“Do you have any notion how worried I’ve been about you?”
For that, he received a roll of Thorn’s eyes. “Don’t exaggerate, Arthur. It’s wholly unnecessary.”
“Don’t exaggerate?” A part of his brain was aware he shouted, yet he didn’t give a damn if all of London heard him. “I have been worried sick about you.”
“I would have thought you would have been thankful for my absence. It left you undisturbed to see to your office.”
Arthur flinched. “Is that what you truly believe? That I would be thankful you disappeared for days without a word to anyone?” Yet why wouldn’t Thorn? Arthur had certainly not given him any cause to believe otherwise. But having another shining example of how he had failed the man he loved shoved in his face did nothing to calm the pulse hammering through his veins. “Do you have any idea of the lengths I have gone to try to locate you? On your next visit to Ramsey House, you’ll find the note I sent via express post this morning pleading with you to contact me. I spent last night traipsing about the city in search of you. Would you care to know where I went?” Yanking the list from his pocket, he tossed it at Thorn. “Hell, I even planned to hire a Runner this evening to track you down. How dare you sit there so unaffected when I was worrying your body would turn up in some gutter in St. Giles.”
Thorn picked up the rumpled list from where it had landed on the bench beside him. “You were worried?” Cynicism drenched the question.
Arthur threw up his hands. “For Christ’s sake, yes. I love you. How could I not worry?”
Thorn went utterly still. He did not lift his gaze from the partially unfolded note. “You love me?”
“Yes.” Hadn’t he just said that?
Brow furrowed, Thorn pursed his lips and went back to looking out the window. The sound of paper crinkling filled the interior of the carriage as he closed his fist around the note. “When did you decide that?”
He deserved Thorn’s doubt. Still, it hurt. “When I couldn’t find you. It’s just… I was…” The tension broke from his spine, his entire body slumping as the anger drained out of him. Letting out a sigh, he rubbed the back of his neck. The time had come to try to explain, to apologize, to lay himself at Thorn’s feet. He had lain awake last night praying for this very opportunity, and now that it was before him, he refused to allow the distinct possibility of receiving another
bugger off
from Thorn to stop him. “I’m sorry it took me so long. I wanted us to work. I wanted us to last, yet a small part of me was afraid. I knew if you broke my heart, it would… Well, hurt would not even begin to cover it. It had been hard enough getting over Randolph. But you?” He shook his head. “I severely doubted my ability to recover. So I held back. I waited. I guess you could say I was waiting for you to tire of me, to take up with someone else, to fall back into your old habits. And when you began to get…restless, I took it as proof my worries were not unfounded. I should have known, though, but I’m a blind fool. I caused that restlessness, didn’t I?”
“I don’t know what you are referring to,” Thorn replied, all indignant condescension, but he couldn’t hide the defensive note lurking in his voice.
“Yes you do,” he said gently. It had been no coincidence that as the hours behind his desk had grown longer, Thorn had grown more aggressive. Something he could see quite clearly now and something he should have recognized weeks ago, but he had allowed work to consume him and in the process almost lost Thorn. Well, he hoped
almost
. Thorn had come back for him. Surely that meant the man had not given up on him completely. “I want more than your mouth on my prick, Thorn. I want to be with you because I enjoy being with you.” Hell, now he sounded like a simpleton. Leaning forward to rest his elbows on his knees, he tried again to explain why Thorn meant so much to him. “I love coming home and finding you waiting for me. I love knowing that you think of me when we’re apart. I love just being with you. The way you listen without passing judgment, the way you put up with my boring self, the way you make me look forward to tomorrow because I want to spend another day with you. I love
you
, Thorn. Please believe me. I know I have given you every cause to doubt me. I have acted the
arse
more times than I care to admit. But you have my word I will not act the
arse
again.”
“Your word? You’ve already broken it twice, Barrington.” Not Arthur, but Barrington. “Why should I trust you now?”
“Because I love you.” It was the only answer he could think to give. The only proof he had to offer. He’d already shown himself to be a liar and a self-absorbed fool who had refused to cherish Thorn when he’d had him. He could only hold on to the hope that Thorn could find it within his heart to trust him again.
Thorn dropped his attention to the crumpled list in his gloved hand. Then his fingers relaxed. The paper fell to the floorboards. His lashes swept closed. A harsh wince pulled his beautiful features. “You hurt me.”
The quiet, hesitant admission sliced into Arthur’s heart. “I know. God, I know, Thorn,” he said, his voice cracking, his eyes welling with tears. “But it won’t happen again. I am so sorry I pushed you away. I’m sorry I allowed you to leave. I’m sorry I failed you.” His arms ached to reach out to Thorn, to hold him close, but he feared it would earn him a fist to the jaw. Not that he did not deserve one, but if given the choice, he’d rather do without the bruise. He had learned the hard way that his lover could pack a wicked punch when his emotions were pushed to the edge. “Jones informed me you did not leave your bed for days.”
The line of Thorn’s shoulders tightened. His entire body tensed as he shifted on the bench, his chin jerking slightly toward the window as if to avert his face. “Did he now?”
Arthur’s nod was lost on him as the man still refused to look at him. “Yes. He told me when I last called on you. It was the day after you disappeared. He was worried about you. I’d say almost as much as I.”
Unable to bear the distance between them another moment, he moved to sit next to Thorn. Not so close that their shoulders touched but close enough for Thorn to know he was there. Beside him. Where Arthur wanted to remain for the rest of his days.
As the carriage left the bustle of London behind, the neat rows of town houses giving way to great expanses of winter-dulled grass, he let the silence hang in the air. He didn’t encroach on it or fill it with another plea. His heart in his throat, he merely waited to discover if he had earned Thorn’s trust.
The heat from Arthur’s body added a trace of warmth to the chill air surrounding him, a potent lure that tugged on his heart. Even though a part of him wanted to bolt out the door, Leopold shifted on the bench, moving the barest inch closer to Arthur.
To think that not two hours ago he had given Jones a raise in pay. A boon for his loyalty. He knew the footman had acted out of concern for him. Still, it was not a comfortable feeling to know they had likely discussed him like some sort of patient in need of care. There was no point at all trying to hide it from Arthur anymore. More than that, though, he could not allow Arthur to continue in bearing the guilt when the full blame should not rest on his shoulders.
“You didn’t fail me, Arthur, not the way you believe. But you likely think I’m weak, and you would be correct. There’s something”—he took a deep breath, the air shuddering on the exhale, and forced the words out—“wrong with me.” He had never confessed the truth to anyone—a secret he had been too ashamed to reveal. “Other men take blows and get up the next morning. Yet when I grow maudlin, it’s all I can think about. It’s why I drank until I was numb for so many years, but I gave you my word I wouldn’t give in again. And beyond that, I don’t want to be a drunkard anymore. Waking up with a pounding head had grown damn tiring.”
He felt the weight of Arthur’s scrutiny. Assessing him, measuring him. He kept his attention on his hands in his lap, unable to bring himself to meet Arthur’s gaze.
“Thorn, look at me. Please.”
He swallowed hard. Then, lifting his chin, he did as Arthur bid. He might be weak and pathetic, but he refused to add coward to the list. But instead of the pity he was certain he would find, nothing but concern filled Arthur’s hazel eyes.
“You told me it didn’t bother you to be around others who imbibed. I hope you know you needn’t lie to me, Thorn. I would not have thought less of you.”
“I spoke the truth. I’m not tempted by liquor the way you believe.” He wasn’t one of those hardened rakes who couldn’t start the day without a glass of brandy. “It’s more… I can feel myself growing maudlin. Liquor numbs it. Keeps the pain at bay. Over the years, it became a habit. But it wasn’t difficult to give it up. I didn’t need it. I was fine. More than fine. I was happy for the first time in…well, a long time.” Because he finally had the man he had loved for a decade. “Until—”
“I pushed you away.” Arthur laid a comforting hand on his thigh. A notched V pulled his brows. “It wasn’t you, Thorn. I was exhausted from working such long hours—and yes, I’m well aware I gave you my word I wouldn’t allow the office to consume me, yet I did. Definitely not something I am proud of. I should have told you I wasn’t up for anything more than crawling into bed together and falling asleep. But I didn’t know how to tell you that without you believing I didn’t want you. In the end, I made it much worse.”
“It’s not your fault, Arthur. That’s what I am trying to explain. It’s me. I swear I do it to myself. I can feel it creeping up on me. The worries build, compounding on each other, and then…” He heaved a sigh. He hated it. Hated that sense of all-consuming despair, the way it robbed him of all hope, and how he felt so powerless against it.
“Have you ever consulted a physician?”
Leopold shook his head. “Not on my own. My father used to send for them when I was an adolescent. Didn’t do a bit of good. And it wasn’t as if I was abed forever. Usually only lasted a handful of days, and it wasn’t a frequent occurrence.”
Arthur’s attention drifted to the bench opposite them. “That’s why your father spoils you.” He spoke as if the thought had just occurred to him.
He bristled. “Pardon? I am not spoiled.” He was a man of nine-and-twenty, very soon to reach thirty, not some child.
“Indulges, then,” Arthur said with a shrug. “And he does indulge you, to the exclusion of your elder brothers. He didn’t give any of them a town house in London or a country estate. I know, for my uncle used to draw up all documents pertaining to the purchase of property for your father. And I don’t mean it as an insult, so no need to take offense. I always rather assumed your father was living vicariously through you, but I would hazard a guess that’s not at all the case. He merely wanted you to be happy.”
Leopold tugged at the cuff of one of his gloves, righting it about his wrist. The Yorkshire property had been a gift on his twenty-first birthday. By then, he had firmly cemented his reputation as an unrepentant rakehell, the nights passing by in a drunken blur. And he could well remember his father pushing his brothers, each in turn, to attend university. A requirement and not an option. Yet the man had broached the subject once with him and only in passing. No discussions in the study, no debates on whether Oxford or Cambridge would suit him best. Nor had his father ever pushed him toward any particular area of employment.
Not a comfortable feeling to think his father had coddled him like some sort of invalid. Was still coddling him, in fact.
“Thorn?” Arthur gave his thigh a squeeze.
“Obviously, I’m more pathetic than I realized.”
“No, no. That’s…” He let out a heavy breath. “Hell, I’m sorry I mentioned it. Should have kept my damn mouth shut.”
“But it’s the truth.
Christ
, I wish I wasn’t so weak.” And now that Arthur knew the truth, surely he would—
A large gloved hand cupped his jaw, turning his head. Lips covered his own. He eagerly opened for Arthur, desperate for a taste of him after being denied for days upon days. There was nothing soft or gentle about Arthur’s kiss. With a harsh, almost cruel edge, he slanted his mouth over Leopold’s again and again, tongue thrusting inside, twining with his, rendering him helpless under the onslaught.
Just when Leopold made to reach for him, to wrap his arms around Arthur’s waist and tug him closer, Arthur abruptly pulled back.
“You aren’t weak,” Arthur said, firm and determined, his eyes boring into Leopold’s from mere inches away, his hand still cupping his jaw. “And you aren’t pathetic. Stop saying it, and stop thinking it.” Brows lowered and jaw set, he stared hard at Leopold as if daring him to refuse to obey his command. “I love you.”
Those three words killed the argument before it could make its way to his tongue. The inner resistance melted away.