Delilah Marvelle - Forever a Lady

TWO DIFFERENT CLASSES, ONE COMMON DESIRE...

Lady Bernadette Marie Burton

may be the richest widow in England,

but like her dreams of finding true passion, her reputation is deteriorating. Cruel gossip, loneliness and hoards of opportunistic suitors have her believing Society couldn’t be more vile...or dangerous. So when an attacker threatens her life, she finds safety in the most unseemly of places: the arms of a mysterious, Irish-American gang leader.

His fortune stolen, young

Matthew Milton

is done playing the respectable gentleman. In the slums of New York, only ruffians thrive. But from the moment he arrives in London and encounters the voluptuous Lady Bernadette, he can’t help but wonder about the finer pleasures he’s missing. Or just how much he’s willing to risk—not only to bed her, but to prove his worth....

Praise for the novels of Delilah Marvelle

“Marvelle adeptly explores the best and worst of

social class divides in this unforgettable story.”

—Booklist on Forever and a Day (starred review)

“Marvelle not only crafts highly sensual novels, her innovative ideas and plot twists invigorate the genre.”

—RT Book Reviews

“Not only is it intriguing and mysterious,

it’s highly addictive.”

—Fresh Fiction on Forever Mine

“Showcases Marvelle’s ability to heat up the pages

while creating a tender love story that touches the heart.”

—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.”

—Booklist on Prelude to a Scandal

Forever a Lady

Delilah Marvelle

Dear Reader,

Everyone deserves a second chance at life. Especially when at the core of who and what they are, they define all things good. Sometimes, life cheats us out of opportunities we deserve. But even then, we have the right to dream and to be more than what everyone expects from us. Such is the story of Matthew Joseph Milton. Educated, dashing and a true gentleman at heart, he finds that being a good man simply isn’t enough to survive in a world looking to take everything away from you. So what do you do in an effort to fight back? You redefine yourself, even at the cost of yourself. In that, Matthew and Bernadette are the same (without knowing it). They both had to redefine themselves, only to discover that they buried far too much. Forever a Lady is my twisted version of Newsies. Only, I’m going with buff, older men toting pistols, instead of boys toting newspapers. It is my hope you will enjoy the searing passion Matthew and Bernadette learn to share not only for each other but for life as they return to who and what they really are. I feel blessed enough to speak from experience when I say, there is no better happily-ever-after than finding yourself and the love of your life.

Much love,

Delilah Marvelle

To my sister, Yvonne.

In honor of Once Upon a Time.

Contents

PROLOGUE

CHAPTER ONE

CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER THREE

CHAPTER FOUR

CHAPTER FIVE

CHAPTER SIX

CHAPTER SEVEN

CHAPTER EIGHT

CHAPTER NINE

CHAPTER TEN

CHAPTER ELEVEN

CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

CHAPTER NINETEEN

CHAPTER TWENTY

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

EPILOGUE

AUTHOR’S NOTE

PROLOGUE

Survival, gentlemen. Life is all about survival.

—The Truth Teller, a New York Newspaper for Gentlemen

June 1822

New York City—Orange Street

WHEN IT HAD BEEN UNCOVERED that their bookkeeper and longtime friend, Mr. Richard Rawson, was actually a money-pilfering son of a mudsill, Matthew and his father had sent the authorities straight to Rawson’s house to make an arrest. Rawson, realizing he was about to hang, saddled a horse and galloped off, leaving behind a clutter of furniture and foppish clothing worth a sliver of nothing. The rest of the money taken from coffers of the Milton newspaper—two thousand dollars of it—Rawson had long since squandered on gambling and countless whores, whose extravagant tastes included every imaginable trinket known to please female humanity.

When armed marshals had finally cornered that bastard just off Broadway and Bowling Green Park, it was there, before all of New York City, Rawson’s own horse heroically intervened by rearing up on its hind legs. Rawson’s neck snapped from the toss and the man was pronounced dead, right along with the once-thriving Milton newspaper, The Truth Teller, which had sunk into bankruptcy.

If only such men could die twice. Perhaps then Matthew Joseph Milton would have felt some sense of justice knowing that he and his father, who both had once owned said newspaper and been worth a good three hundred a year, were now worth only eight dollars and forty-two cents.

Lingering beside his father on the street curb of their new neighborhood, Matthew tightened his fingers on the rough wool of the sacks weighing each shoulder. He stared up at that looming unpainted building, the acrid stench of piss lacing the heat-ridden air.

Could the good Lord truly be this cruel?

Oh, yes. Yes, He could be, and yes, He was.

The sweltering heat of the afternoon sun pierced Matthew’s furrowed brow, beading lines of moisture down his temples. Shirtless men lounged with dirt-crusted bare feet on the sills of open windows, some guzzling bottles of old Irish whiskey, while others leisurely smoked half-cut cigars. It was as if these bingo boys all thought they were on a blanket on the grassy plains of a lake. One of the bearded men in the window directly above him menacingly held his gaze, leaned over and loudly spat. A large pool of thick brown saliva slapped the pavement half a foot away.

The man had been aiming for him.

Matthew glanced toward his father, who still held a crate of newspapers from the print shop. “Was, uh, this the best your associate could do for us? I would think a much bigger discount would have been in order.”

His father, Raymond Charles Milton, slowly shook his head, those silvering strands of chestnut-colored hair swaying as he, too, surveyed the building. It was obvious his father was no more prepared to enter the building than he was.

One of them had to be optimistic. Matthew nudged the man with whatever assurance he could muster. “It could be worse. We could be sitting in debtors’ prison.”

His father gave him a withering look.

Matthew paused as a boy of about six or seven, whose brown matted hair hung into his eyes, wandered past in billowing clothing and large boots. The boy shuffle-shuffle-shuffled in an effort to keep those boots on his small feet.

Upon seeing Matthew, the child jerked to a halt, that oversized linen shirt that came down to his trouser-clad knees swaying against his lanky frame. The boy lingered before them, those large brown eyes quietly scanning Matthew’s cravat and embroidered vest as if assessing their worth.

One day, Matthew knew he’d have a house full of children just like this one. One day. Though he certainly hoped that by that day, he could afford to dress his children a bit better than this child was dressed. Matthew couldn’t help but smile. “And how are you today, sir? Good?”

The boy’s eyes widened. He edged back and back and then sprinted past and across the street, stumbling several times in those oversized boots.