“Narbonensis?” Cornelia managed not to jerk away as Proculus nibbled his way up her arm to her neck. The light filtered dim and aqueous through the blue silk curtains of the litter. Perhaps I really am underwater. “Really? When?”

“Jove knows—give us a kiss, will you?”

Cornelia turned her face away just enough so his lips latched onto her throat instead of her mouth. “Why Narbonensis?” Stroking the back of his neck.

“To stir up a ruckus in Gaul, of course. Delay Vitellius’s army when they start marching south—slide down a bit, will you?”

She made herself lie still, letting him suck on her neck a while and breathe wine fumes in her ear. She slid away with a little laugh when he began fumbling at her breasts. “Not here—my sister will be looking for me.”

“You’ll be at the theatre tonight, then? Perhaps meet me after in the Gardens of Asiaticus?” Proculus flopped on his back, capturing her hand and sliding it up his leg under his tunic. “You wouldn’t send a man off to die without a proper good-bye.”

“We’ll see.” Cornelia gave him as promising a smile as she could manage over her crawling throat, pulling her hand away from his thigh before it could touch—anything. Marble. Be marble. “A widow in my position, you understand . . .”

“Of course, of course. Centurion!” Proculus reached outside the silk curtains, snapping his fingers. “See this lady safely home.”

The aqua curtains snapped open. Cornelia met the chestnut eyes of Centurion Drusus Densus for an instant, and looked away again.

“Prefect.” He saluted rigidly. Proculus waved off the salute, already calling in a slurred voice for more wine. Drusus Densus extended a hand, helping Cornelia out of the litter, and the little knot of nausea resurfaced in her throat.

“Marcella!” she called, but Marcella was busy watching a company of Praetorians wheel through their parade drills. No doubt taking notes for the next volume of her wretched history. “Marcella, I want to go home.”

“Go on,” she called absently, the wind rippling her light brown hair. “I’ll be back soon.”

Cornelia turned an aloof smile on Densus. As aloof as she could manage, anyway. “No need to accompany me, Centurion.”

“I have orders from my Prefect, Lady. And the streets are full of soldiers. It wouldn’t be safe.” He hailed for a hired litter, but the Campus Martius was already jammed with litters. “It will be faster to walk.”

“As you wish.”

“You should—” He fixed his gaze over her head, gesturing wordlessly at her shoulder. Cornelia looked down to see the clasp of her black dress pulled askew, a red mark from the Prefect’s leechlike mouth on her shoulder. She pulled up her black-woven palla, breasts still tingling unpleasantly from the Prefect’s pawing. It’s worth it, she reminded herself. Any information that will help bring down Otho is worth it.