The Patrician's Fortune- A Historical Romance (26 page)

J
ulia tripped on a raised stone, clenched her teeth when Damon’s strong hands wrapped around her shoulders to steady her, without a break in his stride. Apparently satisfied that she would not slow them down by sprawling at his feet, he twined his fingers through hers and continued to stalk down the street. His agitation was palpable, thrumming through her by virtue of a mere touch but others sensed it as throngs of people parted like the sea before a ship’s prow.

They’d stayed hidden behind the temple pillars until Sirrus and the boys finally disbanded. Damon had silenced her questions with one hard look before schooling his face into an inscrutable mask and leading them from the temple proper. A rush of fear had swept through her when he’d confessed to attempted murder. It was likely a common occurrence in his world but she’d never known anyone capable of such a deed. And despite his annoying habits, Julia had never supposed Damon possessed a violent nature. But the burning hatred that burned in his eyes as he’d watched the man Sirrus had quickly convinced her otherwise.

Damon was a dangerous man.

And, she admitted with a twinge of relief, an honorable one. The raw pain and worry that had lined his features stirred her heart. Sirrus had sought to disgrace and harm his sister. Who could fault a man for defending those he loved? An image of him shielding her from the knife attack flashed through her mind.

She nearly stumbled again in Damon’s haste to round a corner. He acted as if demons were snapping at their heels. Julia tried not to let fear overwhelm her common sense. But the episode with Sirrus had ignited a fire of emotion within Damon that frightened her.

She breathed a sigh of relief when Damon changed directions and she recognized the luxury shops of the
saeptia
at the Campus Martins. This was familiar territory and she was well known among the shopkeepers. If she wanted help she need only to call out. But that would cause a spectacle and neither of them wanted that. Enough was enough. Damon may not need questions but she needed answers. “Where are you taking me?”

“Why, goddess?” he asked in a mocking tone. “Afraid I’m going to do away with you?”

“I know you would not harm me.”

Damon stopped abruptly and pivoted on his heel. Julia stepped back as his flint-gray eyes bored into her. There was a sinister edge to his voice. “Are you so certain, Julia?”

Julia stared at the rigid, harsh planes of his face, the sharp glint in his eyes. She’d never seen him like this, so rigid, so on edge. A small voice deep within her begged her to flee. That’s what Damon wanted, what he expected. Her pride refused to give it to him.

She searched his face, noted a muscle that ticked in his jaw along with a flash of fury and impatience behind his gaze. A tool, she realized with a start. Intimidation was as much a tool for him as that flippant attitude that set her teeth on edge. What better way to keep others at a distance? Bolstered by the knowledge, she squared her shoulders and held his gaze. “Yes,” she replied firmly. “I am very certain.”

If she had blinked Julia would have missed the surprise that flashed across his handsome face. He blew out a long, frustrated breath and averted his gaze. “Do not underestimate a desperate man.”

A smile tugged at her lips. In all of the Empire there was not a man less desperate than the one standing before her, a sulky furrow creasing his brow. Anger at the man Sirrus or anger at her for calling his ruse?

His whole body tensed when she cupped her palm against his cheek and turned his face to her. Already his clean shaven face was beginning to sport a shadow beard, the hairs coarse and rough beneath the soft skin of her fingers. Men of the upper classes would rather cut off an arm than allow their smooth faces to be marred in such a barbaric manner. Julia did not mind, enjoyed warm pleasure in the contrast.

She followed the shadow of dark bristles down the rugged column of his throat to where Damon’s pulse throbbed rapidly beneath the heat of his skin and savored the thrill that it was her touch that caused it. She raised her gaze to his and her own heart began to beat furiously at the hunger she saw there. Damon gave her a slight smile as if he’d read her thoughts. Pulling her hand away she fisted it at her side. “Explain how my father’s disappearance has anything to do with the man who harmed your sister.”

He shook his head. “Not here. Too many eyes and ears. We’ll need to find a safer place.” He offered her his hand.

Julia eyed it before raising her gaze to his. “I will not be dragged about as though I were an unruly child.”

“I concede that,” he answered solemnly. His gaze, hot and hungry skimmed her. “You are certainly not a child.”

Julia shivered then jumped as he leaned close. “But you are definitely unruly and I relish the thought of taming you.”

Julia’s cheeks flushed less with embarrassment than heated desire. She slapped her hand into his, refusing to give him the satisfaction of her temper.

They continued through a warren of twisting streets and shadowed alleys for several blocks before Damon tugged her down a narrow lane that ended at a stone wall covered with vines. There were only two shop entrances here and Julia barely had time to read the sign of the one they entered—
Bookseller
.

It took a few moments for her eyes to adjust to the dim interior of the tiny shop. Three walls were lined with shelves filled to bursting with scrolls, leather cylinders and clay tablets bound with thongs. Several rough-hewn tables took up the center of the space and were equally burdened with texts and—Julia sneezed—a heavy layer of dust.

“Ah, Damon, my friend. It has been too long.”

“It has indeed, Ithacus,” replied Damon.

Julia followed Damon’s gaze to one of the rectangle-shaped tables piled haphazardly with papyrus scrolls and waxed tablet books. The table shimmied, spilling several manuscripts to the floor. Damon stopped one from rolling out the door with his foot and smiled at the man who shuffled into view.

Ithacus appeared as ancient as the Seven Hills of Rome. A few wisps of gray hair escaped from beneath a drab brown turban. A fine tremor shook the gnarled hands that clutched the edge of the shelves as he walked toward them. Deep creases made his face look like an apple left to dry in the sun but sharp, brown eyes swept over her in an assessing gaze.

The strength of his voice belied his appearance. “You rascal! Where have you been keeping yourself? I’ve had three substantial offers from wealthy buyers for that Latin copy of Ovid’s
Metamorphoses
.” He looked at Julia and winked. “He’s already read the
Treatise on Love
.”

If the light in the shop were not so dim, Julia would have sworn Damon blushed. “
The Art of Seduction
?” she asked, raising one brow. Remembering the artful way he’d stroked her in bed, he must have read the scandalous, erotic scroll more than once.

Damon cleared his throat and patted the man on his stooped back. “The lady is not interested in my choice of reading material.”

“Ah, yes. The lady,” replied Ithacus, his gaze turning speculative. “You’ve never brought one of your ladies here before.”

The flare of annoyance that shot through her was ridiculous. It didn’t matter to her in the least that there had been other women. He could have been the lover of Venus and she couldn’t have cared less.
The Art of Seduction,
indeed. “Has he had many ladies?”

Ithacus chuckled. “Well, that all depends on who you ask.” He beckoned Julia closer. “The boy here would say only a handful but the rumors in the streets hold that that handsome face and engaging manner have captured the attention of more than a score of women, each of them bemoaning their loss at his fickle ways and nursing broken hearts.”

Julia kept her satisfaction at the pained look on Damon’s face hidden.

“Ithacus, your stories are more fantastic than the overpriced ones you hawk to the gullible.”

Ithacus looked affronted. “The modest sums I charge barely provide for my meager existence.”

Damon grinned. “You’re a wily old fox. Your coffers are near to busting with coin.”

Ithacus turned his gnarled hands palms up. “I am merely a humble merchant. Now who is this lovely flower?”

“A friend,” he answered curtly, his tone implying it was the best answer he would give. “I have need of the room.”

The old man’s face filled with excitement but quickly deflated at Damon’s bland look. “You’re not going to tell me are you?”

There was fondness in Damon’s voice when he answered. “Have I ever told you?”

“Bah! Be gone with you,” Ithacus grumbled, shuffling back toward the table. “You know the way.”

Damon led her to an arched doorway at the rear of the shop. Julia glanced over her shoulder and saw an equally fond—and worried—look on Ithacus’ tired features. Did Damon even realize someone cared enough about him to worry?

They followed a short corridor through another door—which led through another and another. A confusing maze that she never would have guessed existed behind the small store facade. Perhaps she should not have been so quick to trust him.

“We’ll never find our way back out,” she said.

The corridor ended at a damp, stone wall. Damon glanced over his shoulder with a reproving look. “Goddess, I always find my way out.”

Julia’s lips pulled into a wry smile. She watched him inspect the wall, run his hands along the uneven stones. He appeared to be counting. Three across and seven down, he rubbed his fingers into a well-worn groove and pressed. Without so much as a creak, a portion of the wall slid open.

Damon left her at the opening and stepped into the inky blackness. A string of muffled curses preceded bright orange sparks from a flint and then a flare of light. Julia peeked in and found Damon shaking his hand and sucking a burn on his left thumb. He gestured her in with his uninjured hand. “We haven’t a lot of time. Ithacus—miser that he is—hasn’t left much oil in the lamp.”

Julia walked in slowly, taking in the damp stone walls, the low ceiling and lack of windows. She wrapped her arms around herself and shivered against the cold. “What is this place?”

Damon set the dented bronze vessel that served as a lamp on a square table that took up the entire center of the space. “A safe place where sensitive matters can be discussed without interference from the enemy.”

“The enemy?” Julia gave an incredulous laugh. “Are we at war here in the heart of Rome?”

Damon’s head snapped up, that rueful smile tipping the corner of his lips, but the silver eyes that glittered in the flickering light were deadly serious. “You have no idea.”

She swallowed. No, apparently she didn’t and the incident with the knife underscored that plainly. “All right,” she said, willing her voice not to tremble. “What is this insane notion you have?”

“Not so insane when you consider the greed of the parties involved,” replied Damon, easing around the table. “By all accounts, your father, while an easily distracted man, would never consider leaving his family unattended for long periods of time, certainly not for six months.”

At the mention of her father, a pang of grief hit Julia but she nodded for him to continue.

“A prominent Senator such as Octavian Manulus, known for his support of building reforms, disappears at the same time the Urban Prefect, also known for his strong, opposing views on the use of the Empire’s monies for such projects, begins to ingratiate himself to the Senator’s now abandoned daughter.”

“But Quintus was swayed to agreement with the Emperor’s decision before father left on his journey.”

“Yes, he was,” agreed Damon. “Which on the surface presents no obvious conflict. But while visiting your father’s clients today, I got the strong impression that there were concerns and unrest among them regarding the prices being paid by the government for the building materials they manufacture.”

“Would that not be a matter between the tradesmen and the overseers of the project?”

“Yes, but the overseers must follow the directives of the official in charge of the construction.”

Julia frowned, searching her memory. Her father had often returned from Senatorial sessions frustrated, venting his concerns to his dutiful daughter. The majority of the time she’d feigned interest when in truth her attention had been on the latest concern of the household. A cold chill went through her. But not always. “Quintus. He is in charge of the Emperor’s new tenements.”

Damon held up one finger. “The Emperor expects the apartment blocks to be built with improved material.” A second finger. “The Prefect controls the flow of coin from Nero’s treasury, an exorbitant sum in his mind to be wasted on the plebian mob, so he pressures the suppliers to provide the higher quality lumber, brick, mortar but at lower prices.”

“But why? If he has the coin...” Julia glanced up sharply at Damon. “He takes the excess and fills his own coffers!”

Damon nodded grimly. “Money is power to someone like Quintus. And the powerful will do whatever it takes to stay in power. It’s like an aphrodisiac.” He took a deep breath. “Many of your father’s clients are in the business of providing raw materials and construction skills. If they had concerns or suspicions, they may have shared them with the Senator.”

A heavy pressure settled on Julia’s chest. Unlike other men of influence whose clients were bored, underachieving sycophants, Octavian Manulus supported hardworking men with goals. If there had been any concerns about the contracts being offered to those under his patronage, he would have investigated.

The idea that her father may have been hurt or—Julia’s mouth went dry—murdered chilled her to the bone. There was no proof, she rationalized. No body, no witnesses. He could still be alive, pursuing some new invention. Even as she thought it, her practical side rejected the possibility. And if she insisted on an inquiry then the danger to her family multiplied a hundredfold.

Damon reached across the table and clasped her hand, stroking the top with his thumb. The reassuring gesture settled her nerves. “What about that man Sirrus?”