His tone sounded peevish and his words were clipped.

Phaedra heard him, too. She no longer lay against him, her soft and pliable body forming to his own. She sat upright, her back stiff, not moving, not even bothering to breathe.

“You go,” she said.

“No, I will never leave you.”

“Now is not the time to be stubborn and brave. Acestes has power over us both.”

Phaedra was right, although Valens hated to admit it. He let Phaedra slip off of him and sit on the wall. She smoothed her gown over her lap, the silk wrinkled and crushed beyond repair. Valens sneaked behind a tree and rounded to the other side of the flower bed, crouching as low as possible.

Acestes’s shadow loomed over the stone and gravel path as he approached. “There you are,” he said. His voice changed, growing deeper and slower. Valens imagined that a smile slipped from his face as he spoke. “What happened to you?” he asked. “What happened to my necklace?”

“The clasp broke,” Phaedra said. “I did not realize that it dropped.”

Valens knew nothing of the necklace. Why had he not thought to gift Phaedra with beautiful jewels?

Acestes cursed. “I will get the slaves to bring torches. Where do you recall having it last?”

Phaedra stood and moved into the shadow cast by a wall. “I found it,” she said, “in a flower bed. My father has it now.”

“Odd. He never mentioned anything to me, and I spoke to him not five minutes ago.”

Her next answer came quicker than the first. “He wanted to save you from the embarrassment of having given a faulty gift, I am sure.”

Although Valens greatly disliked the fact that Acestes was gifting Phaedra with anything and that so much attention was being paid to the damned necklace, he could not help but smile. Her last retort would shut the general up, for sure.

“My apologies,” Acestes said stiffly.

“I think I shall go back to my old chamber and dispatch someone to fetch me a new gown,” said Phaedra as she walked away. “I fear this one is near ruined for having to scramble through your flower beds.”

The years had changed Phaedra. She was no longer the innocent bride, easily cowed by Acestes’s questions. In the battle of wits, she had held her own. In fact, he might even pronounce her the winner.

With both Phaedra and Acestes gone, Valens stood. Hot blood flowed into his legs, filling his flesh with tiny stings. Without question, he liked the new Phaedra better. Yet he took note—she was now a powerful woman on her own terms.