The Patrician's Fortune- A Historical Romance (25 page)

“Why are you in such an ill temper?” Julia asked. “We agreed to maintain appearances.”

“Which means you should be at your
domus
doing,” he waved his hand in the air, “whatever it is you patricians do.” He knew he sounded insufferable but his senses had not quite recovered from her welcome. How in the name of Jupiter was he to concentrate when his mind and body were reeling?

Julia narrowed her eyes. “Do not patronize me. I finished my marketing, my
routine
marketing, and decided to join my husband.”

“Your father’s clients have been neglected for months,” Damon answered in a clipped tone. “The connections and contacts he spent years cultivating damaged some, I suspect, beyond repair. Do you not comprehend the impact of this? In order for the Manulus name to maintain its standing in the community it was imperative that a family member strengthen these ties.” He caught her gaze. “Someone had to do it.
You
failed to do so.”

Damon forced himself to hold her hurt-filled gaze, set his jaw against the urge to recant his harsh words. He knew the agony she was feeling, had known the fear and worry that drove one to make drastic decisions to save those you loved. But the sheer intensity of such feelings would not save you from making mistakes. His had been to trust Tertius while hers was the belief that she could control and manipulate him which could not be done—not even with loin-stirring kisses.

Julia, for all her levels of sophistication, had no concept of the fire she ignited within him, nor the intensity with which it burned. He was a man, after all, and he was developing an appetite for the taste of her lips. It made him hungry for other things. Another careless attempt to exert her control and she might find herself devoured.

“Is it my fault that my father’s clients found a woman’s benefaction abhorrent?” she asked, a faint tremble lacing her words.

“No,” he had to admit. Even Julia with her sharp mind and strong will could not overcome society’s misconception about a woman’s abilities. “Julia, we have much to discuss...”

He sensed the blade a split second before he saw the glint of it from the corner of his eye. He wrapped his arms around Julia and shoved her to the ground beneath him. A woman screamed.

Damon looked over his shoulder and saw Kaj bent over Basil, who lay on the ground with the hilt of a knife protruding from his left shoulder. The big man lifted his head and with one glance Damon knew he was thinking the same as he—that had he not moved, Damon would be the one prostrate on the ground. The assassin had hit the wrong target.

“Oh, Basil.” Julia wriggled beneath him.

Damon eased himself to his feet, bringing Julia with him. He scanned the excited crowd, looked for anyone who appeared too calm or too disappointed. He kept a firm hold on Julia, pressed her against him when she would have rushed to her servant’s side. He sent her a warning glare. Roman mistresses did not show concern for slaves in public. “Not here, not now,” he growled. Julia looked genuinely distressed. She cared for the man. Actually cared that her slave was injured.

Silas, who had rushed out at the first cry, instructed a handful of his slaves to hold the crowd back. Damon noted that he set several men as guards behind them. Damon guided Julia to her servant. Basil was pale and not entirely coherent, though Damon suspected most of it was from shock rather than blood loss. The knife was a bit longer than the one he carried but had been thrown with force and precision, buried to its hilt in the thick flesh of Basil’s shoulder.

“It did not do severe damage,” said Silas, bending to look at the wound, “but I would wait for the physician before removing it.” The carpenter smiled sheepishly at Damon’s questioning look. “Fifteen years spent in the army, Ninth Hespana legion. You learn quick enough how to treat wounds.”

Julia interrupted. “Kaj, you will hire a litter and take him home. Call the physician immediately.”

“I will also hire a litter for you, Mistress.”

Julia was not leaving Damon’s sight. The knife had been meant for him, but one movement in the wrong direction, a moment’s hesitation and she could have been the one injured. His gut clenched. His goddess could have been killed.

He spoke to Kaj. “Litters are scarce this late in the day and getting Basil home takes precedence. We will return on our own.”

“It is too dangerous,” Kaj protested.

Before Damon could reply, Julia spoke. “No, Damon is right. What is dangerous is to delay getting Basil the help he needs. We will meet you at the
domus
.” She glanced up at Damon. “I will be safe with my husband.”

Julia was becoming quite good in her role, the earnest look in her face even convincing him for a moment. Damon gave Kaj credit for being wise enough to realize that any protests on his part would appear odd to the growing crowd of curious onlookers. Feeling the big man’s glower burning a hole in his back, Damon thanked Silas for his assistance and taking Julia by the arm, guided her into the safety of the crowd. Their attacker would not want to waste another blade in the throng.

“We are going in the wrong direction,” Julia said beneath her breath.

“We are going to go about our business as if nothing happened,” he replied evenly.

“You lied to Kaj.”

“Not at all. We will return home in a few hours, after we send a message to whoever aimed that knife that we are not easily intimidated.”

Julia smiled and nodded at a jeweler who held a sampling of his goods out to her as the passed. “The knife was meant for us?” she asked through clenched teeth.

“Me, more specifically,” he answered, scanning the area around them, feigning interest in the street markers. His gaze snagged on a youth walking twenty paces behind them. The boy was all of ten years old, his tunic threadbare and covered in the same grime that coated his arms and face. He was weaving in and out of the crowd, beneath their notice and light-fingered enough so that no one felt their purses being snatched—three in the space of ten minutes. Impressive for someone so young, Damon decided, but he suspected thievery was not this boy’s purpose. Very clever of Quintus. Use the lowest and most expendable to do his dirty work.

“Are there many who would want to murder you?” she asked in a strained whisper.

“You’d be surprised,” he murmured. Damon laughed loudly, ignoring the strange look she gave him. He bent down and murmured. “We are being followed. Follow my lead and be your natural self.”

She looked at him askance. “What
are
you talking about?”

“Questions. Always questions. Woman, just act as if you have nothing more pressing to do than enjoy a stroll with your husband.”

“I do have more urgent matters. Basil must be seen to and—what are you doing?”

He’d grabbed her hand, laced his fingers with hers to ensure she would not stray from him and increased his pace until she had to take two steps to his one just to keep up. Thank the gods, he’d startled her enough that she made no protest until they’d slipped between two columns decorating the entrance to a temple. Damon positioned Julia behind him before stealing a glance around the pillar. The boy was standing in the middle of the street, hands on bony hips, scanning the area with a frown.

“Damon. What has possessed you?”

At least Julia had the good sense to whisper. “There is an urchin who has been trailing us since we left the carpenter’s shop,” he answered quietly. Two older youths joined the boy, and through animated gestures, were conveying their extreme displeasure. He allowed Julia to ease around him so that she had a clear view though he was prepared to snatch her back if she revealed their presence.

“They are only children,” she whispered.

Damon snorted. “Children who would rob a blind man.”

“Your purse is still intact,” she pointed out.

“It’s not a big enough target,” he replied dryly. “By the way, wife, we need to talk about increasing my allowance.” He bit back a smile at the irritated roll of her eyes before turning his attention back to the boys. “No, he is following us.”

“To what purpose?”

Damon glanced down at her. Was this the time? The place? “I think there may be a connection to Quintus and your father’s disappearance.”

She scoffed. “That’s preposterous.”

Damon held his reply watching Julia’s facial expression from beneath half-closed lids. She nibbled at her lower lip and the faintest hint of a frown creased her brow as she considered the arguing boys. His gaze lingered on that lush mouth, remembered the heat of her kiss. She’d succeeded in taking him by surprise as he’d never thought she would risk tainting her dignified patrician façade with a public display of affection. Her lapse in decorum was intriguing and her passionate response to his touch this morning had unleashed a flood of desire within him so hot that he knew there was only one way to ever quench the thirst of it—and that he could never do.  

“Why do you believe this?”

Damon dragged his attention back and met her questioning gaze. “While visiting with your clients today, I sensed an unrest among them.”

“Because Silas and a handful of other craftsmen believe their payment unfair for the government’s contract?” She shook her head. “That can hardly be the case. I know for a fact that the Emperor allotted an enormous amount of money for that project.”

Damon narrowed his eyes. “How do you know this?”

“My father told me. He was ecstatic that Nero had finally agreed to improvements in design but worried that the decision would not be upheld.”

“Concerns not unfounded,” Damon nodded, “when rumors abound that the Empire’s supreme ruler is more interested in building monuments to himself. Did the rest of the Senate share your father’s enthusiasm?”

Julia shrugged her shoulder. “He said the few who opposed it soon changed their minds when Nero announced it was his divine will that the building commence.”

“The decree of a god would be a powerful persuader,” he agreed. “I don’t imagine Quintus was pleased.”

Julia stirred beside him and looked at him, concern filling her eyes. “Father said Quintus had been the most vocal opponent until the amount of coin was announced.”

“The Emperor doles out large sums for the city project. The man overseeing the disbursement pays a pittance to the suppliers and keeps the difference for himself.” Damon didn’t care for that scenario. A greedy man like Quintus would have no qualms about stealing from the working class plebians. An arrogant man like Quintus would consider himself above an Emperor-god. The combination in an enemy could get an ethical man like Octavian Manulus killed. “Your father must have had knowledge of this.”

“You accuse my father?” she asked tightly.

“No,” he replied cautiously. “But corruption is a way of life among the Senate. Anyone could be tainted by it.”

“Not my father.”

The stubborn tilt of her chin and the fire in her eyes amused him. Damon had no doubt she’d take on an entire Carthaginian army just to defend her father’s honor. “Your father’s reputation for honesty is as well known as his scholarly pursuits and his advocacy of the Roman people. I merely wonder if he held suspicions.”

Julia shook her head firmly. “He would have told me.”

Damon sighed, swept his gaze over the crown of curls cascading from a silver hair ornament. Daughters were often resistant to the thought that their fathers were anything less than perfect. For her sake, he hoped she was right.

“A man has joined them,” she said, jolting him out of his thoughts.

Damon pulled her back and peered around the column, a burst of raw anger tore through his gut as he recognized the new arrival. “Sirrus,” he growled.

“You know him?” Julia asked.

He nodded curtly, watching Tertius’ steward box one of the boys on the ear.

“How do you know him?”

Damon’s first instinct was to lie. Gods knew he was good at it. He’d been doing it most of his life and had even been able to convince his friend Jared that spending eleven years as his slave had not been burdensome. A master lie that, when in truth he’d yearned every waking moment for his freedom. Only after Jared had lived through his own enslavement had he realized the extent of Damon’s deceit.

But Julia was far too insightful and the assessing look she was giving him now only reinforced the futileness of trying. He kept his gaze trained on the short, burly man who he hated with every fiber of his being. “He serves in the household of the patrician who employed my services,” he ground out.

“It doesn’t sound as though you were the best of friends,” she remarked.

Damon pressed his lips into a tight line, refused to meet her searching gaze and silently chastised himself for allowing emotions to flavor his words. Emotions had no place in the world of espionage and could in fact expose a spy’s true intentions and give his enemies weapons that could be turned against him. Julia already knew more than he’d ever intended about his life. Why risk more?

Because he wanted Julia’s trust.

“Being a leper would be preferable to friendship with that dog,” he answered. “I thought him dead.”

Julia cringed as Sirrus caught another of the urchins by the neck of his tunic and began to violently shake him. “He seems very much alive to me.”

Much too alive. The self-serving bastard had been a plague to Damon since the first day he’d come into the Senator’s service, habitually abusing his position to terrorize the household. Damon had intervened on more than one occasion to save a slave from a beating, including his sister. A jolt of terror shot through the anger twisting his gut. Lita. What had happened to Lita without his protection? His lips pulled back into a snarl as he imagined putting his hands around that thick neck. “He won’t be when I get my hands on him.”

Damon heard her sharp intake of breath and forced himself to face her, his chest tightening at the shock reflected in the depths of those blue green eyes.

She lifted her chin though her voice trembled when she spoke. “You would kill him? Why?”

Damon blew out a long breath, wishing there were some other way than the truth. “He tried to rape my sister.”