Instead, Gaia gave her a gentle push into the room. “I will leave him in your hands.” Before Crispina could protest, Gaia slipped away and shut the door behind her.
Aelius unwound his toga with a grimace. Crispina knew she should help him, but she couldn’t seem to figure out what to do. His tunic would have to come off next, and that would leave him naked.
Naked. A shiver ran through her.
“This was all prepared very quickly,” Aelius said, breaking through her trepidation about his naked body. “And Mama did not seem surprised.”
Crispina answered the unspoken question. “I was returning from Horatia’s house when I heard a commotion in the streets. I figured out what had happened, and ran home to warn Gaia.” The lie came out easily.
“I see.”
“Are you badly hurt?”
He shook his head. Then, he tucked his hand into the neckline of his tunic and pulled it off so quickly Crispina didn’t have time to turn away. His body—all lean angles and warm golden skin—filled her vision. Heat rushed into her cheeks, and her mouth became parched.
He dropped the tunic onto the floor in a pile with his toga and stepped into the bath. Crispina finally found the wherewithal to avert her gaze. She stared resolutely at the chest of drawers on the other side of the room. The image of his body didn’t leave her. It was impressed into her mind like a seal into warm wax.
Water splashed as he sank into the tub. “You can look at me, you know,” he said. “I am your husband, after all.”
She dared a quick glance. His lower half was submerged beneath the water, to her mingled relief and disappointment. But his upper half—gleaming shoulders, muscled chest, the beginnings of a flat stomach—was all too visible. She had barely ever seen a naked man in the flesh, despite her three years of marriage. Memmius had always come to her in the dark, and she was certain that even if every lamp had been lit, he would have looked nothing like Aelius.
“Shall I leave you to bathe?” She prayed he wanted solitude.
“I believe you’re meant to dote on me.” He stretched a hand toward the vat of hot water and the stack of bandages. “Besides, I can’t reach.”
“Our agreement said nothing about doting,” she muttered, but she fetched the hot water and bandages. She dampened a cloth and handed it to him. He passed it over his face, wincing as it brushed his split lip.
“I wasn’t entirely truthful with my mother about why the fight started,” he said in a low voice as he rubbed the blood from his cheek.
I know.
“The disparaging remarks were not about me, but you.” He tilted his face up to meet her gaze. “Rufus said things…about you. I know it was foolish of me to rise to him, but I couldn’t let it stand.”
Crispina took a step closer, until her hand brushed the edge of the tub. “You don’t have to defend me.”
His damp hand covered hers. “You are my wife. For as long as we are married, I will defend you.”
Her throat tightened. He had to know what his actions today meant for his political ambitions. Despite loving a good brawl, Romans didn’t want to vote for a candidate who brawled in the Forum. He had risked everything to stop someone from speaking ill of her. Her knees weakened, but she parlayed the movement into a graceful kneeling, a hand on the side of the tub for support.
Crispina took the wet cloth from him and ran it over his shoulders, where some dirt lingered. The cloth slipped, and her fingers brushed warm skin. Her breath caught. The cloth tumbled into the water, but she didn’t retrieve it. The barest touch of her hand on his body seemed to siphon warmth into her. It flowed from her hand, down her arm, blossoming in her chest and pooling low in her belly.
The delicious warmth spurred her hand to move, to seek more. Her fingers skimmed up his shoulder to brush his throat. He turned his head toward her, his eyes closed. Before she could reason herself out of it, she leaned forward and pressed her lips to his.
Water surged and splashed in the tub as his hands found her shoulders, pulling her closer. One dripping hand slid into her hair. This kiss was nothing like the momentary dry peck they’d shared at their wedding. This was fire and heat, longing and desire.
Aelius flinched as her cheek brushed his injured nose. The movement brought her back to her senses, and she pulled away. Legs shaking, she scrambled to her feet. Aelius stared at her, his eyes hot and dark.
“I…I…” She struggled to summon some dignity. “I will leave you to bathe in peace.” Then she ran for the door and closed it behind her.
Crispina leaned against the wall in the empty corridor. She raised a hand to her lips, still warm and sensitized from his mouth.Gods, what was that?
“Mistress? Are you well?” Malchio had appeared in the corridor, carrying a pitcher and a stack of fresh cloths. “I brought some more hot water.” He moved toward the door.
Crispina straightened up hurriedly. “He’s…he’s naked!” The words burst from her mouth before she could realize how ridiculous they sounded.
Malchio gave her a strange look. “I imagine so, mistress. May I go in?”
She flushed and moved away from the door. “Of course.”
