Abigail awoke groggy, confused, and sore. Dawn was a breath on the horizon and no more, and she stretched in the darkness to try to wake herself up more fully. That was when she became aware of the body beside hers. She suddenly remembered why her eyes felt swollen and stinging and let out a depressed sigh. How was it that she had been through all she had been through and still ended up in the same place she had been a year ago? Should she not have been stronger by now? Wiser? At least knowledgeable enough to know that no man was really as interested in a platonic relationship as he may claim?
“Where are you going?” Titus muttered, half asleep, when she started to ease away.
“Benjamin will need to be fed.”
He nodded, and she could barely make out his smile through the predawn darkness. He reached out and smoothed her hair out of her face, kissing her shoulder. Tenderness welled up in her, quickly followed by anger at the soft emotions. She jerked out of bed and fumbled around for her tunic, slipped it over her head. She darted into the small room and picked up the stirring Benjamin. Samuel still slept soundly; she was grateful that he had not been awoken by her crying the night before and decided to investigate. Things were bad enough without having to explain to a six-year-old why she loathed herself.
She settled onto the bed and put the baby to her breast. Knowing her son was always affected by her moods, she attempted to distance herself from everything but him. Humming a psalm, she rocked gently until he had eaten his fill and dozed back into slumber. It was enough to make Abigail smile. Leave it to Benjamin to not disappoint her; he always stuck to his patterns. Hungry at dawn, but quickly satiated, then back to sleep for another two hours, when he would awake as starved as though she had not just risen with or before the sun to anticipate him.
After the baby was content, she cuddled him close and let her eyes slide shut. For a few moments, silence bathed her as her son settled back into sleep. Then the door opened almost silently, and Titus entered. He was either oblivious to the her immediate tensing or decided to ignore it. He simply smiled and lifted Benjamin from her arms. Once again, as she watched him cradle her son so affectionately, she felt overwhelming love for the man. Once again, anger followed quickly on its heels.
He held out a hand to her as he cradled the baby with one strong arm.
She had very little choice but to put her hand in his. Admitting she had intended to sit there and hold him half the morning would sound like a feeble excuse to avoid what had happened. No, she corrected herself, it was a feeble excuse to avoid what had happened. So she let him pull her to her feet.
Titus settled Benjamin down gently into his little bed, then opened the door and pulled her into his chamber before shutting it again.
“Titus, we need to talk,” Abigail said softly as he pulled her deeper into the chamber, away from the sleeping children.
“I know.” He stopped them beside the bed, then released her hand and began tugging at the tunic he had slipped on.
Abigail looked at him in disbelief. “What are you doing?”
Titus dropped the garment on the floor carelessly. “Getting back into bed. The morning air is cool, and I am still quite tired.”
Abigail sighed and rubbed a hand over her weary eyes. Even without looking, she knew he had not moved to do as he had proclaimed. “You seem to be in no hurry.”
“I am waiting for you to join me.”
At that, she dropped her hand so that he could see the distress in her eyes. “Titus, what are you thinking?”
“It is rather simple.” He sounded so calm, so cool. “I undoubtedly should not have done what I did last night. It upset you, and I am sorry that I lacked control. On the other hand, nothing has ever pleased me more than knowing you, and I find that my heart is not truly repentant. That means that even if I never touch you again, I remain guilty of it. And if I am going to be guilty of it, I might as well be enjoying it.”
She blinked with fatigue. “That logic is shockingly perverse.”
“But accurate.” He reached out and rested his hands on her shoulders, pulling her closer. “Abigail, I love you. It is done now, you are my lover, there is no more reason to fight me.”
He moved one hand to smooth down her hair, then left it at the back of her head, anchoring her as he stepped nearer still. “Do you still love me, Abigail?”
Something in her broke. She felt it, felt it crack, felt it crumble, felt herself sink into the hole it left behind. She did not know what she was doing to herself. But she knew the answer to his question. “Yes. I still love you, Titus.”
“Good.” He kissed her then, passionately, intimately, but not long. He soon stepped away, moved to sit on the mattress. But he held out a hand. “Come to bed with me, Abigail.”
Feeling as though she were far removed from herself, she obeyed.
*