The Patrician's Fortune- A Historical Romance (13 page)

Julia’s mouth went dry and she was certain everyone in the room could hear the pounding of her heart. Lady Hespera knew, had recognized their deceit. Her mind spun. The scandal would be horrific, the Manulus name shamed, ruined. What would happen to Lares and Aunt Sophia when she was thrown into prison? What would happen to Damon?

She risked a look at Damon. His full attention was on Hespera, one corner of his mouth curved into an endearing smile. His rich baritone betrayed not a hint of anxiety. “Your wit matches your beauty, Lady Hespera, for surely if you looked into a silvered mirror you’d know my words are pure truth.”

Lady Hespera gave a throaty chuckle and linked her arm into Damon’s. “Quite a fellow you’ve married, Julia. Quite a fellow indeed. He will do well with these ruffians also known as nobles.”

Julia fussed with the sleeve of her
palla
. Oh yes, she was quite sure he’d be at home with ruffians.

Lady Hespera motioned to a slave carrying a tray of wine—filled goblets and handed one to each of them. “Come, come. Meet the other guests.”

Julia took a healthy drink of the wine, relished the warmth of it calming her nerves. The heat increased when Damon slipped his arm around her shoulders and hugged her against him. He was all hard muscle and she could feel his strength. For one brief moment she allowed herself to lean into him. He nuzzled her temple with his lips. It was all for show of course, but she suppressed a sigh at the tiny shivers running down her neck.

“Your head is going to explode if you do not stop worrying,” he murmured against her ear.

“I am not worrying,” she protested.

“Oh, but you are. Perhaps the others do not see for they are self-absorbed, but I can tell. You asked me to trust you and so now you must trust me. I will conduct myself in a manner befitting a goddess’ husband.” He cocked one brow. “That would make me a god, would it not?”

Julia met his smile with one of her own. He’d made the jest to ease her nerves and she noticed for the first time tiny lines at the corners of his eyes that crinkled when he smiled. “You are impossible.”

“So I’ve been told,” he whispered.

Lady Hespera led the way down the marble corridor where they were joined by her husband. A portly man with a shiny pate ringed with white hair, ruddy cheeks and a dry wit, Senator Caucus was one of her father’s closest friends. Julia held fond memories of afternoons spent as a child listening to the two argue philosophy or debate the latest Senatorial edict. He took her hands in his and pecked a kiss on both cheeks. “It is so good to see you, Julia. How is the Manulus household? How fares Lares and Sophia?”

“They are well. Lares rebels at every turn and Sophia has more good days than not.” She looked down at their clasped hands. It was hardest to pretend in front of Caucus. “They miss father.”

The Senator scowled. “That old reprobate will have me to answer to when he returns. Imagine, taking an unannounced trip and staying gone for months. An unlikely thing for Octavian to do. Unacceptable. Completely unacceptable.”

Julia’s stomach clutched as the Senator grumbled. He was right. Leaving his family for such an extended period was unlike her father. What if Damon was right and her father was in danger? As if he knew her thoughts, Damon gave her arm another reassuring squeeze. Caucus’ ramble stuttered to a stop.

Caucus pinned Damon with an imperial stare that would have put the Emperor to shame. “Is this the scoundrel who dare lay claim to my oldest friend’s daughter? A girl who I hold as dear as my own?”

Dear, sweet Caucus. He had no idea how much harder he was making it for her to lie. But there could be no wavering. She opened her mouth to reassure him but Damon spoke first.

“Damon Pontus at your service, my lord. And indeed, I am the man fortunate enough to have won the heart of the Lady Julia.” He brushed his lips across the top of Julia’s hand. “I am eternally grateful for the day she,” he paused, “
selected
me.”

Julia cringed inwardly at the reminder of the circumstances that had brought him into her web of deceit. She pushed those thoughts away. They needed only get through the night, assure that all the nobles present accepted Damon as her husband.

“Caucus, you put the poor boy in an untenable situation,” scolded Lady Hespera. “Come, meet the other guests.”

Julia made to follow, but Damon tugged her back. “We should not delay, it will only draw attention.” She wanted this night to be finished so that she could retreat to the safety of her home, wait for her father to return, get her life back.

“I am, you know,” he said softly.

Julia glanced at their hosts’ retreating backs, then back at him. “You are what?”

“Grateful for the day we met. My thanks.”

Julia looked askance at him. He seemed sincere and that confused her more. Was he jesting? Was he goading her? Could she expect another flippant remark? She searched the dark smoke of his eyes, saw an emotion within them she couldn’t quite grasp. A part of her hoped it was sincere but in a blink it was gone and his wry smile was back.”Why?”

“Because if you had not
met
me I would not be enjoying this exclusive event.”  They followed their hostess. “I hope they have dancing girls.”

They reached the entrance to the garden where they were swarmed by the dozen other guests. After offering perfunctory congratulations to Julia on her nuptials, they proceeded to bombard Damon with questions. What part of
Silicia
did he hail from? How vast was his fortune from the tin mines of Gaul? Was it true he was descended from the third king of Thrace?

Gods, Julia could not have made up so many tales had she tried. It made her head spin. But Damon handled it all with poise, fielding the questions with wry humor and that extraordinary charm that she was coming to believe was as natural to him as breathing. By the time they’d reached the spacious dining room the men considered him a friend and the women were convinced he was indeed a native of Olympus.

“Ah, our last guest has arrived,” said Lady Hespera, extending her hand.

“Most gracious lady, how kind of you to have me,” said Quintus, his voice smooth as silk.

Julia felt the blood drain from her face.

W
hy was he still here?

That question had plagued Damon all evening. It would have been a simple matter to jump from the litter—that idiot Kaj would not have been able to stop him—and disappear into the city’s underground, a place he knew well, the place where he belonged.

He tipped the shell in his hand up to his lips and let the smooth, gray snail slide down his throat. It settled in his stomach like a sack of wet grain but there had not been one slurp. At least at his favorite
taverna
he would have had something more palatable to eat. He waved away a slave offering another tray of the delicacies. They were well into the fourth course of the dinner but his appetite had left the instant he’d seen Quintus.

That was the reason why he remained.

The Prefect had acted as though they’d never met and made a grand show of offering his congratulations on their marriage. The weasel had done a masterful job, easily fooled Hespera and Caucus. They were so filled with excitement at having such a prestigious guest in their home that they were blind to the malice hidden behind the congenial mask. Damon took a sip of wine, glowered at Quintus who had conveniently selected the couch positioned at a right angle to Julia. Close enough to touch. Close enough to intimidate.

The Prefect’s unexpected appearance had caused Julia to go three shades of pale and that alone was enough to triple his own anger and disgust. It cut him to the core, the way the vermin watched her—like a hawk getting ready to snatch a juicy mouse from a field. He wanted to wipe that smug look off his face—with his fists. But that wouldn’t be considered proper dinner etiquette.

Instead, Damon had spent the entire evening listening to the idle chatter of the other guests, nodding when appropriate and trying to guess at Quintus’ motive. He’d already overheard Lady Hespera confide to one of her matron friends that the Prefect had sought out an invitation at the last moment which of course, she and her husband were thrilled to extend.

His gaze drifted back to Julia where it had stayed most of the evening. She seemed to be holding her own, gauging from the regal way she held herself, her lips curved into a benign smile, answering politely whenever Quintus addressed her. But he sensed her anxiety, saw the way she tensed each time Quintus brushed her hand or leaned in close to whisper in her ear.

Damon grit his teeth as the pompous ass did so again, this time brazenly running a hand up her arm. That was more than enough. Even an imaginary husband could only abide so much. Rising from his place, he sauntered over to Julia’s couch.

“Having a good time, my love?” he murmured, easing down onto the side of her divan and leaning over to kiss her neck. Damn, she tasted good. From the corner of his eye, he saw Quintus’ lips purse, his jaw go tight. Good.

Julia gave him a guarded look. “Yes, of course. Caucus and Hespera always have lovely parties—the best food, finest wine...”

“The most interesting guests,” he finished for her, lifting his head and meeting Quintus’ narrowed gaze. Without breaking eye contact, he raised his hand to the nape of Julia’s neck and gently massaged the tight muscles.

Anger flared hot and bright in the Prefect’s eyes at the possessive move and Damon got an inordinate amount of pleasure in seeing it. But the man was a consummate politician and he maintained his casual indifference without a hint of displeasure.

“So Pontus, you hail from
Silicia
?” he asked haughtily, spearing a piece of broiled dove with more force than was necessary with his eating knife.

“I do, Prefect.”

“I do not recall your family. Do you have relations in Rome?”

“Damon left when he was very young,” interjected Julia, too eagerly.

Damon took his left hand, tilted her face away from Quintus’ probing gaze and pressed his lips to her ear where he whispered, “Do not offer any more information than is necessary. It will only fuel our friend’s curiosity.” He straightened and replied to her comment though he kept his gaze firmly fixed on Quintus. “My heart, the Prefect is used to handling much more important matters than the inconsequential lineage of my ancestors.” To Quintus he added, “My family is sparse in number and scattered about the Empire.” That was sticking close enough to the truth. Tullia and his mother resided in Alexandria leaving only Lita close by.
And destined to a life in slavery if he failed to find a way to get her away from Tertius.

His response annoyed Quintus who persisted. “Do not be so modest, Pontus. Julia comes from an ancient and prestigious family of some renown, honored by kings and Emperors since the time of our great founder Romulus. I know her father,” Quintus glanced at Julia with an expression so full of false pity it made Damon’s stomach churn. “would select only a husband of the highest quality.”

Before Damon could reply, Julia spoke. “He has, Prefect.” She reached up, caught the hand cupping the base of her neck and guided it to her lips. She brushed a light kiss on Damon’s palm then rubbed her cheek against his knuckles. Damon masked his sharp intake of breath with a cough. Gods, those soft lips felt like silk against the rough callus of his skin. “Damon is not only a worthy man but a wonderful husband. Oh look, the entertainment is about to start.”

The gesture of intimacy sparked a furious glare from Quintus who reluctantly turned his brooding attention to the jugglers and dancing girls. A whirling cloud of gossamer veils glided past their couch, the nubile dancer gyrating and twisting in a sensual pattern to a cacophony of flutes and cymbals. Normally, Damon would be very appreciative of the dark-haired beauty’s physical talents and heated gaze, but he was still watching Julia, trying to shake off his astonishment from her declaration.

Intellectually, he knew it had been said for Quintus’ benefit but an unsettling sensation had stirred deep in his chest at her words. He’d been called many things in his lifetime—slave, dog, scum and his personal favorite—bestowed by Jared’s Uncle Gideon—insufferable spawn of Beelzebub, but he’d never ever been called worthy.

There was a physical attraction between them that he knew was not solely on his part. Julia’s heated blushes, her yielding response to his kiss—gods that kiss had stirred his blood—were ample proof. But to entertain even for the briefest moment that a warm smile or staged compliment meant Julia might consider him anything more than what he was—well
that
was insanity.

Julia glanced over her shoulder and gave him a quizzical look. Gods, could he be any more of a fool? But instead of the superior, censoring admonishment he expected, her lips curved into an encouraging smile. For a moment, Damon forgot to breathe.

“Isn’t it a wonder,” she said nervously as he continued to stare at her. “How do you suppose he does that?”

Damon spared a glance at the juggler who was circulating an assortment of silver balls and knives high in the air above his head. He had taught himself how to juggle as a boy—in the few precious hours a slave had free from his duties—practicing with pieces of rotten fruit and bronze plates whose dents had baffled the family cook. Like espionage, it was a skill that required perfect coordination, balance and intense concentration. The smallest distraction could ruin the rhythm.

Of course Julia was no small distraction. Damon doubted that with her looking at him as she was now—with sea-blue eyes fringed in thick, golden brown lashes—that he could manage even one large ball tossed into the air with both hands.

He snatched his chalice from the table and took a fortifying drink of wine. “Practice,” he answered hoarsely. “A lot of practice.” Her brows furrowed together as she stared at him. Wonderful. Now she thought him not only a fool, but a half- witted one as well.

Damon concentrated on the trio of acrobats who had replaced the troublemaking juggler. This newly discovered imagination of his was proving to be a problem. Julia was a Roman noble and he an ex-slave, a man who existed on the periphery of society. He smirked. Given his current circumstances it would be safe to say he was not as talented a spy as he’d once believed. He was so far below her in status that she’d have to look beneath the street into the sewers to find him.