Losing Angeline: London Calling Book Two Read Online Free

that she loved him. Despite all his bravado and domineering tendencies, he was an absolute marshmallow when it came to her and their daughter, Devon.  
    The curator for her museum walked up, interrupting her thoughts. He was an older gentleman with a receding hairline and general air of nervousness about him.  
    “Angeline! So good to see you. I worried something had come up and you wouldn’t make it tonight.”  
    “No, just a later start than we anticipated.” She caught sight of John across the room, chatting up an elderly woman known for her tastes in younger men.
    Angling his body toward Angeline, he winked.
    She pressed her lips together, swallowing a laugh. Incorrigible. She focused on her boss. “So, catch me up. How is our rising young star doing? Holding his own among the classics?” They’d worried the young artist might not show well among the antique and vintage pieces. His tastes were refined but with a distinctly modern elegance.
    “Very well, Angeline. Better than we could have hoped, in fact. Shall we?” He gestured toward the artist, who stood behind a rounded display table with his work arranged among folds of pale blush velveteen. A small group of people crowded the area, eager to speak with him about his gorgeous creations. As Angeline and her employer approached, the group gave way so they could better observe the jewelry chosen for the evening’s viewing.
    Rich 18-karat white- and yellow-gold pieces comprised the collection with stones of varying shades from luminous pink to muted greens. Angeline was captivated by the craftsmanship, unconsciously running her hand over the fabric-draped table. She knew some of the patrons here would never have imagined the young baby-faced man with his smattering of facial hair capable of such elegance. But Angeline had suspected as much after meeting with him one day when he’d wandered into the museum, fresh and excited about his work and a possible showing.
    She hadn’t been able to accommodate him at her gallery. Her museum showcased paintings, photography, and sculpture. But it had been her pleasure to assist him in gaining this venue. She enjoyed helping those with talent, intelligence, and a penchant for being underestimated.
    After all, she was fully aware how deceiving appearances could be.
    Waving her hand to encompass the display, she met the artist’s appreciative gaze. “They’re beautiful. You’re doing amazing work.” Her eye lingered on a tourmaline cabochon pendant swinging from a web-like white gold chain. It was shamelessly formal and had a price to match. She’d contrast its glamour by wearing it with a white silk shirt and floor-length black organza skirt.  
    Sighing, she looked away. If John caught her admiring anything, he’d be over in a shot to purchase it. He spoiled her outrageously and had a fine eye for what pleased her most. She suspected there was more to it, though. Although he never mentioned it, he’d been uncomfortable in the beginning with the perceived differences in their backgrounds. He was from a solid working-class family. Never having much, he’d been smart and creative in his pursuit of success. But thinking she was born into wealth and social standing, he’d worried about not keeping up to an unspoken standard or boring her with his simpler tastes.
    If he only knew. She’d led him to believe in a fantasy about her background, rather than tell him the stark, disturbing truth of it.
    The exquisite beauty around Angeline retreated as a memory emerged. Not quite ten years of age, she was standing in secondhand shoes on an asphalt playground with a tall chain-link fence. It had been raining and the sky still hung dark and heavy in damp misery. Trying to disappear from anyone’s notice, she huddled near a corner, desolately looking outward toward the beckoning sidewalk. She’d run away before but they found her. They always seemed to, no matter how or where she ran. Because of that history, adults kept a