Unveiling Love: A Regency Romance (A London Regency Romantic Suspense Tale Book 3)

by Vanessa Riley

  Her bare feet slapped against the treads, beating back each hesitation, each excuse she'd have to offer of why she was up and fretting. She had to see if he was well.

  A sigh burst from her lungs when she spied light edging Barrington's study. He must be home. How did she miss his carriage? Did someone drop him home, through the rear, perhaps? Discreet Cynthia?

  With another sigh, she pivoted to return to her chambers, then swiveled back. She had to see his face. Whatever he'd done, or wherever he'd been didn't matter as much as knowing all was well with Barrington. And, that he wasn't injured.

  She trudged down the hall, humming away her angst. Amazing Grace. How sweet… She timed her steps, her breathing, her ramping jealousy to the rhythm. Once at the threshold, she filled her lungs and pressed on his door opening it.

  Her gaze locked onto Barrington. He paced within. He kept moving as if he hadn't noticed her.

  Her happy heart beat louder and louder, for the man didn't seem injured. But…

  Ruined tailcoat.

  Heavy breathing.

  Something was wrong.

  Her insides stilled. She gasped, clearing fear from her throat.

  His gaze lifted. Wide, bloodshot silver eyes met hers.

  The situation had to be dire. "What's afoot?"

  He stopped, yanked at his cravat and plodded toward her. Without a word, he took the Dresden and candle from her fingers and stuck them on a nearby shelf. He snatched her off her feet and held her close, smashing her against his chest.

  Wanting nothing other than saving him, she wrapped her arms around him.

  His heart thudded wildly against her bosom. He smelled of dirt and sweat. What had he been doing? "Pray, tell me what is wrong."

  "I…" His muscles quaked within her grasp. "I've ruined us."

  She held him tighter, fingered the tension in his shoulders. "That can't be. Not Barrington Norton."

  He pulled away as if she'd cut him. Clutching the bookcase, he opened his mouth wide, then grimaced. "I'm not perfect. I never claimed to be."

  Always in control, he'd never looked bewildered or scattered before.

  She came to him, drawn by pure need. This time, it was him who lacked. Him who was in want of strength. "I didn't mean it as censure."

  As she soaked up the tumult swimming in his eyes, she knew she had just enough strength to give. "Trust me, Barr. Trust in me."

  He rubbed his brow and bowed his head, avoiding her question-filled gaze. "I took him. I stole him from Bedlam."

  She stepped up on Mrs. Gretling's low chair, the one she used for dusting. Eye to eye, she held his face, clasped his shoulder. "You took whom?"

  "Gerald Miller. He's alive." His face held no laughter. His darting eyes filled with a rawness matched by the gruffness of his voice. "I just took him from Bedlam."

  "Alive? You took him?"

  "Yes. I abducted him. I'd never jest about a word that has corrupted us."

  Could it be so? Could Barrington be correct about Mr. Miller living?

  He pressed her fingers deeper into the line of his jaw as if her touch could save him. "I know I'm not making sense. Bear with me. Just steady me."

  Gladly. With her other palm, she cupped his chin. "Barr, I'm listening."

  "I can't believe he's alive. But, it is Miller. My friend is alive."

  "You said he died in the war."

  His lips twisted, almost in a smirk. "I say a lot of things that turn out to be wrong. I tell you, he's alive. And, I took him from Bedlam. I...I slid the chains from his hands. I stole him from Bedlam before Beakes and his dogs could seize him."

  Bedlam? The place they put otherworldly people? She pulled his face near hers. She needed to hear him say the words again. "You stole a man from Bedlam?"

  Barrington closed his eyes. "I need a room there or in Newgate for what I've done. If… no, when word gets out, we are all ruined."

  If Gerald Miller were alive, then maybe Amora did hear his voice during her captivity. Maybe she wasn't as crazed as she thought. She blinked heavily and focused on the grim lines of Barrington's frown. "Where is he now?"

  "Downstairs in the cellar, the servants' quarters. I had no other place to take him. Forgive me for putting all of us at risk. My father ruined my mother with his thoughtlessness. Now, I've made this house unsafe for you. I so wanted this place to mean safety for you."

  The anguish in his voice melted the thawing ice she'd encased about her heart. With a tug at his dusty tailcoat, she wrapped her arms around his neck and held on until the vein along his throat stopped pulsing. "Barrington Norton, you've done nothing wrong. You aided a friend. There is so much good in that."

  "The runners are after him for murder. Miss Druby's murder. Your Miss Druby. He's involved in this dark mystery. Is he the one, Amora?" He slipped his palms up her shoulders. His bloodshot eyes looked as if they'd pop. "Is he your monster?"

  Pounding.

  The knocks sounded from the outer door.

  "Is he, Amora?"

  She didn't want to think about that evil, not with Barr in trouble. "Someone's here. At this hour?"

  The heavy hits started again.

  Barrington startled as if he'd just heard the knocking and stepped away from her. "Perhaps someone followed us. I thought James was careful."

  With a deep breath, he wiped at his forehead. "That may be the runners or Beakes coming to inform me that Miller's missing or to haul me away. How am I to get through this?"

  "Don't answer. It's late."

  He swung her from the chair, placed her feet gently to the floor. "I was supposed to meet Beakes. I…"

  Shadows washed over his face, flattening his lips. His tell-tale cheek vibrated. "Just a minute."

  His raised voice barely rose above the blood rushing her ears. Barrington was in trouble. He could be imprisoned like her.

  She shook her head and gripped him by the lapels. "No. Don't."

  "I have to answer. I don't know what else to do."

  She tugged on his sleeves, stripping him of his coat. "Don't go dressed as if you just came in."

  He nodded and let her slide off his cravat and drop it to the floor. Popping buttons, pulling at lacings, she opened his shirt and waistcoat. Her fingers skirted across the solid muscles of his back as she pulled the linen up over his head.

  He could be sent to Newgate. And all she could do was stare at him, the beautiful leanness of the man, the thick arms that should always hold her through the night.

  Collecting her wits, she yanked his heavy brocade robe from a hook on the back of the door, then tossed it to him. "Put this on. You'll look as if you've just awakened."

  He did so without any questions as if he accepted her commands as the best course of action.

  Quickly, she whipped off his slippers then swept off his stockings. "Don't give anything away."

  "As best as I can, but I don't lie. Pretty hard to start now."

  Clad in just evening pantaloons and his robe, he grabbed her and left the study. "Please, stay here."

  He closed the door, but all she wanted to do was go with him and face this trouble at his side. He looked too shaken to avoid incriminating himself. Avoiding detection, that was her gift. She'd have to help him, whether he wanted her to or not.

  The door seemed miles away, or maybe Barrington just wished it was that far. Marching slowly as if he were part of the King's funeral guard, he moved toward the pounding.

  Lord, don't let Mrs. Gretling or my mother-in-law awaken. They didn't need to see him hauled away. No, the pharaoh shouldn't have that image in her head.

  The incessant knocking had to be Beakes and a very mad version of the bloodhound at that. "Just one more minute."

  He schooled his face trying to remember how much was at stake. Amora seemed calm, as if she didn't care about how bad things could get. However, he knew what was at stake -- disgrace, imprisonment, confiscation of everything of value.

  His judgments put her at risk. That frightened Barring
ton most of all. Right now, he didn't know himself.

  Not wanting to be tossed in Newgate tonight, he swallowed a shaky breath and unbolted the door.

  "'Bout time, Norton."

  Beakes's ashy countenance seemed dark. Anger or a stiff pint flowed through him.

  Barrington waved him inside. "Enter Beakes. But please, Mayfair is a quiet neighborhood."

  The solicitor barreled into the townhouse. The man's heavy steps shook the floor. Barrington considered the possibility of the floor opening and dropping Beakes through. Having the man who could have him jailed fall into the cellar where Miller hid would be an even bigger disaster.

  With a shake of his head, Barrington stepped around Beakes, lit a wall sconce and then headed for the parlor. "Follow me, but make less noise. You'll wake up everyone."

  The man shrugged. "We didn't get him. The man calling himself Miller is gone."

  His solicitor paced and shoved his big hands into his long coat. "He's gone. What a clever criminal."

  Barrington moved to the mantle lighting candles and praying. Yes, lots of praying - for sanity, escape, and the return of his senses. "Are you sure it was him?"

  "Yes, Norton. I hate bein' made a fool."

  With nothing else to light, he set down Amora's candle and pivoted. He folded his arms, hoping to cover his shaking fingers. "Do you suspect someone informed him of danger?"

  Beakes leaned against the sofa, sitting on the arm. "Obviously. I don't like anyone makin' me a laughing stock."

  Barrington eased himself into a chair. A little twinge of pain from his hip reminded him that he wasn't used to lugging bodies. He kept the complaint to himself. How was he to get rid of Beakes from his townhouse? "Tell me how it was done."

  "I don't know that much, Norton. All my sources said he was there."

  Barrington dipped his chin, appearing to contemplate each word. Yet, the only thing his head wished for was escape or an earthquake. He cleared his throat of fret. "Perhaps, he's just misplaced. Bedlam is a large place."

  "We searched the whole hospital. Nothing."

  Barrington pounded a tight fist into his palm. He'd act like an innocent upset barrister. "This is terrible. What else has been done to find the man Miss. Miller believes to be Miller?"

  "I put some of my runners on this. They will find him. The boy on watch said the last visitor he recognized was the singer."

  The young lad didn't expose Barrington. Then why was Beakes here if he were not suspicious. Shaking his head as an innocent man would do, he decided to interrogate Beakes. "What led you to this suspect, this character at Bedlam? Is it possible you were deceived?"

  The man guffawed and pulled out his gold pocket watch. "I lost a whole evening on this." A furrowed brow rose. "Just come from the magistrates explaining why I had him leave his bed for a hoax. I thought you were to meet us there." His solicitor popped up and came near. His shadow crowded Barrington's. "It was odd that you didn't show at the magistrates. What happened to you, Norton?"

  Lies never left Barrington's lips, and they wouldn't tonight. He stared straight into the man's eyes. "Something came up."

  Beakes came even closer. "The singer is a friend of yours. You, your wife and Miss Miller, you're all from Clanville. You sure you didn't let something slip at Hessing's party? Something that showed our hand?"

  Barrington leapt up, as if affronted. He stood ramrod straight. "Why would I do that? I don't want her involved in this situation."

  "No, I don't suppose you want your ladybird involved with a murderer. That escapee from Bedlam is one, and he might be the biggest fiend of all, the Dark Walk Abductor. You wouldn't want to miss a chance at that prosecution. Your boss, Hessing, wouldn't. Not even for a good mistress."

  Anger churned in Barrington causing a new shake to his hands. It wasn't just for the accusation of infidelity. Had he just helped the worthless dung who hurt Amora? If true, he'd kill Miller before the Crown could get the chance. "I want the Dark Walk Abductor to hang."

  Barrington's voice echoed in the silent room.

  Beakes backed up. Scratching his chin, the solicitor strutted in a circle. He stopped and faced Barrington. "The villain should pay as well as anyone helping him."

  "Y-E-S!"

  Barrington meant every letter of the word.

  Yes, to stopping the villain.

  Yes, to seeing the white hood draped on his head, and the platform floor drop away.

  Yes, to giving all his victims peace.

  Maybe seeing someone pay for hurting women would save Amora, too.

  More than a half-year ago, the inmate, Smith had been hung for his dealings with the fiend. The more he learned of the Dark Walk Abductor, the less guilty he felt over Smith's hanging. He gritted his teeth. "Anyone who helped the fiend hurt any woman should pay the ultimate price."

  Eyes wide, Beakes stared at him. His cheeks lightened as if Barrington's words had sobered him. "That sounds personal. Good."

  Shoving his fists into his pocket, he made his voice even and slow so the solicitor would catch his meaning and implied threat. "Righting wrongs is personal. Hessing taught me everything I know. I want justice. I want to be the man to finish the Dark Walk Abductor. No one will stop me."

  Beakes looked down at the floorboards and kicked the rug's fringe with his boot. "What came up to deter you?"

  "Sweetheart, are you coming back to me?" Amora's voice, full of seduction and mystery blew into the parlor like a wet kiss.

  Both men pivoted toward the threshold.

  She stood there. Her glorious hair flowed down, with a few curls obscuring an eye. A blanket draped her body but a naked shoulder and two bare ankles glistened in the candlelight.

  Her violet eyes stretched as if they'd pop. "Oh my!"

  She tried to cover up, yanking and pulling at the wool. Her attempts made it worse, exposing more skin.

  He ran to her and bundled her beneath his robe. "Beakes, can we continue this in my office at the Lincoln Inn? I seem to have my hands full."

  "I... You do have them full." The man's cheeks darkened. He covered his eyes and plodded to the door. "Good night, Mr. Norton. Mrs. Norton."

  The door closed. Barrington let all the tired, frustrated, enraged, enraptured air out of his lungs. When the sounds of a fleeing carriage disappeared, he stepped back from the embrace heating his numb insides. Moving away from Amora to the entry, he bolted the door and returned to their shared threshold. Laying his head against the white trim, he stared at the woman standing before him.

  Confident, blanket clinging to her bosom.

  So beautiful and determined.

  He pushed at his spectacles, mainly to ensure that his eyes weren't deceitful. "Thank you for chasing away Beakes. But did you have to expose yourself?"

  "It worked, Barrington. You're safe."

  The blanket slid again from her creamy neck. He stepped close and tugged it back into place. Another mistake, for his fingers stayed on her shoulder. As if glued to her soft skin, his hand couldn't be moved. "How was this show a good idea?"

  A smile, tiny but beautiful, crossed her lips. "I've hidden my problems for five years. I didn't think you had enough practice to fool that determined hound."

  Was his mouth curled up from her humor or the desire to find out if she truly came from his study in merely a blanket? His thumb hooked onto the wool. It wouldn't take much effort to discover the truth. "Well, you've given Beakes a story that will keep him for a while. Now return to your chambers. I'll puzzle this out."

  Her smile faded as if he'd insulted her. "I want to help. I'm here to help."

  He shook his head and woefully recalled his fingers. "I can't get you more entangled."

  "Oh. It seemed like you needed me. It felt good to help." Her hand balled as she pulled on her blanket. "I must've been mistaken. Barrington Norton doesn't need anyone, especially not his lunatic—"

  He grabbed her and took her lips before she could whisper another horrid and untrue word. He didn't mean t
o startle Amora, but he needed her. The feel of her in his study calmed his rage, ordered the confusion in his head. Unnerved, he might have confessed to Beakes.

  She was leaning into him now. Her arms locked about his neck. "Oh, Barr."

  She'd purred his name, that throaty way she did when he got his passion right, right timing, right way to dip her backwards to deepen the kiss.

  Yes, tasting his name upon her mouth, felt good. It was cleansing.

  Three months of not kissing her, of not having her arms about his neck clinging to him. Their breathing in rhythm...

  Her familiar lilac scent invaded his lungs, smashing the self-control in his brainbox. His fingers delighted in touching what was his, what should always be his.

  She should never have doubts about his love and desire for her, none. He slid an arm along her curves, picked her up and headed into the parlor to the soft sofa. No doubts, no separation would remain.

  "Barr. Please." She pushed at his chest. "Let's go to Miller."

  That didn't quite sound like an invitation. And one kiss or four or five couldn't solve all their problems, not with a live "dead" friend in the cellar and her leaving at week's end.

  He set her feet along the floor and took a step backward, placing cold, unheated distance between them. "You saved me. You did. But, I don't know what good it will do. I've stolen a man, a possible murderer and abductor and put him in our cellar."

  "Take me to him, Barr. I need to see him. There are pieces of my memories that are just within my grasp. I know Gerald Miller is a part of them."

  "Miller could be your abductor. Ask me to cut off an arm rather than bring you to danger."

  She looked at the floor. "I have to see him." Her voice lowered to whispers. "It won't hurt me. It will help me remember. I have to remember."

  If he denied her, Barrington knew she wouldn't see it as his duty to protect her. No, she'd take it as more evidence of his lack of faith in her. He gripped the sash of his robe and tightened it. "If you're going to keep helping, please dress. I'm having trouble keeping my mind on Miller. It keeps picturing you and that sofa and no blanket."

  Her eyes went wide. She nodded. A grin popped onto her face as she traipsed down the hall.