There is no sign that Amara suspects anything is amiss in the note she sends Rufus, informing him of her return and declaring herself impatient to see him. After it is sent, she sits in the garden practicing the harp, trying to steady her nerves with a distraction. By the time Rufus arrives, she is considerably calmer, so it is a shock to hear him shouting for her in the atrium as if she were a runaway slave. She leaves the harp and hurries to meet him.

“My love,” she starts, ignoring the thunderous look on his face. “How wonderful to see you, I’ve been—”

Rufus interrupts her. “Ten days? You spend ten days with another man and expect me to believe you’re longing to see me?” Amara shrinks from his shouting, but it only encourages him to advance on her. “You must take me for a fool. I suppose I should be grateful you finally managed to tear yourself away from the admiral’s bed?”

He is unrecognizable with rage. Drawn by the noise, the entire household has gathered to see her humiliation. Amara can see Victoria with the flautists, clutching each other by the stairs, Britannica standing beside them with clenched fists. Juventus and Martha are gaping at her from the doorway, but worst is Philos who must have arrived with Rufus. He is standing by his master’s shoulder, staring at the floor, not daring to look at her.

“Rufus, please,” Amara says soothingly. “You know I would never betray you. Can we not discuss this in my rooms? I will have some wine sent in for us to enjoy, and then I can answer any questions you have, in private.”

“So you want to get me drunk and seduce me like a whore? You think you can fool me that way?”

“No,” she says, barely managing to keep her voice calm. “Nothing happened with Pliny. Please, my love, you must believe me. Nothing has ever happened between us; Pliny has only ever shown me the greatest respect.”

“Of all the men you could have chosen, you humiliate me with one I can never confront.” Rufus looms over her, yelling in her face. “It’s always been him, right from the beginning—I know it has! How you must have laughed at me, thinking I’d never dare complain, thinking you could just fuck him and come back to me.”

“You’re being ridiculous,” Amara shouts back, no longer able to contain her anger. “Listen to yourself! If you have no respect for me, at least show some for the admiral.”

“You can’t even hide it! How much you prefer him to me.”

His face is screwed up with self-pity, like a child. It takes everything Amara has not to retaliate with all the scorn she feels. “My dearest love,” she says, her voice breaking under the strain of suppressing her contempt. “How can you imagine I care for anyone but you?”