The Patrician's Fortune- A Historical Romance

by Kayse, Joan

  “My lord Prefect. I regret that the news of my marriage has come so unexpectedly. I had hoped to present my husband at Senator Caucus’ dinner gathering tomorrow night.”

  “Your distress, Prefect, is perfectly understandable,” Damon drawled, lacing his fingers through Julia’s and squeezing a warning when she tried to tug free. “Losing someone as beautiful as my Julia from the marriage market would be devastating.” He raised her hand to his lips and brushed a kiss across her knuckles. He felt a tremor go through her. The action was purely for Quintus’ benefit, but the taste of her skin and her response heated his blood. He forced his thoughts back to the business at hand. A quick sideways glance at Quintus’ stone-faced countenance assured him it was having its intended effect; marking Julia as belonging to him. He dug the knife a bit deeper into the Prefect’s ego, refused to release her, lingered over her silky—smooth skin.

  His goddess could not possibly understand the power of such a nuance as this male ritual. But Damon knew that she would not appreciate knowing he was having a difficult time resisting the urge to savor the sweet taste of her flesh—all the way up her arm to that delectable mouth, a mouth that his brief experience with already had him craving more.

  He answered her stunned expression with a slow smile which almost turned into a full grin with her furious glare that he supposed was meant to intimidate. What would she think if she knew that her show of temper only made her more beautiful?

  Sparing him one more baleful look, Julia returned her attention to the Prefect. “I appreciate your concerns and value your friendship but my husband—and I—have matters well in hand.”

  “This is unacceptable.”

  The prick was correct. It was unacceptable to barge into his goddess’ home and behave like an ass. Damon leveled him with a look and infused just enough threat beneath a polite tone. “Prefect, I believe my wife has explained the situation. I bid you good day.” From the corner of his eye he caught Julia’s mouth fall open.

  Quintus’ features settled into cold, tight expression. Damon doubted the man was used to being dismissed but he controlled his temper, drawing back like a moray eel would before striking. Instinctively, Damon positioned himself in front of Julia.

  Eyes narrowed, the Prefect inclined his head. “My congratulations to you.” He sneered at Damon. “And your husband.” Then he was gone, stalking toward the atrium oblivious to Basil who hurried in front of him to open the door.

  Julia rubbed her temples with shaking hands. “Thank the gods that is over.”

  Damon watched until the Prefect was gone, turned, arms still crossed, and arched his brow. “Over? My dear wife, it’s only just begun.”

  Chapter Seven

  “I never imagined that my first duty as a spouse would be to pry another man’s hands off my wife.”

  Julia pursed her lips, not trusting herself to reply to Damon’s insulting sarcasm. How dare he make any comment when he had no idea who he had insulted, when in fact he should have been securely locked in his room. She shot him a narrowed glare. He very well could have ruined everything.

  Never mind that she had been thoroughly shaken by Quintus’ aggressive demand and had felt nothing but pure relief when he had entered the garden and come to her rescue.

  “You had no cause to interfere,” she replied coolly. “It is not your place.”

  Damon scoffed. “Not my place? By your own hand, goddess, you put me there and a very precarious place it is turning out to be.” He took a few steps away from her then stalked back. “Gods, the Prefect of Rome! A man second only to the Emperor Nero in power and every bit as ruthless.”

  He knew who Quintus was? “You exaggerate.”

  She had thought him dangerous looking before but the

  dark look that flashed across Damon’s face now sent a shiver racing down her spine. The man before her appeared perfectly capable of murder.

  “I want to know why Quintus Marcellus was here today.”

  Did she look witless? An uneducated criminal could not begin to fathom the intricacies—or the dangers—of the Roman upper class. She wasn’t about to impart information that he might inadvertently reveal to some ruthless patrician. She gave him a measured look, her stomach clenching at his own display of arrogance; hands fisted, shoulders squared, a muscle ticking in his jaw and a glare of thunderclouds. “Damon, I thought I made myself clear...”

  “Did you marry me to make your lover jealous?”

  Julia nearly choked on her indignation. She shot to her feet and slapped a sharp blow across his cheek. Her hand stung but his head did not move from the blow. He continued to challenge her with his steady gaze which only fueled her fury. She raised her hand again but this time he caught her wrist in a vise-like grip and dragged her against him.

  Julia braced her free hand on his chest, acutely aware, through the haze of her outrage, of the hard sculpted muscles beneath her fingertips. He felt like a rock wall and in the midst of her anger found herself inexplicably wishing she could explore the entire span of his upper body.

  Horrified at the direction her errant thoughts had taken, she focused on the audacity of the man. He had no right to touch her, not without her permission and that was something she’d never willingly give. She tried to push away with her free hand but Damon grabbed that as well and held both wrists behind her back, completely immobilizing her. “Release me at once or...”

  “Or what, wife?” he drawled, “You’ll have me locked in my room?” His smile was tight. “You see how well that worked.”

  She’d never been in such close proximity to a man before. Oh, she’d been kissed by the son of a family friend, but his adolescent groping had been more ticklish than enticing. It had taken great effort to disguise her laughter and preserve the poor boy’s honor.

  This was so different. Julia forced herself to be still, less to convince him to release her than to halt the friction of her breasts against the solid planes of his chest. Her nipples tightened in anticipation. Anticipation of what, she wasn’t certain but from the warmth pooling between her legs, her body seemed eager to discover the cause.

  She swallowed hard and reminded herself that Damon had responded before to reason. A simple restatement of their agreement—with a subtle reminder of his circumstances—and she would have the situation back under control. She tilted her head back, opened her mouth to speak but the breath caught in her throat at the smoldering heat in those gray eyes. Without uttering another word Damon dipped his head and captured her mouth with his.

  He tasted like honey and wine, heated by his firm lips into a heady elixir that wound its way through Julia’s blood, set her core on fire, pooling want and need low in her belly. Some distant alarm caused her to try and pull free but he refused to allow it, instead he cradled the back of her head with one hand and pressed her closer and took full possession of her mouth.

  All protests faded away. Julia was aware only of Damon’s body against her, the taste of his lips, the raw, male scent that sent a curl of heat wending its way through her like a banked ember coaxed to flame. She wanted more, needed more. Reaching up she wrapped her arms around his neck.

  Damon responded, deepened the kiss, slipped his tongue inside, explored the soft recesses of her mouth. Julia gasped at the invasion. She’d never experienced such a thing, never known a kiss could be so erotic. With each stroke, the fire in her belly flared hotter. Soaring on waves of sensation, she wondered if a woman had ever combusted into flames from the touch of a man.

  Abruptly, Damon pulled away, released his hold so quickly, she had to steady herself on a nearby urn to keep from stumbling. Her body trembled and while she wanted to say it was all from anger and indignant outrage because he had overstepped his bounds, a quick touch of her tender, swollen lips proclaimed her a liar. Gods, what had she been thinking. “That will never happen again.”

  A muscle ticked in Damon’s cheek. “No, goddess, it will not.”

  It was not an apology.

 
He walked only a few steps away, not nearly far enough that Julia could breathe with any ease.

  “But the visits from the Urban Prefect will. The man was obviously shocked—and angered—by your news. Men in his position do not enjoy such revelations and will not let such a simple matter as marriage stand in their way.” He held her gaze. “If I am to play this role convincingly and keep you and your family safe, I have to know the reasons for it.”

  Julia hesitated. He seemed sincere, but then what criminal wouldn’t when his freedom was at stake? But then the image of Damon standing up to Quintus flashed through her mind. The Prefect hadn’t liked that and for a brief moment she’d felt shielded, protected and there was power in that. There could be no harm in telling him the basics. “My father, Senator Octavian Manulus has been on a trip for over seven months.”

  “A journey intended to be much shorter?” he guessed.

  Julia went to a side table and poured wine into a silver goblet. “Yes, in fact he was to be gone but a week. At first I was unconcerned when he did not return as expected.” She shrugged a shoulder, unsettled by the way he watched her, still not recovered from his kiss. “It is not unusual for Father to be delayed in his travels, but after a month had passed I began to worry.”

  Damon thought for a moment. “A man with varied interests easily becomes distracted.”

  She took a sip of wine, gave him a wary look. What would he know of her father’s interests?

  His mouth turned up into a rueful smile. “Just because I travel in disreputable circles does not mean I am unaware of the foibles suffered by the upper class. Your father is well known, even among the mob, for his scholarship in such things as science, architecture.” He tapped a finger to his lips. “Wasn’t he instrumental in designing a new bracing technique?” At her nod, he continued. “It was used for the roof of a new block of insulae north of the Forum. A radical idea for reducing the incidences of collapse.”

  Julia stared at him. How in the name of Jupiter did he know that?

  He gave her a wry smile. “I had sought to rent an apartment in that building but the landlord flatly refused my sort.”

  She creased her brow at the hint of bitterness beneath his explanation. Tenement owners were renowned for leasing to anyone, even the small space beneath the eaves of the roof, so long as they had the coin, yet Damon had been refused.

  “There has been no word from your father?”

  Julia focused back on Damon who stood regarding her with a quizzical frown. “One letter sent several months ago abruptly informing me he was uncertain of his plans.”

  “Hmmm,” Damon rubbed his chin with his hand. “And when did the benevolent Prefect start showing interest in your affairs?”

  Julia chewed on her lower lip. “A few days after the letter arrived he started to visit, inquiring as to Father’s absence, expressing his concern.”

  Damon raised a brow. “Concern?”

  She bristled at his tone. “He is my father’s peer. It would not be unusual for him to seek assurance of our welfare.”

  *****

  Damon followed her lead and poured a generous portion of wine into a cup, regarded her over the rim. “Of course he would come to pay his respects.” He took a long drink and waited for the spirits to calm the anger that Julia’s naiveté brewed in his gut. “A ball of vipers needs all its members. The poison is so much more potent.”

  She looked as though she’d been struck. “I forbid you to speak of my father in such a manner.” Scorching him with the fire in her eyes, she turned away.

  Damn, the woman was infuriating. On the surface she was uncompromising but there’d been no mistaking flashes of conscience when she’d threatened him with death or the kindness she’d displayed while dealing with her befuddled aunt and sickly brother. Vermin like Quintus would not hesitate to use such noble characteristics against her. But there was another danger equally as great—he was finding those same virtues extremely attractive. Distractions caused mistakes and mistakes could cost you your life.

  Damn, that kiss had shaken him to his core. He’d never dreamed her madness might be catching but it must be, else what would have possessed him to take her in his arms and claim her mouth? And a fine, lush mouth it was, her lips soft, yielding to the bold strokes of his tongue. Ambrosia. But she was patrician. He was not.

  Damon inhaled, contemplated the enticing curve of Julia’s back which she now held stiff as a spear. Her fists clenched and unclenched, an unconscious effort to keep from slapping him again no doubt. Not that he didn’t deserve it. It had been a low turn to link her father with that worm Quintus. Damon had spent his life being judged on circumstances alone and now he was doing the same. He didn’t know Senator Octavian Manulus personally though he’d heard enough in his years as Tertius’ infiltrator to know that the man had a reputation as an honest, fair advocate for the underserved of Rome. Unusual for a Senator. Unheard of for a patrician. He took another sip of wine. And dangerous.

  He poured more wine into his chalice and downed the entire contents in one swallow, used the burning sensation to cleanse his thoughts. He set the goblet down with a bit more force than he intended. “I meant no disrespect Julia but you will allow that personal experience would lead me to distrust noble intentions.”

  She turned and faced him, her expression one of pure, feigned innocence. “Personal experience? Exactly what personal experience do you reference?” Her eyes narrowed. “Perhaps the reason why you were being crucified?”

  He almost applauded her deflection of the topic save that the peeved tone of her question sparked his own temper. He was used to such biting comments, had endured them most of his life and had resolved long ago not to allow them past the survival defenses he’d constructed. That hers had the force to dent his shields was unsettling and aggravating.

  Damon held her gaze, forced his own biting observations of pampered Roman ladies, and their inability to see past anything besides their own cosseted lives, back down his throat. If he was to find out more about the Prefect he had to stay focused. “That—among a hundred others—are neither relevant nor of particular concern to the average aristocrat.” He folded his arms across his chest. “Now, if you will, wife. Why does Quintus wish to marry you?”

  A stubborn expression settled on her face as she considered his request. Damon relaxed his stance. She didn’t want to tell him the truth but there was no mistaking the apprehension thrumming beneath her cool facade. There was more at stake here than Julia’s farce. The welfare of her family.

  Lita’s freedom.

  He blew out an impatient breath as she continued to stand there in silence. Patience was one of the tactics he least favored. Exploiting emotions, often the quickest route to useful information, was not a favorite choice either. But a successful spy used whichever tool was appropriate. “Do you wish your aunt and brother to die?”

  Her head shot up and those sea—blue eyes filled with panic.

  He’d hit his target.

  “Quintus would not dare hurt them,” she said. The tremor in her voice a mixture of anger and fear. While he admired the trait, it reinforced his perception that she did not fully understand the magnitude of the problem. He gave her an indulgent smile. “Oh I assure you, he would, in less time than it would take his heart to beat. If he had one.” In the past three years Damon had encountered a fair number of men—and several women—who were ruthless and without conscience. Quintus Marcellus made them all look like a benevolent angel from a Hebrew testament.

  She raised her hands then dropped them helplessly to her side. “You already know the reason. Quintus Marcellus wishes to wed me.”

  Could she really be so naïve? “An arrangement approved by your father?” he prodded.

  She sent him a horrified look, one that sent an inexplicable wave of relief coursing through him.

  “Gods, no. Never. My father has never set terms for a betrothal with any man. He has left the choice to me.”

  Damon inclined h
is head. “I am honored.”

  “A legitimate choice,” she returned, eyes narrowing.

  Damon put a hand over his heart. “You wound me, wife, for I thought I made a fair prize.”

  She made a noise low in her throat. “Do you ever take anything seriously?” she asked.

  He kept a smile fixed in place and worked to calm the emotions stirring in his gut. Oh, he took events that shaped and impacted his life very seriously, had since age eleven when he’d been purchased like a pet.

  True, there had been no leash and he had been treated well, more than most slaves could expect, but he’d chafed at the loss of his freedom and missed his family so badly he thought he’d die from the ache of it. The only way he had survived was to become someone else, build solid barriers to hide the boy he’d once been. His jaw tightened. A boy whose own father had found no value in him save the bag of coins exchanged for his son to pay his gamblers debt.

  Even when he had been emancipated at the age of eighteen Damon’s life had not belonged to him. He searched two years, found his mother and sister Tullia. Another four until he’d located Lita. The past three years of his life had not only been kept from him but whored out to a devious, unscrupulous man named Tertius Maximinus—illustrious Senator, powerful patron, advisor to the Emperor...bastard.

  Yes, he took matters very seriously.

  “Are you listening to me?”

  Damon jerked himself back at her exasperated question and trained his attention on Julia, who was glowering at him. “You were saying that your father is too indulgent of your high—tempered ways and will not force you to marry which is, as we all know, the duty of any civic minded pater of Rome.” She gasped again, but Damon ignored it. “The Prefect is a man of opportunity and greedy as well. It is an assumption easily made that he seeks your family’s fortune or at least control of it until Lares comes of age.” He rubbed his chin with a finger. “The mystery is whether he arranged the opportunity to gain access to it.”

  “Are you saying that he caused my father’s delay?”