Kushiel's Scion - Jacqueline Carey [167]
I answered in diplomatic terms, which didn't entirely suit Deccus Fulvius. He pressed me for my deeper impressions.
"But what about the plot?" he insisted. "Did you grasp its relevance?"
I spread my hands, helpless. I couldn't very well tell the man I'd only grasped one word in three because his wife was fondling my groin. "Forgive me, my lord. I'm not well-versed in Tiberian politics."
"Deccus!" Claudia said with asperity. "The lad's only been here a few days. Let him get acquainted with the city before you try to drag him into your political snares."
"Forgive me, my dear," he apologized to her. "You're right, of course. But I wanted the impression of fresh eyes, untainted by bias."
She rose gracefully from her couch, bronze silks shimmering. "Well, why don't you settle for Lucius' tainted gaze and submit him to your inquisition. I'm sure he'd be happy to share his thoughts with you." She beckoned to me. "Come, let's give them their moment of intrigue. Have you seen our frescoes?"
"No, my lady," I said. "I haven't."
I could hear then behind us as Claudia led me away, talking pantomime and politics. My skin felt too tight, prickling with danger. I knew, without a doubt, that what I was doing was folly. And I knew I was going to pursue it anyway.
Lighting a taper at a lampstand, Claudia led me past the entrance to the peristyle. The servants who had attended us so solicitously stayed out of our way. We trod a corridor, entering a smaller room that lay off it. There she raised her taper, illuminating the darkness.
"You see?" she said. "Very fine, aren't they?"
There were two frescoes on the wall, both of them depicting a man and woman joined in the act of love. In one, she straddled him; in the other, he rode between her thighs. I had seen finer work in the Houses of the Night Court, but they were not poorly rendered.
I looked at them for a long moment, the blood beating hard in my veins. "What is this room, my lady?"
Claudia Fulvia smiled at me. "My husband's private salon."
"I see," I said.
"Good," she said, and blew out the taper.
In the darkness, it was she who found me; her hands lifting to cup my face. Her lips on mine, her tongue slipping between them to probe my mouth. I held her against me, sliding my hands down her waist, pulling her hips hard against mine to let her feel my stiffness. She groaned into my mouth. I could smell her musk.
The last remnants of my resolve crumbled. There was no good or bad, only unadorned carnal desire, banishing everything else. It sparked a deep craving in me, a yearning for escape. I wanted to take her, then and there, hard and ungentle. I wanted to sink both hands into her elaborate coif and turn it into disarray. I wanted to tear away the bodice of her gown and bare her abundant breasts, shove up her skirts, and lose myself in her.
Claudia tore herself away. "Not here."
Her voice was breathless with urgency, but there was a thread of amusement there, too. The senator's wife liked to play dangerous games. I was eighteen, but I was D'Angeline, and descended from a long line of Kushiel's scions. I could be patient. I waited in the darkness for my blood to ebb and my pulse to slow.
"Where?" I said. "When?"
"I'll send word." Her fingers touched my cheek. "Where do you live?"
"In the students' quarter," I said. "Behind the incense-maker's shop."
"Beside the philosopher-beggar." I could hear her smile. Her fingertips trailed over my lips, down my throat, catching briefly on the thong of my medallion before they brushed lower, making me grit my teeth. "I'll find it."
In the corridor outside her husband's salon, Claudia drew a silk kerchief from her sleeve and reached up to wipe my lips. Her pupils were wide with darkness and desire. I wondered if she was haunted like her brother. If so, they were ghosts of a different nature.
"Carmine," she murmured.
I nodded. "My thanks."
We returned to the dining room. I felt horribly conspicuous and sure it must show; her mark, her scent upon