Amara covers her face with her hands. “Victoria told the most terrible lies. I couldn’t bear to hear her insult you. Please forgive me for ever trusting her; I’m so ashamed.” Between her fingers, Amara sees his posture relax. Rufus puts an arm round her, and she nestles in close. Then he is kissing her, his hands less gentle, and she knows he is looking for a different type of relief.

Afterward, Rufus is unusually affectionate. They are reclining on the couch in her dressing room, and he is holding her tightly, the way he always used to. Amara knows she has satisfied him. She took every possible opportunity to give him pleasure, even though her body has become so sensitive, sometimes she does not even like Philos touching her.

“I remember the first time I made love to you in this house,” Rufus says, lazily stroking her flank.

Amara remembers it too. Her amazement at all he had done, the gratitude, so overwhelming it felt like love. And Philos, standing in the shadows when Rufus lifted her into his arms. She can recall his presence at that moment so clearly. Had she felt something for him, even then? She turns to kiss Rufus, to tell him she loves him, but then she sees the guilt in his eyes. His nostalgia is for a relationship he knows is over. Fear grips her, and the words spill out. “I’m pregnant.”

“What?” Rufus almost knocks her off the couch in shock. It was not, admittedly, how she had planned to tell him.

“I’m carrying your child.”

“How? When?” He is staring at her in horror, eyes wide as an actor’s mask.

Amara looks down, twisting the material of her discarded tunic in her fingers. “I haven’t bled for two months. I didn’t want to alarm you, unless I was sure.”

“Alarm me?” Rufus is shouting. “You’ve no idea how bad the timing is. You could not have chosen a worse possible moment!”

“I’m sorry.” She pulls the tunic up to cover herself, wrapping her arms protectively around her stomach. “I didn’t mean to upset you.”

Rufus breathes deeply, making an effort to calm himself. “I shouldn’t have shouted. But this is not . . . ideal.”

“I don’t expect you to recognize the child. Not formally. But I hoped it wouldn’t displease you this much.”

“Of course I can’t recognize it! My father will be beyond furious if I start parading some little Greek bastard around the place.” He hunches over, as if he might be sick. “Two days ago, I got engaged. And now this.”

“You’re engaged?”

“The bride’s family is very traditional.” Rufus makes no effort to spare her feelings. “I’m sure they will be overjoyed their precious daughter is marrying a man who just got a concubine pregnant.”

“But they must know you have a mistress.”