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

  Contents

  Unveiling Love

  Saving a Marriage or Winning the Trial of the Century

  Dedication

  Books by Vanessa Riley

  Cast of Primary Characters

  Chapter One: The Road to Answers

  Chapter Two: Fleeing the Pain

  Chapter Three: The Fall and The Fight

  Chapter Four: Waiting for Amora to Awaken

  Chapter Five: Needing an Ally

  Chapter Six: Past Yuletide

  Chapter Seven: An Honest Hurt

  Chapter Eight: An Honest Drive

  Chapter Nine: The Best Plans

  Chapter Ten: Mooning and Mourning at a Ball

  Chapter Eleven: Choice and Consequences

  Sneak Peak: Episode III

  Episode III of Unveiling Love

  Chapter One: Trouble and Truth

  Extras

  Glossary

  Sneak Peak: Unmasked Heart

  Sneak Peak: The Bargain III

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  Unveiling Love

  A London Regency Suspense Tale: Episode II

  Vanessa Riley

  Dear Lovely Reader,

  Unveiling Love is a serialized historical romance or soap opera told in episodes. Each episode averages three to eight chapters, about 18,000 to 30,000 words. Each episode resolves one issue. Emotional cliffhangers may be offered, but the plot, the action of the episode, will be complete in resolving this issue.

  My promise to you is that the action will be compelling, the romance passionate, and the journey like nothing you've read before. I will tell you in the forward the length. This episode, Episode II, is eleven chapters long, 40,000 words. Enjoy this Regency Romance.

  Vanessa Riley

  Winning in the courts, vanquishing England's foes on the battlefield, Barrington Norton has used these winner-take-all rules to script his life, but is London's most distinguished mulatto barrister prepared to win the ultimate fight, restoring his wife's love?

  Amora Norton is running out of time. The shadows in her mind, which threaten her sanity and alienate Barrington's love, have returned. How many others will die if she can't piece together her shattered memories? Can she trust that Barrington's new found care is about saving their marriage rather than winning the trial of the century?

  In this episode:

  Barrington Norton has always despised lies and has formed his life upon a foundation of truth. Yet, discovering the truth of Amora's past sends him to the breaking point. How can he ever make amends for not believing her? Will she ever love him as she once did?

  Amora Norton is tired, tired of fighting for her marriage and her sanity. Now that she understands how fleeting Barrington's love is, she wants none of it. It may be better off being alone than living with pity. Having lost all, can she find herself?

  Nonetheless, a serial abductor is at large, awakening to existence of the one that got away. Only a united couple can put an end to his reign of terror.

  Sign up for my newsletter at www.vanessariley.com or www.christianregency.com. Notices of releases, contests, my Regency Lover's pack, and other goodies will be made available to you.

  Dedication

  I dedicate this book to my copy editor supreme, my mother, Louise, my loving hubby, Frank, and my daughter, Ellen. Their patience and support have meant the world to me.

  I also dedicate this labor of love to critique partners extraordinaire: June, Mildred, Lori, Connie, Gail.

  Love to my mentor, Laurie Alice, for answering all my endless questions.

  Love to Sharon & Kathy, they made me feel the emotion. You're never second place in my heart.

  And I am grateful for my team of encouragers: Sandra, Michela, Felicia, Piper, and Rhonda.

  Books by Vanessa Riley

  Madeline's Protector

  Swept Away, A Regency Fairy Tale

  The Bargain, A Port Elizabeth Tale, Episodes I-IV

  Unveiling Love, A London Suspense Tale

  Unmasked Heart, A Regency Challenge of the Soul Series

  Sign up at VanessaRiley.com for contests, early releases, and more.

  Copyright © 2016 Vanessa Riley

  Published by BM Books

  A Division of Gallium Books

  Suite 236B, Atlanta, GA 30308

  All rights reserved. This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is coincidental.

  ISBN-13: 978-1-943885-09-1

  Barrington Norton: a barrister by trade, he is a free-borne mulatto gentleman of a wealthy black merchant's daughter and a landowner's ne'er-do-well son.

  Amora Norton: the wife of Barrington Norton. She is of mixed blood, the daughter of an Egyptian woman and a wealthy Spanish apple merchant.

  Smith: a man convicted of coining.

  Cynthia Miller: a songstress and sister of Gerald Miller.

  Gerald Miller: Barrington's best friend who saved his life during the Peninsula War.

  Mr. Beakes: Barrington's solicitor.

  Vicar Wilson: a minister serving at St. George

  Duke and Duchess of Cheshire: the newly married William St. Landon and Gaia Telfair

  Mrs. Gretling: an abigail to Amora.

  James: a man-of-all-work to Barrington.

  Mr. Charleton: a rival of Barrington from their youth.

  Chapter One: The Road to Answers

  Rain splashed against the glass of the carriage as it rumbled down the road. Amora sat on her hands across from Barrington. Barely a word exchanged between them since their harrowing flight from London at dawn.

  He'd caught her asleep on the floor, but his anger at the fight at his patroness's home must've made him forget. Good. He'll have a lot more to understand once they arrived at Tomàs Manor.

  In another hour or so, Mother would give him answers he'd never expect. Sleeping on the floor wouldn't seem so bad, but would Barrington understand? Could a man ever fully understand being made a victim, knowing other victims? Could he ever accept being so low and helpless? Never. Not Barrington.

  She glanced at him again. His bruised countenance bobbled as his head zigged and zagged along the seatback. His snow-white cravat fluttered with each short snore.

  He hadn't shaved. Not how he liked to start his day with light stubble edging his chin. At least he'd changed his clothes from his soiled evening pantaloons and coat.

  Oh, that dreadful party. His reputation must be in tatters. What would be the repercussions for a mulatto, a black, striking a member of the ton?

  A sigh left her like a billow used to stoke flames, only she had none. Her fire was gone. He didn't believe her, just like mother. The man she loved thought her wanton.

  And how could she forgive him constantly being with Cynthia? How strong of a man could he be with a tart constantly trying to give him pie? Even a self-righteous man could get hungry.

  She pushed at her brow, trying to remember what happiness was. It wasn't in the carriage, or London. Certainly not with Mother. Yet, did happiness exist with Barrington, being with him, being married to him? She could count the days on one pinky, the moments she didn't fret over his opinions, his wants, his desires.

  With her middles stewing, she balled her fists, hiding the unnumbered fingers. When he discovered how wrong he was to believe Cynthia's lies, could Amora ever fully trust that he'd never have another moment in which doubts abo
ut her honor would win?

  With a shake of her head, she turned to the window and the endless streams of water. Surely, that must be a bad omen. Yes, his god was still angry with her. Maybe mother's Isis was too.

  "Gerald, no!" Barrington bolted up. His grey eyes were vacant, then beset with heavy blinks. He rubbed his face and peered out the window. "We are getting close. Pity to visit Mrs. Tomàs on such a wet day."

  "Weeks away from yuletide, she'll probably be too busy with things. She'll not care. Besides, she's used to me showing up looking like a drowned rat. If she tries to get us to stay, don't agree."

  His lips thinned as he tugged at his lapel. "Rat? What does that mean and explain last night, too? Why did you come to the ball? And why were you alone with Charleton?"

  "That's a lot of questions. A famed Barrington Norton interrogation." She folded her arms about her cape. "Why don't you explain yourself? Why did you not want me to go, and why were you embracing Cynthia Miller? No, I forgot. The accused can't ask questions."

  He leaned back as his frown lifted in a smirk. "Clever. Madam judge can ask questions of a barrister. I have nothing to hide. I do apologize for causing a scene. I simply lost my head when I saw you with a rake."

  "No other explanations?" She tilted her head forward. Her heavy heart made her wobble a bit. "You touched a peer, an innocent one. The ramifications--"

  "I'll deal with that. My short absence might be warranted, but I doubt Charleton will do anything of it, for it will expose him too and you. He's so fond of you."

  She held her irritation at his lack of belief in her inside. "Well, Cynthia Miller will miss you. And don't deny it. I saw you two."

  "What?" He rubbed his jaw. "So that's how Charleton tricked you, with jealousy? She's very emotional right now. Caught in some trouble, but my investigator will solve that."

  Amora tried hard not to roll her eyes to avoid seeing the growing pile of stupidity and hopelessness building in her skull. "Always helping others. That jade won't bother Beakes. She finds reasons to be around you. Can't you see she's in love with you? That she'll use anything to twist you up, to compromise you?"

  "Preposterous. She's Gerald Miller's little sister. I need to protect her. Miller saved my life. I owe it to him."

  Barrington leaned forward. His smirk increased. "So out of jealousy, you went alone with a rake to the garden. Convenient of him being able to give you a tour."

  "I thought…" She turned her head and tried to search for the right words to convince him, but the old spire of the priory came into view. A chill raced through her down to the boning of her corset. She had intended to paint it before her abduction. That horrible day - grabbed out of her slippers, beating on masculine arms that had to have been forged in iron - stuck in her head. One. Two. Hard to breathe.

  Something caught her hand.

  She jerked away, only to witness Barrington's concerned pout. He'd joined her on her seat. "We could go straight to Cornwall. A couple of notes at the next post off to Hessing, and we could start anew."

  He put an arm about her back, toyed with a raven curl poking from her bonnet. "You just have to pay the price." Pulling closer to her ear, his whispered breaths kissed her lobe. "Just the truth, Amora."

  How dare he?

  How could he try to seduce her into a lie, because he couldn't accept the truth? She stiffened, tried to push away, but he crowded her. How ironic. She usually crowded him.

  "Please, Amora."

  His sweet strong voice made her want to curl up in his lap and retreat into the safety of his arms like last night. But, could she pay the price? She didn't have any more lies to give, just ugly truths.

  With a shake of her head, she said no and shoved on his chest. "Go back to your seat, Barr."

  His grey eyes smoldered. He lifted her palm and put his lips to them. "Don't you want to start anew? Pay the piper. Own your lies, all of them."

  Pulse rising, pounding in despair, she wrenched away. Hurt at his words and her terrible weakness for him. "Stop it. I'm not in the mood to be bedded and then dismissed again."

  Barrington blinked and sat back. "Amora, I am ready to hear your side. I'll forgive anything. I just need the truth."

  "Go to your seat. Take your suspicions with you."

  Hands in the air, he lunged to his side of the carriage. "I'm trying to make this easier for you. There's vanity in falsehoods. It's best to own our mistakes."

  "My own flesh and blood, the woman who birthed me didn't believe me. Why should the man I wed?"

  She looked to her lap and folded her hands beneath the creamy wool of her stole. Only a stranger, Vicar Wilson, and perhaps, Mr. Charleton understood. She slumped against the window and counted tufts of white silk lining the carriage walls. "Mother will tell you what you want to know."

  Until this moment, she didn't realize how similar her Mama and Barrington were. No wonder neither loved her enough.

  Gunshots rang out.

  Barrington's gaze shot to the carriage window. The rain had stopped but low clouds still filled the sky. Traveling on the back roads held a certain amount of danger, but he always rode prepared.

  He ran a finger along the knob fastening the compartment under the seat. James kept a gun oiled inside and stocked with plenty of bullet packets. He'd protect his wife from bandits. No one would ever have a chance to hurt her again. No rake or bandit.

  Another gun belched. The sound was a high pitch squeal. That was a small weapon, one not built for war or highwaymen. He eased back onto his seat.

  Amora rubbed her temples. "Mother must be practicing her pistols. She hasn't done that since Papa…in a long time."

  As the carriage came to a stop, he spied Mrs. Tomàs traipsing from the orchards toward the large house. Her raven hair bounced with each step. The simple straw bonnet did a poor job of keeping her tresses orderly.

  Coming from the direction of the big stable house, the unusual woman, with skin almost as dark as his, carried a flintlock and dangled it by her side. So unlike the fastidious lady of his memories, the one who belittled his stature, his race, his personal small fortune absent his grandfather's wealth, even his father's waywardness on their last meeting. For Amora, Henutsen Tomàs had wanted a man of noble blood like the Charletons or truthfully any white gentleman of means.

  The heat in his lungs started to burn his nostrils. He extended his arm to Amora. "Last chance."

  Chin high, she pushed past him and plodded up the steps to the wide portico. "Let's be done with this."

  His feet became weighty lead. He held onto the door of the carriage. His plan to learn the truth no longer seemed like a good one. How much worse would he feel when Mrs. Tomàs confirmed his suspicions?

  Or even worse.

  What if she didn't and Amora had truly been abducted, how would he make up for his lack of trust?

  Thunder clapped. He tensed adding pressure to the bullet wound in his hip. A just reward for acting like a jealous fool and riding hours in a carriage. Shaking out his leg, he eased to the ground. "James, refresh the horses in the stables. This could take awhile."

  His man nodded and moved the carriage forward. Barrington hurried and caught up to his wife.

  "Mr. Norton, Amora? What are you doing here?" His mother-in-law set her gun down and wiped her hands on the sides of her dark colored walking dress. "I would have prepared something had I known."

  Barrington step forward and bowed his head. "We've come to ask you questions."

  "He came to ask questions." Amora moved behind him almost as if she hid.

  What could she be afraid of? Mrs. Tomàs wasn't much taller than she. They shared similar body weights, nothing to fear.

  "Mr. Norton, looks like you caught the bad end of a fight. But you look well, dear." The older woman swiped at her face and held her arms open, beckoning with a nod for Amora to come.

  Her daughter bristled and stepped away. She slunk to the corner and clung to one of the whitewashed posts supporting the covered roof. "
Tell Barrington what happened."

  Her voice sounded short, hot like fire. Then it died away in the increasing wind. She played with the buttons on her cream redingote. Three people stood on the portico. How could it be possible for her to feel so alone?

  Mrs. Tomàs retrieved her shawl from a chair sitting against the wall. "I've missed you, sweetheart. Let me get the cook to make you something to eat."

  Undoing the strings of her egret feather bonnet, Amora kept her focus toward the thick grove of trees, the start of the Tomàs Orchards. "Get the papers. Show him."

  Tears dribbled down his mother-in-law's stoic face as she moved near her daughter and stroked her back. "Are you sure?"

  "Yes. Barrington, follow her." The tone smoldered again, short, punctuated, determined. "Ask your questions. Find your truth."

  He adjusted his spectacles. Part of him wanted to embrace his wife and tell her he'd changed his mind, but that wouldn't stop his questions. No, only the truth would.

  He took note of her stiff posture, her expressionless gaze toward the trees. She didn't seem like one fearing exposure, but she didn't cry out her innocence either.

  The Old Bailey would convict her.

  Hadn't he?

  Releasing a deep breath, Barrington trailed the gun-toting pharaoh Tomàs into the house, but stopped at the door. "This will be over in a few minutes. Then we'll start again."