The Patrician's Fortune- A Historical Romance (35 page)

“Runaway?”

Damon squeezed her hand and held her uncertain gaze. “I know there are risks, sister, but there is no other option.” He flicked his gaze around the gloomy room. “I do not wish to see you spend your life laboring from dawn to dusk, your shoulders stooped from too many hours at the loom. All to make your master rich.”

“You have risked much for me brother, more than I most probably deserve.”

Damon’s heart clutched at the weariness in the small smile Lita gave him.

She squeezed his hands back and nodded. “I will be ready.”

Damon returned her smile. “You worried me for a moment, little sister. I thought I would have to use my rank as your older and wiser brother to persuade you.”

“Older, yes. Wiser? That is a matter for discussion.”

Damon sent her a mock expression of affront, pleased when she laughed. “In seven days, then. You will know it is I by the word Cleopatra.”

Lita looked puzzled but gave him another smile as she remembered. “Be careful, brother.”

Damon cupped her cheek with his hand. “Always, sister. Always.”

T
he trip had been unbearable and if Kaj had not stopped her, Julia would have leapt from the litter and run the remainder of the way home.

Where had Damon gone? Her imagination ran wild, from images of him seeking the murderer responsible for poor Ithacus’ death, to roaming the crowded streets of the city an open target for assassins, to confronting the Urban Prefect outright. She recalled that Damon had spoken to Kaj before their departure and on their arrival home she had pummeled her servant with questions which he refused to answer. For the first time in her life, the big man’s taciturn ways made her want to scream.

Hours had passed since her return home and Julia could now admit that she was calmer, though there was still an undercurrent of apprehension thrumming through her with Damon’s continued absence. She’d spent the time checking on her family. Aunt Sophia had fallen on her, weeping and clinging, and after much reassurance and a draught of sleeping herb, her aunt was now resting. Lares had walked to the door, supremely smug about his newfound abilities and had given her a chiding look of manly proportions when she’d shed a tear over it. Basil was healing nicely and the rest of the servants—behaving as if she’d been gone for longer than a day—had expressed their delight at having her home.

And every one of them asked after Master Damon.

Julia looked around the garden and picked at her dinner. She had chosen to take her meal in the garden as the walls of her chamber had felt as if they were closing in on her and instructed Dorcas to bring enough for the master. Both meals were growing cold. The sun would soon set and Damon was still not home.

She would give him a tongue lashing, she decided, spearing the roasted piece of dove with her knife. A sound set down for leaving her to worry all day long. He wasn’t a stupid man. He had to know that she understood the ramifications of the bookseller’s murder. She’d also noted the grief that had filled his eyes on learning of his friend’s death and longed to comfort him, reassure him that he was not to blame.

No, she thought bleakly. He was not to blame, she was. The responsibility for this entire debacle lay squarely on her shoulders. Kaj had been right, and Damon too, that it had been insanity to think that such a ruse as she propagated could to anything to deter a man like Quintus. She should have just taken her family and left the city.

But then, Damon would have died.

That thought fanned the terror she’d managed to subdue. Where was he? She would die if anything happened to that infuriating man.

You love him
.

Bryna’s words echoed in her heart. Julia pushed her plate aside and sat on the edge of the couch, ran her hands through her hair. She could no longer deny the truth. She loved Damon. Had, she supposed, from that first meeting when he’d challenged her with his cutting wit and overwhelming pride.

As trite as it may sound, he possessed every trait of a true aristocrat—courage, honor, passion, integrity—in his own way. He may have been raised a slave, but his every action proclaimed his pureblood nobility. And not a bit of it mattered to Julia.

What did matter was what this man made her feel alive, cherished—she sighed deeply—desired. If anything happened to him...

“Goddess, a glum face does not suit you.”

Julia’s head shot up and she stared wide eyed at Damon, her gaze raking him from head to toe including the puzzled frown that graced the wonderful, hard angles of his handsome, wonderful face looking for any sign of injury.

“Have I grown another head?” he asked, walking slowly toward her.

She didn’t answer, just bolted to her feet and flung herself at him, circled her arms around his neck and buried her face in his shoulder, inhaling the musk and sandalwood scent that was only Damon. Unprepared, he stumbled back a few steps before she felt his arms band around her.

“Most husbands receive a simple ‘Greetings, husband. How was your day at the Forum?’”

A small laugh spilled from Julia. She pulled away and rested her forehead against his, her relief so great that he was whole and had returned that she could not trust herself to speak.

Damon guided her feet back to the floor, lifted her chin and studied her face, his brow creased with worry. “Julia, what is wrong?” he asked. “Is your family well? Is it Basil?”

She shook her head, feeling a bit foolish at her overreaction to his return. “No, everyone is fine.”

Now he was looking at
her
as if she had two heads. She could try to explain, but wasn’t certain she had the words to describe what she was feeling. She did know she could not speak of love and have the strength to bear the sting of his rejection.

Instead, she framed his face with her hands and drew him to her lips. She brushed them softly against his, as light as a butterfly’s wings. No words, no explanations. She teased the corners of his mouth with her tongue before parting her lips and giving him a long, passionate kiss.

For a moment, he seemed to hold back, but then slanted his head and deepened it, his velvet tongue sparring with hers until their breathing came in short, shallow pants.

He broke contact first and set her away from him, but not before she’d seen the desire in his eyes. It gave her a heady feeling that she had this effect on him. But his next words brought her feet quickly back to solid ground.

“Julia, no more.”

Julia hugged herself, watched as he walked to the low table and helped himself to her full wine glass. She’d smelled the spirits on his breath, could still taste it where his lips had savaged hers. “Eat some bread, unless you relish the incapacitation of drunkenness.”

He glanced up sharply, a thin edge to his half smile. “I’m nowhere close to being inebriated.” He took a long swallow of wine as well as a bite of the crusty bread and added bitterly, “I don’t believe there is enough wine in the entire Empire to dull my senses to oblivion.”

Julia walked slowly toward him. “Damon, I don’t understand.”

“Well, goddess, you should,” he tore off another piece of bread, popped it into his mouth. “You’ve known from the beginning that we are from separate worlds. I’ve tried on multiple occasions to convince you. Oh, do not misunderstand,” he looked up at her, “I’ve enjoyed the pleasure of your body immensely and I thank you for the gift of it. But it would do us both a disfavor to think it can continue.” He averted his gaze. “That it should continue.”

His words slapped at her like physical blows.

He will think to cast it from him.

Julia drew a steadying breath, studied Damon’s sullen profile, considered Bryna’s words. He was doing exactly that, she realized. Casting her away with harsh words. It was the way he distanced himself from things that mattered. She’d heard it in the gruff banter with Ithacus, in the caustic word play with Jared. She held back a smile.

Damon raised one brow, sent her a suspicious look.

Julia strolled to the couch across from him and lowered herself gracefully to it. “You’re correct of course. It has been quite entertaining. I merely worried a mishap had occurred on your way back...” She paused for effect and when the scowl on his face deepened, continued, “...home.”

He stared long and hard at her until she began to squirm, her sense of satisfaction to have used his own tactics on him fading. When he answered, it crumbled to dust.

“No. There were no mishaps, though I have no doubt there will be and of the most serious nature.”

“What do you mean?”

Damon ate a handful of berries. “Ithacus was murdered. I saw the horror in your eyes when Jared’s slave revealed the manner of his death.”

Gods, of course she had been horrified. Any civilized person would be at an unnecessary and violent death. “I’m sorry, I know you held him in high esteem.”

The flash of grief that passed across his features was almost too brief to see. “He was a good man and it grieves me that I was the cause of his demise.”

No more. They may not have reached common ground on the nature of their relationship, but she was not going to let him shoulder more displaced guilt. “Enough, Damon. We both know that it is because of me, because of this mysterious information my father may have held, that caused this. Let us agree at least on this one thing.”

She saw that he wanted to argue, but a sudden weariness settled over him. “With a man like the Urban Prefect there is no room for blame. He will get what he wants at all costs. That is why I made arrangements for my sister’s safety and why,” he raised his head, his silver gaze so intense Julia felt it to her core. “I have made arrangements for Lares, Aunt Sophia and you to leave the city.”

“What do you mean you’ve made arrangements? Without consulting me?”

“I’ve spoken with Kaj.”

“Kaj does not make the decisions of this household.” She stood, began to pace. “I have no argument against sending Lares and Aunt Sophia away. But I will not leave.” You, she wanted to say. I will not leave you.

“Julia,” he said between clenched teeth, “you’re not being reasonable.”

She gave a shaky laugh. “Reason? You want reason? Abandoning my home would give Quintus all the reason he needs to seize our property, our resources. There would be nothing left.” She squared her shoulders. “I will stay and protect what is mine.”

He rose to his feet and crossed to her so quickly she barely had time to register the look of sheer anger and fear darkening his features.

“I will not let anything happen to you. You must do as I say.”

Her gaze clashed with his. “Why, Damon? Why would you risk so much for someone who forced you into this precarious situation?”

A muscle worked in his jaw. Julia could see the emotions raging behind those gray eyes. They always darkened to that storm cloud color when he was struggling to maintain control. She swallowed against the pain in her heart. If he was so proud, or so stubborn that he would not admit to holding feelings for her then she would face this danger alone. “Damon,” her voice quavered. She drew a calming breath and started again, her gaze unwavering as she spoke. “Damon, I release you from your vow. You are free to leave.”

The only noise in the garden was the chirping of crickets. Damon stared at her for so long that Julia thought she might scream from the pressure of it. Why wasn’t he arguing with her? Why didn’t he just leave? She kept her mouth shut tight, afraid that if she asked it would come out on the sob that clogged her throat.

A quiet cough sounded from the entrance to the garden.

“Yes,” Damon called out over his shoulder. The tone of his voice carried all the command of a patrician.

“Um, excuse me, master. But this has just arrived. The messenger insisted it was urgent.”

Julia released the breath she’d been holding as Damon released her and turned to Basil. The gatekeeper wore a worried look on his face and still looked too pale. With his injured arm supported in a sling he had insisted on returning to his duties. Julia gave him a reassuring smile over Damon’s shoulder though her stomach was still tied in knots. He held out his hand for the folded parchment. Breaking the wax seal he began to read.

“Well, Julia,” he said brusquely as he rolled up the missive and crushed it in his hand. “It seems your generous offer will have to wait. Damon Pontus and his wife Julia have been invited to attend the chariot races on the morrow. Guests of the Urban Prefect of Rome.”

*****

Refusing an invitation from the most powerful man in Rome was never a wise thing to do. Damon scanned the milling crowds outside the Circus Maximus. But then again, attending could prove just as unhealthy. Thousands of people provided the ideal cover for assassins. Interlocking corridors coupled with dozens of steep stairs presented perfect spot for
accidents
.

Damon bit back a grim smile. Paranoia was an unsettling affliction.

Assisting Julia from the litter, he wrapped a protective arm around her waist. He wanted her close despite the excruciating agony of her sweet form pressed against him. They were walking into a nest of vipers and he would not allow any harm to come to his goddess.

If it had been up to him, Julia would not even be present. He’d proposed she feign an illness, an idea she had flatly refused, declaring that her position as Senator Octavian Manulus’ daughter was the strongest shield they possessed. Try as he might, he could not find an argument to counter it. Gods, her willfulness was nearly as provocative as her full, lush lips and bountiful breasts. Her fire, her spirit, her courage—all of it bound into an irresistible package that he was finding harder and harder to resist. There was no other woman in all of Rome like his goddess.

And he would protect her with his life.

They entered through the Palatine gate. As with the rest of Roman society, the four tiers of stone benches were divided according to class. The first level had select areas set aside for temple priests, the six Vestal Virgins, senators and wealthy equestrians. The general public or the
mob
as the aristocrats were fond of calling those with no status, were consigned to the upper tiers which, when Damon considered, provided a better view with less dust.