The Lady’s Forbidden Desire
THE LADY’S FORBIDDEN DESIRE
REBECCA PAULA
THE LADY’S FORBIDDEN DESIRE
Copyright © 2022 by Rebecca Paula. All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce, distribute, or transmit in any form or by any means.
For information regarding subsidiary rights, please contact the Publisher, Rebecca Paula.
Cover design by Erin Dameron-Hill.
Editing by Grace Bradley and John Polsom-Jenkins.
The Lady’s Forbidden Desire is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
Created with Vellum
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Rebecca writes sexy, angsty romances about flawed characters who embrace the messy and complicated bits of life and love. Also, there’s kissing.
She’s a champion of Byronic heroes and unlikeable heroines, a wanderlust connoisseur, a hopeless romantic, and is epically losing the battle of conquering her TBR pile. Rebecca lives in New Hampshire with her husband and young daughters.
When not writing or reading, she loves binging ghost hunting shows and true crime podcasts, hiking around New England, and scouring stores for the ultimate find - cute dresses with pockets!
* * *
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CONTENTS
Prologue
Chapter 1
2. December 1885
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
5. June 1888
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
8. September 1891
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
11. December 1892
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
14. June 1895
Chapter 15
16. August 1898
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Epilogue
Also by Rebecca Paula
Acknowledgments
For everyone who tries one more time.
PROLOGUE
SOUTH AFRICA - 1900
Dusk smothered the remains of the day. Teddy squinted, while his hand worked over the paper. The edges curled under the African heat. The graphite lines he drew weren’t much. They might as well have been dreams from another lifetime.
Still, he eased the pressure of the pencil and used the side of his pinky to shade the perfect curve, long ingrained in his memory.
Her body shamed da Vinci’s study.
“Still drawing, Nash?” a fellow soldier teased. Private Nickles kicked Teddy’s boot.
The ground wobbled beneath him. Teddy hadn’t much to sit on besides his canteen at camp. He’d spent the day drilling the new shipment of soldiers who had arrived. He didn’t give a damn where he sat as long as he was off his feet now.
He grunted, concentrating on keeping his hand steady. It was difficult to do lately.
The small daily rationed glass of rum rested beside his dusty boots. A fly darted around the lip of the glass. It was better than the puff adder he had discovered coiled in his sleep sack last week.
He grabbed the glass and downed its contents, wincing at the burning liquid sliding down his dry throat.
With the slightest turn of his wrist, he guided his pencil through the soft curls that always danced around her neck, even when it was worn up as she played piano. Teddy preferred it best when it was plaited with a simple ribbon. The deep auburn curls took on a wildness then that set apart her slate-gray eyes. They were almost as dark as the graphite in the waning light.
“Nash!”
His captain’s voice cut through the end-of-the-day melee at camp. The squadron hadn’t seen action in days, yet the night air all but shook with an invisible threat of conflict. He stole one last glance at Grace’s sketch, then folded it and stashed it in his shirt pocket for safekeeping.
“Captain.” Teddy jumped to his feet at the same moment a dog collided into the back of his knees. The dry earth beneath his feet steadied him as the wiry gray beast circled around, and stood to his waist.
The animal whined, pushing its muzzle into Teddy.
“Sorry, Nash. He broke the rope.” Private Briggs, practically a boy, rushed up and struggled to steer the monstrous dog away.
The dog peered up at Teddy with large amber eyes. His chest tightened. Echoes of Burton Hall always found him, even in Africa.
“You’re a fine beast, you are.” Teddy scratched the dog’s head and quickly looped the rope back around his collar. “It’s time you head back with Private Briggs now.”
“This dog is a pain in my arse, but Major Simonds is too attached to the damned thing.”
Lieutenant Meadows poked his head around Teddy’s tent, then guffawed.
“Might as well be a horse,” he said. “Who knew you’d join the army and become a nanny?”
Teddy chuckled. “Pull the rope now, gently. Don’t let him lead, Briggs.” He turned to Lieutenant Meadows. “He’s a fine Irish wolfhound. Good stock, just needs some training.”
“And I suppose you’ve experience, Nash?” Before he could answer, Meadows continued, “Seems like there’s nothing you can’t do.” He tossed a thick sketchbook into Teddy’s lap. “You’ve a talent. No doubt you’re Freddie Nash’s son. Half of Mayfair would fall over themselves to have gardens like this on their country estates. It’s a shame you didn’t finish studying.”
“Britain called, and I answered.”
Briggs and the dog battled each other until the pair finally made their way back through camp.
Meadows adjusted his hat, then squinted, pulling the dusty horizon into focus. “When your year is up and we’re both in town, pay me a visit. I can find you a commission.”
“Nash!”
“Yes, Captain,” he called out.
“I need a moment,” his captain shouted back.
In the distance, gunfire crackled in the foothills.
“They told us we’d be home by now.”
Teddy shrugged, took one last drag of his cigarette, then tossed it to the dirt, striding toward his captain with his shoulders pushed back. Something told him that tonight he would see action, and he was ready. His body practically begged to be shot after months of no word from home.
He thought of Grace as the inky night enveloped the last bright burst of light. He thought of her as shells fell from the sky, gunpowder filled the air, and soldiers scrambled to make sense of war.
Teddy would always think of Grace. He couldn’t breathe without the absence of her becoming an intolerable pain.
If only he had written her back.
If only.
If only.
When the train car burst into flames around him two days later, the noise faded away, and the pain wracking his body became too much, he thought of her lips, the light touch of her fingers on his face, and the sound of her laughter on late summer afternoons.
Then, when everything felt like a goodbye, he pressed his hand to his heart and choked back the blood filling his mouth.
If only.
CHAPTER 1
LONDON - 1904
Grace found England particularly dreary this morning, even for a perfect sunny day in May.
She sipped the brisk tea, tilting her head up to steal a moment of light from beneath the ridiculous hat her maid had insisted upon her wearing. One of the green feathers drooped, tickling her left cheekbone. No amount of swatting would set it
back in place.
Not that she would ever dare swat a feather away, even in present company.
Two weeks.
Two long weeks she had been trapped here.
She had finally returned to England after two years away. Now, instead of days filled with composing, reading, and walking along the limestone cliffs of a small, sleepy French village, Grace was met with an unending parade of callers eager to hear when she would perform next.
And when she would finally marry Valentine Thackery. Or rather, Lord Ipswich, the future Duke of Aldredge.
“I know it’s selfish of me to admit as much, but I am thankful you’ve returned to town,” Maude said, setting her needlepoint aside.
Grace swallowed her tea before returning her attention to her friends. Everything within her felt uncertain, as if she had become untethered during the night.
“London only wants me back so I can finally marry Val.”
Maude, her dearest friend, gestured as if to shoo the mere mention of such a social event away. Maude was always the mother hen in that way. She brushed back her black curls and straightened her glasses, which were forever slipping down her slim nose.
“Did Valentine attend the party last evening?” Prudence asked.
“He did not,” Grace said, drumming her fingers over the patio table. No need to cover up the fact her fiancé had found something more important to do than attend a dinner party with her. Grace was only now understanding that, while he had swept her off her feet at first, the thrill was gone for them both. If he could marry his violin, he would.
And Grace, for all her wishing, would never be a Stradivari.
Prudence leaned closer, perching her teacup precariously on the fine china saucer. “Do you think he has a mistress?”
Maude raised her eyebrows. “Other than the London Orchestra?”
Grace snickered. It wasn’t as if she had expectations of Valentine. Well, perhaps she had, because his absence last night didn’t sit well with her. If anything, he was a proud and vain man. Grace had assumed he would want to be at the gathering, however small, to proudly boast of her great return to the London stage soon.
She rarely performed any longer.
“Ho, Grace!”
Grace startled, jumping from her seat to stand eye to eye with her younger cousin Iris. Iris the Conqueror, more like.
“The house has doors, Izzy. You don’t have to swing in here from a tree.”
Iris brushed back her long, blonde braids. Ink smeared her left cheek, and she had a handful of pamphlets tucked under one arm.
“I had important business to see to. The press broke and—”
“You’d best change before your mother sees you. It’ll send her into a fit if she catches you in trousers again.”
Maude and Prudence nodded in agreement. Iris rolled her eyes, then marched into the house, ceding to her older cousin.
“It’s true that the rest of London is waiting for wedding news,” Maude said, “but are you going to tell us when this grand return concert will be?”
“It’s in . . .”
She frowned and tossed down her parasol, stripped off her gloves, and grabbed the hand trowel resting beside the potted hellebores. “This is all wrong,” she mumbled to herself. She strode up to the small garden bed and began removing a clump of daylilies.
“It can’t be soon enough.” Her Aunt Clara strode out through the French doors into the garden, clutching the morning papers to her chest. “Oh, do stop playing in the dirt, dear.” Her cheeks were unusually red as she glared at Grace. “Your brother! Heaven help us, we might be in for it now.”
Prudence and Maude exchanged a nervous glance.
“James is as likely as me to bring about trouble,” Grace said calmly.
It was a fact universally acknowledged that Lady Grace Ravensdale did as told, was exceedingly polite, and was adored for it by the echelons of London society.
“Well, he has, I’m afraid.” Clara handed Grace the society pages, then paced the lawn.
Maude and Prudence popped up from their seats and gathered around Grace as she scanned the print until she came upon the name of her brother, James, the Earl of Stamford. She reread the few sentences before dropping the paper to her lap.
“There has to be an explanation,” she said at last.
“An explanation for being caught in a compromising position with that American socialite?” Prudence asked. She pushed off the back of the patio chair and walked around to full view of Clara and Grace. “I suspect it was not Dahlia Stonehurst who was compromised, but poor James. We all know why Dahlia is here in London. It’s not a secret her family wishes for a title.”
“We shouldn’t jump to conclusions.” Grace stood, feeling as if she were suddenly holding court. Always the calm at the center of the Ravensdale family storm.
“We’ll be going,” Maude said, yanking on Prudence’s sleeve. “In any case, you all have my support. If I can be of any help . . .”
Grace flashed her a quick, appreciative smile before walking them back to the house. She paused at the large French doors, watching as her two friends leaned close to whisper before disappearing down the hallway to the foyer.
“It is not like James to act so hastily,” her aunt said behind her.
Grace nodded. “This is hardly the worst that we’ve all had to weather. They can be married, and in a few weeks’ time, there will be another scandal to distract all the wagging tongues.”
Clara folded the newsprint and tossed it to the patio table. “Love, this could jeopardize everything. It could mean an end to your engagement.”
Something shifted within Grace. A small thread that pulled, urging her to keep searching. Pleading with her to reconsider.
As much as she wished to wave off her aunt’s concerns, there was truth there. “I will speak to Valentine.”
“I love your uncle dearly, but his recent diplomatic . . .” She paused, searching for a polite term. “Well, after that disastrous state dinner, our family is already on the outskirts of proper society. I very much doubt he’ll continue in his post.”
Uncle Bly was hardly the diplomatic type. And as for the Ravensdales, well, they had weathered their fair share of scandals in the past. Iris was certain to be trouble. And her cousin Rhys was much too like Uncle Bly for his own good. But Rhys had been in Africa for almost a year now, searching for Teddy.
Her breath caught.
It’d been four years since Teddy Nash had been presumed dead after being captured by the Boers during the war.
Rhys and Teddy had grown up like brothers. He couldn’t accept Teddy’s death any more than Grace could. When he had told her he was going to Africa to bring back Teddy’s body for a proper Yorkshire burial, she had cried all over again.
“Darling.” Her aunt placed her hand on Grace’s arm. “James has always been preoccupied with his inventions. If he compromised this girl, he must do what is right.”
“Of course, he will. He’s entirely too honorable to do otherwise.”
“Yes, that may be. But this mess will only harm your uncle’s chance of keeping in the good graces of Bertie.”
Grace scoffed.
“With your uncle on the outs, and your brother forced to marry that American socialite . . .” Clara sank into a patio chair and cradled her head in her hands. “Grace, you must marry Valentine. You’ve been engaged for several months now. You must marry and marry soon. Your wedding will hush the critics.”
Panic clawed at her throat. It always had at the thought of marrying Valentine, which was entirely ridiculous given she had accepted his proposal willingly.
“Valentine and his mother are waiting for you to set the date. I’m begging you to do it in three months’ time. You can save us all before we’re officially laughed out of London. God knows what would happen to us.”
Three months.
It seemed like an eternity away, but also too close.
It would be fine. Grace would do it. She alway
s did what was asked, after all. First, she’d talk to James, then she would call upon Valentine and his mother.
“Hello,” a voice bellowed from within the house. “Hello, I’m home at last. The prodigal son has arrived. Where’s my welcome party?”
Grace threw down the trowel, then ran to the French doors. “Rhys?”
She raced down the hall, to find her cousin standing there in the foyer, leaning on a cane.
“What . . .” She couldn’t finish. Tears clouded her eyes, and months of worry untangled in her chest. “You’re home. I was going mad without you.” She threw her arms around him in a tight embrace. “You were gone too long.”
He chuckled, stumbling back a step as she pulled away.
She took him in with a studying gaze. “What happened?”
“Oh, nothing too—” He looked down the hallway toward the garden, and smiled. “Hello, Mama.”
The front door opened behind him to chaos on Arlington Street. In between the commotion of trunks being unloaded and Rhys and Clara, it took Grace a moment to notice the large dog sitting at the front door.
“Whose dog is this?” She kneeled in front of the shaggy gray-and-white dog, and gently patted his muzzle.
“Grace, I have to tell—” Rhys started.
“He’s mine.”
Grace leaned into the dog, shutting her eyes and clutching its collar as if it were a pillar, so she wouldn’t collapse upon the floor.
She swallowed, then turned her gaze to the man being assisted out of a hansom.
The man supported his weight with a crutch tucked under his left arm. He was startlingly thinner than the last time she had seen him. His cheeks were sunken in. Still recklessly handsome as ever, but different. Different in that there was now a thick scar from his left temple that stretched across his face, ending at the top of his lip. Those lips, the ones she had sipped on summers ago. The ones she often dreamed of kissing once again, even after it was reported he was missing, and later when he was presumed dead, and she left for the continent. The lips that now sent her heart tripping in an unsteady waltz.