The last golden light gave way to torchlight, and they leaned toward each other, in the rich firelight, and once or twice their fingers brushed, in reaching for the same delicacy. The meat was succulent, and the wine delightful, and the fruit in its ice cool and delicious, and the evening breeze stirring the curtains likewise; she watched the slim pale figures of the dancers, backlit in flashes as they turned and whirled, and then his bronzed arms and legs, the costume of Dionysus leaving much latitude to display a manly figure, she thought, and therefore a not injudicious choice for him, piety aside.
He was a much-married man, this avatar of Dionysus; of course, as the survivor of two brother-husbands and a Roman consort, the same could be said of her.
He smiled at her, lips rosy in his curly beard, golden-brown eyes shining in the firelight. Yes, just like one of those sensuous statues in the Grecian manner, marble painted to imitate the glow of living flesh. Such a god one might embrace—
Such a god might embrace one.