The Patrician's Fortune- A Historical Romance (16 page)

Lares rolled his eyes and scoffed. “Heir? All Julia sees is a cripple who must not exert himself for fear he will crumble into dust.”

“And will you?” Damon asked.

Lares narrowed his eyes. “Will I what?”

Damon gave him a pointed look. “Crumble into dust.”

The boy seemed to be searching his brain for some scathing reply but after a few moments sighed heavily. “My legs are not strong and I tire easily. Truly, I am of little use.”

A rush of understanding swept through Damon. He knew exactly how the boy felt. Though he’d only been eleven when his family was torn apart, Damon had always blamed himself for not protecting his mother and sisters from their fate. It’s what had driven him through the years of servitude, had caused him to put his own life aside. It was his guilt that had led him to his demon pact with Tertius.

He met Lares’ gaze. “You still have legs and if you do not use them they will forget how to function. Not to mention lying about all the time would drain the strength even from Hercules.” Damon rose from the bench, indicating the toy ship in Lares’ lap. “Does that float?”

The obstinate expression returned, the resemblance to his sister uncanny. “Of course it does. I built it myself.”

Damon suppressed a smile. Lifting the boat, he sat it on the bench and held out his hands to Lares. Lares looked at him uncertainly before hiding his fear behind a disdainful mask.

“I cannot walk,” he said with a well-practiced sneer.

“So you’re a coward, then?” Damon had to bite the inside of his cheek to keep from laughing out loud at the potent adolescent glare Lares gave him.

Taking a deep breath, his brow puckered in concentration, the boy took hold of Damon’s hands and pulled himself to a standing position.

A quick glance at Lares’ face reassured Damon that the trembling in his legs was more weakness than pain. Careful to appear unhurried, he shifted around until he stood beside Lares, one arm slipped about his waist. Together they walked the half dozen steps to the pond. Damon eased him down to a patch of grass. Droplets of perspiration dotted the boy’s forehead but were completely overshadowed by the triumphant smile on his face.

Damon nodded in approval then turned his attention to the ship. “Now show me how this works.”

An hour later Pompeii had defeated the Cilician pirates—twice—and was crowing in delight.

“Meet the fate of those who dare defy Rome,” declared Lares, ramming his warship into the last of Damon’s pirate boats. Damon frowned and watched the ship capsize, joining an entire fleet of carved vessels bobbing in the water. He’d thought his last maneuver a particularly brilliant one, but looking at the flush of excitement on Lares’ face could not begrudge him the victory.

“Did you make all of these?” Damon asked, surveying the naval carnage.

Lares plucked two of the vessels up and tilted them so the water could drain out. “Most of them. Father did the rest.”

“Your father has many talents,” answered Damon, helping to gather the toys.

Lares nodded in agreement. “He is always talking about new mechanisms or theories or techniques. He says
Rome carved out an Empire with its legions but ideas are what make us strong.
” Lares sighed. “At least he used to believe that.”

Damon’s attention sharpened on the boy. “What do you mean?”

Lares twirled a ship in the water with his finger. “In the weeks before he left Father became very irritable.”

“Perhaps he was ill?”

Lares considered that. “No. Father is never sick.” His voice thickened. “Even when mother and I caught the fever he stayed well.”

Keeping his tone casual he prodded the boy further. “Did he say what had put him in a foul mood?”

“No, but he would barricade himself in his library for hours. Aunt Sophia was the only one whose presence he tolerated.” A frown creased his brow. “Julia was very upset. She tried to speak with him about it, but he’d tell her that it was none of her affair.” Lares met Damon’s gaze. “He made her cry.”

A ripple of anger went through Damon at the thought of Julia in tears. He didn’t imagine she gave into them often, not with the strength of will he’d witnessed the night she’d saved him from the executioner. Whatever had driven Octavian Manulus to lash out in such a manner to his favored daughter had to have been serious.

“Tempers are known to flare on the Senate floor. It would not be uncommon for the heat of the debate to linger.”

Lares scoffed. “No, it was the man who kept coming round, a plebian that sparked father’s ire.”

Sometimes, information was laid at your feet. “A man?”

Lares busied himself with the ships. “Cripples are invisible to most people. No one noticed I was in the garden when he came to the door demanding to speak with father.”

Damon’s eyes narrowed. A plebian daring to approach a Senator’s home in such a manner? He leaned forward. “What did he want?”

Lares shrugged. “I do not know. Father hurried him out of the atrium and into his chambers.” Lares looked at his legs in disgust. “I could not follow.”

Damon shared the boy’s disappointment. Still it was a start, something tangible that Damon could use. He glanced around the garden. He needed to gain access to the Senator’s library, search for clues to the man’s identity though his gut told him it was the missing Theophilus.

Lares released a dejected sigh. Damon studied Lares’ bent head. This was no child but a young man desperate to prove himself. All he needed was confidence.

Damon pushed up from the pavement and brushed the dirt from his hands. “I believe I’ve time for a rest before dinner.” He turned on his heel and headed for the house.

“Wait!” called Lares, his voice tinged in panic. “You must help me to the divan.”

Damon looked over his shoulder. “You were able to get from the couch to the pond. You surely can get back by yourself.”

The boy’s eyes were as large as plates and so filled with anxiety that for a moment, Damon thought to give in and carry him back, but that would do nothing except reinforce his invalid state. “I will assist you to your feet. You must walk back yourself.”

The heat in Lare’s glare was so potent that Damon was surprised he didn’t ignite into flames. He strode to Lares, gripped him beneath his arms and helped him stand.

Lares wobbled for several seconds before shrugging free. Temper, it seemed, was as much a family trait as stubbornness judging by the defiant jut of the boy’s chin. Damon smiled at how much he looked like Julia. Raising his hands palm out he stepped away to allow Lares space but stayed close enough to intercede should he falter.

Hands fisted in his tunic, Lares took one step. Then another. And another. After half a dozen, he collapsed on the couch and gave Damon a triumphant look.

Fighting back a smile, Damon inclined his head in tribute. “Well done, Lares. Determination is half the battle. I’d wager that if you did this every day, increasing the distance each time, you would soon gain your strength back.”

Lares considered that for a long moment before shaking his head in agreement. “I will do so. Will you...will you help me?”

Damon hesitated. How could he make such a promise? Once he discovered what Quintus was planning—and how Tertius figured into it—he would be gone. He looked into Lares’ pleading gaze, the flicker of hope he saw shining in their depths making his decision for him.

“Very well,” he said, sitting on the end of the divan. He grasped him by the ankle, slowly bending the stiff joint. “Now tell me about your father’s clients.”

*****

Julia broke the wax seal on the parchment and scanned the contents—
Lady Vallonia requests Julia Manulus and her husband Damon of Silicia to attend a banquet and night of poetry.
She glanced at a pile of similar messages on the entry table—
Magistrate Silvus requests your presence...Senator Aquinas and his house...a musical evening...to Damon Pontus a private dinner with Lady Nardia...

Julia pressed her lips together against the last one, assuring herself the jolt of anger she felt was merely a response to the woman’s lack of propriety. It could in no way be construed as jealousy.

But the gall of the woman inviting
her
husband to dine!

She sighed and gathered the invitations into her hands. She’d been on edge for the past three days, her emotions in such turmoil that she thought she might be on the verge of going mad. Logically there should be no reason for her nerves to be raw. Her plan had worked beautifully. Damon had fulfilled his portion of the bargain, successfully convinced the patricians of Rome that he was her husband. She should feel triumphant. Instead she felt torn and confused.

The man exuded charm, wit and confidence in equal measure.  Add a princely grace, a keen mind and a body any warrior would envy, any woman would want, and you had a combination that was nothing short of fascinating.

And dangerous.

She shuffled the parchments in her hand. Dangerous to her, to her senses, to her sanity. Oh, he wielded those attributes with great skill, building a convincing persona exactly as she’d wanted. He could make anyone believe anything and that’s what worried her most.

Make her believe she wanted him.

How could she trust him, truly trust him when he was so adept at lies? His promises to help her, help her family, keep them safe could just be another pretense. Her thoughts drifted back to the kindness he’d shown Aunt Sophia, the consideration to the litter bearers. Surely, qualities such as those could not be feigned.

“Another social engagement, mistress?”

“Hmmmm? Oh, yes Basil, it is,” she answered absently, casting a quick glance at her servant as he crossed the atrium from the
peristyle.

“The master will be pleased.”

Master? Julia’s head snapped up. “Basil, hold a moment.”

The doorkeeper stopped, gave her a quizzical look. “Yes, mistress?”

“Were you not to be observing the master?”

Basil frowned. “He is with young master Lares. I thought to give them privacy.”

Julia barely registered Basil’s distressed surprise as she spun on her heel and hurried toward the garden. What had she been thinking to allow Damon access to the rest of the house? Kaj had wanted her to keep him locked in his room, out of sight and away from temptations like thievery and murder. Julia had decided against it. Damon had not shown any inclination toward violence and felt it a small compensation for performing as instructed. That and the fact that the idea of keeping him caged like an animal was unthinkable. Kaj had agreed but only if Damon were under constant surveillance and secured at night. Damon had not been particularly keen at the compromise but had not given any argument.

That she had forgotten Lares’ tutor often brought him into the garden to spend time with his precious toy ships as a reward for doing his lessons, was a sign of just how much her current situation had occupied her mind. If Damon harmed him...

A small whimper drifted through the hedges. Julia’s heart leapt into her throat. She rounded the corner and stumbled to a halt.

Lares was lying on his back, his face flushed red, the front of his tunic soaked with perspiration. Damon sat on the end of the divan with her brother’s ankle in his hands. In horror, she watched as he bent Lares’ leg until his knee was nearly touching his chest. Lares squeezed his eyes tight and groaned. Sweet Hades, Damon was torturing her brother!

A hot rush of anger replaced her anxiety. Kaj would not have to kill him—she would. She started forward but stopped mid-stride at a whoop of delight from Lares.

“I did it, Damon! I did it!” he said, a lopsided grin erasing all strain from his face.

Damon returned the smile. It was an honest, genuine smile. No guile, no mockery. It transformed his features, deepened the lines at the corners of his eyes. Always on guard, Julia had not fathomed the depth of his own tension, but with its absence gauged it to be deeper than her own. Damon spoke, drawing her from her stunned revelation.

“You did. You worked hard and did not give into the pain,” Damon fisted his hand to his breast in salute. “A soldier of the Ninth Legion would not have done so well.”

Julia marveled at the effect Damon’s praise had on Lares. Her brother sat up straighter, head raised and eyes full of pride. Gone was the thirteen-year-old youth and in his place she saw a man. The realization shook her to her core. Gods.

Damon turned toward her as if he had been expecting her arrival. Pleasure filled his eyes, turning them into pools of liquid silver. His gaze lazily traveled the length of her. She sent him an arched look when he lingered overly long on the deep neckline of her tunic.

Sidestepping Damon’s outstretched legs, Julia crossed over to Lares. She could feel Damon’s gaze on her but chose to ignore him. She ran a hand through her brother’s damp hair. “Lares, what are you doing? You’ve overexerted yourself. You should be resting.”

Lares looked up at her, his face flushed, filled with excitement. “I walked, Julia!”

“Wh...what?”

“I walked,” he repeated, shifting an adoring gaze behind her. “Damon helped me.”

Impossible. The physicians had told her Lares would never walk, at least no more than to step from chair to bed. She glanced over her shoulder at Damon, who sat, arms crossed, waiting. For what? Thanks? For raising Lares’ expectations so high that he could do nothing but be crushed when the realization came that he could not accomplish such lofty goals?

Julia barely managed to keep her voice level. “You’ve done so before,” she said. Taking the coverlet from the divan, she dipped the corner into the pond and patted his flushed face with the cool water.

“That was stumbling.” Lares pushed her hand away. “I’m not an infant, sister.”

Julia sucked in a breath. Her brother had never spoken to her in such a manner. “You’ve become excited. You need to go to your room and rest.” She looked down the path to see Basil peeking at them from his concealed observation post. She waved him forward.

“I’ll take Lares to his room,” said Damon, standing.

Julia sent him a dark look which had Damon raising one brow. “Basil. Please take Lares to his room. And make certain that he has a goblet of cool water by his bed.”