Losing Angeline: London Calling Book Two (5 page)

He’d do nothing to spoil the start of a perfect weekend.

***

A week passed before Angeline relaxed about the photograph. It had made its way into their local news and beyond, which was why she found out about it despite John’s best efforts to keep her shielded. It wasn’t only the partial shot of her face that made the rounds. Unfortunately, the same photographer had captured them in a personal moment with John kissing her hand while she joyfully laughed down at him. It was beautiful and romantic, a photo perfectly framing two young lovers in the gilded prime of their lives.
 

All the world really does love lovers. The outlets ate it up.

Luckily, it died down, like all news did, with no overt adverse consequences. No echoes from her past came knocking. None of her nightmares came screaming to life.

And the silver lining was the young artist received spectacular coverage. He received orders from all over the States after the article published. People were curious about the pieces showcased in such a glamorous event with its beautiful clientele.
 

It was late morning in the gallery, but the sun refused to brighten the polished pale floors. Angeline fussed with a fresh flower arrangement gracing a large circular table in the gallery’s entrance. As she gazed through the leaded glass windows flanking the heavy wooden door, she could see dark clouds crowding over Telfair Square.
 

Good. The heat was oppressive and a nice storm would break its pall over the city. Although it was later in the summer season, Angeline knew Savannah never really cooled off. Years before, she’d mastered the accent and dialect. Today, she could easily write a column on Southern graciousness and etiquette. But she might never adjust to the unforgiving, merciless heat of Georgia.

After all, it was so different from where she’d grown up.

Lansing, Michigan’s weather lived in direct opposition to Savannah’s. Sometimes, all she remembered was the cold. The unrelenting, bitter winters with their frigid winds that had sucked the very breath from her lungs. Her coats had never been warm enough. Her shoes never waterproofed against the slush and grime that seeped its way into her too-thin socks.

Angeline inhaled a breath of humid air, reminding herself where she was now. She wasn’t sure why she’d been plagued lately by old, nearly forgotten memories of worse times. Perhaps it was the impending storm that roiled the sky above her with its angry winds. Regardless, she would put her painful past where it belonged — locked beneath the layers of her created self.
 

She was warm. And she had all the money she could ever want. Her world was filled with the love and laughter of her husband and child.

There was no place in her new life for the sad echoes of its cold and distant past.

***

Edward Pierce sat beneath the draping Spanish moss of a hundred year old oak tree. His gaze drifted over Telfair Square, watching as pedestrians hurried to their destinations, attempting to avoid being caught in the rain. He sniffed, glancing at the full-size, traditional umbrella he’d hooked into the arm of the park bench where he sat.

People never planned.
 

The air was redolent with late summer scents. While the live oaks still held their leaves, other trees seemed to do so with less vigor. Faint hints of brown and yellow tinted them, early signs of the withering dryness of autumn. Bushes and plantings were dropping their lush blooms. He sat amidst their wind-blown glory, looking down to see several flowers between his well-worn leather shoes. He crushed one underfoot, smiling faintly as it released its heady fragrance.
 

This late in the season, and especially with the impending storm, the moss took on a haunting effect. Overall, it was a beautiful space laden with the burdens and triumphs of its own history.

He hated it.

A strong wind rippled through the square, moist with the coming rain. The clouds rolled upon each other, building into a dense miasma that promised thunder and lightning soon. He supposed it was time for him to go. But he’d wanted a glimpse, a mere sighting, so badly. He wanted the visual confirmation that his hunches and research were correct.
 

That Mrs. Angeline Dubois Sinclair, formerly Angela Durant, was his Angel.

Mrs.

The thought brought bile into his mouth and he took a deep breath, flaring his nostrils like an angry bull. Rising, he gathered his trench coat and umbrella with jerky precision. Perhaps it was best today was not the day. He needed to harness his anger, tamp it down until it became useful and productive for his plans. There would be plenty of time for Angel to pay for giving herself to another man.
 

Walking along the brick pavers, he circled a central planting before stepping close to the edge of the park to view the museum across the street. She was in there, he could feel it.
 

But he needed to
know.
 

In the distance, lightning flared from the clouds, cutting a jagged path into the darkened sky. Thunder cracked the silence, jolting him into scrabbling to open his umbrella. He’d barely hoisted it over his head before sheets of rain came splashing down, nearly obscuring his vision.

And it was then,
right then
, that she appeared.
 

She threw open the doors of the museum, both arms bracing them wide as she laughed up into the furious sky. Golden light from the museum haloed her, giving her an otherworldly appearance.
 

Edward angled the umbrella with shaking hands so she wouldn’t be able to see him, in case she looked across to the park. Breathing deep, he allowed his earlier anger to be swallowed by familiar, forbidden desire.

She was everything. And he had found her, finally, after so many, many years.

Angel.

CHAPTER FOUR

J
OHN
HUNG
UP
the phone, confirming their dinner reservation for that evening in an intimate French bistro Angeline loved. Tomorrow was their anniversary, but she wanted to spend it as a family. He’d agreed, forgoing their usual romantic getaway for a fun day in the parks and markets with Devon, and maybe Dominic too.
 

Angeline seemed a little off lately, almost as if she were worried. When he asked, she brushed it off, excusing her mood as a consequence of the weeklong storms currently battering Savannah. John grinned. For a Southern woman, born and bred, Angeline could be decidedly testy when it was hot, humid, and wet.
 

His smile faded as he thought about her recent brooding. He knew, deep down, it wasn’t the weather at all. The old worry gripped him. What if she was bored with their life together? What if a woman like Angeline couldn’t be content with someone like him?

He wondered sometimes why he’d ever thought she would be.

After several long moments, his brow cleared as his natural confidence reemerged. No, she showed no signs of being unhappy with him. And certainly never with Devon. It must be something else. Maybe it was the gallery and its demands. Making a decision, he decided they would talk tonight. Really talk. And he wouldn’t allow her to distract or charm him into lovemaking before they did. He wanted to make sure she was enjoying their life as much as he was.

It was also time to broach the idea of another child. Devon was four, nearly five years old now. He wanted her to have siblings, other than her honorary brother Dom. If they waited much longer, there might be too much of a gap for the closeness he wanted for his children.
 

He’d been an only child, as had Angeline. And while their parents had coddled them both in different ways, it had been isolating living in a house with only adults for company. He’d wanted camaraderie, a kinship with someone bonded by blood.
 

He frowned. For once, he honestly didn’t know if Angeline felt the same way. She never discussed her childhood in much detail, he realized.
 

Oh, she filled in the major blanks, outlining her formative years in glowing, but rather vague terms. In fact, if John were to tell someone about her life, he could do so with factual accuracy, almost like filling out a questionnaire. It was the layers and depths derived from an emotional context surrounding the facts which were missing. But she couldn’t be the warm, engaging woman she was today without having had an idyllic start. She was a centered, well-adjusted wife and mother, if a little overprotective at times. But that was natural. And it only meant she would likely be more than eager for another child, as he was.

Patrick Martin, his best friend and business partner, walked into his office. Looking at the phone where John’s hand still rested after hanging it up earlier he asked, “Am I interrupting? Do you need to make a call?”

John straightened, clearing his throat. “No, no. I’m just daydreaming. Making plans for this evening for a date with my wife.”

Patrick grinned. “Ah, romance is in the air. But isn’t tomorrow your anniversary?”

“Yep. It hardly seems possible it’s been seven years.”

Patrick shook his head, agreeing. “No, that’s the truth. I remember standing up with you, hotter than hell itself at the courthouse in Baton Rouge. Why were we in Baton Rouge? I can’t even remember.”

“Gilbert.”

John raised his brows, confused.

“
Hurricane
Gilbert.”

“Ah, that’s right! Damn, I forgot about that.”

“Well Angeline wasn’t letting anyone forget about it at the time. Remember how she carried on? You’d have thought she never lived through a tropical storm before.”

Patrick laughed, remembering. “Thank goodness she’s calmed down in the years since. Although, to be fair, it was her wedding and even though you guys kept it low key, she was entitled to be a little nervy. I’ve never met a bride who wasn’t.”

“Even Alice?” John’s voice carried disbelief. Alice Martin was the most levelheaded woman he knew. He’d never seen her with a hair out of place or less than perfectly composed.
 

Patrick huffed out a laugh. “Hell yes, even Alice. You never saw it, but I was convinced for a while she’d call the whole thing off.”

“No.” John refused to believe it.

“Oh yes. Remember that little con we were wrapping up at the time? The coin-slabbing fix?”

John cast his mind back, remembering the little game they’d played with coin collectors and their valuations of ‘slabbed coins.’ The coins were preserved within an airtight, hard plastic case after grading. Certain collectors took the grades as gospel, never doubting that anything could change once the coins were encapsulated and sealed.

They’d had a guy, a brilliant and young chemistry student, who had a knack for popping the coins free, polishing their finishes to a fine luster, and resubmitting them for higher grading. He had an amazing success rate and they’d made a lot of money for the short time they’d practiced the con.

John’s head shot up. “Yes, it was great! Our guy was nearly flawless. But you called it off, never fully explaining. Are you saying it had something to do with Alice?”

Patrick nodded. “I hadn’t exactly been forthcoming with her about our ventures at the time. Our kid was nearly perfect, you’re right — except when he let slip what we were all up to. He figured she knew. I thought she’d take my head off as soon we were alone again.”

John burst out in laughter. “I’ll be damned. Well, I’d say she came around eventually. Of course, that’s all in the past anyway.”

“Yes, what Alice failed to do, Angeline accomplished. We are reformed men.” Patrick slapped John on the shoulder. “I swear that woman of yours has an iron will hiding under all that polish. She may look delicate, but she’s stubborn as a damned mule.”

John held up his hands in surrender. “You are preaching to the choir, my friend. I can’t get anything past her. Well,” he smiled crookedly, “I’m hoping my anniversary gift surprises her tonight. But that’s all.”

“Why aren’t you two going out of town? Alice and I were surprised we’d only have Devon tonight.”

“Ang wants to spend the weekend together as a family. In fact, you should bring Dominic when you come over tomorrow morning with Devon. We’ll take him off your hands for the day.”

Patrick seemed to consider for a moment. “Actually, that would be nice. Maybe I’ll take a cue from you and take
my
wife out.”

“It’s about time. Tell you what, we’ll take Dominic overnight tomorrow. That will give our kids two nights together. They’ll think they’re in hog heaven.”

Patrick chuckled. “Practically brother and sister, those two. I hope they grow up and stay that way.”

“Me too. But I wouldn’t mind giving Devon a real brother.” Patrick seemed taken aback at his words. “Didn’t you and Alice ever consider having more children?”

“Sure. But it’s never worked out that way. Now, Dom is almost seven years old. I’m not sure we want to go back to diapers and sleepless nights.”

“Hm. Put that way, we might not either. And I haven’t discussed it with Ang, so keep it zipped, got it?”