The Patrician's Fortune- A Historical Romance (24 page)

Returning back to the moment, Damon peeked around the baskets and saw Kaj turn from the doorway, his brow furrowed as he searched the crowd. He’d come to accept the life his mother had chosen to live. She’d done what she’d needed to, to survive, just as he was doing now. But he was still glad that she resided in Alexandria.

He tilted his head and looked into Lyris’ eyes, careful to keep a firm grasp on her roving hands. “You are indeed the most beautiful of women. Mortal men fall to their knees to worship you.” Damon smiled to himself as the prostitute tilted her chin regally pretending to ignore him, but hanging onto his every word. “I humbly ask you to relay a message to my mother. Tell her Lita is well.” At least he prayed she was. “Tell her that we have been delayed, but will return to Alexandria soon.”

Lyris made an impatient noise. “Do so yourself, Damon Primax. I am not your slave.”

Kaj had stepped out into the street. Damon forced his temper down. “Lyris, I cannot. I will not be able to go to Alexandria for a while yet. I need you to tell her.”

Lyris gave him a bored look. “I cannot, because she is not in Alexandria.”

Damon stared at her, a sinking sensation in his stomach. “What? Where is she?”

Lyris smiled brightly. “She is here, in Rome.”

“N
ero, you must eat your porridge like a good Emperor.”

Julia slowed her pace and stared wide-eyed at a ramshackle wooden stage set up next to the fuller’s shop. A dwarf dressed in purple swaddling and wearing a lopsided crown of laurel leaves, was lying in a makeshift iron cradle being fed by his
mother
, Aggripina, who sported a gauze veil, beefy arms and a beard. The small crowd watching the impromptu play burst into laughter as the dwarf playing the Emperor scurried out of the bed and began to run circles around the maternal actor who fluttered his lashes and scolded her wayward offspring to come and practice his lyre.

As much as Emperor Nero loved the theatre, Julia was fairly certain he’d not appreciate the artistic merits of this particular presentation.

“My lady?”

Basil watched her with a worried expression, as if he half expected her to leap onto the stage and join in the satire. Julia couldn’t blame him. Not after the dizzying pace she’d set this morning, running from shop to shop like a crazed woman tending, as Damon had insisted, to her usual routines.

She’d done her best to find the flaw in his reasoning, that Quintus sought something of value from her father but in truth could not find one. While she could not fathom what treasure Octavian possessed, Damon’s suggestion had reinforced the nagging suspicions that had plagued her since the Prefect’s first visit that something was amiss. They needed information, he’d insisted and Julia agreed.

But it had been a mistake, she thought, to let him out alone.  He had no experience in conducting the delicate business of patronage and his ignorance could do irreparable harm to the Manulus reputation. She set her mouth in a determined line. Besides, the threat was to her and her family—she would not allow someone else to fight her battle.

But that Damon was willing to, warmed a place in her heart.

She turned her attention back to the anxious servant. “It’s all right, Basil. How much farther to the carpenter’s house?”

“Only around the corner, mistress,” replied Basil leaning toward her and bracing his legs to shield her from the jostle of the crowd. “Surely the master has returned home by now.”

After doing what type of damage? Damon knew nothing of her father’s business. Octavian had spent years establishing bonds with his clients, developing a vast network of loyal supporters.  One misplaced word, one slip into plebian manners and irreparable damage would be done to the Manulus name.

Basil dipped his head in apology before pressing his hand to her back to steer her down an alley. “This way, mistress.”

In a matter of minutes Basil had gained them access to the carpenter’s workshop. Julia held her head high, ignored the stunned looks of surprise on the workers faces as she followed Silas’ servant to the rear of the workshop. She knew it was highly irregular for a Roman lady to visit any shop outside a silk merchant or jewelers, but the Manulus name was at risk.

The slave bowed and asked her to wait while he informed his master of her arrival. Julia nodded her acquiesce, twisting her ring as she watched him approach two men standing with their backs toward her. She had not meant to interrupt his conversation with a customer, but she only needed a few moments to reassure the man that Damon did not speak for her father.

The shorter of the men turned at his servant’s whispered announcement. Silas was close to her father’s age with craggy, worn features, his arms well muscled from years of wielding the tools of his trade. His brown tunic and leather apron were covered with wood dust which he tried unsuccessfully to wipe away with large, callused hands.

Julia inclined her head in greeting. “
Salve,
Silas Decimus. I ask forgiveness for intruding.”

“Nonsense, wife.”  The second man turned in her direction. “Your presence is always welcome.”

Julia’s mouth fell open as she looked at Damon, who regarded her with that same half-tilted smile she’d dreamed about all night, the one he had offered her this morning before arousing her with his touch. Kaj drifted into view from the side of the room, his scowl fierce.

Damon handed the master carpenter the jointed piece of wood he’d been studying and strolled over to her. His manner was coolly polite but she caught the slight tightening of his jaw, saw the annoyance sparking behind his eyes. He was far from pleased and Julia felt a moment’s panic over what his reaction would be.

“Dearest, I confess, I am surprised to find you here,” he said, leaning in and brushing his lips gently over hers.

Julia’s cheeks burned with heat as several workers snickered. Propriety demanded she accept her husband’s attention without protest, even in such a public setting though she knew Damon did it on purpose. He seemed to get an enormous amount of enjoyment from causing her embarrassment.

Her temper simmered. She lifted her gaze, prepared to respond with a pointed remark and froze, the words catching in her throat at the look of pure, male smugness filling his eyes.

Generations of decorum disintegrated in the flash of fury that lanced through her. He was not going to stir her up and then retreat and leave her aching again. Julia reached up and cupped his face between her hands. Taking only a moment to savor the stunned expression on his handsome features, she captured his lips in a long, slow kiss.

Before she could settle comfortably into a sense of triumph, he angled his head and deepened the kiss, folding her into his arms, pressing her against the hard lines of his warrior’s body that even the cumbersome toga could not disguise.

Her mind insisted she pull away to save her pride but Julia could do neither. This was more than another ploy to annoy her, more than physical pleasure. There was a raw, primal need in his kiss, a powerful yearning that caught at her heart. It was as if he were pleading with her for something. Instinctively, she parted her lips, a soft moan building in her throat as his tongue slipped in, exploring the hidden recesses, caressing her with warm, bold strokes.

An eternity filled with heat and sensation passed before Damon finally drew away. Dazed, Julia met his gaze and recognized heat mixed with confusion reflected in their silver depths, an emotion she could well identify with as they churned within her. He searched her face for a long moment as if seeking an answer to a question Julia did not know.

“I thought you vowed that would never happen again?” he whispered, his voice husky with arousal.

Gods, they’d done more than that this morning. The memory of the pleasure caused Julia to close her eyes lest he see the truth. She dropped her gaze to her hand lying against his chest. “It is not the same,” she whispered back. “I kissed you this time.”

“Ahem.”

Damon angled himself protectively in front of her but she found Silas watching them, arms folded and one hand trying unsuccessfully to hide an amused smile. Kaj stood at his elbow, near to foaming at the mouth, while Basil had a look of pure delight on his plump face.

“My lord, my lady,” Silas said walking over to join them, “the gods have blessed this humble establishment with your presence today.”

Damon’s features settled into a congenial mask. Keeping one arm about her waist, which she was grateful for since she felt her legs would not hold her, he turned to their host and smiled. “Forgive my enthusiasm, Master Silas. I had not seen my beautiful wife since breaking my fast.”

“Ah,” the older man answered. “A beautiful wife is indeed a true gift. The poets would have a feast weaving odes with such love and devotion you display with such enthusiasm.” He ran an appraising eye over them. “With such eagerness I dare say my
patrona
will soon enjoy the blessing of grandchildren.”

Dear gods!

Damon spoke into her ear. “You needn’t look so stricken. I’ve been told on more than one occasion that I would produce outstanding progeny.” Damon cleared his throat. “Since my wife is here, perhaps you could show both of us your workshop.”

“Delighted, delighted.”

For the next half hour, Julia followed the men around the shop listening as Silas explained the different types of wood and their uses. He boasted that his furniture was the best in the Empire and if the beauty of the carved chests waiting to be finished were any indication, Julia would have to agree.

Damon asked intelligent questions about profits gained, material acquisition, the process used in the making of furniture. Silas appeared as surprised as she at his interest but readily demonstrated the various chisels, saws, mallets, and planing tools used to carve the raw material into a finished piece.

Julia cast Damon a sidelong look as he listened with interest as one of Silas’ men explained the different properties of oak. Her husband seemed well versed in the craft already. Could he have labored at carpentry when he was a slave? A ripple of distress hit her. She could not imagine this proud, stubborn man bending to another’s will.

“That is agreeable, Master Silas,” said Damon, drawing Julia away from her musings. “Can it be delivered by the end of the month?”

What had Damon done? What were they talking about? Fool, she silently berated. How can you keep him from making mistakes if you do not pay heed?

Silas scratched his chin. “It will be difficult as I have a contract with the city that must be met.”

“A contract?”

Damon’s tone was casual yet Julia sensed his attention directed fully at the carpenter.

“Yes,” Silas answered. “A new section of
insulae
to replace the ones that burned last year.”

Julia recalled the incident. One of the poorest areas of town had been destroyed when a wayward cooking fire had set one tenement ablaze. Crowded conditions coupled with inferior construction had caused the fire to sweep through a dozen buildings before the fire brigade could contain it. Fifty citizens had perished and ten times as many were left homeless. Her father had been outraged and encouraged the government to take responsibility.

“The Emperor is generous,” Damon replied.

Silas scowled. “Indeed you would believe it to be so, but his agents requisition low quality timbers at abysmal prices. We are all Romans, yet those who rely on the corn dole can hope for nothing better even in their housing.” Silas’ eyes widened and he stared at them in horror. He bowed low. “Master, Mistress, I beg your forgiveness for my bold speech.”

*****

Damon shot a sideways glance at Julia. How would her patrician sensibilities handle Silas’ honesty? Of course, if she had not followed him she would not have to be exposed to it. The headache that had begun with the news his mother was in Rome was rapidly expanding. It had taken an enormous amount of effort to hasten Lyris on her way with a message to his mother that he would come. If Julia had arrived just a bit sooner, had heard his mother’s woman...

Damon pressed his lips together. If his wife had not arrived, had not seared him with a kiss that heated his blood to boiling, he would not now be hiding the evidence of his arousal behind the thick folds of the blasted toga. Hells, the mere spontaneity of the public attention fueled his desire to a level that would have shocked even a seasoned professional such as Lyris.

He forced his attention back to the present situation.  Prepared to soothe Julia’s outrage at Silas’ frank appraisal. Instead she graced Silas with a warm smile that went through Damon like an arrow. Gods, to have her smile at him so easily.

“Do not concern yourself, Master Silas,” she reassured him. “My father has always appreciated honesty as do I.”

Silas considered that then glanced around the room before leaning closer, his voice dropping. “All we ask is a fair price for our work. Three of the local guilds hope to petition Nero to hear our concerns.”

A cold chill sliced through Damon. That had been one of the topics at the gathering he’d infiltrated. Emotions had been running high and he’d dismissed half the arguments as unimportant, preferring to focus on his own disgruntlement at Tertius. By the time he’d caught on to what the craftsmen were truly protesting, the Praetorian Guard had knocked down the doors and carted the entire lot of them away in chains.

“Husband, it is time we left Master Silas to his work.”

Damon inclined his head, and motioned for Kaj to give the carpenter his
sportula
. He slipped his hand beneath Julia’s elbow and steered her out the door.

Julia tried to slip from his grasp the minute they stepped into the afternoon sun. He gave her a tight smile and kept his hold.

“I am not a child that you must hold onto me.”

Damon gave a short laugh. “Release you so you can dig your claws into me? I think not.”

Together they nodded at a duo of Senators who strolled past, casting curious glances over their shoulders. Damon recognized one as a rival of Tertius and in fact had spent time last year in the man’s household posing as a gardener. He could still hear the man’s lament at how scraggly his flowerbeds had become under his care.