Page 12 of The Tribune Temptation (Roman Heirs #1)

N ext week, Crispina walked through the streets on her way home from a lesson with the children. She smiled, their antics still fresh in her mind. Junia’s handwriting was improving, and Sextus had gotten every letter right when she quizzed him.

A voice caught her attention as she crossed the edge of the Forum. She stopped short and looked around. A crowd had gathered in the middle of the Forum. Two men stood atop a raised platform, both dressed in the chalk-whitened toga of political candidates. One was Rufus, and the other was her husband.

She’d known today was the day of their debate, but she hadn’t realized the time would coincide with her return from her lesson. She eased into the shadows of a nearby building and watched.

Aelius cut a fine figure up there; the bright white toga set off his golden skin, whereas it made Rufus’s fairer skin look sallow. Aelius’s voice carried across the crowd with ease. He seemed to have mastered the art of speaking loudly and clearly without shouting, as some orators resorted to.

A flare of something like pride warmed her chest, a similar feeling as when Sextus had gotten all of his letters right. How strange, to be proud of one’s husband.

Rufus was speaking now. “The tribuneship is meant to advance the interests of the people, is it not?” The crowd murmured and nodded in agreement. “Yet, for all my opponent’s humble origins—which we all know of, and which I hardly need mention—he’s gone and married a daughter of one of the oldest families in Rome.”

Crispina rolled her eyes at the exaggeration. Her family was well-respected, but they were hardly the Julii.

Rufus continued. “Clearly, my opponent is trying to set himself up as some sort of aristocrat. A bold strategy for someone born even lower than myself, the son of a baker!” He gave a self-deprecating laugh.

Crispina ground her teeth. Rufus was not going to let anyone forget Aelius’s origins, even as he simultaneously accused him of being a social climber.

Aelius stepped forward. “It’s true, my father-in-law is a senator.” Smoothly, he ignored the jab at his birth, as if he hadn’t even heard it. “But fostering influence with the senatorial class is hardly a bad thing. We all know how much power they wield. If we truly want to protect the people of Rome from abuses of power by those born into privilege, we must work together with those who hold that power.” His tone was measured, reasonable, but forcefulness hummed behind every word.

Some shouts of agreement sounded from the crowd, but Rufus didn’t give up. “So you admit that your marriage is founded on political gain.”

“I did not—” Aelius started, but Rufus kept talking.

“You married your wife for her father’s sake. Why not just marry him instead?” A crude joke, but the crowd laughed.

Aelius’s face tightened, but he issued an easy reply. “Alas, the gentleman is already wed.”

A few more sniggers sounded from the crowd.

Rufus let the laughter die down. “Yes, and I suppose he wouldn’t have been nearly as fun on your wedding night.”

Another burst of laughter erupted from the audience. Crispina chewed her lip, hoping Aelius would turn the subject back to something safer. Rufus’s glib words didn’t bother her, but she didn’t want prurient jokes to overtake the purpose of the debate.

Aelius’s hand was clenched into a fist, but he somehow managed to maintain his relaxed tone. “Have a care, that is my wife you’re talking about.”

Don’t let him get to you , Crispina willed. Laugh it off and move on to something else .

Rufus ignored the warning, playing to the crowd. “Yes, your wife. The infamous Crispina. How much did her father pay to get her off his hands? We all know how she was cast off by her previous husband for—” His words broke off in a strangled cry. In a blur of movement, Aelius seized the smaller man by the front of his tunic and snarled something into his ear.

Crispina pressed a hand to her mouth. Rufus’s face reddened. He got an arm up and landed a punch to Aelius’s jaw. The crowd roared in delight. Aelius released Rufus and stumbled back. Crispina sent up a brief, desperate prayer that this scuffle would be the end of it, but a moment later, the men dove for each other. They dragged each other down the steps off the platform. The crowd surged to surround the fight.

Crispina took an anxious step forward, but forced herself to stop. She was of no use here. Her chest tightened in helpless anxiety. Aelius was taller, but Rufus was quick and vicious. Both men had served in the army, as military service was required before running for office; both knew how to fight, and likely how to kill.

The crowd egged them on, some shouting Aelius’s name, others encouraging Rufus. If there was one thing Romans loved, it was a good brawl.

Finally, some more level-headed members of the audience intervened to separate the men. Over the heads of the crowd, Crispina caught a glimpse of the two, bloodied but both upright, white togas dirty and dangling from their shoulders in disarray. Praise Juno, he’s not badly injured.

Rufus spat in Aelius’s direction and made a rude hand gesture. Aelius lunged for him once more, but someone held him back. The crowd filtered between them as a barrier. Rufus moved to leave, and Aelius did the same. It seemed to be over.

Crispina turned and ran. She had to get home before Aelius did. Firstly, to conceal where she’d been, and secondly, so she could prepare hot water and bandages to tend his injuries.

She paused in an alley across from their house to rip off her priestess disguise, then shoved the fabric into her basket. She left the basket in the alley—she could come back for it later—and ran to the house. She banged on the front door, and when it opened, burst inside. “Gaia!” she called.

Gaia emerged into the atrium. “What’s wrong? Are you all right?”

Crispina tried to catch her breath. “Don’t ask me how I know this, but Aelius was just involved in a brawl. He should be home shortly. He’ll need looking after.”

Some women would have shrieked at the thought of their son being injured. Others, like Crispina’s mother, would have demanded to know how she knew that and wouldn’t have done anything useful until she gave an answer. But Gaia merely nodded. “I see.” She summoned Malchio, issued a quick order, and Malchio hurried to the kitchen to prepare hot water and bandages.

Gaia turned back to Crispina. “How did you come to know this?”

Crispina hesitated. “I was returning from Horatia’s house…a brawl broke out at Aelius’s debate in the Forum.”

“I didn’t realize Horatia lived near the Forum.”

“Er, I took a detour, as it was such a nice day.”

“And you were not able to find Aelius and bring him home yourself?”

Crispina winced. Now Gaia thought she had abandoned Aelius to a street fight. “I was frightened to get caught up in it.”

“Was he badly hurt?”

“I don’t think so.”

Gaia let out a sigh. “Well, I suppose all that matters is that he’s safe and will be home soon.”

The front door opened, and a moment later Aelius emerged into the atrium. He was limping, and blood splattered his face, arms, and toga, crimson against the white fabric. Gaia gasped and ran to him.

He raised a hand. “I’m fine, Mama.”

“You are clearly not.” She glared at him. “By the gods, what happened to you?”

“Some remarks were made. It escalated to violence.”

“Remarks? About what?”

“Nothing of consequence.” Aelius dabbed the side of his hand beneath his bleeding nose.

“It must have been of consequence to provoke violence,” Gaia said. “You’re not given to brawling in the streets.”

“It was the usual,” Aelius said. “Disparaging my birth, that sort of thing.”

Crispina swallowed, trying to keep her face neutral. She knew exactly what had provoked Aelius. He had been defending her, not himself.

Gaia grabbed his arm and pulled him toward his bedroom, where the slaves had filled a metal tub with water. A smaller vat of steaming water rested next to it, and a pile of bandages sat on the dressing table.

Crispina followed. She lingered on the threshold, not sure what to do. She had no experience caring for a battered and bloodied husband, and she hoped Gaia would take charge of the situation.

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.”

Malchio entered, leaving her alone once more. She tried to shake off her discomfiture. She couldn’t go down this road. Kissing led to sex, and sex led to obligation and disappointment.

She remembered the dread that used to fill her as each night with Memmius approached. He had never been cruel or intentionally hurt her, but she had learned all she needed to know about the marriage bed. Her relationship with Aelius was on her own terms, and she wouldn’t give that up. It didn’t matter that kissing him set her aflame and cast her mind into wanton disarray. She had insisted on a chaste marriage for a reason, and one foolish kiss couldn’t make her forget that.