Unveiling Love: A Regency Romance (A London Regency Romantic Suspense Tale Book 4)

by Vanessa Riley

  Barrington's wonderful song sounded good in her ears, in her heart. She had been through many dangers, but thus far she was safe and sound in her home. The home where she and Barrington conceived a miracle.

  It felt true today, with her limbs fit and eager to exercise. She might've even gained some weight. Resting did help, but she couldn't be indolent anymore.

  Pushing to her feet, she swayed a little. Something moved inside. She lowered to her mattress again and put her hand to her abdomen. A flutter wiggled. At first, it was sweet and light, then more pronounced. The babe said good morning. She should tell Barrington.

  He'd attended her like clockwork, inside her chambers by 10:30 at night, out by dawn's light, always making sure to wake her and remind her that she was safe and free.

  She tapped her thumb against his pillow. His scent of bergamot wafted to her nose. He slept beside her every night, and even held her if she asked, but part of him was missing. His conversation was dull, as if he made sure to say nothing upsetting. He must think her so fragile.

  Angry, she balled her fist again and punched at his pillow. Barrington put her away from his heart, and she was at a loss as to why. What had changed since Bedlam? Where was the man so in love that he begged her to run away with him?

  The creaking noise of the door hinge whined. Mama pressed inside. Mrs. Gretling fast on her heels.

  Her abigail put her hands together. "Please don't ask her. Don't upset her."

  "She has a right to know. Leave us." Her mother's voice sounded stern. Her face was pale, very pale as if something scared her.

  Mrs. Gretling nodded and slipped from the room. Her cheery, sherry eyes seemed wide with fright. The door shook as it closed.

  "Did Gerald Miller, Mr. Norton's friend, take you? Is he your abductor?"

  Was that the great concern? The latest gossip? Amora's heart returned to its normal rhythm. "No. Mr. Miller was not the one."

  "But, the town is talking about the deserter who left his regiment returning to torture women. They say he dragged them to the Priory and…" Mama wrung her hands, her short boot heels ticked as she paced. "That's only a few miles from Tomàs Manor, close to the Norton's land. Were you held there? Of course you were. How else could you have crawled home?"

  Amora swallowed. She didn't want to frighten her mother, but she'd not keep another secret. "I was there, but it wasn't Mr. Miller who did it."

  Her mother plodded to the easel. She pushed at the ash-black curl peeking from her lacy mobcap and put her finger onto the canvas. "To think of the lives this man has ruined. He's about to go to trial and be defended by your husband. Doesn't Mr. Norton know what this could do to you?"

  It made her heart soar, Barrington believing in Mr. Miller. But why hadn't her husband told her this? Was this why he was so distant? Big trials made him tense, especially the night before. Her heart warmed. Those were the times he'd let her care for him. "When is the trial?"

  Mama pivoted with her hands on her hips. Her long burgundy gown swished with the effort. Breathing hard, she swiped at her face. "In a week. We should be out of London before the horrid accounts of his crimes become known and haunt you."

  Too late for that. Her mother's cries touched her, pressing at the internal sack stored up with her own. It held tears for Sarah and Mama, for Miller and Barrington, even her child gone. All victims of the monster. Before any moisture could leave Amora's eyes, she arose, reached for Mama's hand, and pulled the good woman into her arms.

  "Shhh. The damage is done." She stroked the woman's back. "I let my abductor steal more years by pretending nothing happened and fearing every moment that he'd return and hurt the ones I love."

  Mama's cries were thick, wetting the collar of Amora's robe. "I wish I'd been strong for you."

  With a final pat, Amora pivoted and stared at her painting. So much had been lost, too much. "I know what he's done to the others. He won't break any more of me. I've the grace of knowing my mind and somehow God led me home. I'm home, Mama, not in a cellar or an asylum."

  The lady reared back, swiping at her eyes. "You do seem better, but speak to Mr. Norton. See if he can let us go back to Tomàs Manor, your real home. There, we can get you ready for your laying-in in peace."

  "Is that some Isis ritual, Mama? I remember she's your goddess of offspring."

  The woman shook her head, and lifted her tear stained cheeks. "What I believe has often been wrong. But, what I see in you is not false. It's true strength. I'd like to think that part of you is my contribution."

  Amora rotated toward the bed. "My laying in is at least a month to come, but I should discuss this with Barrington. I'll speak with him tonight as soon as he returns."

  "He's here now, downstairs in his study."

  Squinting, she tugged her robe closer to her body, her entwined arms rested on the small swell of her tummy. "I don't understand. He's not at the Old Bailey or the Lincoln's Inn?"

  "He rarely goes. The only client he's taken is Mr. Miller. It's almost as if he were afraid to leave you."

  Barrington frightened? Not him. But not practicing the law, that must be about something else.

  Her heart whimpered. His career must be suffering. Without trials, he would have to use his inheritance. Something he hated doing.

  This was her fault. She'd leashed him to the house, to her. How ironic to gain the thing she'd always wanted then find it lacking. "I wanted to be a confidant, his helpmate. I don't need him to be afraid of upsetting his fragile wife."

  She paced to the window and tapped the glazing. "I'd go to him now, but I don't think I have anything that fits.

  Mama gripped Amora's shoulder's and spun her toward the closet. She flung open the door like it housed the prized Tomàs apples. "You do. I've seen to it."

  Two new gowns, one in goldenrod and one in mint green hung inside. Amora waddled to it and slipped her palms over the sweet fabric. "I don't know what to say. I'm a swollen Cinderella, and you're my personal fairy."

  The widest smile spread across her mother's lean features. "About time I did something for you. And it's good you're not leaving your happiness to others. Now, let me help you dress."

  Though Barrington might not be able to see the color, the gown was lovely with pin tucks about the bodice. Wearing it, she was sure to feel beautiful and confident. That would sustain her even if Barrington disapproved of her being up and about. She needed to believe she wasn't fragile. It was time to show him proof of her strength, proof they could go to the Priory for answers, do something to save Mr. Miller.

  Pouring over the piles of notes for Gerald's trial made Barrington's eyes hurt. A month ago, he'd convinced his best friend to surrender to the magistrate and to trust the law, to trust Barrington. A week to go and he had nothing but a plan to exploit the testimony of the accusers, the bereaved families of the victims. How horrid for the best defense to be nothing more than an exploitation of misery.

  He leaned back in his padded chair of tufted velvet and tried to readjust his back.

  His spine of iron seemed to have rusted in place, curved from scouring law books and witness statements. Nasty business. If only the true villain could be found in Barrington's notes. His stomach soured as he thought of his friend.

  Miller's speech had improved, but his memory of events was still sketchy. What happened when he confronted the Abductor? How did he end up in Bedlam?

  Barrington had visited with him again this morning. Hopefully Gerald would remember something that would keep himself from dying for crimes he did not commit. An innocent man couldn't swing from Debtor's Door.

  A knock upon the threshold made Barrington jump. He took a deep breath and willed his muscles to unclench. "Come in, Mrs. Gretling."

  The door opened, but it wasn't the housekeeper. It was his very pretty, very pregnant wife. Her light-colored gown silhouetted her ample bosom and tucked about the beautiful swell of his child. His pulse ticked up. Her sleeping form draped in blankets hid the delight pregnancy worked up
on her curves. Her very pronounced curves.

  He laid his spectacles on the desk to make his vision blurry. No sense in unbalancing the apple cart with raw desire. "You should be in bed…in your room, resting."

  She moved closer. Her lilac scent filled the air of his study tormenting his weak flesh. Then she leaned over him like a raw steak to a hungry dog. "I needed to see you."

  Needed him?

  No, not possible. Not in all the ways he wanted. Her full lips looked so serious pressed into a line. "I'll be up at 10:30. Surely, it can wait until time to retire."

  She shook her head. "This can't wait."

  He didn't dare put his lenses back on. It was far better to keep her at arm's length and her shapeliness blurry. "I'm sure whatever has you buzzing will keep. Perhaps you and Mrs. Tomàs can take a walk."

  She moved to his bookcases. It was a little too far to detect if she were in distress so he put on his spectacles.

  Her face held the widest frown. She flipped one of the spines down on the shelf. "Should I hop up here and stay out of the way?"

  "No. You can see the shelf is full, and you know I like the tomes in alphabetical order. A is at the top."

  She shoved the book back into place, then stared in his direction. "I see in the paper that Mr. Miller has been arrested. Were you going to tell me of his upcoming trial?"

  "That's a second question. Your limit is one for today. Ask me this one tomorrow."

  She folded her arms, creamy gloveless hands clasped her elbows. "Must you jest? I was fragile when we left Bedlam, but I'm well now. Tell me what has happened."

  "Your vicar and my cousin got him out of here the morning of the raid. Wilson overheard someone bragging at St. George's about taking me down a peg. He hid him until Miller was stronger. Then I took him to the magistrate. In spite of things, your vicar's a good man."

  Head cocked to the side, her lips were drawn into a tight O. "So when were you going to tell me?"

  "You've had your one question, Lady Justice. Now, return to your room."

  She rubbed her brow. "Be serious. Treat me as an equal."

  "This." He waved his hand pointing at her and then himself. "What's between us is not equal."

  She squinted at him. "Why are you being cryptic?"

  "Then, allow me to be plain. You're doing everything in your power to bring this baby to term. I thank you for that. I'll make sure you are safe, and I'll continue working on a way to save Gerald Miller."

  "If I can't help you, why am I here? I could be relaxing at Tomàs Manor, not stuffy London."

  "I'll not allow you to go to Tomàs Manor and be within miles of the Priory. If you return to Clanville, I've no doubt you will try to go to the dilapidated structure."

  The knock at his door drew his attention from the flush darkening her cheeks. "Come in."

  James poked his head inside. "Sir, the new grooms are in place and the new footman is ready on the carriage. We can leave as soon as you are ready."

  He nodded to his man. "Thank you. I'll be along in a moment."

  Swiveling his head toward Amora and then returning to Barrington, James backed out and shut the door tight.

  Amora glanced toward Barrington. His cheeks had darkened. "Why so many servants? We are not showy people and the expense must be great."

  "Yes, but necessary. The venom for defending Miller is great. I won't have you endangered. And I need to care too. I won't be caught off guard again."

  "The attack on you? It wasn't a footpad. The monster is coming for you, like he said he would."

  "No. No." He raised his tone to reassure her. He couldn't let her begin to fear for his safety. "It could have been a thief, but I think it was someone who doesn't want me to defend Miller. London wants a conviction. I'm in the way of that."

  "But he said…" Her voice lowered to almost nothing. "He would strike out at you."

  The ways the Dark Walk Abductor taunted his victims was horrible. How did he gain his knowledge of all the women? The villain had to be in a close circle. His stomach soured. They almost know him. Barrington probably knew him. He rubbed his temples. "I don't want you upset. I've taken more precautions. And I will return before 10:30. No need to fret."

  Her lips buttoned. She looked down at her slippers. "You sound angry. I knew forcing you to keep my schedule would make you bitter."

  Maybe he was a little stern, a little short from trying to find a clue that didn't put Amora's life in jeopardy. "I'm just tired, sweetheart."

  "I know how you get with big trials. Let me help."

  Barrington rose from his chair and marched to her, close enough to smell her maddening lilac scent. Close enough for her to crush his heart all over again. "Just bear these precautions. It has nothing to do with keeping a schedule."

  She reared up, poking her slim finger along a rib. "I knew, I've always known, this delicate dance with a loon would make you hate me."

  "Hate?" His agitation stirred, animating every corpuscle flowing in his tight veins. "Is that what you believe? Thinking of your dancing with danger gets me addled. I'm disturbed at how you take every opportunity to do something risky. From embracing a woman with chains, going down to a dark cellar to check on a man crying out in pain, or blowing out a candle and shrouding yourself in terror."

  She poked him harder right along his scar. "I'm doing what I feel is right. I guess loons or victims don't get to do that."

  Examining her uneasy breathing and her shuddering bosom, he softened his tone. "You think with your heart, not your head. You can't be in jeopardy again, not with our child."

  Her cheeks darkened. Her chest gave a big I'm-not-going-to-cry-but-I-could heave, but she didn't move her hand from him. Her fingertips forced the organ caged behind his lungs to pound with need. "What's wrong with that, Barrington? I have a heart and I'm surely not thinking of rules every day."

  He gripped her hand. Two months of dread over her enduring another moment of pain, of her losing this child, loosened his tongue. He could admit the truth. "Your heart has no room to love me or this babe I've saddled you with. Endure this pregnancy, then I'll let you be free."

  Her violet eyes popped wide. "What are talking you about? I blew out the candle to protect you. I took care of Miller because he's your best friend. I did it for love."

  "How can you love me and do things that will hurt my child?" He shook his head. "You think you love us, but you are ready to head to the Priory, probably with the foolish vicar. He's dying to help you with some scheme."

  "If I succumbed to the monster, there has to be a clue there that will help you catch him. Don't you see? I'm the only who can."

  It was true. She was the only one who might have seen the man's face, but what would that do to her? Madness, Miscarriage…Mayhem. He'd have to kill someone if she hurt ever again.

  "You know this is true, Barrington. Will you let Miller be convicted because you won't let one victim not named in the papers help? I'm strong now."

  The woman didn't understand, never would. He stepped away, slamming into his chair. "Do you think the other ladies were weak because they surrendered to the Dark Walk Abductor's demands? They weren't. Even a brave soul can break. The strongest person can give up."

  "But I promise you I will not wilt."

  "You also promised love and all your worldly troth. I don't need any more colorful paints." He chuckled and quickly shut his eyes to the hurt painting her face. "Going to the Priory solves nothing. Fear will grip you, tighten like a vise, squeezing away your reason and end the precious life you carry. I won't go through that again."

  He clasped his fingers together, the veins along his hands bulged. He dropped them to his sides. "You gave me no choice at Bedlam. It took hours for your contractions to subside. You should have let me burn in Newgate rather than risk your health."

  "Barrington! You can't be serious. Together we can save an innocent man. Your best friend. The man who took a bullet for you."

  "I'm not serious?" He rooted throu
gh a drawer and pulled out a copy of her mother's legal agreement. With a dip of ink on his quill and a pat of his blotter, he slathered an X through a paragraph and signed the bottom of the parchment for September, a month after this babe's birth.

  Every word of Mrs. Tomàs's separation document, the finality of it, weighed on his soul. If she did love him, maybe it would shake her from this course. Waving the page, he stood, plodded to Amora and placed it within her fingers.

  She took it, but her hand shook as she read it. "What is this?"

  "It's the signed separation agreement. It's effective in September, the month after your laying in. Then, you will no longer have to listen to your husband. This gives you the legal right to do whatever you wish."

  She crushed the paper within her fists. "You're signing Mama's agreement? This must be some kind trick. We agreed to stay together to raise this baby."

  "It wasn't we. It was I. I said we would, so now I say no." He took off his spectacles and rubbed his eyes. "You're not happy about carrying my child. With the unnecessary risks you're taking, we both know the odds of another miscarriage are high. You were in such pain after Bedlam. That should be all the evidence you need. No. This babe will be with me, so you can be free to find whatever will make you happy."

  "You said you wouldn't take the baby."

  "I'm giving you the freedom you wanted." He retreated, taking a step backward. He softened his voice as her eyes became glassy. "I will never keep you from our child. I'd love nothing more than for you to be content with us, but we both know that's not possible."

  "I'm sorry." Her fingers burned his wrist when she clasped his arm. "This isn't necessary."

  "I love you enough to let you go. It's the best thing to do for you. I keep hoping for the girl who danced in the wind as she held an easel waiting to show me her creation. The one who never lost patience when I couldn't see the colors. The impetuous Miss who snuck me into her father's study to play me a song. She's gone and so is her love. The monster has her and she won't run from him."