Abigail was not surprised that his promise of limitless patience was not so limitless. She felt a sinking in her heart–Andrew would tire of waiting. And even if he did wait as long as it took, would his feelings remain unchanged, or would it be his pride that kept him to his promise, much as Jason’s kept him from relinquishing her?
“What am I to do, Andrew?” she asked quietly. “I cannot refuse him, and I have never encouraged him. If he persists, it is not because of anything I have done. Please, believe that.”
“I do!” he proclaimed, then belied his words by adding, “But surely you must be able to do something, Abigail. He is a man of strong temper, you could–”
“Argue with him?” Abigail suggested. The irony in her tone drew Andrew’s gaze to her eyes. “I do. He enjoys it. I can mindlessly obey, refusing to argue, and he will just smile and remain satisfied. The only time he gets upset with me is when it is about you. And I cannot do anything that would dishonor him, you know that, so–”
Andrew silenced her by capturing her face in his hands and pressing his lips against hers. He drew away a fraction, enough to look into her wide eyes. “He is not my master. I will not cater to him.” He covered her mouth with his again, and this time the kiss was not just to stop her from speaking, but to engage her.
For a moment, Abigail was too surprised and confused to know how she should respond, so she did not. In that heartbeat, a battle raged within her. She knew that, as Jason’s, she should push Andrew away. But in her heart, was she not more Andrew’s than Jason’s? To what should she be true, the claim that Jason never should have made, or the one forged within her?
Andrew’s embrace grew insistent enough that she responded without thought. She wrapped her arms around his neck and returned the kiss, waiting for either guilt or passion to take her over. Neither did. She was too unwilling for anything but complacency. His kiss was enjoyable, but she kept comparing it to Jason’s too much to lose herself in it.
Andrew, apparently, had no such distractions. She knew very well that he was not thinking this through, otherwise he never would have pulled her down to the pillows, never would have let his hand travel down her torso to rest on her hip. His touch, a feather light brush and nothing more, sent a tendril of pleasure curling up her spine. It was that which made her realize she had to put a stop to this. If she did not do so now, she may not, and he would hate them both.
It was not until he took his mouth from hers and set it roaming over her jaw that she could manage to speak. Even then, she could only croak out, “Andrew!”
But that was all it took to push him back into sanity. He retreated a few feet, his eyes bright with shame and apology. “I . . .” He shook his head. “I am sorry, Abigail. I should not–forgive me.”
He pushed himself up and fled the room. And left her lying where he had put her, tears burning her eyes and hands gripping the blanket beneath her.
She had not thought it possible that she sink further, but here she was. Did she have any virtue left? If so, she could not find it within herself. All she saw there was a pitiful creature unable to resist a temptation because of its sin, but rather only because of its consequences. She saw a woman undeserving of respect or love.
Even Andrew had proven himself as interested in her body as he was in her. Had he not mentioned before that he was bothered by the thought of her being in Jason’s arms? Did he ever say he was bothered by the pain she must be going through? No. It dismayed him that she was not his. Even with Andrew, it had become about possession.
Perhaps she was no more than that, in the end. Perhaps she had forfeited any other worth when she went to Jason’s bed, or perhaps she never had any to begin with. Woman was created to be a companion for man, after all. Women were raised to be naught but a wife, a mother. She was not even suited for that, so what did that leave her? A future as a man’s consort, not given the dignity of marriage, only a step above a harlot. She closed her eyes against the tears, glad her mother was not there to see what she had become. Wishing she could be blind to it, as well.
She stayed in that same position for many long minutes, then stirred herself and stood. Andrew’s touch and kiss had ignited a desire in her, one that had grown accustomed to being sated. Why should she bother denying any longer that she enjoyed the touch of a man? It seemed to be what she had been made for anyway, so she might as well.
Stooping before her trunk, she moved the lamp to the floor and opened it. She pulled out the red garment that she had refused to wear in front of Jason’s friends, some complementing accessories, then closed the lid once more and replaced the light. She extinguished the flame, tucked her possessions under her arm, and slipped soundlessly out of her room, down the hall, and into Jason’s chamber.