The Patrician's Fortune- A Historical Romance (9 page)

“Would you like to see one?” asked Damon, reaching into the bowl of nuts at the same time as Julia.

Her immediate impulse was to snatch her hand back but she saw the challenge behind his eyes. Deliberately she took her time selecting an almond and refused to acknowledge the shiver that shot through her as his warm fingers brushed the top of her hand. His lips curved into a lopsided smile as he turned his attention back to Lares, who had leaned forward in his excitement.

“I would, yes. I would very much enjoy seeing a ship with this sail.” Lares turned expectant eyes to Julia.

Julia cleared her throat. “Lares, Damon is not a merchant, nor does he own any ships.”

Damon grabbed a handful of almonds, tossed one in the air and caught it in his mouth. “That is not a problem, Julia. I know someone who owns many ships. I’ve no doubt there are several in the harbor at Ostia right at this moment as he is a greedy fellow with aspirations to conquer the world of trade.”

Julia pinned Damon with a look, warning him to keep his thoughts to himself before addressing her brother. “Lares, you know the physician says the sea air is bad for your condition.”

Lares crossed his arms. “A pox on the physician.”

A spear of pain jolted through her as the joy slipped from her brother’s face. It wasn’t fair that she be the reason for it, but she couldn’t allow Damon’s lies to hurt Lares. “Still, it is my duty as your family, to protect your health.”

“Damon is head of this family now,” replied Lares, echoing her own words. “He may say what I can and cannot do.”

*****

Nonchalantly, Damon popped another handful of nuts into his mouth chewing thoughtfully as brother and sister turned to look at him. It wasn’t hard to see the hope beneath Lares’ scowl but he’d wager a sack of gold Julia was blind to it so strong was her concern for her brother. He’d taken note of the worried looks as the boy picked at his food, the utter relief that filled her eyes when he’d finished an entire bowl of stew.

“I’m sure,” said Julia deliberately “that my
husband
will take his wife’s concerns into account.”

She was a good sister, Damon realized. So good she couldn’t see that she was smothering the boy’s spirit.

He took a sip of wine, looked at them over the rim. It was too soon to risk Julia’s censure. Swallowing he said “The physicians are learned men so I’m sure they know what is good for the body.” But not for the soul, he thought as Lares’ shoulders slumped in defeat.

Julia released the breath she’d been holding, patted her brother’s hand. “You see Lares, Damon knows the wisdom of following instructions.”

Damon arched a brow at her sideways look, recognized the jab for what it was—a warning. He took another drink of his wine before he spoke. “The physicians are wise but not always correct. In fact the physicians in Silicia are of the mind that salt air is the fastest cure for every ailment from bloody flux to marsh fever. I’m sure my
wife
knows that matters—such as misguided medicinal treatments—are not always what they seem.” He winked at Lares who grinned.

Julia pressed those wonderful full lips together into a tight line. Gods, it was fun watching her go into a state, her skin blushing prettily, her eyes sparking fire at him. It made him want to kiss the stubbornness away, change the heat of temper into hot desire, bury himself deep inside her. He angled his body away lest she see his body’s response to his musings.

“I demand to see your mistress!”

Damon frowned at the brusque baritone voice coming from the atrium, noted the color drain from Julia’s face as she jumped to her feet and grasped his arm in a death grip. He shot a look at Lares. The boy’s scowl had returned tenfold but his eyes were filled with anxiety and worry. An instinct to protect them both surged to the surface.

He was going to have to find a cure for that.

“Damon, you must go to your room now,” said Julia in a calm voice, signaling Kaj who had already stepped from behind a pillar.

“Surely, wife, this would be a perfect opportunity for me to start meeting your friends,” he answered casually.

Her fingers dug into his arm. “No!”

Damn, the woman’s nails were like daggers. What were a few more scars? Prying her free he shot a glare at Kaj who crowded up next to him. He started to tell the over-grown bully to back away or he’d find himself minus the other eye when he felt a soft stroke on his arm. He shifted his gaze and stared down into Julia’s pleading eyes.

“Please, Damon. Not yet.”

The thought that he could get lost in those eyes was knocked away by another bellow from the unwelcome visitor. He glanced at the hallway leading to the entry. Whoever was coming was making enough commotion to stir the dead from their tombs.

Nodding curtly, Damon pivoted on his heel and stalked out of the garden, barely able to enjoy Kaj’s muttered curse as the pirate hurried to catch up with him. He followed the pathway to his cell—he didn’t care what Julia called it, it was still a cell—running this newest piece to the puzzle through his head.

The person at the door was either the rudest individual in the Empire, flaunting the most basic etiquette by barging into a noble’s home or he was a man used to power—one that used power to intimidate.

Granted, he’d only known Julia for a sum total of two days but his instincts told her she wasn’t a coward. He smiled, recalling how she’d stood up to his demands, threatened to send him back to be crucified. No, she definitely wasn’t the type to back down from a fight. But just now he’d seen fear flare in those incredible eyes and it made him angry.

“Halt,” Kaj said, gasping for breath as they reached the room. Damon smiled indulgently as he already had the door open. He gave an exaggerated salute and went inside, ground his teeth as the door slammed shut and the iron bar lowered across it. There was no click of a turning key.

He waited the whole span of two minutes before he put his ear to the wood. Silence. Stretching his hand beneath the leather belt at his waist, he withdrew the slender knife salvaged from the fruit platter and slipped it through the small space between the door and the lintel. With two quick adjustments for angle, he caught the iron bar with the tip and slowly pushed it up. Noiselessly, the door swung open.

He peered around the door and scanned the corridor. The fact that his warden had thought it necessary to return to the garden without securing him was telling, for no matter how determined Kaj was to keep him under his thumb he was more devoted to his mistress. Which meant he was concerned for Julia’s safety.

On silent feet, Damon made his way down the corridor, veering away from the path he’d used before to cross the atrium so that he could approach the garden from the opposite side. Two slave girls were cleaning the vestibule, pretending to polish the floor, anxious gazes focused on the
peristyle
where muffled voices could be heard.

He paused in mid-stride when they noticed him. Nodding amicably at the pair—and the marble ancestor glowering at him from his pedestal—he continued into the west wing. When he was out of their sight, he picked up his pace, hurried through an arched opening into the walkway of the twin colonnade. Crouching behind a thicket he eased his hand into the greenery and pulled the leaves back. He had a perfect view—and he didn’t like what he saw.

Julia faced a man dressed in the toga of a Senator. He had black, close—cropped hair curled precisely in the latest fashion. A thick gold rope chain with a medallion the size of a small platter hung from his neck. His face was angled away from Damon’s vantage point so the man’s features were hidden but he was standing entirely too close to Julia for comfort—his comfort, anyway. He narrowed his eyes as the man took Julia’s hand and brought it to his lips and swallowed the growl that started in his throat.

Julia snatched her hand away, and walked in that regal way common to all the elite to the divan where Lares had been—Kaj must have taken the boy away—and perched on the edge. She indicated with a sweep of her hand for the man to sit in the opposite chair and noted the immediate tension in her proud shoulders as the visitor joined her instead.

This observation spot was not the best. The loud gurgling of the dolphin fountain situated beside the shrubbery obliterated bits of polite conversation and he wanted to get a better look at the visitor. Crouch-walking around the row of hedges he moved to within a few feet of the terrace. A natural parting of the leaves provided the perfect vantage point. He settled on the ground, covered by the foliage and leaned forward.

“Do not let him see.”

Damon twisted around at the harsh whisper, the knife out of his belt and in his hand in an instant. He stared at a trembling Aunt Sophia who knelt not a foot’s width from him, her hair disheveled, brow creased in worry. How in the name of Hades had she managed to sneak up on him? He gave himself a mental shake. Those weeks in prison must have dulled his reflexes.

“Do not let him see, Faust,” she whispered in a graveled voice.

Faust? Perfect. The demented aunt thought he was someone else. He shot a quick look through the thicket and, reassured that they hadn’t been heard, caught and held the older woman’s anxious gaze. Placing one finger to his lips, he patted her carefully on the shoulder hoping it would calm her. Eyes still wide with anxiety, she nodded and stared toward the terrace. Damon followed her gaze and listened.

“Your brother is well?” asked the man in a blatantly bored voice.

Damon frowned. That voice was familiar. He knew many of the Senators—had dug out enough information for Tertius over the years to fill a hundred scrolls. Information as mundane as whose wife was sleeping with who to identifying which side of an issue his rivals favored prior to a vote. Of course
they
would know him as a new slave serving at a banquet, a relative of a relative of an acquaintance, a guard who mysteriously abandoned his post.

“Yes, very well, thank you, Quintus,” replied Julia. “My thanks for your concern.”

Damon detected a slight tremor beneath her clipped, cultured words and a light pink was beginning to stain her cheeks. Gods, she’d make a horrible spy.

His brow knotted. Quintus? The Urban Prefect of Rome?  As if on cue the man turned toward the opening. A cold knot of anger formed in Damon’s gut as he stared at the man he’d vowed never to forget. The man who had ordered his crucifixion. Aunt Sophia patted his shoulder now.

“No thanks are necessary, my dear Julia. As I have said on previous visits, my concerns are for you and your family’s welfare.”

Damon sneered. The only thing left for the snake to do was to fall to his belly and slither between the stones of the patio.

“I’ve told you before my lord, that your concern is misplaced. All of the Manulus affairs are in order,” she answered in a firm tone. Damon couldn’t suppress his smile.
That
sounded more like the goddess he’d come to know.

Quintus waved a dismissive hand. “Yes, yes, so you’ve told me. But I must tell you that the Emperor and I are concerned about the management of our colleague Octavian’s holdings.” He shifted closer, as did Damon when the Prefect’s voice took on a threatening edge. “The situation must be taken in hand.” He sniffed and straightened a hand down the shoulder of his toga. “I am prepared to provide you with the security of marriage.”

Julia’s gasp of outrage was loud enough to cause Aunt Sophia to jump. Damon rubbed her arm, willed the frail woman to be quiet. He returned his attention to the duo. So that was why his goddess had need of a husband...to keep from having one. He rolled his eyes. Now he was starting to sound like Aunt Sophia.

Damon focused on Julia’s reaction. Her anxiety was high—she’d nearly twirled the lion’s head ring off her finger and a rosy blush stained her neck. She could put on a façade of superiority all she wanted, but in the end even the most novice of spies would be able to identify her weakness and use it against her.

The Prefect was no novice.

Julia rose and put a modest distance between herself and the Prefect. To her credit, her voice was firm but polite when she spoke. “Quintus, with no disrespect intended, I must decline your gracious offer.”

In less than a heartbeat the expression on the Roman’s face slipped from amusement to hard anger. He stalked to Julia and grabbed her roughly by the arms and demanded, “Give me one good reason why you cannot marry me.”

“Because she is already married.”

Damon strode with purpose into the garden, ignored the startled look on their faces. They could be no less surprised than he was for it hadn’t been his intent to intervene; at least not until he’d thought it through and developed a plan. But watching the Prefect actually touch his goddess had him jumping to his feet and walking into the garden before a calm, logical thought could dissuade him. He could have sworn he heard Aunt Sophia clap.

Reaching the pair, he met Quintus’ cold glare with one of his own. Without breaking eye contact he stopped beside Julia, slipped his arm around her waist and drew her against his side. She drew a sharp breath and tried to wiggle free but he only tightened his grip. He spared a glance at her lovely face, noted the fire of anger lighting her eyes. He was going to pay dearly for this later. He focused his attention back to Quintus. “Julia, you must introduce me to our guest.”

Quintus drew back his shoulders. “I am Quintus Marcellus, Prefect of Rome.” He stared down his nose. “Who are you?”

Damon set his jaw against the raw anger that flared in his gut. That imperious tone was burned into his memory for eternity. The disdain, the dimissive air as he sentenced fifty innocent people to death.
Execution by crucifixion
. The declaration as off-hand as if he were asking for another cup of wine. Of course the Prefect wouldn’t recognize Damon. After all, he’d only been one face in a crowd of many led off away to die.

He managed an easy smile. “I am Damon Pontus of Silicia.” He pressed his lips to Julia’s temple, allowed himself a moment to enjoy the soft scent of roses. Raising his gaze he pinned Quintus with a hard look. “Julia is
my
wife.”