His forehead wrinkled and settled into a deep frown. "I've been away from the courts for over a month. London is still standing. Well, it's been pre-occupied with the passing of George III."
"The king has passed, the one with mental distress?"
Barrington lowered his head as if acknowledging such would be an indictment against her. Did he assume all crazed people shared a bond? "That is sad to hear. He suffered a long time."
"Amora, London doesn't need me, but you do. My career means nothing without you."
"Aren't there bills to be paid? You must have saved a great deal without my candle expense. But no income for over a month, that has to be devastating."
He thinned his lips to a line and looked to the left. "I've used my inheritance. I'll use more if we need to be here longer."
Hadn't he vowed to make his own way? Stunned, she slouched against the column. Though his grandfather's influence was everywhere, Barrington kept the Norton family home, the great house adjoining Tomàs land, closed up. He only leased his grandfather's residence in Mayfair to appease her mother's notion of a proper place to live. "This must be killing you to depend upon Old Man Norton's wealth."
He lifted from his chair and reached out, motioning her to come to him. "I'll do whatever it takes to make things right between us."
She shook her head and refused to move. If she stood too close, the hurt in his grey eyes would grab her, imprisoning her again in that place of needing him. Her heart could never be vulnerable to his opinions. Not again and stay well.
His fingers stroked the air then dropped away. "Amora, I love you. Someday, you'll know that again. If you don't want to go to Cornwall, we should leave for London."
Mouth twitching with silent screams of no, she locked her knees, clicking her heels again into the floorboards. "I don't want to go back, ever."
"You don't want to return?" His baritone faltered. "How long do you intend to stay here?"
How to tell him forever? Her lips couldn't form the words. Her forehead felt sticky as a breeze kissed her with a fresh dusting of snow.
"We used to be good at talking and a whole lot of other things." His gaze tangled with hers, then seemed to wrap about her, stroking her cheek, slipping the length of her neck.
Heat filled her face. The memories of him being everything for her still lived. She still wanted his touch, wanted to be wrapped up in him, but that part of her should've drowned in the river.
Stretching the shawl tighter around her shoulders, she gazed at the doorway and lifted her chin to the warm glow of the candles beaming through the windows. "I need to figure things out alone. And I don't do well in London."
"Things will be different. I'll be in early, no later than eight or nine thirty. I'll make you secure in my affections." He took a few steps closer and posted himself in front of the threshold, blocking her escape back into the house. "God has given me a great deal of clarity these past weeks. I will do so much better."
She noticed shadows under his eyes. His chin bore stubble. He seemed tired and sad, so different from the unflappable man she'd come to depend upon.
"Amora, I haven't been available for you, not enough. I'll change that." As if he moved in thick syrup, he plodded forward then stopped inches from her. "Maybe someday you'll believe in me once more."
Though her husband stood close, saying nice things, a wall remained between them. To cross it would be to admit needing him, to become that loathsome creature who hung on his every word, waited for his approval, and lived each day in fear of his love disappearing. "I can't depend on you. I don't like who I am when I need you."
He took another step. "We should be alone together to figure things out."
This near, she could see a softness, an uncertainty in his silvery eyes. She hadn't witnessed that in years. The smell of his skin, rich bergamot, permeated the air caressing her. For one second, she wanted those arms he held at bay to hold her tight.
Nonetheless, the minute she reached for him, he'd disappear. He'd find someone else who needed him more. Her lack of memories would be counted as lies. She ended the trance and sidestepped him. "I can't do this anymore. I want a divorce."
Barrington stood back as if she'd slapped him. The wariness in Amora's eyes did the same damage. His horrible quest for the truth made her want to end their marriage. She hated him.
Well, he didn't like himself so much now either. Not believing her was a debt he had no idea of how to pay, but leaving her was something he couldn't do. "No divorce."
"Why won't you let me be? This must be miserable for you."
Was it possible for her frown to become bigger? Taking his spectacles from his face, he siphoned a deep breath. "Ask me to cut off a limb, do some great feat of strength, but not divorcement."
Shielding herself with her shawl, she looked at the floor planks, then tugged on the dark ribbons circling her bodice. Her gaze lifted and shot violet darts at his heart. "Your career will do better without me. Imagine the parties you can attend without fetching your sick wife."
He chuckled and righted his glasses. "Well, I'm sure since I fought with my patroness's son at her ball, my invitation list is small. The hothead mulatto doesn't make a good guest."
"Win another big case for the crown. You'll be forgiven."
He wiped at his mouth, marveling at how she thought everything was about his reputation. Yet, hadn't he stressed that, with every complaint about attending balls and parties or his work schedule? "I've made mistakes. And how many will seek my representation when I have virtually disappeared from London?"
The lower part of her lip trembled. "My fault. I know."
"It's not. My career is immaterial. Only you matter. How can we not be together?" He moved his arm to place his hand on the pole behind her head. She flinched, but he didn't withdraw.
She tapped her foot. Her shoes matched the fabric and pattern of the indeterminate color of her walking gown. Her mother's handiwork and so was this talk of divorce.
"You're not listening. I want a divorce. We each need to be free."
"You're not listening. I won't be away from you. And since I haven't bedded your sister or your mother, the courts won't grant one. You're the only Tomàs I desire."
Her cheeks darkened. Perhaps some small part of her wasn't immune to him.
He slipped off a glove and put a hand to her cold face. "From the moment I spotted you painting in the orchard, you've had my love. Nearly losing you has brought it all back."
Glassy violet eyes peered up at him, but no words. She stepped away. The lacy silk of her dress hugged her sleek neck, her rounded hips and slim bosom. The setting sun bathed her satin skin. How could this delicate girl have withstood the abduction only to be driven to suicide by his careless tongue?
"You are smart, Barrington. You could find a way to get one if you wanted."
"I will do nothing of the sort. You know me, Amora. Can't you tell how it hurts not being alone with you, not being able to touch you? I was going to take a walk, but couldn't bear missing the chance you'd ask for me. Ask for me, Amora. Let me back inside your world."
She glanced down at her feet. One foot covered the other.
He'd never been this passive or tentative in his life. Maybe his lack of surety fed her fears. He put his arms about her shoulders. He made the touch soft, to give her the freedom to flee. "You have every reason to think ill of me, but I want to begin anew. Let me earn your trust. I won't fail you."
She didn't look up, but her fingers played with a brass button on his greatcoat. She sometimes did that with his waistcoat when they danced or he held her. Maybe there was hope for him inside her stubborn head.
With a quickened breath, he drew her against him and massaged circles along her back. "I know it's going to take time to repair the damage I've caused. Believe me, nothing in my life is more important."
Never wanting their embrace to end, he stood there, holding her sculpting her curves to him. A tiny bit of lilac floated to him. Tha
t was her scent, the fragrance upon her neck when he first took her lips. The aroma of her bed sheets when they were of one accord. The memories of her smiles, her jubilant laughter pressed on his chest. Had she grown immune to this feeling?
His breath caught when she put a hand against his ribs, but she used the leverage to push away. "I won't let you sway me. I can't be vulnerable to you ever again. Your wishes, your needs are second to everything that doesn't concern me staying well. My opinions are first."
Her bosom heaved as if he'd kissed her. He should have and removed all this talk of numbers. "You and I are one. We are halves of the same heart."
"No. You have to be equals for that."
Her mind was set, fiery like the miracle who first fell in love with him in the orchards.
But so was his. "Amora, we cannot divorce."
"Mama thought you'd say that. So she's having her solicitor draw up a settlement for a separation, a church divorce instead of a parliamentary one."
Hadn't Mrs. Tomàs had enough meddling? Who knew what the kindly vicar whispered in Amora's ear? He visited with her twice this past week. "Your mother has thought of everything. To be clear, this is advice from the same woman who told you to lie to me. The woman who let you be put away."
Amora's mouth button closed. She dipped her head.
Perhaps he shouldn't have said that, but Amora found room in her heart to forgive her mother. Was his crime so worse? He looked overhead at the white land, the snow covered trees. Though he'd come to like Tomàs Manor more and more these past weeks, it was too close to the cliff where Amora fell. And how could she not stand here on the portico without remembering his biting words, doesn't prove Amora was abducted?
If he could get her away to London, he might be able to sway her. "Seems we are at an impasse for I won't abandon you like my father did my mother. You know…well, you should know me better than that."
"I want you happy, Barrington. Living like this, careful of your words, keeping my schedule, it made you unhappy. You can't constrain a man like you. You want success. You feel you have so much to prove. And maybe you do for your race. No one's worried about the capabilities of a half-Egyptian, half-Spanish, half-sane woman. Well, there is that one expectation of a woman not being barren, but I've reconciled to that failing."
He put a hand over his mouth to make sure his jaw wouldn't drop to the floorboards. Yes, being a mulatto meant proving he was two times better than the other barristers. Yes, he understood that the gentry or ton saw his dark skin before his dogged skills. But that driven spirit was what made him the man he was. "My career is important, but all the things you've numbered are second place to you. Don't you know that?"
"Intentions don't count anymore. Wishing things were different only frustrates the soul."
He pushed at his hat wanting to fan the frustration steaming in his cold breath. "Come away with me, Amora. I can't leave you here. I can't be without you, wondering what you're doing, fearing--"
"See, you have all these fancy sentiments." Her words came out slowly, but her luminous eyes burned with determination. "But living with a loon is a lousy bargain."
"You're not a loon. You've just been hurt."
"Hurt." She spun away wiping her countenance with her shawl.
The last thing he wanted was to make her cry. He wrenched open his coat for a handkerchief and fought the urge to pull her back into his arms. He yanked the lawn cloth free and handed it to her. "We lived with secrets for five years. Why don't we try living with the truth? Return with me to London, and let's work on our marriage in the light."
She sniffed and dabbed at her eyes. "London is for you. Go be the barrister that's the talk of the town for his legal skills, not his scandalous wife."
Since she seemed to care more about his career than he did, maybe he'd use that to compel her. "If you are determined to part from me, I'll have nothing left but my profession. Your presence will quiet down rumors, salvaging my reputation. The fight with Charleton and my long absence must have it in ruins."
"You need me, Barrington?"
"Yes." Oh, how he needed her. For five years, they'd barely slept apart. In just a month's time, he didn't realize how many times he'd turned in bed expecting her there. "Yes. Only you can fix this."
"I never thought about you needing me."
There was something in her voice, a lilt of something unexpected. And whatever it was, it made his insides warm with hope. "Let's go back and squelch the rumors. It may take the upcoming season to put everything back in order."
"Another year of suffering is out of the question."
He felt his mouth twinge at her comparison of their marriage to suffering, but even her considering the option was an opportunity. Beggars couldn't be particular. It was an opening negotiation. He tapped his chest to come up with a reasonable number. "Two, two months then."
She turned to him, her eyes large. Was she desperate for another excuse?
"Mother can come with us? I won't do without her."
"Yes and your friend, the vicar can visit if he's in town." As if Barrington could stop either from sharing her attention. He released a pent up breath. "Do we have an understanding?"
She pulled at the beading of her neckline. "I don't want to pretend even for a day that all is well between us. No sharing quarters or husbandly expectations. No more of it."
It hit his gut hard stinging every bit of his pride, how much she distrusted him, how much she regretted their intimacy. "I'll sleep in my office like when I'm working, or my chambers down the hall, just like I've done at Tomàs Manor, unless…"
"Unless what?"
"You invite me." He let a chuckle fall hoping to cut through the tension thick between them. "I suppose that won't happen. You seem very convinced in wanting to separate. Yet, I'll try to be very dapper and appealing."
She rubbed her eyes. "Mayfair's not that comfortable. Tomàs Manor is warm with colors. The cold town house won't be a good distraction."
Grandfather's Mayfair with its pristine walls, wasn't it perfect? He tugged on his lapels, flapping the folds of his greatcoat attempting to come up with something to thwart this objection. Nothing.
Desperate, he clenched his teeth. "Decorate, paint a rainbow, but complete whatever project you start, even if it takes longer than our deadline to finish."
Barrington fixed his feet and tensed his stance, steadying himself as Grandfather turned within the Clanville Norton crypt at such an audacious request.
Yet, if wall paint distracted her and warmed up their home, it had to be for the best. He whipped off his glove and spread his palm wide. "Agreed?"
"This isn't dickering for a horse." She lowered her head. "Why can't you make this easy? You say you love me. If that's true, let me go."
He moved to her and jerked her into his embrace. "I'm not that big of a man. My world is crumbling at the thought of losing you. Every time I shut my eyes, you fall off that cliff, and my heart is ripped out anew."
With his thumb, he traced her jaw. "I need the feel of you to erase the deathly chill I absorbed from your skin as you clung to life. It seems like I've lost you twice, and you want me to give you up a third time."
"I don't feel so well. I need to lie down." She pressed at his lapel, but nothing on this earth could steal her from him, not again.
He lifted her feet from the floorboards, tucking her head against his shoulder, folding her into his greatcoat. "I'll take you to your room."
Before a protest could leave her pursed lips, he charged inside, up the stairs to her bedchamber. Kicking open the door, he trudged inside and laid Amora upon the mattress.
His own breath came in rapids spurts.
Her eyes were wide. Her gaze never left him. "Leave me to rest."
"Should I get you something, maybe a wet rag for your forehead?"
"No."
His pulse raced as he sat on the bed beside her staring at the lips he wanted to caress, at arms that should be about his neck holding onto
him, fighting to restore their love.
But those arms never reached for him.
"Good night, Barrington."
So beautiful, yet so distant. She turned her head and stared at the wall as if she were alone.
It hit him right in his chest, cutting through a rib or three, the ones guarding his heart. His notion of fighting for their marriage made her miserable. He didn't want her to suffer any more.
Barrington stood and tugged off his greatcoat, slapping it over his shoulder. His gaze caught on a mural covering one wall and half the next. The scent of fresh oil paint teased his nose. Amora's work? Is this what she had done the last month?
The skill and beauty, it had to be hers. She'd painted a river flowing into a crowded city. Two tiny figures, no bigger than his thumb sat huddled together in the middle of the hustling scene. One of the young ladies had light colored hair, the other raven. The looks on the characters' faces, such loneliness. Is that how Amora viewed the world?
What remained of his heart, his will shriveled. He wasn't a comfort, but part of the coldness she'd painted, maybe one of the busy people, ignoring the ladies' plight. He swallowed hard. How on earth could he win Amora's trust? Was this nothing more than a fool's errand?
He touched the wall, circling the lost women. "I know what we will do these next two months. I'm going to solve this crime. I will find your abductor."
Amora's head whipped around in his direction. Her eyes shone like wet stones freshly polished on a lapping wheel. "You think it's possible to find the culprit now?"
The notion of justice caught her interest. This was the opening he needed to win this case. "God made me a barrister, a very good one. The fiend will pay and that will restore your peace. I don't care how old the crime. With my tenacity and your memories, we can do this together, but I need your help to do it."
She put her fingertips to her temples, tapping. "The stuff in here is jumbled. What if I tell you I heard your friend Gerald Miller's voice while I was locked in that pit, the man you said died in the war saving your life. Will you believe my memories then?"
Unveiling Love: A Regency Romance (A London Regency Romantic Suspense Tale Book 2) Page 6