Forever a Lord
Lady Imogene Norwood
Lady Imogene Norwood lives a sheltered life of quiet respectability and routine…until she meets the wild and broken Lord Atwood. He is wholly unexpected among London’s elite, and the very shy English rose suddenly realizes that a little chaos might just be what her heart desires.
Lord Nathaniel James Atwood
Lord Nathaniel James Atwood doesn’t believe true love exists. Since scandal tore him away from his family at an early age, he has spent his life fighting for what he wants. That attitude has made him a rising star in bare-knuckle boxing, and now leads him back to London to reclaim the life that was stolen from him. But upon meeting the innocent Imogene, his beliefs are trounced…as guarding his heart against her proves to be the fight of his life.
Praise for the novels of
“Marvelle seamlessly weaves two distinct threads into a sizzling yet tender romanceâ¦satisfying and worthy of a cheer.”
â
Publishers Weekly
on
Forever a Lady
“Marvelle adeptly explores the best and worst of social class divides in this unforgettable story.”
â
Booklist
on
Forever and a Day
(starred review)
“Marvelle not only crafts highly sensual novels, her innovative ideas and plot twists invigorate the genre.”
â
RT Book Reviews
“Not only is it intriguing and mysterious, it's highly addictive.”
â
Fresh Fiction
on
Forever Mine
“Showcases Marvelle's ability to heat up the pages while creating a tender love story that touches the heart.”
â
RT Book Reviews
on
Once Upon a Scandal
“Marvelle's story of Radcliff coming to know himself, and Justine's faith in him, is a quintessential romance.”
â
Booklist
on
Prelude to a Scandal
Also available from Delilah Marvelle
and Harlequin HQN
Rules of Engagement
“Unlaced”
The Rumor series
Forever a Lady
Forever and a Day
Forever Mine
(ebook exclusive)
The Scandal series
The Perfect Scandal
Once Upon a Scandal
Prelude to a Scandal
Dear Reader,
We all carry secrets, be they small or large, and we all
carry them for very different reasons. We do it to protect ourselves and/or
others. Regardless, secrets aren’t meant to be kept forever. They are meant to
be shared with someone we can genuinely trust, so that the burden of the shame
we feel by holding on to our secrets can be taken away from our souls.
In
Forever a Lord,
welcome to the
world of what happens when a secret goes too far and the burden leaches its way
into everything. Here you will meet a bare-knuckle boxer who is on the path of
learning that only one thing can save his burdened soul: the genuine love of a
good woman. Imogene is my version of what the hero could never have imagined.
Though Imogene has seen very little of the real world due to her overprotective
brother and her illness, it doesn’t make her any less viable. In fact, it
enables her to see our hero in a way few can. Our hero, in turn, who never
thought himself capable of love, discovers that he is capable of something
even better: true love.
I believe each of us has a soul mate waiting in the most
unexpected of places and it is up to us to know when to cradle that one person
who is meant to carry us through life with unwavering love. I hope you enjoy
reading about what happens when two very different souls meet and discover that
their differences are what saves them both.
Much love,
Delilah Marvelle
ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
Thank you to my husband and children, who continue to support me through my writing career at every turn. I love you all.
Thank you to my marvelous editor, Emily Ohanjanians. Your incredible feedback pushes me to see beyond my own nose. And boy, do I ever need it. Thank you to Harlequin HQN for continuing to have faith that I have stories worth telling and selling. Thank you to my bow-worthy agent, Donald Maass, who nudged me away from being too vanilla. Heaven forbid!
And last but certainly not least, thank you to Maire Claremont, who has cheered me on through every sentence and every page. I adore you. Always.
To Jessa Slade, my incredible friend and critique partner, who asked one simple “what if” that not only blew my mind but made this story possible. Thank you, thank you, thank you. I couldn't have pulled this off without you.
Contents
PROLOGUE
The cries of “Foul! Foul!” now resounded.
âP. Egan,
Boxiana
(1823)
27th of September, 1800
Somewhere in New York City
A
LARGE
,
WARM
hand pressed itself against the closed lids of Nathaniel's eyes, drawing him out of a deep sleep. The lingering, tangy sweetness of a cigar clung to his nostrils as the linen sleeve of a male shirt brushed his cheek.
It was him. Nathaniel didn't dare move.
The hand slowly drew away. “Are you awake?” someone whispered in a heavy accent from beside him on the bed.
Nathaniel swallowed and opened his eyes, candlelight fingering its way through the shadows of the dank cellar. He couldn't breathe. Nausea seized him. “I want to go home,” Nathaniel choked out, rocking against the ropes binding his hands to his waist. He didn't care that he sounded pathetic or scared anymore. Being ten, he had every right to be pathetic and scared, didn't he?
The golden glow of a lone candle revealed a young man with sun-tinted hair sitting on the narrow bed beside him. It was the same man who had lingered outside his family's window all those nights in the shadows.
Amber eyes met Nathaniel's for a somber moment. The man held up a wooden soldier whose military uniform had been painted red. He angled it toward Nathaniel. “For you.”
“I don't want it.”
“If I untie you, and give this to you, do you promise not to hit me? Do you promise to be good?”
Nathaniel fisted his hands and tried to swing his arms up at that face, but his movement was cut short and burned against the tight ropes that bound each arm against his waist. “Why are you doing this?” he choked out.
“You are his son. Are you not?”
Tears blinded Nathaniel, realizing the man wasn't about to let him go. “Perhaps my father misunderstood. Send him another missive.
Please.
”
The man lowered his gaze to the wooden soldier he held. “He understood. He chose to ignore it.”
A sob escaped Nathaniel. “No. He wouldn't. I know he wouldn't!”
“We think we know someone until they betray us. That isâ¦how do you English say?â¦the
lesson.
”
Nathaniel shook his head and rasped, “Send a missive to my sister. Augustine. Sheâ¦she will come for me. I know she will. Or my mother. Ask them for whatever you want and they will ensure you get it. I know they will!”
“No.” The man fingered the wooden soldier but didn't meet his gaze. “To involve anyone but your father would only see us all hanged.”
“I don't understand.”
“You will.”
Nathaniel swallowed. “Are you going to kill me?”
The man's mouth quirked. “I am a good many things, but I am not a murderer, little friend. In
Venezia,
even when we are angry, we do things withâ¦honor. Nothing like you British.”
Nathaniel swallowed again. What had his father done to this man? He dared not fathom.
Holding out the wooden soldier, the man propped it on Nathaniel's chest. “I bought him for you.”
Nathaniel tilted his body just enough to get that soldier off his chest. It thudded onto the mattress between them. “I prefer to go home to my sister and my mother. My father may not love me, but I know they do. They will want me back. I know they will.”
“They are no longer your family. I am.” Hovering, the man drew in close. So close, Nathaniel could make out the stubble on that youthful face, and the glint of a ruby pin tucked into that meticulously knotted cravat. Sharp, amber eyes intently searched Nathaniel's face as if deciding on something.
Nathaniel pressed himself hard against the linens, digging his entire body into the mattress. Though the man hadn't touched him or hurt him in any way, except to bind him with ropes after Nathaniel repeatedly swung at him, something chanted that, if provoked, this Venetian was capable of more.
The stinging smell of cognac mingling with cigars penetrated Nathaniel's nostrils as the man breathed out, “I have many books in English. What would you like to read?”
Nathaniel stared up at him, inwardly quaking. It was like the man was trying to befriend him. “I'm not telling you anything.”
The man tapped Nathaniel hard on the forehead with a scarred finger, then leaned back and rose to his full height of almost six feet. He bent his head to prevent hitting the low timbered ceiling. “Food will be delivered in the morning. Eat.”
Head still bent, the man veered out the narrow door with heavy steps that eerily echoed in the small space. The door slammed shut and a loud clink of the key being turned in the rusty lock broke through the silence, signaling Nathaniel had been sentenced to solitude again for not cooperating with the man's request they be friends.
Nathaniel choked out an anguished sob that burned his throat. He tried to sit up, to use his body or his head to move, but couldn't budge in any particular direction. He sobbed again, forced to stare at those dank, shadowed walls that felt inhabited by evil entities about to reach out clawed hands and strangle him.
He couldn't breathe. He couldn't breathe knowing there wasn't even a window in the small cellar to tell him the hour. He glanced frantically toward the lone candle set on the small side table set against the wall. It flickered hauntingly, the dripping wax well below its stub.
“Let me fall asleep first,” he whispered to it, not wanting to be left alone in the darkness.
The candle wavered. It then stilled and flicked into a mere glowing dot as the flame dissipated into a stream of curling smoke, leaving him in pulsing darkness and silence.
He squeezed his eyes shut, wailing helplessly until he felt like his body was swaying on a vast ocean set to drown him. His sobs and the darkness eventually lulled not only his body but his mind.
No one was coming for him.
Not his father.
Not his mother.
Not his sister.
No one.