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

by Vanessa Riley

  Amora gazed into his furious gray eyes and squeezed his bicep. "I'm to go with you. You promised."

  Barrington shook his head. "You will be home resting, madam."

  "What of our bargain? I am to help find Sarah." She reached for his cheek, but he stepped away as if her fingertips held poison.

  "All commitments need to be re-evaluated. I need to know what I want, what I'm willing to do. Come along, sir."

  The vicar moved between them. "Neither of you can see Sarah Growlins. Not today or ever in this life. She's dead."

  Amora's ears hurt. She eased backward until the bench pressed against her legs. "She's dead."

  Barrington wrenched at his deflated cravat. "You knew that one too."

  "Before she was abducted, I was told she was a lively brunette with a great talent for the harp. The Dark Walk Abductor took her joy of music… well, her joy for everything."

  "The Dark Walk Abductor." Amora found it hard to breathe. She'd heard of his cruelty in a joke at one of the parties Barrington had her attend. It wasn't funny, then or now. "Barrington, why are you trying to find my Sarah among those victims?"

  The look on his face, the twitching cheek as his frown drew into a dot, made her feet numb.

  She mouthed the words Dark Walk Abductor several times before her voice caught up. "Dark Walk Abductor? No. You can't think that I was taken by him."

  She gazed up at Barrington hoping he would refute it. He said nothing.

  When he finally nodded, she started to sway. Her head felt so light.

  Barrington caught her and eased her back to the bench. "Yes, Amora. Yes, I'm almost positive."

  Anger battled the shock trembling her bosom. She pointed a finger at Samuel. "And you suspected this, too?"

  Samuel bowed his head. He kicked a rock with his shoe. "Reverend Playfair sent me to their families, after I helped his sister-in-law overcome the hurt of such an attack. Abduction is the worse type of crime for a woman and her family. Even more so for the Dark Walk Abductor victims. His cruelty knew no bounds."

  Amora held in her sobs for this lost Sarah, gripping her middle. In her head, she repeated Dark Walk Abductor, brunette, victim. She rubbed her temples hard. She couldn't be a victim any more. "My Sarah was blonde, but she's probably dead too. Sarah Calloway, the other Sarah on Mr. Norton's list, did you help her?"

  Samuel shook his head. "I didn't get the chance. After Miss Growlin's death, Mr. Calloway, her father put her away not knowing how else to help. I had been too timid in helping Miss Growlins. I didn't push when I should have. She never accepted that these crimes were not her fault. This man, the Dark Walk Abductor is pure evil, and his doings are not a deserved punishment to the women for trying to meet with a sweetheart, an innocent flirtation, wearing the wrong dress, or even being angry with God. None of that warrants this evil."

  Barrington looked up toward the sky. Was he praying or mumbling like an asylum inmate who'd been pushed to the edge. He lowered his head and gripped his chin. "Where is Miss Calloway?"

  Samuel marched closer. His countenance was grim, very dark. "Miss Sarah Calloway is very much alive. The lady does have light colored locks, but she's in Bedlam."

  Barrington dropped his face into his palm. "Bedlam."

  The groan leaving her husband sounded as if his innards had been twisted into a knot.

  Shoulders dragging, he turned back to Amora. "You've had enough activity for today. I'm taking you home. Vicar, I'll leave you to collect Mrs. Tomàs."

  "You do know that I am here to help, Mr. Norton."

  A bemused smirk filled Barrington's countenance. "Yes, as much as I am assured of my wife's love. For now, you are welcome in the Norton home. Don't give me a reason to doubt you."

  Her heart shuddered at Barrington's warning. Fire filled each tight word.

  He held out his arm to her. "Let's go to Mayfair."

  Garnering her strength, she raised up and took it, all the while looking at the lone grove of trees. She had a feeling this wouldn't leave her mind.

  Samuel blocked their path. "Mr. Norton, I am not an enemy. I love this family and will fight for it, too."

  Barrington nodded. The stern expression on his face, the tautness of the forearm muscles beneath his tailcoat seemed as if he hoped for a reason to fight. "Wilson, you may not be a deadly enemy, but a lot of things don't appear lethal until they strike."

  The vicar frowned. "I'll get Mr. Calloway's permission to visit with his daughter."

  Barrington didn't seem to be listening. His gaze, his glare stayed focused on Amora.

  And she felt small and guilty within it.

  After a silent boat ride, she wobbled at her husband's side all the way to his awaiting carriage. After a brief word to James, Barrington lifted her inside. The door shut. He looked like a polished bronzed statue, not moving and perhaps not feeling anything for her but anger.

  "I was wrong to set Cynthia Miller on you, Barrington."

  He swiveled his head to the window without responding. For at least an hour, they sat in silence.

  No sharing of the same bench.

  No extra caresses.

  No jokes.

  He was stiff and quiet. The distance betwixt them seemed like miles. Her heart quivered. Maybe even her tummy too. For the first time in a long time, she felt someone else's pain.

  She twiddled her fingers. Hoping for a word to slip his lips. What could she do that wouldn't make the line on his forehead bigger? Probably nothing. Even feeling his pain, she couldn't let him think Samuel was a fiend. Her friend had been nothing but kind to her. "Barrington?"

  He leveled his shoulders. His gaze slowly drifted to hers. She'd seen him happy, flirtatious, and breaking-bricks-with-his-hands mad. This was so different.

  She fingered a button on her coat. "The vicar's not the Dark Walk Abductor. You know that, Barrington."

  He rubbed his chin. "No, I don't believe so. But, he's a part of this puzzle. It's time to put all the pieces together."

  His gray eyes were tiny. He seemed so very different from the man who kissed her goodbye this morning.

  With a tap to the ceiling, he brought the carriage to a halt. "Stay here. I need to get something."

  She leaned close to the window and counted maple leaves.

  A few minutes later, he returned. In his hands was a porcelain dish. He placed it onto her lap and curled a spoon into her fingers. "Eat, it will make you feel better. You'll be able to tolerate more food when your stomach is settled. I remember."

  She opened the container and tunneled into the lemon verbena ice. The citrus smell teased her nose, almost forcing a smile. Last year, he'd been so pleased when she'd told him she carried his babe. He held her snug in an embrace. His full lips formed the widest grin.

  Like today, he'd taken her to Gunter's. And her heart was so proud to have brought him joy. So proud. Her cheek felt wet. She swiped at it.

  "Amora, eat. It will make you feel better."

  She took a scoop and shoved it between her teeth. One dip upon her tongue should've made everything better, but it didn't. Barrington was too good of a man to be saddled with a wife like her, a possible vict...

  No, she couldn't say that name. Her monster needed a true surname.

  The carriage wound its way through London until it made it to Mayfair. She looked down. Half the bowl of ice had disappeared.

  Very gently, Barrington lowered her to the ground and ushered her inside.

  When Mrs. Gretling came for his hat and coat, he waved her away.

  "Keep Mrs. Norton company."

  Mrs. Gretling looked toward Barrington, curtsied and then disappeared.

  Barrington led Amora into the parlor, then pivoted to the front door.

  "Where are you going?"

  He stopped and went to the window, peering out the glass. "Good, your mother and Wilson have arrived. I'll return by 10:30. The house will be lively. There will be no need to be concerned."

  "We should talk. Last night, we w
ere a team putting the pieces together. Remember?"

  He took off his spectacles and rubbed at his eyes. "We are not a team. I'm a man trying to hold onto a dream that's getting harder to see. I need to go meet with Hessing and Beakes. I have to figure out how much they suspect about Miller being in my custody."

  "That sounds dangerous. Can't you beg off and stay with me?"

  "Why, because the wife who doesn't love me, who sends me mistresses, wants me here? That's not a good reason." He leveled his top hat. His sharp tone softened. "Finish the ice. I'll return at 10:30. I won't have you fretting."

  The door to the cellar creaked open. Footsteps pounded in the hall. Was Miller better?

  A stocky black man with a deep chestnut complexion peered his head through the threshold. "Barrington, you've done it."

  Her husband folded his arms. "Hudson, you were supposed to be gone by now. Mrs. Norton, you remember my cousin, Hudson Solemn."

  The fellow shook his head. He then seemed to fix his gaze on Barrington as if Amora was invisible. "I have to leave a watcher with this one. The lad is a good one. And your guest is pretty bad off."

  Barrington's face clouded. His shoulders seemed to droop as if more weights had been placed upon his back. "Thank you, Hudson. Let me drop you to your residence. It's on my way."

  "Cousin, this is not the way to be ushered back to town, embroiled in your scandal." Hudson laughed, his green silk print waistcoat wrinkled with the effort. "I'm the black sheep, remember? Your man is definitely hooked on Dover pills. My young boy will give him some milky water as I call it to keep him calm for now."

  Barrington looked so tired. He rubbed his neck. "You have a son?"

  Hudson smiled a bit. "No, just repaying a debt. He's my charge."

  Her husband raised his head to the door. He released a sigh that sounded strangled. "I'm not in a position to ask questions. Seems, I'm in those straits more and more. Thank you. Let me send you on your way."

  Hudson bent and tugged at fine leather boots with a shiny engraved buckle. He obviously didn't know of the mourning rituals occurring in London. Amora had only met him once, many Yuletides ago, but he seemed much more affluent now. What had he done with himself in the passing years?

  "You're welcome, Norton. I'm staying in the Rookery, drop me there."

  Barrington shut the door just shy of a slam as they trudged outside. He should've slammed it, that would have made the broken pieces of Amora's spirit feel better.

  As if sand shifted beneath her feet, she slunk to the sofa and put the cold bowl on her stomach. Madder than a hornet, Barrington sought danger before men who could imprison him or worse.

  She'd pushed him to a place beyond anger, into recklessness. What harm could come to her husband if he were careless on the streets of London? She peered toward the cellar door as she stuffed a spoonful of melting ice into her mouth. Barrington placed himself in danger for Mr. Miller. Was the fellow worth it?

  Something in her head said he was, but the shadows in her mind couldn't be trusted. With the last possible Sarah in Bedlam, the girl's words wouldn't be either. How could Amora know if the man in the cellar was worthy of Barrington's sacrifices? Her gaze flicked to the cellar door again. There had to be a way to find out.

  Chapter Five: A Dangerous Dinner

  Barrington forced another cut of dry fowl down his throat. He needed to appear normal in the gaming atmosphere of Brooks's, his mentor's gentlemen's club, not piqued at Hessing's insipid lecture on dealing with mistresses.

  But what was normal?

  A Bedlamite in his basement, a pregnant wife who didn't love him. Well, didn't love him enough. Was this the meaning of being unequally yoked?

  Hessing swirled his brandy. A few drops of the dark liquid drizzled down the tall sides of the crystal glass which he aptly lapped upon a finger and stuck into his greedy mouth. "Norton, you've been very quiet. I suppose an afternoon of reading my notes on the Dark Walk abduction cases dimmed your spirit or desire to aid a friend."

  Barrington had read them all before in his quest to figure out if Smith, the man he'd sent to the gallows, had been telling the truth and then again when he saw how similar Amora's story was with the Dark Walk Abductor's victims. "Yes, they are very sad, very evil accounts."

  Hessing's put down his drink and elbowed Beakes who sat to his left. "I remember this barrister's curiosity sitting at my table when he finished up at the university. I thought the war would dull his intellect, but it didn't. You came back hungrier, eager to prove yourself. Have you forgotten that fire, Norton?"

  Barrington remembered those days too. He had admired Hessing's logical mind and work ethic. Yet, as those memories grew cold, he'd overlooked the man's growing avarice and womanizing. "I was very grateful for your tutelage. You know that. What is this Dark Walk business to you? You don't need another accolade."

  The man laughed and swallowed another gulp of his brandy. "A knighthood might go to the man who delivers this villain. A knighthood is always desirable."

  Barrington forced a rumble to match the men's laughter. A year ago, he might've seen the humor in the naked ambition. Blast it, he would compete for such a title as more proof of how well he'd done. Proof that others like him should be given a chance at education and opportunity. Now, he only cared about preserving what remained of his family and maybe saving a friend.

  "See, Beakes? Norton just needed to think of the kill again. That feeling of winning."

  With a snort, the solicitor folded his arms and leaned on the table, but then jerked up as if it dawned upon him not to put his elbows there. "Very fancy in here, Hessing."

  Well, growing up poor restricted almost as much as being caught between races, Barrington thought to himself as he traced the molded laurel swags rimming the room.

  "Norton, I've worked with ye a number of years. I wasn't excited at first, but your work ethic and winning streak won me over."

  Sitting back in his chair to ensure his eyes didn't roll at the idle praise, Barrington glanced at the gentlemen filling the drawing room. He eyed their crisp cravats. Some still wore the traditions of powdered hair or a little longer like the Duke of Cheshire who'd just walked inside.

  The crowds stilled.

  The duke wasn't alone. Wilberforce and Macauley, the abolitionists he'd thrown his lot with, accompanied him.

  Beakes sat back gritting his teeth. "There go the reformers heading to the Great Subscription Room. You think their egos will hit the vaulted ceiling?"

  Barrington grimaced. "They're good men."

  Hessing sipped at his Brandy. "Cheshire's becoming a leading advocate for ending slavery in all of England's colonies. I suppose you applaud such efforts, Norton?"

  "Yes. I do." He said the words without hesitating or weighing out how his statement would be judged. "Right is right, gentlemen. And the law must be used to right wrongs. That's why it must be used to convict the true Dark Walk Abduct…"

  Catching the duke's gaze, Barrington picked up his glass of water and started gulping. He'd made no progress on that gentleman's concerns. Nor was he likely to at this rate.

  He balled a fist under the table. The urge to do more rattled in his truth-loving bones. Was it so wrong to forget the greater good and selfishly focus on his family?

  The duke pivoted and headed to one of the more private rooms.

  Hessing put his drink down then. "You know Cheshire, Norton?"

  "I met him last year when he invited my wife and I to his grand ball, the one introducing his new duchess."

  "An interesting new duchess." Beakes snickered and not in a good-enthralled-by-her-beauty way.

  He chuckled again. "Not much is known of the duchess's family or upbringing, yet. Wonder if it is her influence making Cheshire so determined to fight these strange causes?"

  Barrington almost spit the water he sipped back into his glass. He lowered it and glared at Beakes. "I have no doubt that you will find or invent gossip, but why bother a man fighting for principles? And,
Hessing, you know I am very grateful for your tutelage. So let's get to the point of this."

  Beakes tapped his curled fingers as if he held a cigar. With no smoking in this room of the club, the man must suffer a little. Good.

  His solicitor leaned forward. "Here's some gossip I know is true. You dipped from the same trough. A wife and doxy from the same town is stupid, or arrogant. You're a rich man. You could procure a more discreet ladybird in London. I'm sure enough coins will make them forget your mixed blood."

  "Like you, Beakes? You've made a good deal of coins working for this mixed blood."

  The solicitor raised a brow. "Why would you risk all to help the singer? She must be a pretty fine piece."

  Barrington leaned in. The need to strike something, to bury a fist into the blowhard's face pressed. It curled every knuckle tight as his care about what anyone thought dropped away. "Accuse me at your peril, Beakes."

  The man guffawed, then growled. "I know it was you who took the man claiming to be Miller from Bedlam. I'll find where you're hiding him. No one makes me look foolish before the magistrate, no matter how many coins I've earned."

  Hessing put a hand on Beakes' shoulder. "Easy. Norton's not stupid enough to actually have taken the man, but I suspect he knows where the lunatic can be found. Convince Miller to turn himself over to the law, Norton. A bit of fluff or blackmail is not worth throwing away a career."

  Yet, Barrington was stupid enough. Not thinking. Purely reacting, as he was now about to further ruin his good reputation with a fight at Brooks's. He relaxed his palms. "Why is a missing mental patient of your interests, Hessing? I understand Beakes. He doesn't like having his nose tweaked. But you, sir, what is this business for you?"

  His mentor smirked and sat back in his velvet-tufted chair. "That knighthood. I want my last trial to be the greatest. I want to deliver the Dark Walk Abductor."

  A few heads whipped at the pronouncement. Whispers again flew from one side of the room to the other. For a second time tonight, no gaming, no loud clapping for outlandish bets occurred. Just simple silence and accusatory stares.