memories from consuming her, wouldn't it?
Courage faltering, she almost pivoted. But she couldn't leave him, not in this cold. His hip would ache. Being shot dragging his best friend's body out of the path of the enemy was something he didn't talk much about, but she knew he kept it in his heart everyday.
Pattering to the hearth, she stoked the ashes. The dark gray and onyx char reminded her of charcoal sketches. For a moment, the poker was flint. She feathered along the grate. Maybe tomorrow she could make Barrington something.
With a shake, she stopped woolgathering and pushed coals together. Their orange heat expanded and warmed the next lump. She dumped on a log. It sparked, then smoked, and finally caught. The hearth just needed tending. Maybe their marriage worked like that. With her deception cleared, the coals of their love could be stoked again. Smiling inside, she put a couple of logs in the fireplace.
"Amora." His voice heavy with sleep reached her ears. She pivoted to him, but his face held stern lines.
"Go back to bed, sweetheart."
"I wanted to see about you." She lifted her hand to him. "Come with me."
He didn't move. The blank look in his grey eyes cut through her.
"I've a little more work to do. Go on, Amora. Return to your chambers."
With his need for passion sated, was she of no use to him? The idea of them working together faded away. Her arms pimpled, but not from the cold. Those embraces meant good bye. She'd lost him. His heart was dead to her. Nodding, she rushed to the door.
"I'll be up soon."
No, he wouldn't. Work was his first love. Now maybe his only. "Take your time."
On the other side of his door, she restrained herself from ramming her head. Her husband's pity was not needed. There was enough flowing from her own soul.
Barrington swiped at his forehead. It wasn't particularly warm in the Old Bailey's courtroom today, but his thoughts blazed. In fact, if he wasn't careful, he'd scorch his horsehair wig.
Order your thoughts, man. Difficult to do when out there in the world lived another man who tricked Amora.
Discipline, man. Pretend Grandfather watched. In a few minutes, the verdict would be rendered. Had he done enough to defend his client to absolve him of theft?
Half-listening would fail most. Luckily, Barrington wasn't most. Not when it came to the law. Yet, he must be a terrible man if his wife couldn't confide in him. Amora hadn't trusted his commitment, or she would have admitted the truth much earlier. Always working for others, perhaps he'd given her reasons to doubt his dedication to her and their marriage. Lord knows her miscarriage indicted him.
Her words echoed in his ear, 'I was abducted' .
He grabbed the table leg of the barrister's bench and imagined placing his palms about the neck of the man who had treated her so shamefully. Who did it?
Could he forget it, being five years too late? Amora had.
But had she? The fear of the dark, was it from her attacker? Always needing to know where Barrington was, was that too from the fiend? Or was it in the hopes of keeping Barrington in the dark? What else did she have to hide?
And the way she dressed last night. Sheers, ruffles, textures that heightened his senses, his awareness of her. Was it all to manipulate him?
He cracked his knuckles as the crowd in the courtroom laughed and hooted. He released his hold on the desk, but couldn't focus.
Amora kept this dreadful secret and the villain never paid for hurting her.
Unless there was no villain.
A willing participant in a seduction would make for no crime. What was the truth? Was that why she couldn't tell Barrington?
Exhaling, he wiped the moisture beading upon his brow. No more thoughts of what can't be changed. He told Amora the abduction was in the past. Now, he needed to convince himself.
"Norton, are you well?" Hessing leaned closer. His onion-laced breath fouled the air.
"I'm well." He pivoted in time to watch Lord Justice Burns