The Patrician's Fortune- A Historical Romance (8 page)

She swallowed, tried to clear the dryness from her throat. “Well, while I was there I renewed an acquaintance with an old friend. Someone you’ve not met, as his family moved to the provinces before you were born.”

“There are many of your friends I’ve never met, Julia,” replied Lares dryly. “I
am
eight years younger, far beneath the notice of your illustrious crowd.”

She frowned at him. When had her brother acquired such an acerbic manner? She’d been delighted when her baby brother had arrived, trailing after his nursemaid begging to hold him, finding new, and interesting playthings to entertain him. He used to follow her around, adoration in his eyes. Now those eyes were sharp and tinged with bitterness and too discerning for comfort.

“What does this friend have to do with the news you bring?”

A loud rapping on the front entry door interrupted her answer to Lares, whose eyes narrowed at her obvious distress. She heard the anxious protests of Basil, their doorman, followed by an inaudible, but terse reply from Kaj.

“Well, Lares, I know I should have told you...”

A very distraught Basil hurried down the garden path. “Mistress, please forgive me. He says…Well, Kaj said it was…

“Julia, darling one. How very unlike you not to inform your gatekeeper of my arrival.”

Julia shot a quick look to Lares puzzled expression before concentrating on Damon, who strode down the stone pathway as if he were master of his own destiny. The warmth in her belly began to simmer.

The pure—white tunic she’d provided for him stopped at the knees but did little to hide the hard line of muscles in his thighs. His shoulders actually seemed broader with the confidence he exuded. He carried the heavy folds of a toga easily over his left arm, the purple stripe placed just so.

Around his neck hung a beaten medallion of gold studded with rubies. They complemented the matching bands at his wrists, which did an excellent job of hiding the evidence of his recent fetters though not the healing cut on his arm. Damon had refused to elaborate on how he’d received the injury but assured her if asked, he would provide a plausible explanation. He was, she imagined, quite good at explanations.

Julia had raided the family coffer and provided several rings; one set with a large ruby, another with a carved lion’s head similar to her own. She could still see the crooked smile Damon had sent her noting how romantic it was for a husband and wife to sport matching jewelry.

His hair was swept away from his face and queued at his nape with another gold band, which had a devastating effect, accentuating the squared line of his jaw, giving his face a dangerous edge. She’d argued against the longer style, wanting a close crop of curls, as was the fashion. But Damon had disagreed, winning the argument that many citizens from the provinces wore their hair in just such a manner. And wouldn’t she prefer he play the part to perfection?

Gods, he could pass for a patrician and not just because of his attire. His attitude and demeanor was infused with a natural arrogance impossible to learn.

Enthralled with the image he presented, Julia did not realize until it was too late to make a graceful escape, that he was walking directly toward her. He stopped mere inches away, took her hands firmly in his own, leaned down and caught her mouth in a kiss.

Every fear, every worry, every coherent thought fled her mind beneath the searing heat of his firm lips. He tugged on her bottom lip as he pulled away leaving her lips swollen and aching. Julia swallowed hard, caught by the intensity of those gray eyes and cleared her throat. “Lares, this is Damon Pontus—your brother-in-law.”

F
rom the stunned expression on the brother’s face, Damon was not the only one surprised to find him wed to the lovely Julia.

Wasn’t that interesting.

He inclined his head toward Lares, whose eyes were still wide from the disclosure, taking in the blanket covering the boy’s legs, the paleness of a face thinned by illness. His pallor only served to accentuate dark circles beneath his eyes—eyes that narrowed suspiciously at Damon’s perusal. The boy may well be an invalid, but he was no fool. It wouldn’t do to give him time to think. He bowed more formally. “An honor to meet you at last, brother.”

Lares scowled darkly. “Who are you?”

As family welcomes went, it wasn’t the warmest.

“Lares!” Julia admonished. “You will show respect to my husband.”

Lares was unperturbed. “Who is this man, sister?”

Tension seeped into Damon’s shoulders as he watched her hesitate, her mind working feverishly for an explanation. How many patrician ladies of her caliber had introduced condemned criminals or former slaves as their spouses? A muscle ticked in his jaw. After fifteen years he should be used to the contempt. But he wasn’t. Never mind that his lineage boasted more nobility than half the Senate. His father may have been a shiftless gambling drunk, but he was a shiftless gambling drunk with aristocratic ancestors.

“Until father’s return, he is head of this household and this family,” she answered in a clipped tone that brooked no argument.

A moment’s panic flashed behind the boy’s eyes, as blue-green as his sister’s. Lares deepened his scowl, crossed his arms and raked Damon with a mutinous glare. The boy had courage. Damon sent a sideways glance at Julia. Or perhaps he was just stubborn like his sibling.

“Julia, I confess to being quite disappointed that you did not tell your noble brother about our nuptials. Why, I fair shouted the news in the streets so overcome was I by my good fortune.” He hid a smile at the fiery look Julia shot him before turning his full attention to Lares. “Things are much different here in Rome than Silicia, Lares. I hope I can call on you for guidance in matters of business and household.”

Lares shifted, sent him a long measuring look, the distrustful expression easing the smallest bit beneath his request. Speaking to the youth on adult terms and acknowledging his abilities would lay a solid path between them. Trust and allies were always useful.

“Welcome, Damon Pontus,” Lares muttered.

Julia relaxed at her brother’s acquiescence but Damon was not fooled. The boy would require special attention to ensure this charade remained intact. Before he could open his mouth to ask if she had any other siblings, a flurry of activity on the opposite side of the garden had all three of them turning in that direction.

An older woman came rushing toward them, a flower—filled urn tumbling in her wake. Chestnut hair streaked through with gray was artfully arranged atop her head, though a few errant curls, shaken loose by her running, bobbed against fragile cheeks lined with soft wrinkles. While she had the same defiant edge to her chin, the same upturned nose as Julia, her eyes were brown—and filled with the odd light of a mind no longer in charge of its affairs.

The woman approached them with such purpose, that he sidled closer to Julia, arms positioned nonchalantly at his side, prepared to protect her from the woman’s frenzied intent should the need arise.

Instead, Julia rose and walked calmly to her. “It is all right, Aunt Sophia. Everything is all right.”

He watched as she gently guided the distraught woman to a marble bench, never really touching her, like one might do with a nervous cat. Aunt Sophia responded to the soothing tone of her niece’s voice, following Julia’s instruction to sit, but still looking wildly around the garden.

“Oh dear, oh dear,” Sophia murmured, wringing her blue—veined hands. “Don’t let them see.”

Damon glanced at Lares, who rolled his eyes in a failed effort to hide his embarrassment. Crippled brothers and mad relations; throwing a criminal into the mix suddenly seemed quite natural.

He shifted his gaze back to Julia, who remained oblivious to any save the agitated woman. The hard edges of the aristocratic demeanor she worked so hard to maintain were gone, erased by concern which he found entrancing. Roman nobles of his acquaintance—and the gods knew he’d had his fill of them these past three years—were not known for their altruism. Gently she rubbed her hands along her aunt’s arms, patting and comforting. How, he thought, would those long, elegant hands feel stroking him?

As if she could discern the direction of his thoughts, she sent him a narrowed look and frowned. Wonderful. Another seer just like Jared’s wife. And he couldn’t hide anything from Bryna. He returned her scrutiny with his best look of pure innocence.

She returned her attention to her aunt. “Sophia, you must calm yourself. I won’t let anyone see.”

Aunt Sophia visibly relaxed. “I know you won’t, Eirenne. I can trust you. I can always trust you.”

Lares leaned toward Damon, whispering loudly. “Eirenne was our mother. She’s been dead for two years. Aunt Sophia cannot remember from one moment to the next, yet she always recalls how to find us.”

Julia sent her brother a sharp look before patting her aunt’s hand. “That’s all right, aunt. Now, where is Helena?”

“I am here, mistress,” said a slave girl who came rushing from the house, her expression as harried as Aunt Sophia’s. “A thousand pardons, mistress, I thought she was asleep. When I went to fetch her midday meal, she slipped away.”

“I did not want them to see,” Aunt Sophia said plaintively. Her eyes widened in alarm as she noticed Damon for the first time. “Did
he
see?”

*****

Everyone held their breath while Julia braced for Sophia’s hysteria. Her aunt wasn’t insane. She functioned well as long as there was no disruption in her daily routine. But the episodes of agitation had increased significantly with her father’s absence so that now the least change in her surroundings or unfamiliar people set off an uncontrollable outburst.

And Damon was most certainly unfamiliar. His startled look had her wrapping a protective arm around her aunt’s shoulder. Men such as he would have little patience for the ramblings of an old woman. There was every possibility he would take offense at her question, become unruly himself, curse, rant, rave, and become violent. A tingle of unease ran up her spine as he took a slow step toward them.

Before she could raise her hand to signal Kaj, he sat on the bench next to them, gently cupped Sophia’s trembling hands into his own and held her gaze. “My lady, you have nothing to fear, for I have seen nothing save your graceful beauty.”

Julia ignored the scoff from Lares, watching with amazement as the distress lining Sophia’s face melted into a tremulous smile. Slipping a hand free she patted Damon’s cheek. “Good, that’s good. You’re a good fellow. You’ll keep them away. Yes, that’s good.”

Seemingly oblivious to the curious look Helena sent him, Damon helped Sophia to stand and handed her over to the servant. Absently patting his arm again, Sophia allowed herself to be led back to her room.

“That’s never happened before,” said Lares in wonder. He ignored the warning look Julia sent him and spoke directly to Damon. “Usually when she starts ranting about ‘people seeing’ she dissolves into an uncontrollable fit that takes days from which to recover.” He crossed his arms and lifted one corner of his mouth. “You might be more useful than I thought.”

Julia pressed her fingers against her throbbing temple. “Lares, watch your tongue.”

“You are not feeling well, wife?”

The question murmured against her ear caused Julia to jump, neatly clipping Damon on the chin. From the corner of her eye she saw him rub his jaw and made to step away but his hands stopped her, sliding along her shoulders where he kneaded the knots of tension from her muscles. Her protest came out in a sigh of relief. He chuckled.

She stiffened instantly, pushed his hands away and turned, prepared to chastise him for his familiarity. His amused gaze flickered to Lares, who was watching them with an assessing eye. Rebuffing his attention would raise suspicion not only in her overly attentive brother but Basil as well, who watched from the doorway with open curiosity.

“Thank you, husband,” she answered through clenched teeth. “I feel better already.”

Basil cleared his throat. “The midday meal is ready, my lady. I’ve set it out in the garden as you instructed.”

Damon, lips twitching in a poor attempt to hide his enjoyment of her discomfort, inclined his head and swept a hand out for her to lead the way. Shooting him a glare, she swept past him and headed for the garden.

*****

The only thing more amazing than Lares being quiet and attentive was the reason for his uncharacteristic behavior—Damon.

Julia selected an almond from the dish left on the table by Basil, popped it in her mouth, and listened to her husband and brother talk of the sea and ships. From beneath hooded eyes she studied Damon who had moved from the divan next to her to sit beside Lares. He moved naturally, as if he were used to luxurious surroundings, the family, but she noted the careful way he positioned himself away from Lares’ blanketed limbs. An act of consideration based in kindness, the same as his reaction to Aunt Sophia.

The man was driving her mad.

He was a charlatan, a fake, an imposter—one that she had created, true, but he fell too easily into the role for it not to have some innate ability. This charm he exuded was nothing more than an elixir of deceit and if her plan were to succeed a tight rein would have to used to control him. The first step would be to limit his contact with her family.

Julia opened her mouth to suggest he leave but closed it when she heard Lares laugh. Laugh. Her brother had rarely smiled since their mother’s death and now he was laughing. Lares eyes were alight with excitement, his cheeks flushed not from sickness but from enthusiasm. Her heart clutched at the happiness on his face.

With effort, she focused her attention back to the discussion of square sails and fore-and-aft sails on the standard merchant ship and its advantage over rowing. She couldn’t fathom what difference it could make as long as you reached your destination, but evidently it did and Lares listened with rapt attention as Damon enthusiastically described a new type of foresail called an
artemon.

“An
artemon,”
Lares sighed wistfully. “What a wondrous thing.”