In Bed With Lord Byron
mantra. For one thing, he’s bound to be useless in bed. It would be just typical for someone who writes
guides on love to be a lousy lover himself. Plus, he’s so arrogant. He’ll only think of himself.
Ovid paused by a statue of Venus. He reached out to stroke her face.
‘Venus, Goddess of Love,’ I said, stating the obvious in my nerves.
‘
For young Love’s guide has Venus chosen me
.’ Ovid quoted his own poem boldly. ‘
And Love
,’ he concluded, ‘
shall yield to me
.’
‘Well, you’re very confident,’ I said cheekily. ‘Surely the whole point of love is that we lose ourselves in it. We surrender to something bigger than ourselves. Like
Virgil . . .’ A flash of Latin A level came back to me. ‘
We too must yield to love
. I mean, that’s why we say that we
fall
in love. We fall. We let go . . .’ I
frowned, thinking briefly of Anthony, of how I’d always been afraid of taking that jump. Then I looked back at Ovid, and his eyes flickered with arrogant amusement.
He stepped closer. I moved backwards against the statue, Venus’ stomach pressing against me, her head serene and protective above. He was so close that our bodies were nearly touching; his
eyes held my gaze and I felt his breath on my lips.
‘I’m a hunter and Rome is a forest. There are boars teeming about all over the place and I can have any one I want. It is simply a case of finding the right net.’
He gazed at my lips. I was ready to slap him. But to my relief and frustration he stepped backwards. I breathed out and my breath caught with a flicker of desire. I saw Ovid quickly hide a
smile.
‘Come,’ he said, offering his hand to draw me deeper into the garden.
I ignored his hand and strolled on ahead, holding my chin up high. The path became deeper and darker as we entered an avenue of cypress trees.
‘So once you’ve caught a boar in a net and enjoyed the tussle – then what, hmm?’
‘I boil it up, feast on it and throw away the bones.’ I glared at him, and he added softly, ‘I mock you, Lesbia. Women deserve love, of course they do. They deserve to be
treated like goddesses.’
‘Oh.’ Now I felt mollified, and in turn even more irritated because I didn’t have an excuse to hate him. So I took a cheap shot. ‘Well, your wife seems to enjoy playing
at being the hunter.’
I hadn’t meant my jibe to cut so deep. I saw the pain on Ovid’s face before he quickly concealed it.
‘Yes, I am a cuckold.’ He laughed bitterly. ‘Ovid – Cupid’s revenge. He has maimed me, in the end, with an arrow of poison.’
Now I understood where Ovid’s inspiration came from. He wanted to counsel others so that they could experience the amorous perfection he had failed at.
Then I thought of my father; and of Anthony’s parents; and my sister; and all the couples I knew that seemed to be falling apart.
‘Why is it so hard for people to be faithful to each other?’ I suddenly cried.
Ovid turned and touched my cheek, and I recoiled from him, my desire stamped out by my anger.
‘Right now, my wife is not at Bona Dea. She is risking her life by joining my friend Calchus in bed.’ He paused and looked at me with eyes full of sadness. Then, as though his
masculine pride repulsed at such a show of vulnerability, he turned away, plucking a violet. I thought he was going to give it to me, or thread it through my hair. Instead he shredded it slowly,
tearing off the petals, fixing his predatory eyes on me.
The last petal fluttered to the ground like a teardrop.
‘Take off your tunic,’ he ordered me suddenly. ‘Undress for me.’
My eyes widened in outraged shock.
‘No,’ I said, yet once again I felt desire snaking up inside me. For a moment I was lost in surprise and self-analysis. I couldn’t understand it. He was the opposite of
Anthony. He was everything I loathed in a man. He wanted to crush me and dominate me. And yet I was turned on.
‘You forget I’m your master. I alone can grant you manumission. Your life is in my hands.’
He caught my gasp with his lips, then pushed me back against a tree and lifted my arms up behind me so that the bark bit into my skin. I kissed him back just as roughly, giving up all my
pretence at resistance. He reacted by softening his kisses, pulling back, teasing me.
‘Venus rose from the ocean on a scallop, entirely naked. I want to picture you as Venus. Now, take off your clothes and lie down on the floor.’
I was about to obey, when
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