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

by Vanessa Riley

  Chains clinked and clanged as the chained woman knocked the bonnet off Amora's head and pressed ragged nails into Amora's chin. Sarah said, "His pet, did you come for her? I hear you moaning, panting for light. Is he coming? Did he send you?"

  "Mrs. Norton." Barrington pulled Amora from the bed. "Miss Calloway's too far gone. Let's get you out of here."

  Clang, Clang. Sarah pulled on her chains as if to break free from the bed. "Don't leave me. No more darkness. Don't hurt me because I'm not her. I'll do anything. Consent. I consent." She yanked her blanket from her legs. "Consent."

  Barrington threw the wool back onto her limbs. "So, the tales of depravity are true. The Dark Walk Abductor made you harlot yourself for freedom. What did this man look like?"

  Miss Calloway's eyes grew wide. "The man in the dark."

  Barrington stooped near. "The man in the dark, was his arms skinny or thick?"

  "Thick like a tree trunk." She pried her fingers apart as if they straddled a huge log. Her chewed nails wiggled over an imagined circumference of at least sixteen inches. "He threw me against a curved wall. Slammed my head. His heavy weight smothered everything. Nothing but night." She dropped her face into her knees.

  "Poor creature." Barrington stood and towed Amora to him, his hands cupping her abdomen. "Providence kept my mind safe through four long years of war. He's helped you with your battles. God should be able to restore this girl."

  "Hypocrite." Sarah's voice sounded loud, strident. "We prayed to God, but He didn't help. Did He, Amora?" The lass wept and slumped back into a ball. "Only helps those not trapped in the ruins."

  "She said my name! Barrington, she called to me." She pulled from him and ran to Sarah. "You do remember me. You remember the ruins, the Priory." She wrapped the frail woman into her arms.

  Tears flowed from Amora, pouring out of every reserve and hidden place inside. Someone else could attest to what happened. Sarah wasn't a figment of her imagination. They were together, and they both lived.

  Yet, that meant the worse was also true.

  Sarah was a Dark Walk Abductor victim.

  Then, Amora must be too.

  Amora couldn't breathe. She opened her mouth, hoping to suck in air, but nothing came in or out. Not until Barrington gripped her hand and kissed the bulging veins of her wrist.

  He stooped again, perhaps he knelt. "Miss, God does help and He hasn't forgotten you or your plight." His gaze locked with Amora's. "Some of God's miracles take longer."

  Sarah shook head, her eyes slimming to slits. "But you will forget me."

  Amora wiped her face against the sleeve of her spencer. "I won't. I've been desperate to remember you, to see you in places other than my nightmares."

  "He's coming. Hear his footsteps?" Sarah started to shriek and yanked at clumps of her hair.

  Barrington stepped near the door. "We should leave Miss Calloway in peace."

  "He's coming! He's coming for her, for her." She started hitting herself with the chain links.

  Amora covered Sarah up, holding her arms so she couldn't hurt herself. "The monster's gone from here."

  The administrator opened the door, "Boy, boy, come here. I need help."

  The man trailed back into the hall. "Boy!"

  Barrington stood, his honey-colored complexion seemed to pale. Could the lad identify him?

  Her wonderful husband caught her gaze, and puffed out his chest with pride. "I am prepared for anything."

  Her husband couldn't end up in Newgate prison.

  Panic at losing him pinched at her side. A dull ache, familiar and strong, pinched at her middle. She lifted her head to peer over Sarah, spying the candle.

  She patted her mumbling friend, then popped up close to the candle and reached for the wick.

  "Don't, Amora. I have to face my actions." Before Barrington could stop her, she took a breath and snuffed the light.

  Darkness fell upon her, just like in the Priory, in her cell. Amora's pulse pounded. She doubled over as the pain increased. A scream broke from her mouth.

  "Amora! Where are you, Amora?"

  She moved from the deep voice. It was a trick. Barr was at war, not trapped with the monster.

  The feel of someone's breath on her neck set every nerve on fire.

  The sound of dragging footsteps forced her to her knees. Amora screamed at things touching her. No man could have her. She hit the unmovable arms, the bands of iron coming at her. She yelled for no one but God, for no person ever came. No one.

  Still, she fought. Her no's blended with Sarah's.

  The music of Sarah's voice guided Amora to her friend.

  Just like before, she took Sarah's hand and threaded her arms about her. "Together, we fight."

  Sarah stopped shrieking and held onto her. "Together."

  Once again, it was them against the beast.

  Amora closed her eyes and let the pitch dark hide them.

  Barrington hunted his pockets, desperate for his lighter. It popped out and slid into the darkness of the floor. Useless.

  His attempts to grab Amora ended with a punch to his cheek. She needed to see his face to know it was him and not her abductor. "Amora, it's me. Barrington. I'll get you light. Hold on for the light."

  Feeling his way back to the entrance in the now silent room, everything within him cringed and twisted.

  He reached for the door, but his head bounced as it flung open sending him crashing into the wall. A man blocked the hall light, keeping it from his terrified wife and her Sarah. "What the devil is going on in here?"

  "Sir, what did you want?"

  Another voice. Could it be the young man who led Barrington to Miller? Barrington came from behind the door and held up his wrists to be led away to the magistrate. Then, he realized the darkness hid his hands, too. Amora had sacrificed herself for him again. Just as she did when the cliff gave way, and the night Beakes came to Mayfair.

  "Excuse me, sir." Greene knocked into Barrington as he pushed inside. "Boy! Go get a lantern and a doctor from upstairs."

  "Yes, sir." The pounding of the lad's boots faded.

  Amora had saved Barrington. What a woman!

  But, at what cost? His heart thundered anew.

  With only the sound of Greene's fussing and stomping, the room was eerily quiet. "Miss Calloway, look at the light from the hall."

  "Yes, Amora. You look too. It's not dark outside this room. Let's leave."

  "No one move," Greene said. "I don't want Miss Calloway more agitated. She could be a danger to herself."

  When it came to his wife, Barrington would wait for no one. His angel was in the grips of an insane woman, covered in mind-numbing terror. What if Miss Calloway strangled his love? With no answer, he elbowed past Greene. "Amora?"

  Barrington trudged over to the wall and fingered it until he found the sconce. From an inner pocket in his greatcoat, he located some flint. It would have to do. With a prayer and groan, it lit the candle.

  Like a soft whisper in the woods, the light grew and spread, filling the room. When he turned to the bed, his heart flung past his hurting ribs and jammed into his throat.

  Amora had fainted and lay atop the cot, huddled back to back arms interlocked at the elbows with Miss Calloway. Each woman faced a different direction. A protective stance, probably meant to keep them safe from an approaching assault.

  Everything hurt all over again.

  He neared the women, untwisted their limbs, and pulled his wife from the bed tucking her safely into his arms. "I have you, Mrs. Norton. I'm never letting go. We're leaving, Mr. Greene."

  "Your wife…she knows Miss Calloway. She's a victim, too."

  "Don't. Don't leave me, Amora." Sarah sat up. "They don't understand."

  Amora roused with wide blinking eyes. "She's real, Barrington."

  She felt so weak in his arms. Her listless mouth mumbled, "I didn't lie,"

  With flailing arms, Miss Calloway reached for her. "Please, don't go."

  But nothing
would take Amora from him, not now, not ever. "I have to take my wife home, but we won't forget you. We'll visit again. You've been…" He cleared his parched throat. "Most helpful."

  Greene caught Barrington's arm, stopping his retreat. "Can you really decipher such gibberish?"

  He shook free, but did so without upsetting Amora. "I can. Miss Calloway's description eliminates a number of suspects. No man who has ever been less than a sack of cannonballs, maybe a hundred and thirty pounds, could be their abductor."

  "That's half of London." Greene sighed and rubbed his neck. "But, no one will believe Miss Calloway. Maybe this young woman, your wife –"

  "Good day, sir." Barrington stormed down the hall and out of Bedlam's doors. Amora had experienced enough, suffered too much to be on the witness box, even if it meant convicting the Dark Walk Abductor.

  "Sarah lives." Amora's voice was airy as if caught in sleep. Was she in shock?

  "Augh." She groaned.

  The knot in Barrington's throat returned. Heaviness filled his already low spirits.

  He kissed her brow. "I'm going to take you home and make you feel as safe as possible."

  Across the yard and through the gates, he ran to his carriage. Cradling her as if she were a Wedgewood vase, Barrington lifted her onto the seat. Holding her hand, he knelt at her side.

  Her face was more pale than before. She was in pain.

  James poked his head inside the opening. "Sir, is she well? Should I fetch a doctor?"

  "Let's get her home to familiar surroundings." He loosened her coat, then brushed a wayward lock that had descended from her bun.

  His man nodded and shut the door.

  Amora's breathing was ragged and slow.

  Swallowing his fear for her life, her sanity, he put his finger to her trembling abdomen. He felt a jolt of a contraction. He hoped it was nerves. His fear of losing her and now the babe was coming to fruition.

  No.

  Everything in his spirit shouted it again until the word fell from his lips. "No!"

  She wasn't going to lose anything else. He put both hands on her stomach. "This is your father. Stay in there. Stay well in there. It's not time. We haven't prepared for you."

  Her stomach trembled again.

  When would children ever listen? Maybe this one would live to be as stubborn as his mother. Lord, help me keep them safe.

  Chapter Two: A Raid

  Barrington's landau turned onto Mayfair Lane. He rocked a barely alert Amora in his arms. "We are almost home."

  She was distant. With each vibration of the carriage, she bit her lip. "I'm sorry, Barr."

  "For what? We found Sarah. That should make you happy."

  She looped her fingers with his and pressed her stomach. "For this miscar--"

  He couldn't let her say the ugly word. Then it would be true and Amora's sacrifice for his sorry hide would be complete. Lord, please don't let it come to pass. Not again.

  His fingertips felt another smaller contraction. The babe couldn't come now, not with barely five months of stewing. But hadn't he known this would happen?

  She closed her eyes again. "Proof… not a liar."

  What delusion made him think it was a good idea to take her to Bedlam to see Sarah Calloway? He should've gone with his gut, not that desperate look in her eyes.

  Yet, Amora had become like himself needing to claim her own proof. Now this quest could cost everything.

  If they lost this child, Amora might slip into a depression or worse, lose her reason like the other victims.

  And how would he get along, knowing he allowed all of this to happen? He should've convinced her to abandon the hunt. She didn't need any more proof. She needed to accept she was a Dark Walk Abductor victim. "Lord, let her come back to herself, in her right mind. Don't let the monster win."

  His shoulders sagged. His head dipped against the seat. She was beautiful and brave and foolhardy to thrust herself into darkness for him. He should rot in Newgate for all the hurt he'd caused.

  He brushed a curly tendril from her forehead, then traced an eyebrow. "You may not be able to hear me, you may not even feel the same, but know I love you, Amora." God of Heaven, save my family.

  The landau stopped in front of their town home behind two other carriages. Who visited Mayfair? His stomach knotted tighter. These didn't appear to be delivery wagons.

  Opening the door of the carriage, James tilted his head to the foreign carriages. "Sir, are you sure you and the misses want to return home?"

  "My wife needs to rest in her own bed, whether I'm in Newgate or not. Go get my cousin."

  "Yes, sir."

  He eased off the seat and hoisted Amora into his arms. He'd get her settled with her mother then face the penalties of stealing Miller. If runners were scouring his house, maybe they'd let Barrington stay with his wife until the worst was over. The temptation to pull his pistol from beneath the seat pressed, but he'd use his words not bullets to keep his family.

  Amora shifted her head against his shoulder. "Love you, too."

  He closed his eyes for a second as he reached the door. When was the last time she'd said that to him? The night they conceived this miracle she spoke of guarding their love, but not of loving him.

  But his feelings for her were so much more, had always been that way since the moment he spied her painting in Tomàs Orchards. He pressed her slim body against his heart. "I love you so much it hurts."

  After a few raps with his elbow, Mrs. Gretling opened the door. Her skin was flush. "Mr. Norton, the house is in chaos." Her light eyes grew larger. "The mistress is unwell?"

  He didn't know the answer and pressed inside. "Get Mrs. Tomàs. She can help." He laid Amora on the sofa in the parlor, stooped beside her and clasped her hand. "Hurry."

  "Mrs. Tomàs thought ye attic project needed something extra. I believe she went to Cheapside. Then she's going to shoot her flintlock at an old friend's estate in the afternoon. Women and guns, indeed. I don't--"

  There was no time for the abigail's ramblings. Frustrated, he waved a palm in the air. "What is occurring at Mayfair?"

  "The workmen had just finished the painting up there in the attic. Then ye Mr. Beakes arrived and begun searching the house. Says there is a fugitive here."

  Gerald. They came for his friend. How did he know Miller was here?

  Barrington gazed at Amora. She laid so still. She was everything he ever wanted. This was his fault, leaving her for the war, bringing Miller here. "James went for a doctor. Go find Mrs. Tomàs at once. Tell her Amora's having contractions."

  "She's birthing? What? Are you sure? It's too soon. Not another baby lost." Mrs. Gretling covered her mouth and ran from the room.

  Maybe the Pharaoh had a witches' brew that could do some good. Barrington was just about desperate for anything. He turned and spied his mother-in-law's idols on the mantle. Well, almost anything. He hadn't lost his mind to grief…yet.

  Whipping off his coat, he bundled it about Amora. Maybe he could convince his solicitor to let him stay with Amora until she and the babe were well. He'd fight with his fists to do so. Perhaps he should've brought in the pistol. One of Beake's men might attempt to stab him.

  Barrington heard the pounding of boots. The men must be coming up from the basement.

  He stood up straight, but laced his fingers with Amora's. "Hear me, Amora. I'm here until they drag me away."

  Beakes marched into the parlor first. The drumming of his footfalls slowed and echoed on the floor, just like Barrington's heart. Anxious over Amora, Miller, and Newgate, the poor organ beat a crazed rhythm. It had surely flopped out his shirt and awaited crushing. What to do?

  More boots sounded.

  Barrington couldn't help but close his fingers tighter about Amora's.

  "Barr, what's happening?"

  He couldn't answer. Her frail voice sliced through him as a vision of poor confused Miller being dragged away filled his head. Barrington held his breath as he readied for Beakes's goons t
o try and move him. If he couldn't withstand them, how would Amora make it with him tossed into Newgate?

  Two burly runners appeared at the threshold, without Miller.

  Surprised, relieved, but not stupid, Barrington puffed out his chest covering up his complicity. He needed to act as an innocent man would to stay with Amora. "What is the meaning of this, Beakes? Why are you upsetting my household?"

  "We were told the fugitive, Gerald Miller, was being aided here."

  Shaking on the inside, Barrington pivoted from his solicitor and drew a handkerchief from his pocket and mopped Amora's sweating brow. "Did you find him?"

  "No. But that doesn't mean he wasn't here. Someone's been living in your basement."

  He placed a palm on his wife's abdomen. The quivering of stomach continued. His chest constricted more with each pulse. Lord, where are you? Barrington cleared his throat. "Those are servant's quarters. We have servants. Beakes, sending your mongrels at me is one thing, but to desecrate my home is another. My wife is ill. I need you to leave."

  "I haven't sent anyone after you. But, I had to look. Miss Miller said the fugitive was here."

  Cynthia turned in her own brother? Barrington shook his head, but his gaze stayed on Amora counting her breaths. "Why would she send you here?"

  "At Hessing's insistence, I took her to the magistrate for hiding a murderer. A night in Newgate loosened her tongue." He thumbed his jacket. "But a forked tongue. Sorry, Norton. She's probably just angered over a recent incident." He waggled a brow.

  Barrington rubbed his skull. Being known as an adulterer apparently had a benefit. Surely, his wayward father must be looking up and smiling. "Newgate? That's for hardened criminals. For men."

  "Hessing made sure she was safe, but he wants the Dark Walk Abductor. He'll do what he must to win."

  The ominous warning foretold where Barrington now stood with his mentor. The man won at all costs and his prize project, the mulatto barrister was a liability.