The Patrician's Fortune- A Historical Romance

by Kayse, Joan

  Noticing for the first time the signs of strain pinching her features, Damon decided against voicing his suspicion—that Octavian Manulus would never be coming back, was most likely dead and had been since he’d first stepped foot outside the city.

  “Julia, I’m saying that the Prefect is a powerful opponent and a dangerous man to have as an enemy. You...” He closed his eyes unable to believe what he was going to say. “We must be cautious if we are to carry out this ruse. Do not keep it a secret if there are other causes for the Prefect to be so eager to give up his bachelor’s life.”

  He watched indecision flicker behind her eyes before she expertly schooled her lovely features into perfect Roman disdain. “There are no other reasons. And the notion that Quintus had anything to do with my father’s absence is preposterous.”

  He covered the short distance that separated them until they stood toe to toe, masking his admiration when she stiffened, refusing to back away. Before the whole matter was done, she was going to need that courage.

  “Remove yourself.”

  Damon regarded her for a long moment. So she wasn’t willing to confide in him, even with information that could save her family. That kind of stubbornness would only lead to trouble and there was only one way to combat it. He must earn her trust. And doing so meant following her directives.

  Standing aside, he allowed her to pass which she did with slow, deliberate steps before hurrying to the safety of the patio and Kaj who had finally returned and appeared to be near an apoplectic fit to find him alone with his mistress. Julia squared her shoulders and addressed him. “Senator Caucus’ party is tomorrow night. We will begin lessons in proper etiquette in the morning. You will go with Kaj now.”

  Gain her trust. Damon ground his teeth as he allowed the cretin to grab his arm.

  Chapter Eight

  “Now, what is it you must remember to do between courses?”

  Kill myself. Damon glanced to where Julia sat on a carved stool with her back to him. After a full day of her etiquette lessons his patience was well on its way to leaping off a cliff. He might as well follow. Every man had his limits and he’d reached his.

  But he’d managed to rein in his displeasure thus far which was no small feat considering he’d spent a restless night tossing and turning on that pitiful excuse for a pallet—behind a locked door. How in Hades’ name was he to prove his trustworthy nature if she refused to cooperate?

  Fortunately for Julia he was a tolerant man. He’d had to be to endure her preparations. Since dawn, she’d been drilling him with instructions on a thousand topics from how to properly recline at table, to the appropriate way to greet the host. Gods, even how to scoop a snail from its shell and swallow it without making noise. Fool that he was he thought all nobles slurped their food.

  What would be her reaction, Damon wondered, if she knew that he was already familiar with the proper behavior, the protocols and other stifling rules of the patrician world? What his mother had not taught him, he’d learned by attending functions with his master, Jared. Of course, by then he had become more skilled in the proper decorum of a slave; keep your head bowed, be invisible, silent and always prepared to do your master’s bidding.

  His only respite had come when Julia allowed him time to bathe. Damon smiled as he remembered the way she’d hotly rebuffed his invitation to join him. He’d had to settle for fantasies of watching his goddess’ nude body slipping beneath the water, her bare foot running along his calf, the steaming water lapping at the curve of her breasts...

  He sucked in a breath as his cock twitched at the memory. Suffice to say he had added to Kaj’s perpetual foul mood by taking a long dip in the frigidarium to cool his imagination.

  He fingered the intricate stitching of gold thread that bordered the elbow—length sleeve of his white linen tunic. Additional embroidery enhanced the neckline where another medallion of beaten gold studded with topaz gems lay flat against his chest, identical in design to the bands at his wrists and the rings that adorned several of his fingers. Julia had him looking like a damned peacock. He’d swallowed protests at the opulence though if she asked him to preen his feathers, he would refuse. He glanced at her costly garments, one side of his mouth lifting. Unless she agreed to shed her own plumes that he may feast…

  “Damon?” She held out a slender arm for her maid to slip a spiraled band of gold around her upper arm.

  He propped his elbows on his knees. “Let me see if my inadequate mind can recall. Hmmm... Refrain from napping?”

  The smirk on his face slid away when she rose from her perch and faced him. Dressed in a sleeveless under—tunic of pure white, her stola was spun gold, fastened at the shoulders with pearl—studded filigree brooches. The material fell in soft, flowing lines to the floor where it brushed the tops of her delicate, gold—sandaled feet. Ropes of interlocking gold chain twined with more pearls crisscrossed her waist enhancing her sensual curves and accentuating the perfect globes of her breasts.

  He needed a drink of water. No wine. Several cups of wine. An amphora of wine. Gods what did it matter? His mouth felt like the great Sinai desert.

  She frowned. “Are you ill?”

  Her voice wrapped around Damon like a velvet cloak. He’d never been speechless before and he found it disconcerting. His smooth tongue was a gift that had served him well all his life. But now it took a great deal of effort just to keep his voice from cracking. “I am fine, wife.” He rose slowly, soaking in the sight of her.

  It pleased him that she did not use the heavy cosmetics favored by the wealthy. Her complexion was already perfect, like a bowl of cream, and it took only a moment under his scrutiny to bring a becoming pink blush to her cheeks. Her mouth was luscious, just the right shade of rose and he felt an insane urge to trace the outline with his tongue. Who needed wine? He was clearly drunk on her beauty.

  “You are beautiful, lovelier than Venus herself, deserving of a temple full of acolytes devoted only to your worship.” A flash of heat swept through him as he realized he could easily be the first.

  “Another wall poem?” she asked dryly, arranging a diaphanous palla Dorcas offered over one shoulder.

  Damon pressed his lips together as she fussed with the material. He felt like an awkward youth. Of course she’d not take a compliment from him seriously and the fact that it bothered him when she mocked his effort was like a douse with a pail of cold water. He’d been too long without a woman, months in fact, not counting the thirty days he’d spent in prison. He had to leash in his baser urges, stay focused. She’d given him the perfect opportunity to discover who was behind his death sentence and he couldn’t afford to let rampant lust distract him.

  Julia looked up then and tilted her head, her sparkling eyes filled with question. He could get lost in those eyes, lose himself in the swirls of blues and greens. He quirked one corner of his mouth. “What can I say? I am a very well—read man.” He shot a smile at Dorcas’ confused look, turned away and snatched up a goblet of water.

  *****

  Julia narrowed her gaze, watched as Damon lifted the toga she’d provided off of the couch. He shrugged off Basil’s help, donned it expertly, knowing exactly how to manage the intricate folds. For a criminal he was very familiar with the garment and its proper wearing. One might think he wore one every day. She caught her lower lip with her teeth. Of course that was impossible.

  She sighed. She was tired and her nerves were raw. It had been a long day, but there had been much to accomplish and very limited time. She wanted him well prepared for his introduction to the Roman nobles and had driven him mercilessly. It had taken a considerable amount of energy trying to imagine every possibility, anticipate any problems that might arise. She did not want him to fumble through the dinner with crude plebeian manners and disgrace the Manulus name—or inadvertently expose their charade.

  But it seemed she’d worried for nothing. Without a bit of hesitation Damon had recited all of her instructions accurately, returned her
painstaking demonstrations with amazing flair. It had been remarkable, as natural and easy as if he’d been born to it. She looked askance at him. His profile did have a rather aristocratic look to it and his bearing was arrogant enough but no, she decided, he was just very good at deception. Which was exactly why she needed him.

  Basil came to the door and bowed. “Mistress. Your transportation has arrived.”

  She adjusted the pearl earring dangling from her left lobe, tried to still the jitter of nerves that fluttered in her stomach. Everything had to go well tonight. One misstep and her entire life would be forever changed. “Very well, Basil,” she replied. She started to walk toward the atrium when Damon slid into place beside her.

  “My lady?”

  She looked at the arm Damon extended in invitation. She should have been impressed at the exhibition of proper manners especially since she had neglected to instruct him in this particular one but instead felt a wave of uncertainty.

  “Changing your mind, goddess?” he murmured.

  Her gaze shot to his and she saw it plainly in his eyes, a certainty that she would abandon her plan. It annoyed her more than it should that he would think her so weak willed. She raised her chin and placed her hand firmly on his forearm. She absolutely refused to acknowledge the rush of pleasure she felt at the warmth of his skin and the play of muscles beneath her fingers.

  Beyond the arched entry to the villa a litter waited on the street. Julia watched Damon rake an appreciative gaze over the conveyance. It was beautiful. An intricate pattern of carved vines and leaves curled up the four solid oak posts supporting the curved canopy where it repeated along the edges. The interior was stacked with plush pillows of velvet and satin in colors of green and gold and thick curtains hung on rings along the open sides, ready to be drawn for privacy. Her father had had it crafted for her mother in honor of their tenth year of marriage. Grand style, he’d insisted, for a grand lady.

  A pang of longing went through her at the thought of her mother. Gods, she missed her so much, missed her easy laughter and her wisdom. Eirenne Manulus would have known what to do, would have found an ideal solution. Her mother would not have found herself on the arm of a criminal. She glanced sideways at Damon’s strong profile. Every line in his body spoke of confidence, the kind of self-assurance royalty might possess. Damon? A prince? The idea was not as absurd as it would have been seven days ago.

  She was shaken from her reverie as Damon guided her down the two steps to the litter. Four large men, slaves rented for the occasion, stood one at each pole. Dressed in dark green tunics, heads shaved, brawny arms crossed over massive chests as they waited impassively for their burden.

  Kaj also waited for them, a fierce scowl creasing his face when he saw Julia on Damon’s arm. The servant took a step forward, one hand on the hilt of his knife and murder in his eyes.

  Damon’s lips curved into a pleasant smile. “Really Kaj, you went above our expectations and I hope not too deeply into our coffers.”

  Kaj growled. Before Julia could intervene Damon leaned toward the outraged man and said in a voice so low she had to strain to hear. “You’d best get used to it, my friend. Any suspicion that I am not your master will put your mistress in grave danger.”

  A muscle ticked in Kaj’s jaw at Damon’s emphasis on the word master. His face settled into a sullen expression but he stepped back.

  Damon turned from the servant, cupped her elbow in his hand and assisted her into the litter.

  “You antagonize him purposely,” she chided, careful not to touch him as she scooted back against a long, round cushion.

  “All I need do is look at the man and he goes into a fit,” replied Damon, snatching a pillow from the foot of the litter. “I’ve seen people possessed of demons with less agitation.” He raked her with a speculative look before punching the cushion into place. “Julia, being a reasonable man, I feel I need to remind you once again of the danger involved. Announcing to Quintus Marcellus the existence of a husband is one matter. Flaunting it publicly by attending social events, another altogether.” His mouth flattened. “Men like the Prefect do not react well to being made the fool.”

  Damon’s scent enveloped her, a spicy blend of sandalwood, musk and male. It was a wonderful combination—intoxicating, she’d wager, to a woman of weaker constitution. She inhaled slowly. Still, she’d never before noticed a man with such a distinctive fragrance...or with such wide shoulders, firm jaw, eyes the color of polished silver...

  “Are you ill?”

  Julia snapped her eyes open. Damon was looking at her, his brows creased in concern. “No,” she stammered, feeling the heat of embarrassment flooding her cheeks. What in the name of Juno was the matter with her? Daydreaming? About a criminal? “Not ill. Only thinking.”

  “At last,” he replied. “I’d say it is well past time for you to realize the futility of this venture.” He held out his hand to assist her from the litter.

  Now he was beginning to sound like Kaj, which was frightening in itself. She brushed his hand away. “I’ve not changed my mind.” She ignored the irritation that flashed behind his eyes as she did the logical reasoning behind his concerns. “Really Damon, your imagination is quite extraordinary. There is nothing to fear. These people are my father’s friends, his long time associates. I’ve known them my entire life. I realize it may be hard for you to understand but they are not the same type of people...you are used to associating with.”

  His jaw tightened. “You’d be quite surprised, Julia, by the type of people I’ve associated with.”

  An uneasy feeling settled on her at the dark glint in his eyes. It was a look of conviction mixed with anger and an emotion too raw to be anything less than murderous. Oh, she didn’t think she’d be surprised in the least. As quickly as it came, the look dissolved into one of mock resignation. “Well, let’s be done with it.”

  She watched aghast as he jumped into the litter and stretched along beside her, his right arm propped by the pillows he’d arranged. Dear gods, what was he doing?

  “You dare much!” hissed Kaj.

  “Is it not a husband’s duty to see to his wife’s comfort?” he asked over his shoulder.

  Kaj made a choking noise. Julia peered over Damon’s shoulder at her servant. No one, she thought, could turn that shade of purple and still live. She shifted her gaze back to Damon. “I had thought you’d be more comfortable walking.”

  He propped his head on his hand and looked at her, a smile playing along his lips. “Julia, you insist I play my part and as you refuse to see the folly in this grand plan of yours, I can do no less than what a proper patrician spouse would do. If that demands I ride in a litter with my beautiful wife,” he shrugged his shoulder, released a wistful sigh, “then it is a burden I gladly bear.”

  Damon’s expression did not change even beneath the heat of her glare.

  “Of course,” he added in a silky voice, “if you’d rather remain home, I’m sure we could engage in any number of other spousal activities.”

  The spike of her temper felt like a hot streak of fire. “I should have you lashed,” she hissed through clenched teeth.

  “It wouldn’t be the first time my back has felt the bite of leather,” he replied, his eyes filled with their own heat. “I did not find the experience pleasant then but then I never had a goddess wielding the whip.”

  His crude innuendo had its intended effect for she was left speechless. Glaring at him, she lifted her hand to Kaj who barked out orders to the bearers. Slipping thick leather straps across their chests, the slaves lifted the litter from the ground.

  The bearers expertly maneuvered their way through the winding streets of the Palatine. Senator Caucus’ domus was not a great distance but it might as well have been a thousand leagues away as far as Julia was concerned. Damon was close. Too close. As extravagant as the litter was, it was not made for a man of Damon’s size. She could feel the heat of his body, smell the mint of his breath, reach out and touch the lux
uriant curl of rich brown hair wrapped behind his ear.

  She shut her eyes in disgust. The man had to be some type of dark magician to distract her with such ease. She was still angry, by the gods, by his defiance and taunting remark.

  It wouldn’t be the first time my back has felt the bite of leather.

  Damon had been lashed. The thought of it cooled her temper. She’d once witnessed a slave being whipped for a minor infraction. Only twelve years old, visiting another Senator’s young daughter, she had watched in horror as the man had been tied to a tall post in the courtyard and stripped to his waist. She could still hear his cries as the overseer flicked the flagellum ten times across his bare back, could still see the blood dripping to his feet. Her new friend had laughed, thinking it an amusing game.

  Shaken, she’d returned home and told her father about it. Octavian had patiently explained there were those who believed strict discipline was the only way to keep their slaves obedient and others, like the Manulus household, treated theirs fairly and with kindness. In this way, the slaves were content and happy to serve.

  Had Damon ever known kindness?

  She wondered. Looking at him from beneath her lashes, he seemed completely relaxed, one hand draped casually over a lean hip, his expression one of aloof disinterest. But looking closer she could tell that every sense was focused on their surroundings. His alert gaze stayed locked on the small opening in the curtains behind her and several times when a loud noise clattered close to their entourage he visibly tensed, putting a hand on the knife sheathed at his side.

  Knife?

  Her mouth dropped open. Not just any knife but a jewel encrusted heirloom handed down through generations of her father’s family. She lifted her eyes and met Damon’s amused gaze.

  Her eyes narrowed. “Where? How...”

  Damon’s lips curved into a smile. “Did you really believe I’d leave your protection solely in the hands of that freakishly devoted minion of yours?”