Rufus seizes her by the upper arms, his grip so tight it hurts. “Look at me.” She looks up, but evidently not in the way he wants because he pulls her head back by the hair. Amara stares at him, eyes wide. “If I ever find out you did betray me with another man, even the admiral, I will kill you.”

“I would never betray you,” Amara replies, her voice a whisper. Rufus stares at her, then still holding her by the hair, he bends to kiss her. Amara is too shaken to respond properly, but this does not seem to deter him; it only adds to his passion. Rufus scoops her up, holding her in his arms as if he were her rescuer, not her tormentor.

“It’s only love that makes me so jealous,” he says, more gently. “No need to be upset. I believe you.” He carries her off to her rooms, and Amara hides her face in his shoulder, hating herself for feeling afraid.

After Rufus has gone, Amara does not leave her bedroom. There is nobody in the house she wants to see, not wishing to confront either their pity or scorn. It feels as if her patron still has his hand in her hair, and she cannot stop reliving it—the way he pulled so hard she was terrified he might break her neck. She is not sure how she will face Phoebe and Lais again, or Juventus, not now they’ve seen her humiliated in public. Nobody dares to bring her food or undress her hair for bed, though Victoria, at least, tries to reach her, calling softly from the door. Amara ignores her entreaties then listens to the sounds of the household retiring for the night, the room growing darker. She tries to remember how she endured Felix, how she would force her fear underground, and be left with only the anger. But she is so very tired.

When Philos finally visits, she is still scrunched up in a ball, lying under the covers. He doesn’t say anything but gets into the bed, curling himself around her body and holding her.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers. “I’m so sorry.” They lie like that, with Philos apologizing over and over for the harm another man has caused her, until she turns around and cries into his tunic, the way she used to with Dido when they comforted one another at the brothel. He does not stop her but waits until her emotion is spent. “I didn’t think he would be like that,” he says. “I always told myself that if he found out, Rufus would hurt me and not you. And now I can see what a self-serving lie that was. I should never have put you at risk.”

“It wasn’t up to you. It was my choice.”

“Nothing is worth the risk of him harming you.”