Unveiling Love: A Regency Romance (A London Regency Romantic Suspense Tale Book 2)

by Vanessa Riley

  Barrington thawed and retrieved her palm. "Hessing, Mrs. Hessing, I'd like to introduce you to my mother-in-law, Mrs. Tomàs."

  Mrs. Hessing smiled. "Oh, so you won't be lonely or give in to mischief. You brought your own brood. Wait until you see the jellies, Mr. Norton. All the colors and flavors of the rainbow. I'm sure you can appreciate that."

  "Colors. Great. I can't wait to see them." Barrington nodded to the lady as Amora laced her fingers with his towing him from the hall.

  Her heart thawed a little, remembering how hard he worked at the law, and how he graciously suffered small minds.

  As if he remembered himself, he released her hand and moved a lonely few feet from her.

  No. She'd be of use to him tonight.

  She moved to him and laid jittering fingers on his sleeve. "Let's find the dowager."

  He smiled at her and covered her palm with his. A charge swept through her. She had to admit to missing him.

  These past weeks, he was in the same house, sharing the same roof, but she'd been too afraid to reach for him. If she had, what would keep her strong if she disappointed him again? No, it was better to return to Tomàs Manor. There, she could continue growing her own strength and find her own path.

  Yet, at Hyde Park and Whitby, she'd seen a side of him that was accepting and vulnerable. Could he understand weakness or indecision? Would things revert to their normal imbalance, him strong, her weak?

  "I forgot to tell you, Amora. You look lovely tonight. Very lovely."

  She pulled an ostrich print fan from her silk reticule. "With everyone in shades of black, you must be happy?"

  He pulled close to her ear. "I don't need to know the hue, if you smile. That's all I need."

  Her cheeks warmed, and she pivoted toward the crowd. "There is the dowager and Mr. Charleton."

  A groan slipped his lips. His steps slowed. At a pace a little faster than a drag, he allowed her to lead them to the widow and her son.

  As her son frowned and moved away, Barrington bowed to the old woman.

  "Ma'am, this is my mother-in-law, Mrs. Henutsen Tomàs. She accompanied my wife and I tonight."

  "I know of the famous Mrs. Tomàs and her girls." The dowager looked over her spectacles toward Barrington and then in her son's direction. "I trust you two will not make sport of this evening. Mrs. Hessing wouldn't be as agreeable."

  She rotated in her chair. Her grey silk skirt swished with the effort as the egret plume of her turban waved. She twisted back toward Mama. "Henutsen, where ever did you get that name? That's unusual."

  Her mother smiled with her almost polite face. "It's Egyptian. But you know that."

  Amora shot her mother a look, pleading with her to be nice, but there was little hope for that. So she intervened making her voice low and sweet. "Dowager Clanville, the name is for a queen from the fourth dynasty. A time of peace and prosperity in Egypt."

  "Peace, you say." Barrington's whisper vibrated Amora's ear, as he tapped on her arm. He turned as if to withdraw, but she wouldn't let him. She needed to make sure his relationship with his best client remained intact. That was pivotal to her part of the bargain. She still had something to prove.

  "Ma'am, I am so glad that you've allowed me to have my husband back, even for a short time. A sweet pleasure having him about and not missing our outings to draft your documents."

  "Well, it's been a slow time, but Mr. Norton, there are some things I'll need your advice upon next week." She squinted above her long quizzing glass. Will you spare him, Mrs. Norton?"

  "I will for you, ma'am." Trying to embody a picture of grace and tact, she lifted her chin as she curtsied, then took Barrington's arm.

  His strong gaze sent her pulse racing, but the smile on his face disappeared. He released her. "Ah, Vicar Wilson. Let me make room for you."

  "Good evening. Mr. Norton, Mrs. Norton, Mrs. Tomàs." The vicar tugged on his patterned waistcoat and puffed up his chest. "My favorite family. Nothing I like more than dancing. Shall we, Mrs. Norton?"

  She lifted her gaze to Barrington as if she needed his permission, but he claimed Mama's hand. "Let me find Mrs. Tomàs a place to sit."

  "Now, Mr. Norton, I'm not so old. I still enjoy a set." She whipped her puce trimmed fan. "But a good seat out of the traffic would be welcomed."

  The vicar lent Amora his arm, but she stopped and watched Barrington's strong figure disappear amid the crowd.

  "Mrs. Norton?"

  She rubbed her temple and moved toward the vicar but stopped, bumping into Cynthia Miller.

  "Ah, Mrs. Norton." The redheaded vixen put a hand on her hip. "It's a shame you've left lonely Mr. Norton alone in favor of a poor vicar with children. I suppose an instant family is better than none."

  Only a heartless harlot could be so hate-filled. "Miss Miller, I've no time for your folly."

  Cynthia giggled as she adjusted her creamy oriental fan. "Maybe Mr. Norton will have a moment for me now. The dear man looks quite forlorn."

  Tired of her threats and her hints of whoring, Amora stepped close to the laughing woman. "Take him if you can. I don't think Barrington plays with trash."

  Almost smiling, Amora left Cynthia sputtering with scarlet cheeks and traipsed to the vicar. He looked quite well in his dark coat and pantaloons, but he wasn't Barrington. It hit her hard squarely in her heart how much she'd miss her husband once they separated. If he turned to Cynthia, it would cut like broken glass.

  But Amora was abandoning him. It was unfair to expect Barrington to have no one.

  "You look very pretty this evening." Vicar Wilson's fingers slipped along her lacy satin gloves as he led her to opposite positions in the quadrille. "But I don't think I'm the partner you want tonight."

  She shot him a nod of acknowledgment and kept her gaze from seeking Barrington. "Vicar, you are the only one to have asked."

  "Call me, Samuel. You and your mother, have taken to me like a brother." He spun her in the reel and exchanged spots. "As to your current problem, here's a little brotherly advice. A determined woman can do the asking. That Miss Miller seems determined."

  Glaring at him wouldn't be proper, so she concentrated on her steps. "It's not done, Vicar Wilson."

  He twirled her again, but made a misstep. "I suppose you are right, but is it not better to take some measure of control over your life, your home?"

  She stopped and looked up into his earnest face. "What are you trying to say?"

  "We men do make mistakes. It would be a shame to condemn someone forever, especially when they seek repentance."

  His head craned in the direction Barrington and Mama had traveled. "Forgiveness is a gift everyone needs from time to time."

  A sigh left her lips. What did she want of Barrington? Mutual Forgiveness? Another chance at their marriage? Could she risk it?

  She stopped dancing, dipped her hand into her reticule, and twisted her notes about her fingertips. Each folded piece of foolscap offered a reminder of the present. One giving the date. Another, that she was free. A few more saying stay aloof, listen not to a weak heart. The notes were all she had without Barrington's daily reassurance.

  Beaming down upon her, Samuel cast a breath-stealing smile. "Whatever you decide, know I only want your best."

  "Go do your politicking, Mr. Norton. Amora says you're so fond of it. I will be fine here." His mother-in-law took a seat and sipped her raffia punch.

  "Oh, not tonight. I need to convince London that the Norton household is united." And too much trouble lurked about. From his post along the wall, he could watch Amora and make sure she was not bothered by Charleton or too delighted by Wilson. Well, on the second count there wasn't much that could be done, but he could hope the man stubbed his toe or something.

  "You look sad." Mrs. Tomàs's voice rose over the noise of the crowd. "I wish there was something I could do to help."

  "You could've kept the separation paperwork until the morn instead of handing them to me right before we left for the ball." S
eeing the parchment made it too true, too final. He and Amora would actually part. He tweaked his spectacles, his mood fouling again. "No, you've done enough. My compliments to your solicitor. I found the passage regarding the provision for minor children particularly piercing."

  The woman colored a bit. "Yes, he's quiet knowledgeable, very accurate."

  "Too accurate." He ignored the funny lift of her eyes and motioned as if he'd been stabbed in the gut. "The agreement only lacked a section on breaking a neck at a winter fest. Too thorough, madam. Cruelly thorough."

  Her smile waned. "You are so like Mr. Tomàs, without understanding sometimes. Don't sign them. Don't separate. It's obvious you still love her."

  Barrington rubbed his face. "So five years later, I have your approval."

  "I will not lie. I did not think you good enough. Amora has the graces to be a duchess." She grasped his arm. "I wanted someone with purer blood. I didn't want her to face the scrutiny of always being an outsider, always being considered less than."

  "Is this suppose to be an endorsement?"

  "Hush, you fool. I'm trying to be nice. There will always be someone who will limit you. You can't control that. Let the love I see in you be the guide."

  He put a palm on the good pharaoh's fingers. "I wish she could see it."

  Mrs. Tomàs smiled, not like an alligator about to eat its prey, but a nice smile. She seemed rejuvenated these past weeks being Amora's confidant. Her onyx hair was coiffed high. Her delicate cheekbones held smooth timeless dark bronze skin. She could be no more than ten years his senior, but looked even younger. Even in this world where the lighter the skin the better, no one could miss Mrs. Tomàs's beauty.

  His Amora would age well. If only she'd let him be a part of her life. If she could return his love, he wouldn't need anything else, not even children to be complete. He knew that now.

  Barrington stopped gazing at his wife and the vicar and caught sight of Lord Cheshire plodding in his direction.

  Oh, Barrington completely forgot the duke's request. His hands had been pretty full. The duke would have to understand.

  Before the man could reach him, his duchess claimed his arm. The couple started the next set.

  Barrington would send him a note to arrange a meeting. If Smith's last words could be trusted the Dark Walk Abductor might be a peer or a person of influence. Barrington knew he wasn't less than, but he wasn't stupid. He'd need help in navigating a politically charged indictment.

  As Barrington adjusted his post, he saw Charleton. Unlike the duke, the man came at him full bore. You'd think mutually blackened eyes would be sufficient.

  The golden haired lecher stopped in front of him. "Well, Mr. Norton. What are you doing hiding over here in the corner?"

  "I was counting my blessings. I'm sure you've come to aid me."

  Charleton scanned back and forth. "You let the vision, your better half, spend time with another man?"

  Barrington failed at not gritting his teeth. "My wife has her own mind. She chooses her friends."

  Adjusting his dark waistcoat with gold threading, Charleton chuckled. "Now that is the one you need to watch. The vicar has charmed all the women in St. George. The widower needs to select his next wife and give the rest of us a respite."

  Barrington balled his fist. Separation or not, Wilson better not have those ideas when it came to Amora. "Change the subject. I am not in the mood to stop beating you senseless."

  The golden baboon laughed anew. The large blackened buttons of his waistcoat jingled. "Norton, you half-breed, you always come unglued over Miss Amora Tomàs."

  "Her name's Norton." And would remain so even if she no longer wanted him. Flashy fool. Barrington's temper simmered. "We are both of African descent, why does my blood bother you, but you claim to want her?"

  "Simple man. It doesn't bother her. Say a few choice words to you and you forget your accomplishments. It's quite fun to see the great barrister with my mother's ear act like a fool."

  Could one beat someone senseless and take their words to heart at the same time? Probably not.

  The foppish man belly laughed, then half-pivoted toward the dancing couples. "Well, at least you finally remembered what a diamond of the first water you have. Hopefully putting away tarnished things."

  "Stop. Miss Miller has made mistakes. We all do foolish things when we are young."

  Charleton squinted at him, rocked back on his heels. "That is true. I tried to steal Amora. We all tried, but she floated away."

  Barrington's heart pounded. It had to be beating louder than the music. Was Charleton admitting to abducting Amora? "What are you saying? Did you hurt her?"

  "You are insane if you think I touched a hair on her lovely head. Only a crazed person would." Charleton opened his mouth and released another series of laughs. Then his gaze drifted to the left. His face drained, his pale white complexion became even whiter. "What's he doing here?"

  Barrington turned.

  Lord Clanville, the dowager's oldest son, strolled into the room.

  Great. Two Charletons. More annoyance. "What makes the reclusive earl show?"

  The lecher whipped his hand through his light hair. "I shouldn't have teased him about almost kissing your wife. Excuse me." He headed in his brother's direction.

  Lord Clanville, a tall, athletic man, seemed to peer around the room.

  Polite gasps sounded. The dark eye patch poorly masked the burns to his face.

  Charleton grabbed the earl by the shoulders and pulled him out of the room. The rake seemed almost frightened by his brother's appearance. Well, let them both be gone.

  Air. Barrington couldn't stomach being a wallflower much longer. "Mrs. Tomàs, I need relief from the heat."

  "Now you decide to move?" She nodded as her palm tapped on the smooth tabletop.

  He swiveled and bumped into Amora. His arms went about her waist to steady her. "Excuse me."

  Her mouth opened, a gasp released. "I'm fine."

  Her long fingers crept up his lapel and straightened his cravat. "Did you quarrel with Charleton? You look cross."

  The stroke of her fingertip on his skin fevered his brow.

  He clasped her palm and tugged it to his heart. "Just counting the seconds to spend the rest of the night with you."

  She pulled her hand free and waved her fan. One of the flutters of the pleated fabric almost hit him.

  "Amora, this is a public place so you should have no fears of deeper intimacy."

  Her eyes stretched wide. "I'm not afraid."

  He straightened and looked over her head. "Where's the vicar? I thought he claimed your dances."

  "One of the matrons of St. George's came for him. He must do his share of politicking, too."

  With as easy of a smile as he could manage, he held his hand to her. "This is probably one of the last times you'll stand up with me. Indulge me. Let's show London we are united. I want to dance with my wife and pretend that the prettiest woman in the world loves me, flaws and all."

  The rhythm throbbed as the violins whizzed a Scottish tune. He tapped his slipper to the music and tried to appear at ease. Very difficult with her hint of lilac enticing him to lean near and nibble her neck. "Shall we?"

  "Very well." She put away her fan and took his extended elbow.

  With the slight touch, something surged his arm through the wool of his tailcoat and broadcloth of his shirt. Never more aware of her curves, the silk of her skin, he spun her in the reel. All of London could burn. Rivals could fend for themselves. Every one of his clients could stay in crisis. Close friends with wayward siblings, all would have to wait. His gaze, his time, was Amora's alone.

  The final coupling passed, and they now stood at the end of the line. She smiled at him. Her lips curled up as she caught her breath.

  He filled his own lungs. "Shall we risk another?" He held out his hand again.

  "If we must." She took it and nothing mattered anymore.

  The music turned to another lively t
une, something familiar. Her small smile dimmed a little.

  He recognized it. "Haydn?"

  "It's…It's the prelude to his first suite." Her voice sounded choppy, almost muted.

  His hand tightened on hers. "Your father. Didn't he use to play this?"

  "Yes." She lifted wide violet eyes. Sadness and something else clouded those perfect gems, yet they were still more lovely than the earrings he'd purchased earlier.

  "Let's get some air." He took her in his arms and waltzed her onto a balcony.

  She pulled a handkerchief from her reticule and dabbed her face. "It's been so long since I heard that. I shouldn't be so emotional."

  He drew his hand along her cheek. "You were taken so soon after your father's death. Maybe you haven't finished mourning."

  "I miss him so. He always protected me."

  He pivoted and stared out at the thick clouds in the night sky. "I've certainly done a poor job of it."

  Tugging on his arm, she made him turn. "Let's not discuss who did a poor job. We both did. This night is to be one of unity."

  "Yes, unity." A lantern hooked to the wall cast light about her. So pretty. He slid his arms about her and slowly pulled her near. "Our first kiss was on a balcony. Maybe that's why I love them so. Could our last be here too?"

  Her mouth opened. "I don't know."

  "Just one." He bent his head and let his breath cascade her ear. With his cheek, he nudged her turning her face up.

  His heartbeat slowed to a crawl as her eyes closed, and her wondrous lips parted.

  "Mr. Norton, there you are." Cynthia Miller's voice.

  He winced at the lyrical noise and Amora pulled away.

  "That is you and Mrs. Norton." She pattered close. "So happy to see you."

  Barrington spun and put Amora between them, but kept a protective arm about his wife's middle. He wasn't going to go home smelling of anything but lilacs. "Good evening, Miss Miller. Mrs. Tomàs is here too. You should go say hello."

  "I am to sing after dinner. Will you and Mrs. Norton get a good seat for the performance?"

  "Miss Miller, I'd like a private moment with my wife."

  Amora put a hand on his forearm. "Of course we will. You run along and save us some."