The Patrician's Fortune- A Historical Romance (22 page)

Damon’s gaze flickered from her to the uneaten portion of the pear before he swallowed hard. Julia smiled.

He returned her smile and took another bite of the fruit.

“It’s good to know your humor has not fled.” He made a face at the clear water in the terra cotta pitcher before pouring some into a silver chalice. He studied the embossed dolphins. “Why are there so many sea creatures around here? I feel as though I’m living in Neptune’s palace.”

“My father knew my mother loved the sea, dolphins in particular. He would do anything to make her happy, so,” she shrugged a shoulder, “he gave her dolphins.”

“Legions of them,” Damon muttered.

“Mother would have been content with one or two but saw how much father enjoyed the gifting of them.”

Damon shook his head then looked at her. “We have matters to discuss.”

Yes, they did and suddenly Julia had no idea how to go about it. How does one initiate this type of thing without looking like a fool?

“Our approach to the Prefect must be changed.”

She stared at him. The Prefect? What about this morning? What about the whispers and the touching and the marvelous way he’d made her feel. “I do not understand.”

Damon picked up a small knife and slivered a piece of cheese from the wedge. “Hiding within the walls of the
domus
will not deter Quintus.”

“We are not hiding.” Julia winced at the petulance in her voice.

“We are,” he countered. “In the days since the Senator’s dinner, we’ve been locked behind these fashionable doors.” He leaned back in the chair. “I know these patricians. They love gossip and compete against each other for the juiciest tidbits.”

Julia opened her mouth to protest, but then he pinned her with a knowing look. She had no defense. She had, after all, hoped for the very same behavior when she’d presented Damon for all to see. Ten messengers with Mercury’s wings on their shoes could not have spread the news faster. “The Prefect has not visited since the day of the dinner. His ardor has cooled, his interest has waned.”

Damon pushed away from the table. “Julia, open your eyes!”

She did and stared at him, stunned at the vehemence in his tone.

He turned away, took a steadying breath. When he looked back he said, “I can assure you, the Prefect is like an eel. He’s only retreated into his cave until he’s ready to strike. He needs an alliance with your family and the only way he is going to get it is through you.”

Julia felt her own irritation growing. “How? How is the Prefect going to do that when I am already wed?”

He gave her a tight smile. “Wed? To a man with no records of his existence? Be assured, he has already sent men to uncover every bit of information regarding one Damon Pontus. Our only advantage is the distance involved in traveling to and from Silicia. It will take even the swiftest courier a good two months to make the trip. It will not take much longer for Quintus to ascertain that Damon Pontus is a fraud.”

She wanted to argue his logic, but knew under it all he was right. Fear curled in the pit of her stomach. “Why would he go to such lengths? I have nothing to offer the Prefect.”

He leaned toward her, his voice gentled. “It’s not what you have, goddess. It is what your father has.”

“My father?” Julia gave a short bark of laughter. “Quintus covets my father’s drawing of the stars? He craves the plans for a new fountain?  Oh, perhaps the Prefect of Rome desires the collection of shells my father brought back from a trip to Egypt the year of my birth!”

Damon ran his finger around the rim of the goblet. “Are you finished?”

Julia’s emotions were roiling, her confidence shaken. Quintus Marcellus was a calculating man, she’d known that from the start and had sensed a darker nature. But her father was a man of learning. What could he possibly possess of interest to Rome’s Prefect? She lifted her gaze to Damon, saw the conviction filling his eyes. She gave a short nod.

“I do not know,” Damon hesitated, as she rolled her eyes. “I do not know,” he repeated “what Quintus seeks. I do know I cannot find out unless I leave this house.”

Somehow Julia managed to maintain her composure. The thought of Damon leaving sent a bolt of panic through her. “A perfect opportunity for you to disappear,” she stated flatly.

He gave her a long look before the corner of his mouth lifted in a wry smile. “Your faith in me is overwhelming, goddess.”

Julia was miserable. She’d managed to insult him again. These past weeks together had gradually changed her mind on that account. Deep within her, she knew he would keep to his word but his word had been to pose as her husband, not to seek out confrontation with a man with as much power as the Emperor. How could she explain the bolt of fear that shot through her at the thought of his being in danger?

He continued. “We must provide fuel to the fire, be seen going about the daily routines. We must look for opportunities to exploit the existence of our marriage.”

Julia’s gaze shifted to the pile of invitations she’d left on the corner of her father’s desk for a split second. Damon tilted his head speculatively at her before getting up and retrieving the bundle. He scanned several of the documents. “This is perfect. You will accept all of them.”

“But there is one for every night for the next five days!” Her nerves would not be able to bear it.

Damon smiled grimly. “It will drive the Prefect insane.”

G
ods, the woman could argue.

Damon wrestled with the heavy folds of a plain, white toga, finally managing to drape it over his left shoulder. He felt trapped by the voluminous garment, but as a
free
citizen of Rome he would be expected to wear it in public. And that had been at the heart of Julia’s objections.

The past two weeks had been a whirlwind of activity. They had attended every single dinner, poetry recital and social gathering to which they’d received invitations, each appearance solidifying the illusion of spousal devotion. Who could doubt the commitment Damon Pontus had for Julia Manulus when they were witness to his constant attention and devotion. A kiss here, a loving touch there, the way he kept her close at hand and looked into her eyes.

And it had been sheer torture.

Damon snatched a gold wristband from the table and clamped it around his wrist. Each public display of affection had made it nearly impossible to hold to his promise to distance himself from Julia. Every caress, every brush of his mouth against those sweet plump lips, the heat of her body against his as they greeted their hosts, even the sweet, succulent scent that was hers alone, that stirred his blood into an inferno, had chiseled away at his control until he feared he go mad.

Insanity would have been a small price to pay had their excursions rendered any results. While Quintus had been in attendance at most of the functions, Damon had not been able to elicit one piece of useful information. He cursed under his breath. The bastard was as slippery as the eel he’d compared him to.

Julia was feeling the strain too. Her indomitable patience was wearing thin and she was becoming increasingly irritable with her servants who were now going about their duties in hushed silence, stunned by their mistress’s behavior. Yesterday, he’d even heard her snap at Aunt Sophia who had burst into tears. The devastated look on Julia’s face had almost done him in.

That’s when he’d decided on his next course of action, push the Prefect a bit, prod him into making a mistake. Damon hadn’t expected Julia to agree with his plan but he also hadn’t expected her to spend over an hour trying to talk him out of it. He’d won the argument and she’d grudgingly agreed to follow his lead.

And the new plan started this morning. Damon was going to begin acting like the head of this household. He’d already instructed Basil to provide a list of Senator Octavian’s clients and he planned to visit each one. Word would spread quickly through the Forum and right to Quintus’ ears that the husband of Julia Manulus Pontus was conducting the business of his father-in-law.

He lifted Octavian’s knife from the table, tested the weight of it in his hand. It was a fine blade despite its opulence. Honed to a sharp point, it was the perfect tool for extracting information. There wasn’t much a man wouldn’t tell with the edge of a knife pressed to his throat. Damon slipped the weapon beneath the wide leather belt at his waist within easy reach of his right hand. He’d never go out among the mob or more importantly, the aristocracy without being armed.

“Does the
Master
require assistance?”

Damon’s hand was behind his back, fisted on the hilt of the knife before he spun around. His eyes narrowed at an unsmiling Kaj, who stood with arms folded, watching him with his usual level of disgust and suspicion. Damon bit back an oath. How had the great oaf entered the room unnoticed? He eyed the servant.  He’d stomached about all he could stand from the officious servant.

Damon slipped the knife back into its hiding place and nodded for Kaj to follow him out the door and down the hall. Reaching the entry to the atrium, he turned and mirrored Kaj’s obstinate stance. “The time is past for you and I to come to an understanding.”

“There is nothing to understand,” the big man replied. “I do not trust you.”

Direct, honest and irritating. “Your mistress trusts me,” Damon countered “That is all that is necessary.”

Kaj did not respond though the grim line of his mouth told Damon the man did not agree with his logic. A shot of impatience bolted through him. He was getting damn tired of his motives being questioned. Honest and direct? Then Damon would give the servant just that. “I am not going to waste the breath it would take to argue that the house of Manulus is in danger.
Julia
is in danger. You know this.”

A flash of uncertainty passed behind Kaj’s eyes. “You were being crucified...”

“I was being
sacrificed
for another man’s greed,” Damon shot back. The anger he’d been keeping tightly controlled sliced thorough him like a sword in the gut. That bastard Tertius had played him for a fool and the truth of the matter was he had been the biggest kind of fool. Damon had been so close to reaching his goal, of seeing his sister free, that he’d been blind to the signals. His employer used people and he had used Damon well and good.

“Why would I stay if not to help?” he continued, “Had I wished it, I could have disappeared the moment I was released from that room.” He blew out an impatient breath. “I am far from a paragon of virtue Kaj, but I do not harm innocents. I need to discover what Quintus is up to. Now, you can offer your assistance or leave, but you will not stop me from doing what I promised.”

Kaj ran a thumb along the scar on his neck. He was weighing Damon’s words carefully before making a decision which was fine—as long as he hurried. How much thought did it take to say no?

“I will assist you.”

Now
Kaj chose to be unpredictable. How was he going to conduct his investigation with a mountain following along behind him? “Very well. You may accompany me to the Forum as my servant, which means you do not speak, you do not ask questions, you do not do anything unless I give you leave.”

Kaj smiled benignly.

Muttering an oath, Damon spun on his heel and went in search of Basil. Less than a quarter hour later, client list in hand, he and Kaj were stepping through the front entrance onto the street. They had not walked past the corner of the
domus
before Kaj spoke. “It is traditional for the clients to call on the
patrona
at his house.”

“I am well aware of that,” Damon replied tightly. It was also highly irregular for a patron to be walking in the Forum without a contingent of clients and sycophants to shield him from the crowds. But if he followed the conventional practice he wouldn’t be able to search for the answers he needed. “What else could be expected from an unsophisticated provincial?  It will provide more fodder for the gossips, nothing more.”

His answer did nothing to faze Kaj. “How will they pay their respects? Receive their daily
sportula?
”

Damon stopped abruptly.
Sportula
? The daily monetary allotment provided by a patron to his clients? He hadn’t considered that. Provincial or not, he’d make a poor impression on Senator Manulus’ clients if he came without coin. He fisted his hands. He’d never overlooked such an important fact before. Every plan he’d ever devised in the past was based on attention to details. It was the reason for his success—and survival—as a spy.

Assignments were examined from every conceivable perspective with an eye toward the best approach for gathering information, the potential for complications. Once focused on a goal, Damon did not allow distractions to sway him from completing the mission.

Until Julia.

Well, that was going to change. Now.

Damon calculated the amount needed based on the list. The standard
sportula
of a hundred
quadrans
per person would normally be adequate along with a quantity of foodstuffs or an invitation to dinner. By Pollux, he wasn’t about to haul sacks of cabbages around the city and he was fairly certain Julia would not be agreeable to hosting a houseful of hungry guests—if they would even come.

Basil had confided to Damon that since the Senator’s disappearance Julia had suspended the role of benefactor, having neither the time nor the energy to spend nurturing economic and political alliances. If he had any hope of winning back their loyalty, his gift would have to be memorable. He cast a speculative gaze in the direction of the Imperial treasury.

Clearing his throat gruffly, Kaj slipped a bulging pouch from his belt. Untying it, he held it out for Damon’s inspection. There was more than enough silver and gold coin in there to satisfy the clients, several temple priests, a beggar or two and still buy a round of wine at the local
taverna
.

“Kaj,” Damon drawled, “You’ve been keeping secrets. How long have you been a thief?” His lips twitched in an unsuccessful effort to hide his amusement as Kaj glared at him.