Kushiel's Scion - Jacqueline Carey [163]
"It's not that bad," I said.
"Do you have a flatiron, my lord? And charcoal for the brazier?" Anna asked. When I shook my head, she snatched the doublet. "Give me the linen shirt, too," she said, holding out her hand. "Yes, and the breeches." I obeyed, and she nodded approval. "I'll be back in a trice." Arms laden, she paused in the doorway. "Polish his boots," she said to Gilot. "They're a disgrace."
Gilot rolled his eyes.
"I'll do it," I said hastily to him.
"Men!" Anna said in disgust, marching away.
By the time she returned, with my clothing neatly pressed, Gilot and I had concurred that whether or not it was a failing of our gender, we were woefully inadequate housekeepers. From a goatherd and a slave, I had vaulted into the D'Angeline peerage. I had given little thought, in this venture, to how those in between the two lived.
I dressed inside while Anna Marzoni waited outside the apartment. On the stoop, she fussed with the collar of my shirt, straightening it until the lace points lay just so. Disdain for our inadequacy had given her the ease of familiarity.
"Very nice, my lord," she said, stepping back.
On impulse, I kissed her cheek. "Thank you, Anna."
She blushed. "Go on, then! You've a meeting to keep." Her gaze slid sideways toward Gilot, shy and hopeful. "Will you be back?" she asked.
"He will," I said firmly. "There is no need for him to dance attendance on me while I'm in the company of a prominent senator's family. And I do not believe the invitation was extended to the both of us."
Gilot and I exchanged glances and a test of wills. He sighed. "I'll be back."
"Good," said the widow Anna, still blushing. "I mean… well, good."
* * *
Chapter Thirty-Four
Outside the Marcellan Theatre, I met Up With Lucius Tadius, his sister, and her husband, the senator Deccus Fulvius. The theatre was easy to find, being the largest structure alongside the Tiber River in the vicinity of the butchers' market. It was a vast marble circle, rising in tiers, glowing amber in the late-afternoon sunlight. Lucius' company was easy to spot, too. They were surrounded by servants carrying cushions and baskets of foodstuffs, keeping the crowds at bay. I wondered if they were slaves. Although the practice was not so prevalent as it had been during the height of Tiberium's empire, it persisted. I didn't like to think about it, having been one myself. "Montrève!" Lucius lifted one arm, hailing me. "Join us."
"Go on," I murmured to Gilot. "I'll be fine, and Anna's waiting." He scowled at me. "You don't make this easy, Imri." I gave him a little shove. "Who asked you to come? Go, the widow awaits!
He went, grumbling. I joined my new companions. Lucius looked better than he had earlier, his eyes clear. "I'm glad you came," he said. "Imriel nó Montrève, this is my sister's husband, Deccus Fulvius. I believe you've met."
Deccus Fulvius chuckled, thrusting out one hand. He was a solid figure of a man, silver-haired and affable. I recognized him from before, although he looked more substantial in formal attire. "In the baths, wasn't it? Well indeed, well met once more, young Montrève. I'm pleased you found yourself a Master to study with. We need more D'Angelines in Tiberium."
I clasped his hand. "My thanks, messire."
"And my sister," Lucius said. "Claudia Fulvia."
"Well met, Imriel nó Montrève," she said. Her voice was low and vibrant, the kind of voice made for uttering words of passion.
I took one look at her and felt the pit of desire open beneath my feet.
It was in the way she carried herself and the way she met my eyes, at once intimate and challenging. Claudia Fulvia had a look of her brother, but on her, his sharp satyr's features were softened to an earthy, feminine sensuality. Her dark auburn hair was arranged in an elaborate coif, curls descending to spill artfully over her shoulders. They had the same mouth, wide and mobile. Even in Terre