her happy, let her find whatever she'd been seeking from life, and he watched impassively as she drew the fine embroidered linen over her naked breast and pinned back the brooch without a flicker of embarrassment in her hazel brown eyes.
'You don't know what you're missing,' she said, but he knew exactly. Casual sex, as Margarita was finding to her cost, is not the answer. It leaves a person aching and incomplete, wanting more from life than a succession of bleak hydraulic manoeuvres.
'I'm sorry,' he said, and he meant it. 'My philandering days are behind me.'
Dalliances where the soul plays no part were no longer the answer. As time passed, Marcus Cornelius Orbilio found he needed more. Much, much more.
'You're in love, darling.'
'I most certainly am not,' he protested.
'Who is she? Do tell. Do I know her?'
'Margarita, I'm here to talk about last month's robbery.'
'If you say so, darling.'
As she settled herself provocatively on a couch richly upholstered in a deep shade of scarlet, Orbilio let the wall take his weight. In the basket, the white cat began to snore softly. 'Tell me about the banquet.'
Her cherry-red mouth turned down at the corners. 'One party's much the same as another, darling. Nothing stands out.'
That was the problem, of course. In the twenty-eight robberies since Saturnalia, the overlap between guests and jugglers, dancers and musicians, caterers and slaves was enormous. No one and nothing stood out.
'These are sophisticated thefts,' he explained. 'Each job netted a tidy haul, but no one's tried to fence any of it. Where's the stuff going?'
'Perhaps you're chasing a thrill-seeker, who steals for the sheer hell of it?' Margarita ran her fingertip round the top of the glass until it let out a soft hum.
'A thrill-seeker with a warehouse to store the stuff in.' Marcus laughed, topping up both their glasses with the chilled wine. 'No, this has to be for pure profit.'
'I don't see how the scam could work without an outlet,' she said, letting her fingers brush his as he handed the glass back.
'Sooner or later I'd expect things to resurface,' he said, pretending not to notice. 'Then someone somewhere would recognize their own necklace in a shop in the Forum or see their rings on someone else's fair hand. Yet in eight months, nothing. Not one single lead.'
'Marcus, dear, this is all very interesting, and it's a real shame I won't see my lovely baubles again - there was a cameo I was particularly fond of, the one you bought me, remember? - but darling, at twenty-six don't you think you should consider adopting a more appropriate career?'
'Margarita,' he said, laughing, 'you are impossible.'
She stuck out her pretty pink tongue and he watched the light dance on the emeralds round her neck as she stood up and walked towards him.
'I'm serious, darling,' she whispered, coiling one arm round
his waist. 'Your father was a highly respected advocate, both your brothers are in the law and, if you really want that seat in the Senate, that's where you should be, too. In court.'
'I often am,' he insisted softly, uncoiling the arm. 'Giving evidence for the prosecution.'
Hazel eyes rolled in mock exasperation. 'You know damn well what I mean,' she said, and somehow the arm was back. 'You want to swap your lowlifes for the high life again, settle down, raise a family.'
'I was married.'
'I know you were, darling, I helped you get over the bitch. But the Senate won't take you unless you're married, and funnily enough, I know just the girl. Sweet little thing, she'll give you boatloads of babies and I promise she won't run off with a sea captain from Lusitania and leave you broken-hearted like that other cow.'
'Since our hearts were never joined, there was nothing to break,' he said carefully. 'Humiliated is the word, I believe. Not broken-hearted.'
'Whatever,' Margarita murmured, entwining her other arm round his neck. 'But I know this girl, she's my niece—'
'Hold it right
'You don't know what you're missing,' she said, but he knew exactly. Casual sex, as Margarita was finding to her cost, is not the answer. It leaves a person aching and incomplete, wanting more from life than a succession of bleak hydraulic manoeuvres.
'I'm sorry,' he said, and he meant it. 'My philandering days are behind me.'
Dalliances where the soul plays no part were no longer the answer. As time passed, Marcus Cornelius Orbilio found he needed more. Much, much more.
'You're in love, darling.'
'I most certainly am not,' he protested.
'Who is she? Do tell. Do I know her?'
'Margarita, I'm here to talk about last month's robbery.'
'If you say so, darling.'
As she settled herself provocatively on a couch richly upholstered in a deep shade of scarlet, Orbilio let the wall take his weight. In the basket, the white cat began to snore softly. 'Tell me about the banquet.'
Her cherry-red mouth turned down at the corners. 'One party's much the same as another, darling. Nothing stands out.'
That was the problem, of course. In the twenty-eight robberies since Saturnalia, the overlap between guests and jugglers, dancers and musicians, caterers and slaves was enormous. No one and nothing stood out.
'These are sophisticated thefts,' he explained. 'Each job netted a tidy haul, but no one's tried to fence any of it. Where's the stuff going?'
'Perhaps you're chasing a thrill-seeker, who steals for the sheer hell of it?' Margarita ran her fingertip round the top of the glass until it let out a soft hum.
'A thrill-seeker with a warehouse to store the stuff in.' Marcus laughed, topping up both their glasses with the chilled wine. 'No, this has to be for pure profit.'
'I don't see how the scam could work without an outlet,' she said, letting her fingers brush his as he handed the glass back.
'Sooner or later I'd expect things to resurface,' he said, pretending not to notice. 'Then someone somewhere would recognize their own necklace in a shop in the Forum or see their rings on someone else's fair hand. Yet in eight months, nothing. Not one single lead.'
'Marcus, dear, this is all very interesting, and it's a real shame I won't see my lovely baubles again - there was a cameo I was particularly fond of, the one you bought me, remember? - but darling, at twenty-six don't you think you should consider adopting a more appropriate career?'
'Margarita,' he said, laughing, 'you are impossible.'
She stuck out her pretty pink tongue and he watched the light dance on the emeralds round her neck as she stood up and walked towards him.
'I'm serious, darling,' she whispered, coiling one arm round
his waist. 'Your father was a highly respected advocate, both your brothers are in the law and, if you really want that seat in the Senate, that's where you should be, too. In court.'
'I often am,' he insisted softly, uncoiling the arm. 'Giving evidence for the prosecution.'
Hazel eyes rolled in mock exasperation. 'You know damn well what I mean,' she said, and somehow the arm was back. 'You want to swap your lowlifes for the high life again, settle down, raise a family.'
'I was married.'
'I know you were, darling, I helped you get over the bitch. But the Senate won't take you unless you're married, and funnily enough, I know just the girl. Sweet little thing, she'll give you boatloads of babies and I promise she won't run off with a sea captain from Lusitania and leave you broken-hearted like that other cow.'
'Since our hearts were never joined, there was nothing to break,' he said carefully. 'Humiliated is the word, I believe. Not broken-hearted.'
'Whatever,' Margarita murmured, entwining her other arm round his neck. 'But I know this girl, she's my niece—'
'Hold it right
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