The Patrician's Fortune- A Historical Romance (15 page)

He turned to Hespera and Caucus. “My wife and I thank you for a delightful feast.” His gaze encompassed the room, lingering on a scowling Quintus before resting on her again. “But the hour grows late and being newly wed, Julia and I crave the comfort of our bed.”

Her cheeks burned at the tittering laughter of the guests. A flogging, that’s what Damon deserved for his impudence or even better, stake him to an anthill covered with honey. An image sprang unbidden into her mind of licking the honey off with her tongue.

But honey was expensive. No, the flogging, she decided when he winked at her, and she would wield the scourge herself. The glare she sent him did nothing to dampen the amusement shining in his eyes. Then again, it wouldn’t take that much honey.

Damon inclined his head to Quintus who narrowed his eyes in contempt. “Prefect, until we meet again.”

Horrified, Julia looked at Damon. Meet again? Had he not understood the purpose of this appearance? She did not want to see Quintus again. Damon’s presence was supposed to ensure that the Prefect left her family in peace. It was as if Damon were issuing a challenge to Quintus.

Julia gathered her dignity close for that was the only thing keeping her from erupting into pieces and thanked Hespera for her hospitality, promising to visit again soon. Spinning on her heel, she walked briskly out of the room, stiffening when Damon’s hand wrapped possessively around her waist, his hand cupping her hip.

“You’re upset,” he whispered as they descended the stairs.

“You’re very astute,” she replied through clenched teeth. Upset did not begin to describe how she felt. She was furious and if she spoke now she would lose control and a Roman lady never lost control.

A small voice in her head laughed.
Like you did moments ago?

Cheeks burning, they reached the bottom of the stairs. Safe and out of sight of the guests Julia shrugged Damon away and nodded to Kaj who motioned the litter bearers forward. Shoulders rigid, she ignored Damon’s proffered hand, and climbed inside, felt the cushions behind her give beneath his weight. “Remove yourself,” she hissed.

“Why Julia,” Damon said in a solicitous voice, closing the curtains with a snap of his wrist. “What would your distinguished friends think if you threw me out on my ear after you left with such eagerness at your husband’s invitation?”

“Oh!” Julia swung her hand toward his cheek but bronzed fingers shot out and wrapped around her wrist. Desperate to inflict some type of damage, she wriggled into a sitting position, losing her balance as the litter was lifted from the ground. Unable to regain her equilibrium she sprawled on top of him. The shock of it delayed her reaction one instant too long. He circled her waist with strong arms trapping her fisted hands against a hard, muscled abdomen even the thick folds of his toga could not hide.

“Not the most conventional way to travel but I think I could get used to it,” he murmured in a husky voice.

“Damon, you will release me at once.”

Faint light from their escort’s torches filtered through the curtains, casting Damon’s face into shadow but she could see one dark brow lift.

“Ah, wife, do you not enjoy it?”

Julia had never been this close to a man in her life, but her body seemed to know what it wanted. Stretched out against long, muscled legs, the soft mounds of her breasts pressed against his harder chest, lips so close she could almost taste his wine-sweetened breath, a searing heat bloomed low in her belly and her breath came out in soft pants. Through the dryness in her throat she said, “Damon. Release me.”

Instead, Damon trailed his hands up her waist, brushed his thumbs against the outer curve of her breasts causing them to tighten, the sensitive nipples to pebble at the friction. She heard his sharp intake of breath before he slid his hands to her upper arms. He squeezed gently until she raised her eyes and met his heated gaze.

“You’ve commanded me to do a job, threatened to return me to the executioner should I fail,” His mouth settled into a grim line. “Since the thought of dying pinned to a cross is less than appealing to me, I intend to perform my duties with conviction. I will do whatever I must to convince your friend the Prefect, the entire Roman Senate or Jupiter himself that we are married. I’ll release you, goddess, but there will be no more slapping or striking or regal pique. Is this understood?”

A thousand retorts flew through her mind, most of which involved him losing a body part. Julia scanned the stubborn line of his jaw, tried to ignore the strength of the hands holding her but it was the resolve reflected in the deep gray depths of his eyes that convinced her to comply. She nodded curtly.

One side of Damon’s mouth quirked but he had the good sense not to give into his mirth under her quelling glare. He released her and folded his arms behind his head, watching her struggle to a sitting position.

Shoulders squared, chin tilted upward, Julia straightened her
palla
and tried to restore some semblance of dignity which dissolved as the litter dipped with a violent jerk causing her to make a wild grab for the side. The porter’s apologies were lost beneath Damon’s low-throated chuckle.

“Now, tell me why you are so angry?” he asked.

Julia rolled her eyes and looked at him. “Your clever remarks at our departure.”

He looked puzzled. “Remarks? I merely thanked the good Senator and his lovely wife for their hospitality.”

“And implied that we would be sharing a bed on our return.” Damn him, damn him, damn him.

“Ahhhh, I understand. You wish to keep it a secret.”

“There is no secret,” she snapped. Infuriated more at her lack of control than at his amused expression, she slowed her breathing. “Even if we were actually wed, it is not proper to discuss such matters openly.”

Damon made a clucking noise with his tongue. “Patricians. Wouldn’t want the reality of life to intrude in their
proper
lives.”

His expression was bland but his flippant remark could not hide the bitterness beneath his words. “You know about patrician’s lives, do you?”

“More than you might expect,” he answered gruffly. “I spent the better part of my life serving them.”

“You are a slave?”

Damon rose up on one elbow, his gaze fierce. “Was. I
was
a slave. I was emancipated years ago and have all the proper
Roman
documents to prove it.” He settled back against the pillows and closed his eyes. But the set of his jaw belied his anger. “Does that surprise you, goddess?”

She found that it did. Damon did not act in the least like a person who had spent any time being subservient to anyone. He was too proud, too confident, and too
patrician
in his actions. What circumstances, she wondered, could cause a man such as he to bow before anyone?
Dark, dangerous ones
, an inner voice warned. Julia glanced at him from beneath her lashes. He seemed at ease yet there was an edge to him she couldn’t quite define. She shivered at the realization. No matter. This was her life at stake. Ex-slave or not, he answered to her. “Where did you go after dinner?”

He shrugged his shoulder. “I had need of fresh air.”

What a convenient explanation. “You saw no one? Spoke to no one?”

“No, not a single person,” he answered.

Julia worried the edge of a pillow with her fingers. He could be telling the truth. Damon had performed far better than she’d thought possible despite his small rebellions. By this time tomorrow the gossips would have spread the word; Julia Manulus had a fine and noble husband. A
male
to head the family.

She pressed her fingers against the aching throb in her temples. Her plan had worked. She’d made her public statement. Quintus would occupy himself with more important matters now and she could concentrate on caring for her family.

But how could she concentrate on anything with Damon in such close proximity? Julia glanced again at his strong profile, knew he was feigning sleep because of the amused quirk lifting the corner of his mouth. Her gaze lingered on his mouth. Twice now she had been accosted by those strong, firm lips and instead of being appalled and repulsed by his lack of formality, his sheer audacity, wondered when she might feel the sizzling heat of it again.

She swallowed hard. This could not go on. As soon as they arrived home, she would make an offering of honey cakes and incense at the family altar and implore the household gods to grant her protection from her enemies—and that luscious mouth.

W
hat did Quintus want?

Damon picked a pebble from the pile in his hand and skipped it across the still water of the garden pool. That question had plagued him since the night of the dinner three days past. That he was no closer to figuring it out only added to his conviction that he was going mad.

Quintus and Tertius conspiring together. Octavian Manulus’ disappearance. Julia’s hesitant and vague responses to his questions. Damon shook his head, puzzled. The pieces would not fit together.

He scanned the ridge of the garden wall. Information wasn’t going to come climbing over that stone barrier. There were informants to contact, questions to be asked, observations to be made, bribes to offer, people to threaten. None of which he could do as a prisoner of the beautiful goddess.

Julia had kept her distance, minimizing contact with him since the night of the dinner. On the few occasions he had encountered her on his way to the bath or back to his cell, she’d thought to distance herself by donning her cool patrician’s decorum. His lips curved upward in a wry smile. She wasn’t quite as detached as she liked to believe. There was no mistaking the flare of panic in her eyes when he’d given her a heated look as they passed in the hall, one that told her plainly what he was thinking—that he wanted to taste her again, cover that generous mouth with his and make her forget to breathe.

Damon shifted on the bench against the tightness in his groin. What the hell was the matter with him? He’d never been aroused by the mere
thought
of a woman. By the gods, it had been all he could do to stay in control in the litter, not an easy feat when there was a goddess lying on top of you.

She was not frightened of him but rather her reaction to his touch. It was more gift than vanity to admit that he was skilled in handling women. Pleasuring whichever woman occupied his bed increased his own fulfillment and so he had learned how to coax the female body to tremble beneath the touch of his hands, knew how to find the secret places unique to each lover that would send them spiraling into ecstasy.

Yet Julia’s mind and her pride resisted the temptation her body was eager to accept. There was a vibrant, passionate woman beneath that staid noble lady and Damon would relish the opportunity to strip away the layers to find her—if he had the time. He sighed and dumped the remaining stones on the ground. Time was something he had precious little of and too much of it was being spent gaining Julia’s trust.

The mere fact that he was sitting outside in the sunshine should have eased the coiled tension twisting his gut. It had not been a simple task to talk Julia into releasing him from his prison. She’d been immune to all of his arguments until he’d informed her that Kaj had decided a window was a luxury and covered the opening with locked wooden shutters. At the height of the day’s heat it was suffocating and did she wish her new husband to roast like a pig on a spit? He’d give her credit. She’d resisted making a comparison between him and the swine though the temptation to do so had been clear in those expressive eyes. She had relented and he’d overheard her admonishing Kaj for his caution.

Damon stretched his legs out in front of the bench. He felt no remorse for playing on her sympathies and a great deal of satisfaction in knowing he had read his goddess correctly; she was not the cold-hearted patrician she worked so hard to portray. Either that or she was beginning to trust him.

He shifted again.

He glanced around the garden, shook his head when he spied Basil peeking at him through a large flowering bush. Shifting his gaze to his left he easily picked out the sandaled toe and dress hem of a kitchen girl behind one of the marble columns. Perhaps Julia wasn’t as ready to trust him as he’d hoped.

Frustration gripped him. “I’m not going anywhere,” he announced in a loud voice.

“Maybe you should.”

Damon recognized that disgruntled voice. He got up and stepped around a cluster of urns—etched with dolphins—to find Lares sitting on the edge of a narrow couch. His hair, a darker gold than his sister’s, was mussed as though he’d just arisen from sleeping. Damon glanced at the crumpled linen coverlet tossed in a heap on the ground.

He looked back at the boy. Save for an unhealthy pallor from too many days spent indoors, he appeared perfectly normal for a youth of thirteen years. All arms and legs, he was well on the way to being at least as tall as Damon and if he tilted his head just right to catch the light, Damon could see downy hair sprouting on his chin.

“Why don’t you leave?” he repeated, his voice cracking.

Yes, Lares was well on his way to manhood.

Damon shrugged a shoulder negligently and strolled over to the bench. “Why would I leave? I am married to your sister.” He couldn’t bring himself to say husband. A husband had responsibilities and...rights that he would never have. Suddenly he felt as grouchy as Lares sounded.

Lares scowled and ran his hand along the prow of a small wooden ship in his lap. “She doesn’t need you. She was doing just fine taking care of us. Father...” his voice roughened with emotion. “Father taught her well.”

Something tightened in Damon’s chest as he recognized the hurt, the confusion, the sense of abandonment beneath the boy’s words. At Lares’ age a boy looked to his father for guidance, for encouragement, instructions on how to be a man. When this was denied you by your own father the loss was almost too much to bear. He, better than anyone, would know that.

Ignoring the boy’s glare Damon sat down beside him, propped his arms on his knees and gazed out into the garden. “Your sister is intelligent and very capable of handling the Manulus affairs without input from me. But you, as heir, must be a tremendous help.”