Claiming the Forbidden Bride Read online

  “Every time I leave you I think…”

  “What?” Nadya asked.

  “That it’s the right thing to do. The honorable thing. And then…”

  “We both know all the arguments against it.”

  “And seem to have rejected them,” Rhys said softly. “So that we’re back to this.”

  “And what is this?”

  “I don’t know. All I know is that I’ve never felt about another woman the way I feel about you.”

  At one time hearing him make that confession would have meant everything to Nadya. Now she wondered if it were enough.

  “What do you want from me, Rhys?”

  “Whatever you’re willing to give.”

  Claiming the Forbidden Bride

  Harlequin® Historical #1008—September 2010

  London, 1814

  A season of secrets, scandal and seduction!

  A darkly dangerous stranger is out for revenge, delivering a silken rope as his calling card. Through him, a long-forgotten scandal is reawakened. The notorious events of 1794, which saw one man murdered and another hanged for the crime, are ripe gossip in the ton. Was the right culprit brought to justice or is there a treacherous murderer still at large?

  As the murky waters of the past are disturbed, so servants find love with roguish lords, and proper ladies fall for rebellious outcasts until, finally, the true murderer and spy is revealed.

  Regency Silk & Scandal

  From glittering ballrooms to a Cornish smuggler’s cove; from the wilds of Scotland to a Romany camp—join the highest and lowest in society as they find love in this thrilling new eight-book miniseries!

  Gayle Wilson

  CLAIMING THE FORBIDDEN BRIDE

  Dear Reader,

  I can’t tell you how delighted I am to be a part of the Regency miniseries SILK & SCANDAL. Although I began my career writing Regency historicals, I have spent the past several years writing rather dark romantic suspense for HQN Books and MIRA Books. When I was asked to participate in this continuity series, I jumped at the chance to get back into Regency mode.

  Little did I know, however, what a true joy it would be to work on this project. The other authors were so knowledgeable and always willing to offer advice and suggestions to someone who was a bit rusty on the period details. It was also great fun to toss ideas around while plotting the continuity elements together and to figure out how to make eight individual stories flow into a smooth and ever more exciting narrative. I could not have asked for a better experience in which to revisit my writing roots.

  I hope you’ll enjoy Rhys and Nadya’s story as much as I enjoyed writing it. For a well-born English gentleman to fall in love with a beautiful Romany healer was certainly scandalous in society’s view, but we all know that, despite Gypsy curses, murderous family secrets and vindictive brothers, true love will not be denied. I hope you find Claiming the Forbidden Bride a worthy addition to the books that came before it and an enticement to read those that follow. Look for The Viscount and the Virgin from Annie Burrows in SILK & SCANDAL. Coming October 2010.

  Gayle

  To grandmothers everywhere in honor and recognition of their love and guidance and dedication.

  And to my newest, very beloved grandbaby, Aidan

  Praise for two-time RITA® Award-winning author Gayle Wilson

  Anne’s Perfect Husband

  “This high-action plot careens along the edge between traditional Regency and gritty, intense historical. This innovative mix carries themes on the healing powers of love and survival.”

  —RT Book Reviews

  The Heart’s Wager

  “Gayle Wilson has achieved an uncommon, and uncommonly successful, hybrid of Regency, action-adventure and romance that makes for nonstop entertainment. This one has to be read straight through to the end.”

  —RT Book Reviews

  Look for Gayle Wilson’s

  “The Soldier’s Christmas Miracle” in Regency Christmas Proposals

  Coming November 2010

  from Harlequin Historical

  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

  Epilogue

  Prologue

  September, 1814. England

  In an unthinking response to the image in the cheval glass, Major the Honourable Rhys Morgan, late of His Majesty’s 13th Light Dragoons, lifted his left hand to help the right in the adjustment of the intricately tied cravat at his throat. Pain seared along its damaged muscles and nerves, reminding him that, although he was finally home, the effects of the years he had spent campaigning on the Iberian Peninsula were still with him.

  Incredibly, given the severity of his injuries—caused by a burst of grapeshot—the surgeons had managed to save his left arm. It was not the same, of course, and he had gradually become reconciled to the reality that it never would be.

  A minor consideration, he reminded himself. He was glad to be alive. And infinitely grateful to be back in England.

  This time, he used only his right hand to smooth over a persistent wrinkle that disturbed the line of his jacket. There had initially been some discussion of attempting alterations, but the scope of the required changes had proved those impractical. His chest was broader, for one thing; the muscles in his thighs and calves still hardened from long hours spent in the saddle. In addition to the debilitating effects of his wound, he had, since he’d been home, suffered another bout of the recurring fever he’d picked up on the Continent. As a result, his body was far leaner than it had been before his departure. In short, almost nothing he had left behind in England almost four years ago could be remade—not with the preciseness of fit that fashion demanded.

  The local tailor had been called in to produce the coat of navy superfine he was wearing, as well as his striped waistcoat and close-fitting pantaloons. The tasselled Hessians that completed the ensemble were the only item that had been salvaged from his pre-service attire.

  The garments were neither in the most current style nor constructed of the finest materials, but they would do for travel. Rhys had promised his brother that as soon as he arrived in London he would be properly outfitted from heel to crown by one of the capital’s premier tailors.

  A prospect he wasn’t looking forward to, he acknowledged. Other than his surgeons, no one had yet been forced to view the carnage that had been inflicted on his body.

  Determinedly putting that from his mind, he met his brother’s eyes in the mirror. ‘Shall I do?’

  ‘Very nicely,’ Edward said. ‘At least until you have time to visit my man in London.’

  Rhys smiled. ‘If Keddinton doesn’t turn me away from his door, the credit shall be yours.’

  ‘He won’t turn you away. You’re his godson.’

  ‘A godson he hasn’t seen in more than five years.’

  ‘That doesn’t matter. Keddinton knows his duty.’

  The word seemed to hang in the air between them, the crux of all the arguments that had marred the last few days. To break the suddenly awkward silence, Rhys returned his gaze to the reflection in the glass, tugging down his waistcoat.

  ‘A few more
days can’t hurt,’ Edward said after a moment.

  ‘Unless the weather changes. Autumn can be unpredictable.’

  ‘All the more reason—’

  Laughing, Rhys turned to face his brother. ‘One more day of sitting by the fire, Edward, and I promise you I shall go stark raving mad. You wouldn’t want that on your conscience.’

  ‘You are mad. Surely, you’ve done enough for King and country. More than enough.’

  ‘I’m alive. Relatively sound of mind and body. And I’ve explored a great deal of geography during that service. Most of which, I remind you, is about to be carved up and redistributed in Vienna.’

  ‘You can’t expect Keddinton—’

  ‘You’d be surprised how little I expect,’ Rhys interrupted. ‘I simply believe that my experiences during the last few years might prove valuable to someone. That’s my hope, at least.’

  It was a discussion they’d had several times during the previous month. One which had never satisfactorily been resolved on either side.

  ‘You can be useful here.’

  Rhys laughed again, putting his hand on his brother’s shoulder. ‘If I thought you really needed me, you know I’d stay. I owe you that and more. The truth of the matter is I should only get in the way of your very competent estate manager, and you know it.’

  ‘You owe me nothing, Rhys. I hope you know that.’

  Rhys pulled his brother close, embracing him for perhaps the first time in their lives. Older by a decade, Edward had always seemed almost as distant as their father. Rhys had no doubt they both cared for him, but demonstrations of their affection had been few and far between.

  ‘You’ll forgive me if I disagree,’ he said. ‘You and Abigail have not only made me welcome, you have cared for me as if…’ Rhys hesitated, searching for an analogy that would express his gratitude, without making the other man uncomfortable.

  ‘As if you were my brother?’ Edward’s rare smile faded as quickly as it had appeared. ‘My only brother, might I remind you. And having spent more than one night convinced you wouldn’t live to see the sunrise, I confess a reluctance to let you out of my sight.’

  ‘I managed to survive Boney’s best efforts to eradicate me. I believe I may be trusted to make it all the way to London without incident.’

  ‘Alone. And ridiculously on horseback,’ Edward added, shaking his head.

  ‘The saddest indictment of my boredom is that I’m looking forward to that journey immensely.’

  He was. Despite the deep gratitude he felt toward his family, they had been determined to wrap him in cotton wool since his arrival at Balford Manor almost six months ago.

  He’d endured his sister-in-law’s potions and his brother’s strictures until he’d wanted to throw the former at their collective heads. The thought of finally being free of their solicitous, if loving, supervision had done more for his spirits than had even the prospect of once more feeling his life had some meaning.

  ‘Take care,’ Edward urged. ‘Promise me that you won’t do anything foolish.’

  ‘If there are highwaymen about, I shall toss them your money with abandon. Believe me, Edward, I am not looking for adventure.’

  Simply a little fresh air and anonymity. Both to be enjoyed with no one hovering over him.

  He knew very well what the next argument advanced against this journey would be. It was one he had heard ad infinitum during the tedious days of his recuperation.

  He didn’t intend to listen to another injunction that he must guard his fragile health. Not today. Today was an opportunity to escape the confines of that familial concern.

  ‘If I don’t start now, however, I shall not make Buxton by nightfall. I don’t fancy spending a night in the open. The dampness, you know.’ Unable to resist, Rhys closed his right hand into a fist, which he tapped lightly against the centre of his chest.

  Edward’s eyes widened. He opened his mouth, but at the last second he came to his senses or perhaps he glimpsed the teasing light in his brother’s eyes. In any case, Edward clamped his lips shut before he nodded.

  ‘Off to adventure then,’ Rhys said, gesturing his brother out of the chamber door ahead of him.

  ‘Dear God, I hope not,’ Edward muttered as he passed.

  Rhys grinned again, but somewhere in the back of his mind was an acknowledgement that a small adventure would not come amiss. Perhaps he was not quite so ready for that promised boredom as he had imagined.

  Chapter One

  Rhys had kept the promise he’d given his brother about the leisurely pace of his journey. In actuality, the first day he’d spent in the saddle had reminded him of exactly how long it had been since he’d ridden any distance at all.

  He had reached the inn at Buxton in the early afternoon, more than willing to continue the longer portion of his trip on the following day. His godfather’s invitation, issued some weeks ago, had been open-ended, and despite Rhys’s outward show of confidence, he had been concerned enough about his stamina to phrase his acceptance in like terms.

  He was pleased that, despite the protest of sore muscles, he’d been up and on his way fairly early the next morning. The crisp autumn air had been an elixir for the ennui of the last few months. As had the beauty of the downs, still green despite the turning leaves.

  A shout brought his mount’s head up and Rhys’s wandering attention back to the present. A young girl, screaming something unintelligible, ran across the meadow below him.

  Instinctively his eyes swept the countryside behind her. There was no sign of pursuit. Rhys’s gaze then tracked across the area in front of the running girl, where he quickly discovered the object of her concern. A child, her long pale hair streaming behind her like a banner, flew across the rough ground.

  His lips lifted in response, remembering his own childhood. A day such as this had too often lured him from his studies. He had been older than this little girl, and he had usually paid the price for his escapades with a hiding from his tutor, but he had always considered those rare tastes of freedom to have been well worth the pain.

  Almost idly, he considered the landscape that stretched in front of the child. As he did, the reminiscent smile faded.

  From his vantage point, it was apparent that the field she flew across ended abruptly at a steep escarpment, one of many scattered throughout the area. The land rose slightly just before its edge and then fell away as if sliced by a giant’s knife. Below the drop-off, the shining surface of the rain-swollen stream glinted in the morning sun.

  His eyes flicked back to the child, who was now toiling up the rise that led to the cliff. There was no way she could see what lay beyond. And no way, he realized, his gaze tracking backward, that the bigger girl running behind could intercept her before she reached the precipice.

  As soon as he reached that conclusion, Rhys dug his heels into his mount’s flanks. Startled, his brother’s bay leaped forward, taking the slope at a dangerous pace. As soon as they reached the meadow, Rhys crouched low over the gelding’s neck, urging him to an even greater speed. They raced diagonally across the expanse of flat ground, Rhys’s eyes focused on that distant gleam of blonde hair.

  Despite the best efforts of the horse, they seemed to move as slowly as in a dream. Or a nightmare.

  The child came closer and closer to the edge as Rhys’s heart hammered in his ears, drowning out the pounding hooves of the beast that strained beneath him. He was aware almost subliminally that the older girl continued to scream, which had no more effect than before.

  Rhys pressed his mount on, feeling its muscles begin to tremble beneath him. As he closed the distance between them, the object of his frantic chase evinced no awareness of his pursuit. She ignored horse and rider as completely as she ignored the importuning cries of her caregiver.

  As the little girl neared the lip of the rise, Rhys balanced his weight to the left, preparing to lean down and pick her up on the run. He had no other choice. She would be over the edge before he had time to dismount
. And despite the noise they were making, she still seemed oblivious to their approach.

  Guiding his horse on a course parallel to the treacherous edge of the cliff, he leaned to the side as he drew near, stretching out his left arm.

  Despite the pain of that movement, he was determined to grasp the child’s clothing and snatch her away from danger. He added his own warning shouts to those of the nursemaid, but she continued to ignore both.

  His heart lodged in his throat, Rhys knew it would be a matter of inches. One chance to catch hair or fabric before the child’s headlong rush carried her over the cliff.

  As he prepared for the attempt, the little girl turned, finally reacting to his presence. He watched her blue eyes stretch impossibly wide when she caught sight of the horse.

  In that split second, Rhys’s straining fingers touched the back of her dress. As she dodged away from his reaching hand, the ground beneath her seemed to give way, sending her tumbling over the edge.

  The gelding was close enough to the precipice that Rhys could feel the crumbling earth shift under its weight. Frantically, he turned his mount aside. As soon as they were back on solid ground, he pulled the horse up. He had dismounted before their forward motion stopped. Running back to the place where the child had disappeared, he peered over.

  The height was not so great as he’d feared. Below him, caught in the slowly moving current, a foam of white petticoat was clearly visible. The girl’s long hair, darkened by its immersion, floated behind.

  He examined the bank, desperately searching for a way down. There was none. Other than that which the child had just taken.