The Patrician's Fortune- A Historical Romance (21 page)

Julia tugged on his neck. Damon did not move, only raised a brow and continued to watch her. Julia felt a flash of uncertainty. She was inexperienced in these matters, had suffered only awkward kisses as a young girl by a lad too eager and just as immature as she had been. Did he think her awkward and silly? Her naiveté was not so pronounced that she did not realize he’d known other lovers, lovers more skillful than she, women who knew what pleased a man.

Damon’s lips curved into an amused smile.

Julia frowned. “You mock me?”

The smile vanished. “Never, goddess.”

She held her breath as he untied the other sleeve of her tunic and pulled away the fabric so that both of her breasts were exposed to his view. Julia’s mouth went dry beneath his hungry gaze. Anticipation caused her to shiver.

Saying nothing, he dipped his head and claimed her mouth, catching her surprised gasp as he fondled one breast with his hand. Kneading and squeezing, his thumb teased the nipple, plucking it to a taut peak, sending white-hot streaks of pleasure coursing through her body. No dream had ever been so marvelous. “What are you doing?” she managed to ask in a shaky voice.

“Worshiping a goddess.” He shifted so that his tongue laved the sensitive skin behind her ear. She closed her eyes and sighed. Oh, she liked that very much.

Julia wanted him closer, wanted to do the same things to him. Spearing her fingers through the waves of his hair, she pressed her lips against the stubbled line of his jaw. Bolstered by Damon’s low growl, she drew him close, teased the edge of his mouth with her tongue, suckled and tasted.

Damon responded by skimming his hand along her side down to the triangle of curls between her legs. Julia made a small mewling sound as he covered the tender bud nestled there with his palm and began to massage. She arched instinctively toward him. What in the name of the gods was he doing? And why didn’t he do it harder? Those thoughts scattered to the winds when he slipped his finger deep inside her.

The pressure of his palm continued, his finger stroking her, urging her toward a pinnacle she had never known existed but was suddenly desperate to reach. His lips never left her, nipping, plundering, consuming, until she feared she would go mad. When he withdrew his hand she made a noise of protest and slapped at his arm.

*****

Julia was in a fine temper now, Damon thought as he rose up on one arm and met her glare of pure frustration.

And he loved it.

The play of emotion across her face had been a wonder to watch. He’d been unprepared for such an ardent response from her, fought against guilt realizing that she might still be bleary-headed from sleep and unaware of her actions. But her innocent advances fired his blood and when she offered no protest to his exploration of her beautiful body? Well, he’d given into the reckless side of his nature—which always got him in trouble.

Damon closed his eyes reveling in the smooth touch of Julia’s hands along his chest, his arms. She touched him as a woman touched a man, the brush of her fingers stirring his blood into a boil. His muscles clenched when her hand drifted to his lower abdomen and reached for his thickening shaft. He sucked in sharply as she stroked the sensitive head with one finger.

Yes, he was in trouble.

“Damon!”

He studied her face, lips swollen from his kisses, a love bite blooming on her neck, her eyes flashing fire. Gone was the dignified, proper, impetuous, stubborn Roman lady. In her place he held a woman so full of passion and life that for the first time in his existence he wanted something for himself—he wanted Julia.

Something he could not have.

He clenched his jaw at the stark truth of the matter. He couldn’t have this dream anymore than he could the others he’d been foolish enough to wish for in his life.

“Damon?”

The hint of pleading in Julia’s voice sparked a bit of male satisfaction in him, but that she called him by name instead of what he was—an imposter, a slave—pleased him more. He pushed all of it aside. He could not let Julia continue down a path she did not understand, especially with someone like him leading the way. Toward that end lay nothing but bad fortune.

“Mistress?”

Damon glanced at the door to the chamber where he could just see Dorcas’ hand hesitating before entering. The maid could not know how grateful he was for the interruption. Damon kissed Julia on the cheek, tore his gaze away from the disappointment and confusion that flashed behind her eyes. He rolled off of her, missing the sweet heat of her body instantly, and sat up on the side of the bed. Better for her to be disappointed than filled with regrets.

“Mistress?” Dorcas repeated in a loud whisper.

“One moment, Dorcas.” Julia answered in a husky voice.

Damon sensed movement behind him and waited quietly as Julia sat up and put her feet to the floor. He risked a glance over his shoulder and saw her fumbling to tie her sleeves together. He should offer to help, allowing that he had been responsible for their present condition, but the rigid line of her back and agitated movements stayed his hand.

“You may enter,” Julia called. The imperious edge to her voice caused him to cringe.

Damon snatched the robe from the end of the bed and put it on as the maid eased into the room. Her assessing gaze slid back and forth between Julia’s chilled tone and the scowl he knew marked his face. The gossip in the kitchens would be prime today.

“I beg your forgiveness, mistress. It is well past the morning’s first light and when you had not summoned me...Well,” Dorcas cast her eyes down. “I...I did not mean to interrupt the master’s rest.”

“Oh, the master is well rested,” replied Julia, casting him a dismissive look.

So, the arrogant, patrician lady had returned. He hadn’t expected her to acknowledge the passion that had sizzled between them, and refused to set any meaning to the twinge of disappointment it left, but by Hades, he would not be treated like a slave used to pleasure the mistress. Playing that role many times under Tertius’ directive had been more than enough for one lifetime. He’d thought life as a slave demeaning until he’d spent a week chained to a matron’s bed. And damn him if the image of being captive on Julia’s bed in the same manner didn’t cause his cock to harden further.

With effort he stood and stretched his arms, bestowing a dazzling smile on Dorcas. “My wife speaks true. I always feel refreshed after strenuous exercise.” With a wink at the now blushing maid, he started for the door, pausing beside Julia. Her ire was palpable, spilling out in waves. A lesser man might be overcome. He waited the span of two heartbeats before catching her lightly by the shoulders. Leaning down, he pressed a lingering kiss to the soft skin behind her ear, the area he now knew she favored and smiled as she shuddered beneath his hands. Savoring the satisfaction, he strolled out of the room.

*****

An hour later, Damon made his way back down the corridor feeling more focused than he had since before his arrest. A long, hot soak in the baths had cleared his mind and had sharpened his resolve. He could no longer afford to bide his time pretending—and there was no other way to describe it—that he was leading a normal life. Not when doing so would endanger Julia and her family—and keep him too close to temptation.

A man’s pride and good sense often flee before a woman’s comely attributes.
He couldn’t recall if it was a Greek philosopher or another Pompeiian
taverna
poet who’d composed that bit of wisdom but the truth of it left a sour taste in his mouth.

All of that foolishness was finished now. This morning’s incident would be buried in his memory along with the other futile events of his life. Julia would be just another means used to complete his mission. He reached the closed door of the bedchamber and paused. The challenge now, was informing Julia that they, no
he
, would not wait for Quintus to act. The goddess’ plan was about to change.

“Faust! Do not let him see!”

Damon turned, catching Aunt Sophia by the shoulders as she skidded to a halt behind him. A breathless and frazzled Helena caught up.

“Forgive me, Master,” the maid said panting. “I vow the mistress sprouts wings when she becomes disturbed.”

“It’s all right, Helena.” He gentled his grip and leaned down to hold Sophia’s nervous gaze. “Aunt Sophia. Be calm. There is nothing to concern you.”

“No!” the older woman said in a strained whisper, her eyes widening. “He will see and the family will die.”

Damon frowned and glanced at Helena. The girl shrugged.

“Who will see Sophia?” he asked, careful to keep his tone even and unthreatening.

Sophia’s expression went from distraught to irritated. “The man at the door!”

Helena’s brow puckered. “There was a stranger at the door this morning, master. Basil chased him away as he has all the other times.”

“Other times?”

Helena laid a gentle hand on Sophia’s arm and nodded. “Yes, Master. He has come at least three other times in the past week. I saw him on two occasions. He requests to speak to Master Octavian. When he is told the master is not available, he becomes very agitated.”

“He will see Faust!” moaned Sophia.

Damon knew Julia’s aunt lived in a world marked with events from her past, had a difficult time understanding the present, but this fear of
seeing
seemed a common thread in her ramblings. He had learned early on never to discount information, no matter how insignificant it might seem. Could there be a connection between her mysterious man and the stranger?

Terror glittered in the older woman’s eyes. Any questions would have to wait. He cupped Aunt Sophia’s chin gently in his hand and held her gaze. “No one will harm this family, Sophia. They will be safe.”

Sophia calmed and for a moment, Damon saw a flash of sanity within her pale eyes. “I know it. You will keep us safe. It was meant to be.”

Shaking his head and trying to ignore the cold chill that shot through him, Damon handed her over to Helena. He contemplated the closed door. If he’d had any reservations before, Aunt Sophia’s words convinced him he had to take the situation in hand. Without bothering to announce his presence, as husbands would not be bound to do, Damon entered the room.

In one glance he saw that the bed coverings had been put neatly back into place and the pillows rearranged on the divan. A small ebony table had been placed near the open balcony, affording the occupants of the matching carved chairs an unobstructed view of the garden below—not that he had any complaint with the spectacular view before him.

Julia sat in one of the chairs as calm and serene as the sea after a storm and every bit as beautiful. She’d dressed in a soft woolen
tunica
, dyed in an incredible blend of blues and greens that matched her eyes. The sleeves were gathered along her slender arms at intervals with small pearl-tipped pins. A braided cord of cobalt blue was belted beneath her breasts, pushing the generous globes up to the point of spilling out from the material. While Damon needed no reminder of her generous attributes, he couldn’t say he minded the effect.

A pair of pearled combs swept her honey-glossed tresses away from her face though a few unruly curls had escaped, framing the fine sculpted lines of her beautiful face. Her expression, a mask of cool reserve, revealed nothing, but her eyes were bright with emotion. Damon set his jaw. Of course, the sea was also calm
before
a storm.

*****

The wariness behind Damon’s smoke-gray eyes caused Julia to cringe. She hated that she had been the one to put it there.

But what else should she expect? It was she who had set the boundaries between them, limits necessary given the nature of their association; Roman noble and grateful servant. An association she’d thought, in her narrow, patrician view, to be simple and straightforward.

Her perceptions had been so wrong.

She’d been running it through her head ever since he’d left the room, through her bath, her dressing, grateful for Dorcas’ uncharacteristic silence. Her maid seemed to know that she needed the quiet to think and consider.

The debased prisoner she’d rescued from the cross on the
Via Appia
had proved to be a bright, intelligent, engaging man, intense and distant all at the same time. Damon was handsome and strong and a single, smoldering glance from him could scatter her precious aristocratic ideals to the winds. A touch of his strong, lean fingers set her body into a fever and his kiss...Julia suppressed a sigh. His kiss flooded her with warmth, touched her soul and freed her spirit. His kiss made her feel as though she held a delightful secret that only he would understand.

Caught in the wonder of his body she’d sought to ease the ache, never considering how he might perceive her interest. When he’d pulled away from her, leaving her burning and confused, a wave of humiliation had nearly taken her under. Her embarrassment had been compounded by Dorcas’ interruption and so she’d taken refuge behind the arrogant shield of her class.

But she’d seen the flash of disappointment, a fleeting glimpse of resignation in his hooded gaze. There had been anger as well in the tight line of his mouth, the set of his jaw, anger well restrained through a lifetime of practice. He was so used to being considered less and it both hurt and shamed her to have added to it.

Julia drew a slow breath. She would acknowledge her actions, stress to him that she shared the fault for this morning’s mistake. It would, it must, be forgotten.

He stood watching and waiting. It seemed such a natural part of him, this caution. “The cheese is quite good,” she said, indicating the food in front of her. “The bread freshly baked.”

His lips curved into a sardonic smile which immediately raised her guard.

“The fruit will suffice,” he said, plucking a pear from a bowl. He took a bite and sat in the opposite chair. “I assume it is freshly...plucked?”

She felt the heat rise in her cheeks at the innuendo. He always thought he was so clever. This time she would not be baited. “I do not know. Perhaps you should ask the worm whose home you just chewed into pieces,” she answered evenly.