The Patrician's Fortune- A Historical Romance

by Kayse, Joan

  “Your friend is only concerned for his wife.”

  He shifted his gaze to Julia. He didn’t much care for the

  calm, even way she watched him but the truth of her observation immediately deflated his pique. “I know,” he admitted. “But I would not endanger them and being guests in his house would do just that.”

  Julia twisted the ring on her finger. “You believe we will be followed?”

  “It is possible,” he answered. “But the danger lies in that Jared will not rest until he discovers how I ended up with a wife.”

  Julia raised one eyebrow, glancing at Ithacus who feigned interest in a pile of scrolls. She lowered her voice. “I thought only to maintain our ruse. The words leapt from my mouth before I could think.”

  And how he’d loved hearing those words—I am his wife.

  He took Julia by the elbow and propelled her toward the door. “The damage has been done. I’ll just have to convince the arrogant merchant that I’m a blissfully wedded man.”

  *****

  Jupiter was in a horrible temper.

  That’s the explanation Julia’s mother would have given her daughter when the fury of a summer storm sent her to her parents’ bed. She peeked through the litter curtain, a flash of brilliant lightening illuminated Damon’s hunched form as he walked in the torrential rain with Lucien Antonius. The king of the gods was not the only one in a foul mood.

  Damon had all but thrown her into the litter and answered her whispered questions about Lucien—or Jared as he’d asked to be called—and Bryna in a short, clipped and incredibly vague manner.

  Was Lucien a friend?

  Debatable.

  Where are we going?

  Most likely to Hades.

  What is wrong with you?

  Goddess, you ask too many questions.

  The litter’s heavy drape came untied and whipped inward, the saturated edge of the fabric slapping against Julia’s forearm with the force of a scourge. Leaning forward she managed to grasp one edge of the curtain and fasten it back to the frame. The front of her tunic was soaked, rain dripped from the hair plastered to her temples and her arm stung like Hades.

  She rocked back against the sodden pillows trying to decide when her perfect plan had gone astray. She closed her eyes and groaned inwardly. Who was she deceiving? Her plan had been off course since the moment she’d rescued Damon.

  Of course, her perfect plan had been designed to protect her from a forced marriage, a selfish reason when there were more nefarious forces shaping the whole business. Spies and assassins and conspiracies. Her family was in grave danger, her father could well be dead and, she blinked away hot tears, Damon had almost been killed.

  The thought of losing him lanced through her like a spear.

  She glanced over at Bryna. The young woman had barely said a word the entire trip but had watched first Damon then her with the oddest light in her eye almost as if she possessed a secret. It had sent a shiver down Julia’s spine and deepened Damon’s scowl. He’d refused to answer questions about Bryna’s strange behavior too.

  Julia strained to see in the dim light, noting the girl’s features looked pinched and drawn. Stretched out on her right side, Bryna’s eyes were closed and a slight frown wrinkled her brow as she absently traced circles on her stomach. Julia knew little about these things but she’d wager that the husband she’d called a Roman arse would be a father sooner than expected.

  Bryna’s eyes opened when the litter set down abruptly, her look mirroring Julia’s own sense of relief. She had never had a day last so long in her entire life. At this moment, all she wanted was a warm brazier to warm her chilled hands and a cup of wine to soothe her ragged nerves. An image of Damon touching her with his strong hands came unbidden to her mind sending a wave of heat washing over her cheeks. Perhaps she wouldn’t need the brazier after all.

  Distracted, Julia was unprepared when the drapes were snapped open. A scream caught in her throat.

  “Be at ease my lady,” said Bryna, struggling to a sitting position. “He’s fierce to look upon but means no harm.”

  Julia swallowed and stared at the man silhouetted against the waning light of dusk and gray clouds. Gusts of wind left from the storms tossed long, black hair around well-formed shoulders which matched the broad chest and muscular arms that strained against the material of his tunic. Lean hands that could almost be called graceful held onto the curtains. A muscle jumped in his cheek and his squared jaw was set so tight, she thought she heard it crack. He reminded Julia of a wild beast who had broken free of its cage—after devouring its keeper.

  Green eyes as hard as the emeralds they resembled, narrowed into a menacing glare as they swept Bryna from head to toe. He said something in a foreign tongue, his scowl deepening when Bryna snapped irritably back at him in the same language.

  “Step aside Bran,” said Jared, jostling him away from the opening. “I’ll take care of my wife.”

  “Roman,” Bran growled in a deeply accented baritone, “you are failing in that task.”

  Jared rolled his eyes and muttered something about stubborn barbarians before reaching in and assisting Bryna to the edge of the litter where he easily lifted her into his arms. Bryna did not argue but circled her arms around her husband’s neck and nestled her head against his shoulder. Jared and Bran exchanged anxious looks. Pivoting on his heel, Jared stalked off to the lamp-lit portal with the man called Bran stalking behind him.

  “Seems rather unconventional but if that’s what married men do...”

  Damon stood outside the litter, his clothes saturated and mud spattered, and though he’d pulled a large fold of the toga over his head as a hood, the wool had provided little protection from the elements. Large swathes of hair were plastered along his forehead while raindrops tracked down his dark stubbled cheeks to drip off his chin. Julia fought not to smile. “Has your mood improved?”

  “No,” he answered wringing out the edge of his sleeve. “It’s only been drowned into submission.”

  Julia felt a prick of guilt. He did look miserable. “As you can see, being inside offered little protection.”

  Immediately she regretted her words as Damon’s gaze dropped to the wet material clinging to her breasts and lingered. The light may have been waning, but she clearly saw the heat in those gray depths. Covering herself with her wrap, she scooted to the edge of the litter. “I can walk by myself.”

  “And let Jared think I care so little for my bride? Besides,” he said, stepping forward with a loud splash. He looked down at his feet before raising a wry gaze to her. “There is a puddle.”

  Julia did not know whether to laugh or cry but was given no chance to decide as Damon lifted her out of the litter. Caught off-balance she made a wild grab, clasping her hands around the strong column of his neck though there was no real need to do so—Damon held her as if she weighed no more than a sack of feathers.

  Julia went rigid knowing she should protest his high-handed manner. But deep within her the young girl who’d once dreamed of a warrior hero brave enough to sweep her away from the strict expectations of patrician life thrilled at the feel of the hard bands of his arms encircling her, the heat of his blunt tipped fingers brushing the curve of her breast, the broad, lightly furred chest that even through the damp smelled of sandalwood and musk—a scent that Julia knew if she were struck blind she would recognize as being wholly Damon. She sighed.

  *****

  Damon’s heart missed several beats as Julia relaxed against him. The small gesture of trust shook him to the very core, setting off a wave of fierce protectiveness that until now he’d managed to contain within the framework of this mission. And that was how he must think of it—as a mission. Another assignment that he would deal with in his usual proficient manner, finding a solution before continuing on with his life. A life without Julia.

  He clenched his jaw against the knot of pain that formed in his gut. What life? From the day his father had sold him, through the ye
ars of serving Jared even after he’d been granted his freedom and vowed to reunite his family, Damon Primax had existed solely for the benefit of others.

  Perhaps that was the real reason he’d stayed to help Julia. He enjoyed living life as a normal man, a husband, a respected citizen. It hadn’t really mattered that it was a farce that held no substance. He would miss it. Damon glanced down at Julia, unconsciously tightening his hold. Gods, he would miss her.

  They entered the crowded vestibule of Jared’s domus. Damon instinctively slipped into the shadows and lowered Julia to her feet though he kept her within the protective circle of his arms. Pleased that she did not protest, he watched as a dozen servants clustered around their master and mistress.

  “Prepare the braziers in our rooms,” ordered Jared, “and bring a flagon of warmed wine.”

  “Done before you were within a hundred paces of the house,” answered one of the servants, tsking out loud without care who heard. “As if I didn’t know what needed doing.”

  Damon smiled at the robust woman who bustled up to the couple and ran a tender hand over Bryna’s flushed cheek. In any other household a servant would have been upbraided or punished for such impudence. But Esther had been here a long time, serving first as a maid to Jared’s mother then assuming charge of the kitchen and house staff upon her death. She’d already been a force to reckon with when he’d arrived a frightened, angry little boy fresh from auction. She’d seen through his sullen behavior and occasional outright rebellion, and taken him under her wing, helped him adjust to his new life as a slave. Amused, Damon watched as she directed Jared down the hallway.

  “Hiding again, Damon?”

  Damon turned his head at the smooth, cultured voice. Antonius Septimus Flavian, Jared’s father, moved out of the archway, arms folded over his chest, considering him with the same gold eyes as his son. The man had not been a cruel master but Damon had never felt the kinship with him that he had had with Jared and Mistress Shifra. He gently eased Julia to the side and prepared to meet his past. “I do not hide sir—I lurk.”

  “A characteristic I found irritating on more than one occasion.” He tilted his head, his eyes narrowing thoughtfully, “Shifra assured me it was merely your way of watching out for our son.”

  He shrugged one shoulder. “He required a great deal of watching.”

  Flavian’s lips twitched. “Thank the gods he had you during the years his father was a fool.”

  Father and son made from the same cloth, Damon mused. A stubborn trait Jared’s Uncle Gideon had manipulated to his advantage. That demented bastard had used a thirteen-year-old boy’s grief and anger and turned him against his own father, the Roman he despised. Damon had been watching then, he thought grimly, had recognized the man’s ruthless nature, an insight that had made his life under Gideon’s roof precarious. Damon nodded. “It appears he is the one who must do the watching now.”

  Flavian’s gaze softened as he watched his son and daughter-in-law disappear down the corridor. “Indeed. It is quite a task managing a barbarian wife with a will and spirit like Bryna’s. I’ve never seen a man more lost in love.” He returned his attention to them, the wistful smile on his lips fading into a look of surprise as he noticed Julia for the first time. “Julia Manulus?”

  Julia stepped forward and took Flavian’s outstretched hands. “Greetings, Lord Flavian. I’m sure you did not expect visitors at this hour.”

  Flavian’s confused gaze flickered to Damon, setting up a burning in his chest. Gods, would he just be done with it? How long could it take to ask, My dear, what are you doing with this slave?

  “Guests are always welcome, no matter the hour,” answered Flavian. He motioned to one of the serving maids. “I’m sure you’d like to refresh yourself after traveling through such vile weather.”

  Damon managed to conceal his relief at Flavian’s response though he felt the older man’s measuring gaze. An explanation would be expected and questions asked but not in the vestibule where every member of the household, ears perked like rabbits, could witness his humiliation. What was Damon, the slave, doing with a Roman lady? He’d survive the gossip of the servants but he wasn’t entirely sure how he’d manage Julia’s revulsion when faced with the clear reality of his existence.

  “That would be lovely.” She glanced back at Damon. “It is, ummm, a bit damp out.”

  Damon raised a brow at the sparkle of humor in her eyes as he stripped the sodden toga from around his torso. Before he could deposit it in the puddle rapidly forming at his feet a young boy in a plain tunic stepped forward.

  “If you please, master,” he said, holding out two skinny arms to accept the garment.

  Damon hesitated when he noted the pronounced limp.

  “It’s all right, Lucus is very capable and diligent in his duties,” said Flavian, sending Lucus a approving look. “As well as his studies.”

  The slave boy beamed at his master’s praise and stumbling only a little, carried his burden toward the kitchens.

  “Judith will show you to the guest rooms.”

  Julia nodded to a pretty maid who smiled and motioned for her to follow. She paused and looked over her shoulder anxiously when Damon did not follow. “Are you coming, husband?”

  Only Damon could hear Flavian’s sharp intake of breath. He stood rigidly as his former master leaned close, saying beneath his breath, “See her settled, then in my library.”

  Damon nodded curtly before joining Julia.

  Chapter Seventeen

  “Accusations such as these will get you killed.”

  Damon raised a brow at Jared. He’d just finished sharing the story of his near death on the cross, provided a vague recounting of his escape. He was well aware of the dangers involved. At least Jared had the decency to look chagrined.

  Leaving Julia in Judith’s capable hands, Damon had availed himself of the house bath. Warm, dry and dressed in one of Jared’s tunics—though he’d kept the leather belt and knife—he’d come prepared to meet the challenge of explaining his circumstances to Jared and his father.

  “I make no accusations...yet.” Damon poured another draught of wine into his chalice. “I do not have enough information and even less evidence. But Quintus Marcellus is involved in something that he is taking great pains to conceal.”

  “It would take much more than suspicions,” said Flavian from behind his desk. “Any evidence against the Prefect of Rome must be indisputable.”

  Damon took a drink. “Stated simply, there would need to be more than the word of a spy and a slave.”

  Jared crossed his arms and leveled him with a hard look. “You are no longer a slave.”

  Damon fought to keep the bitter edge from his voice. “It’s a fine line between freedom and servitude. You should know this, as you were dragged across it.”

  The memories flashed dark and painful behind Jared’s eyes, and Damon felt a moment’s regret. It had only been a year since Jared had spent months in chains, lashed, bent to another’s will. He had nearly died before Damon had rescued him.

  It had taken no small amount of his father’s influence and an expert lawyer to argue before the courts that Jared, a citizen of Rome, had been illegally sold into slavery. That had freed him. It had taken a ridiculous amount of money to buy Bryna’s liberty from their former master.

  Expression tight, Flavian leaned forward. “A very important question that you have deftly avoided answering remains. What is Julia Manulus’ involvement?”

  Damon hesitated. He’d kept the details to a minimum, telling them only that he had had occasion to overhear Tertius and the Prefect reference the executed tradesmen. That Octavian Manulus had been mentioned. The less they knew, the safer they’d be.

  His gaze shifted between the identical, penetrating looks of father and son. Again, his first instinct was to lie but Jared knew him far too well and had become very adept at seeing past his ruses. Probably a result of marriage to a seer, he thought wryly. “You are aware, of course,
that Julia’s father has been absent these past months?”

  Flavian nodded once.

  “The Prefect has been pressing for guardianship in the form of a marriage. Julia has contracted me to act as that guardian until her father’s return.”

  “As her husband?” asked Jared.

  Damon bristled at the suspicion laced in Jared’s query. He held his gaze. “Yes.”

  Flavian’s eyes narrowed. “And how did Julia Manulus come to choose you for this honor?”

  Damon did not know why he felt surprised at the tone of his question. He smiled coolly. “I have an extraordinary reputation.”

  “Indeed, he does and I am most fortunate to have found myself in his capable hands.”

  All three of them turned to where Julia stood framed in the open archway. Damon drank in the sight of her. Bryna had lent her one of her dresses, a simple tunic of softest linen, along with a plain wrap of warmer wool. Her face glowed from a fresh scrubbing, her cheeks pink and her lips ever beckoning. Dressed as they were, the two of them could be mistaken for a merchant and his wife instead of a patrician lady and her slave.

  “I ask forgiveness for interrupting,” she said, gliding forward with the confidence of the upper class. “And for listening the last few moments.”

  Flavian rose and walked around his desk, took her hands in his. “Not at all, my dear. Were all your needs seen to?”

  Julia smiled at him. “Yes, thank you.” Her gaze flickered from Jared to Damon. “I found I could not rest without finding my...”

  Damon tensed. How would she act now? Now that someone of rank knew her secret? Now she would have no need to pretend. She would have no need for him.

  Julia gave a short laugh. “I came to find Damon.”

  “And you’ve found him,” said Flavian, with a faint smile. His gaze grew serious. “Damon has told us of your difficulties.”

  Damon turned away from her questioning look, stared out the window. The storms had passed and a host of stars sparkled around a bright, full moon. A night like this would find most spies settled at a taverna with a skin of wine and an accommodating whore, deep in the bowels of darkness. That’s where he belonged. Not here, not in the midst of a past he would rather forget. Not with a woman who made his body burn and his heart do something it had not done since he was a boy.