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

by Vanessa Riley

  She gripped his lapel. "What is it you need to know?"

  "You claim to love your brother, but you left him to stew in Bedlam drugged. Why?"

  She stepped back, sputtering. "I-I-I-I'd never let anything happen to him."

  Lies, all lies, but it was time to press her for answers. "But you did hurt him. You hid him. If he'd faced the charges in Clanville and defended himself, he might be freed of this. The Dark Walk Abductor stopped almost to the date of Miller being put in Bedlam."

  Amora stood up, clasping her elbows as if she were cold. "Tell him about the monster's button. She took it from Mr. Miller's clenched palm."

  "Yes, I have it. It's marked with a crest. Will that prove his innocence?"

  Gritting his teeth, he glared into the singer's darting eyes. His innards seethed. "You know who the abductor is?"

  Cynthia released his lapels and took two steps. Her voice was tiny like a mouse's squeak. "Don't look at me as if I'm evil. We both know only one woman in this room loves you."

  Head high, Amora marched close. Glorious dark hair, woven into a neat bun, shadowed her long neck. The broad cloak hanging upon her shoulders shrouded her form, allowing no glimpse of the forceful curvy lady beneath. "Why not tell the man you love how you knew his fiancée was imprisoned in the Priory? How you left me there to die?"

  Cynthia's rouged cheeks paled. The squeak became higher, blurting in fast trumpets. "I didn't. I wouldn't. No, Barrington."

  The viper pivoted toward Amora. "You said I was here for him, not to expose me to his hatred." Cynthia's voice shook. "I don't have to stay and listen to this. I—"

  Barrington grabbed her wrists before another falsehood was uttered. "Answer the question or I'll tell the magistrate you are in league with the true abductor. You blackmailed the abductor because the button identifies him. Isn't that how you got Miller's care paid for? That is why Vicar Playfair knew your brother was innocent. That's why he helped you smuggle him from Clanville to London after the Druby murder."

  "Yes." Tears fell from her soulless eyes. "I hated Amora for having you. But, I'd never leave her in the Priory. You have to believe me." She wrenched free. "I'll bring my proof."

  Amora rubbed her temples. "Proof? You kept the monster's secrets all this time?"

  Cynthia sank to the floor, scrambling to her cape. "No more abductions happened once I found out. I took steps to make sure." Thick sobs mixed with her words." I...am not...a bad person."

  Barrington led Cynthia toward the door. "Bring the button tomorrow to clear your brother's name. It's your only hope of his acquittal. Hessing's out for blood. If you play us false, you've put the noose on your brother's neck."

  She trudged to the hall with waterworks and shaking shoulders. All the trappings she'd used to endear herself to him. "I'm not a bad person."

  His gut wrenched, knotting at the lies he'd swallowed from Cynthia. He propped the door open. "In the witness box tomorrow, bring your false smiles for the jurymen. Focus your forked tongue on London. Don't mention Clanville or the milkmaid's murder. With that button and your acting, maybe your brother won't hang."

  The wench ran.

  Barrington slammed the door. "All these years, I should've trusted your instincts."

  Amora heaved a long breath and nodded. "I should've trusted your love and told you everything the moment your rode back to Tomàs Manor from the war."

  His pulse raced. His heart opened at the smidgen of hope he heard in her resolute voice. Staring at his fingers, he took off his tailcoat and laid it over the arm of the sofa. His hands harbored guilt as well.

  "A year ago, I trusted her. I sent you home with that woman from Lord Cheshire's ball. Could her prattle have caused you—"

  "It didn't help." Amora's soft voice penetrated his skull. "I don't want to think about what might have been. Not anymore, only the future."

  He wiped a hand through his hair. "She knows who did this to you and never said a word. I should haul her back and make her confess the name tonight."

  "No." Amora's tone sounded confident, decisive. "Cynthia won't tell unless she thinks it will gain her something. She needs to bring the button tomorrow. Let's not focus on things we can't change. It's the night before your big trial, your biggest yet."

  "Hessing wants you to testify. I won't permit it."

  "Saying the truth, admitting it to the world wouldn't be the end. Maybe it would be a beginning."

  He couldn't think of her standing in the witness box, with all of London glaring at her, judging her. Instead, he drank in the sight of his confident wife. Smooth complexion, wide eyes, her cheeks looked a little fluffier. He edged closer, his heart beat faster and faster. "Why is the house empty?"

  Amora warmed in Barrington's gaze. She counted the rise of his chest, wondering if his pulse raced as hers did when he stepped near. "I remember how you get before the big ones. You like it quiet."

  "So, you enjoy watching me get all worked up?" He folded his arms. His voice slowed, lips flattening. "No other reason?"

  There were plenty of reasons: Missing him, unfinished yearnings, the trial of an innocent man. She didn't know where to start. And how could she testify without Barrington's support?

  He took off his spectacles. "Cynthia could be dangerous. Where is your mother? The infernal vicar?"

  "Mother's with the Wilsons. I wanted Cynthia to be at ease. She admitted to having the button, and I got her to say it to you."

  With a tug to his onyx waistcoat, he bounced out of the room and bolted the door. "So, you're not done taking risks?"

  "I didn't go to the Priory. I started to, but your button. I put in my sack of notes. I saw it every morning when I read the encouragements you wrote. I couldn't risk everything without you."

  He stopped at the threshold and stared, dumbfounded. "You didn't go?"

  She directed him to the sofa. "No, I decided it would be safer to bring the monster to me, to us. I felt she knew more than she ever said. So, I was her advocate tonight. A wife willing to look the other way. Cynthia does love you in her own twisted way."

  Barrington hung his head, slumped his shoulders and dropped onto the cushions. "It's good to be loved by someone, even if it's poisonous. Sorry."

  She swallowed, took a deep breath, then released the words burning her tongue. "I don't want a separation."

  He lifted his countenance. His gray eyes danced, then slimmed to dots. "It's not necessary. You can visit with the babe anytime you want when he's with me, but you are right about London. It might be best if he stays with you at Tomàs Manor. In your care, he'll thrive. I remember how you made good old Mr. Tomàs's pianoforte sing. Our child should grow up knowing your arts and your music. Just keep your brave spirit restrained at least until he's of age."

  He thought her brave and competent but was still letting her go? Chest aching, she focused on the planes of his face, the tremor vibrating his cheek. "I decided I want my husband. And he needs to know that."

  "I'll draft new separation papers after the trial sharing custodial care of the babe." He seemed to reach for her hand but stopped. Only a few feet separated them. "You should be in bed resting. I could try to persuade Hessing to change his mind, but you are his principal witness."

  "You're not listening, Barrington."

  He took a final step with his long legs and put his hands on her shoulders. His fingers curled into the fringe of her cozy shawl. "Then say it plain."

  Not releasing his gaze, she nodded. "I want you, Barrington, probably always have. I didn't feel worthy of your love because of what happened. I lacked faith in us. I wasn't fair to you, hoping you'd make everything better, and you had no understanding of the problems. I'm sorry. I still want you to love me. We can do anything if we are together."

  He pulled a strand of fringe, then another. His warm palm cupped her shoulder, wilting the cap sleeve of her simple bodice. With a gentle push, he freed her of her shawl.

  Sinking on one knee, he mumbled to himself. Maybe something about
God and being blessed. His fingers circled the swell of her abdomen. He kissed her middle and held her close, his face buried in the buttercream fabric of her dress.

  His lingering breath heated her insides. She shivered. Oh, how she missed his arms.

  With a shaky pinkie, she traced his hairline smoothing back the dark curls and silvered locks. His warm, fragrant bergamot spice filled her nostrils overtaking the tawdry singer's chrysanthemum. "With my head clear, I dream of you. I can see the future you wanted for us."

  His voice was low, garbled. "You're here. The baby's here. We are of one mind at last."

  A tear weighed on her lashes, and she blinked it away. "You were right about the Priory. It doesn't matter, nor do the hurts of the past. Perhaps, when the child's not at risk, maybe we can go together."

  "We'll see." The hold on her waist didn't slacken. His words vibrated through the layers of muslin and silk down to her skin. "How did you know about Cynthia?"

  "She always seemed to tease at a secret. When I tore your button, I remembered Miller saying he clutched one from the monster. I hoped with the right incentives she'd admit to it, and she did."

  "My wife, a brave foolhardy woman. What am I going to do with you? And Miller's trial, how do I keep it from destroying us?"

  "That's tomorrow. I'm focused on right now. I hurt you, and I don't know how to fix it." The sob pressing against her lungs, the pain that nibbled at her conscience every night this past week, stabbed and poked until it broke free. Water flooded her cheeks. "I must fix it."

  Not letting go, he stood. "It's fixed." Keeping one hand at the small of her back, he used his other to lift her chin. He bent and allowed his mouth to tickle her jaw, drinking her tears. "No more sadness in Mayfair. This needs to be a place that means happiness and safety, just like Tomàs Orchards. In fact, I have something to show you."

  He hoisted her in his arms and carried her from the room to the stairs.

  Her pulse raced as he reached the landing of her bedchamber. Had he forgiven her that quickly?

  When his foot left the steps and he approached her door, her heart missed a beat. Would he shelter her in his love? She gripped his lapel and caught her anticipating smile reflected in his spectacles. It would be wonderful to have his love once more, before tomorrow, before everything changed again.

  "Can you get that candle?" He angled her toward the wall sconce. "I don't want you in the dark."

  She clasped the precious light and settled again on her perch against his strong chest.

  He turned, not entering her bedchamber. What?

  As if swirling in a cyclone, he spun and took the next set of treads leading up to the attic. The pit of her stomach clenched. Disappointment riddled through her. "Where are we going?"

  "Patience." A grin set on his face. "I've learned that lesson, a great deal of it this year."

  The frail light barely illuminated his boots, but she wasn't afraid. Pressed against him, there was no safer place to be.

  "My lovely sweetheart." His words kissed her everywhere. "Light the sconce."

  She blinked and did as he asked. The attic? What was he up to?

  He set her down, took the candle from her, and slipped inside. Soon light seeped from the cracks about the door. He returned and ushered her in.

  Her mouth opened. No more trunks or piles of old furnishings. The room had been remade, clean with vibrant pink and green paint on the wall.

  "Come." He held out his hand to her.

  She noted the pianoforte in the corner, then the easel by the large attic window. The setting sun beamed down upon it and the wide array of pink and puce pillows covering the floor. It looked made for a celestial picnic.

  A mural stretched along the longest wall. It was a Pippin apple tree with bright red and striated fruit.

  She put a hand to her hip. "Can you even see the colors of this orchard?"

  "I see what I need to. The smile on your face is worth a rainbow."

  "When did you do this?"

  "Most of it was done the morning we went to Bedlam. I wanted to have something ready to give you cheer when we returned from asylum. Then the chaos with Beakes and…" He bit his lip. "More was done the weeks you rested. I need the vision in my head complete."

  She clasped his arm, pleasure rippling through her. "Is it?"

  "Almost." He walked her to the pianoforte and set her upon the bench. "Your mother returned your painting. I thought I might try to get you to play."

  Gobs of sheet music lay atop the fine cherry wood box. The instrument shined with waxy polish. "I didn't have the heart to play Papa's. Maybe since this instrument is here in London, I could."

  Barrington traced the arch of her neck. "This is yours."

  She tapped a few keys. Closing her eyes, she hit a few more.

  The notes turned into Haydn. A march, one of power, fell from her fingers. The gait, the pitch was perfect. No sadness.

  Memories of her father swirled about, joyful ones. She played the tune again. The crescendo surged through her palms making the ivory come to life.

  "Papa would love this." She lifted her hands and clapped. "I hadn't played since the last time with him."

  Barrington hugged her neck, his powerful forearms wrapped against her shoulders. "It's fitting you do so now with this papa-to-be."

  She turned into him. Her lips on his throat must've caught him off guard.

  He bolted upright and pushed at his hair. "I just wanted you to see this. It's getting late. You should rest."

  "I don't feel like sleeping. Tomorrow could end everything."

  His smile disappeared, and his gaze fell away.

  Her heart clenched, breaking. Had he always been this vulnerable to her? Had it been there all along undetected because of her guilt, the weight of her secrets?

  He had to know how much she loved him. She stood and touched his forearm. Sparks heated her skin as her thumb slipped along the pulsing vein at his wrist. "The document you signed is very thorough. I may not be allowed to sit up and talk with my estranged husband." She looped her arms about his waist. "It might forbid this." She planted a kissed on his throat.

  "I didn't sign away those rights." His palms went to each side of her face. "Or this either." He dipped his head and brushed his lips against hers.

  The touch was soft, almost distant. She pressed closer, tilting her chin to give him access to her neck. Her hands dug underneath his waistcoat. Could she hide inside his pocket and avoid tomorrow?

  His kisses deepened, spinning her like threads on a weaver's wheel. His fingertips traced the lace of her bodice dipping in and out from silk to skin to silk again. Melting against him, she loosened his cravat, the buttons of his shirt. She had to feel the battle hardened muscles beneath. The need to taste his strength etched in her mind. That would sustain her when she testified in the witness box.

  He stilled her hand against his beating heart. Seventy-two, no eighty beats throbbed against the lifeline of her palm. "We should stop. You must rest. I should too. Miller's trial will be brutal."

  "I remember how you get before a big day in the Old Bailey." She plodded to the mounds of pillows, and sank into the puffy masses. Her slippers flew into the air as she lost her balance.

  He was at her side before she could count rafter beams. "I had pictured us on these pillows, but I guess it's a better vision than practicality." He took her hand and hoisted her upright.

  Flattening and beating a few into submission, she smoothed her pinkie against a satin cushion. "You pictured us here?"

  "Yes, but your hair is loose." As if saying it aloud, stirred him into action, his hands dove into her chignon. Pins and curls fell everywhere as the braid erupted. "Now the picture's complete, except we're both still dressed. Something to look forward to."

  A sigh blasted from his lungs. His face darkened. "I don't know how to save Miller, but a strategy will come."

  "You're anxious. You can't settle. I remember." With a tug, she freed his shirt and planted b
oth hands along his ribs. "Then you'd come home to me."

  His silvery eyes widened. "That's what you remember? Is that why you said you love me? To take my mind off my troubles."

  "I remember every time. It took my troubles away too. Take them away, now."

  "Now?" The question came out pitchy and high. With a cough, he lowered his voice to his normal octave. "Now?"

  "Yes, I'm strong enough. And, I'm desperate for you." She planted her mouth against his. This time she had no intentions of being deterred.

  Nodding, he grinned and claimed her kiss.

  Buttons and pins released as he swept aside everything but her corset. His arms wrapped about her and eased her onto the pillows. "So beautiful and all mine."

  She pushed a dark lock from his temple. "Tell me you will love me no matter what."

  He flung his spectacles to the side. "Yes."

  "Even if I again do something that angers you? Even if I crumble when Hessing makes me testify?"

  "Hessing." He pulled her close, pressing her into his chest. Taking her with him, he fell against the pillows. "The blasted fellow doesn't just want to win. He wants to crush me completely. I'll talk to him again before court starts. See if there is another way."

  "No. It's time for the truth to be out. Use my testimony to help Miller."

  "But the memories, the effect on your health." His arms tightened about her as if she'd disappear.

  Maybe she would.

  The strain could send her into madness, but the truth had to reign.

  Something had changed in her heart. It was subtle, growing daily. God filled her with expectation, amazing grace. The life growing and kicking inside would live even if her mind disappeared, she knew that now.

  Barrington stroked her hair, even as he muttered something harsh, like 'smashing Hessing', under his breath. "Sweetheart, rest. Get some sleep. Tomorrow, I'll have some idea how to save everyone. God hasn't forsaken us. How could he when He's returned your love."

  Tears clogged her throat, but he had to understand. "Be with me tonight." She swallowed and leaned into his chest. "Let me know all of your love, so no matter what, I know I've found happiness, utter complete happiness, one last time."