And Vespasian tipped her out himself.

* * *

Her heart stopped.

He caught her, as he meant to do, with one strong arm around her, while the other held back the chair and saved it from banging into her. He brought her close against him, as she immediately realized he would. He turned her into the tiny pool of lamplight so he could search her face while she could see the determination lighting his. As she came into his arms it felt as natural and secure as she had always known it would.

She squealed once, then grew still. "Titus—"

"Caenis—"

They both knew what was going to happen next. They knew Caenis wanted it as much as he.

In the second when she passed from the cold atmosphere of the terrace into the warmth of his embrace she shivered, because she was startled, yet there was never any doubt. She had long ago made her choice. Against his chest she was conscious of his struggle to control his breath; her back arched slightly under the pressure of his arm; she caught his face between both hands, and they moved together into an unfaltering kiss. At her eager response she heard his groan of relief, then afterward as her cheek pressed his, he felt her own shuddering sigh.

"Come to bed with me, Caenis. Oh—" Unable even to wait for her reply, he kissed her again, at demanding length. "Convinced?"

Caenis, who even now did not smile easily, smiled at Vespasian. "Convinced!"

Then he astonished her again; he suddenly held her, not in the great wrestler's hug she expected, but as tenderly as some ceramic almost too delicate to touch, while he muttered against the complicated pleating of her hair. "Oh, Antonia Caenis. . . . Welcome to freedom—and welcome to me!" Then she knew this was a truly sentimental man. She put it from her mind. "Is there somewhere we can go?" He could have taken her then and there, in the dark, among the stored furniture and tubs of desiccated flowers; he was ready, and her need was as urgent as his.