The Dukes of Vauxhall

by Vanessa Kelly, Christi Caldwell, Theresa Romain, Shana Galen

  The faint click as she closed the door behind her created an artificial sense of privacy. Paper-thin walls would do little to disguise any hint of sound or discourse. Patience shifted back and forth on her feet. “Would you please sit?” She motioned to the makeshift parlor fashioned in the open space.

  His long-legged strides easily ate up the distance to the chairs they’d once sat upon. Back when the pale pink had been a bright fuchsia, and there were no hints of repairs, tears, or stains. She claimed a spot that neatly concealed a tear in the faded white sofa. “Would you care for tea?” she offered belatedly. After all, regardless of lot or station in England, it was the one universality shared by its people.

  Godrick lifted a hand in declination. “No. Thank you,” he murmured. How polite they were. How very formal.

  Patience folded her hands before her. They spoke simultaneously. “Have you come—?”

  “I’m here—”

  “—for Sam?” she finished when he went silent.

  He gave his head a slight shake. “I’m here for you.”

  She cocked her head. Surely she’d misheard him. Surely—

  “I miss you,” he said quietly, his deep baritone gruff.

  Her heart thudded to a stop and then resumed a rapid acceleration. What was he saying? “But you’ve seen me every day,” she whispered.

  Godrick flashed her a half grin full of such sadness it wrenched at her. “Since I”—he grimaced—“left, I built my salon. I amassed a fortune.” He dragged his chair closer, so their knees brushed. “And it’s all meant nothing because you’ve not been there.”

  A sheen of tears misted her eyes, and she blinked them back. “Why are you saying this?” she beseeched.

  “Because I need you to know I love you.” That once-shattered organ in her chest lifted and soared. “I wronged you, and if I could, I would take back my mistakes, and I want a life together with you.”

  The air left her on a noisy exhale. And then, reality intruded. Dukes’ sons, even fourth-born ones, didn’t marry women without noble roots who called home an set of rooms over a bakeshop.

  He took her right hand and folded it in his palm. “As my wife.”

  As his wife. She opened her mouth and then promptly closed it. She tried again. Trying to comprehend. Attempting to make sense of what he’d said. Marriage to him was the dream she’d carried as a girl of eighteen, and the dream she’d mourned every year he’d been gone from her life. Now, he held out that gift.

  “But I need to tell you... everything first.”

  The hoarse regret in his tone hinted at details that, in her cowardice, she didn’t want, for what they no doubt portended.

  She wetted her lips. “Tell me what?”

  The muscles of his face contorted, and he jumped up. She remained rooted to her spot, staring at him as a war raged in his eyes. What other secrets existed between them? What lies? I don’t want any more mistruths between us. She wanted the simplicity of a life with him. Marriage. Happiness. “Edwin,” he said hoarsely.

  Edwin? Befuddled, she glanced about for her long-absent brother.

  “He is—”

  The door flew open, and that very figure, her negligent brother, stormed into the room. Fury burned with the seeds of hatred in his brown eye, his other glassy and vacant from a long-ago fight. “By God, Gunnery, I will see you in hell,” he rasped and charged forward.

  Chapter Eight

  * * *

  Godrick’s life was destined to be a series of missed opportunities. The irony of that was not lost on him in this moment. Not once, but twice, he’d cost himself the chance to own the truth of his circumstances.

  Any other woman would have retreated in the face of Edwin Storm’s rage. Three inches past six feet and a thick wall of muscle, the man had grown in strength since Godrick had last seen him. Yes, he was such a bear of a man that women and most men would flee. Patience raced to place herself between him and her seething brother, but Godrick stepped out from behind her. He’d not let her risk her safety to protect him. “Edwin, what are you doing?” she demanded like a stern mama delivering a naughty child a dressing down.

  Then, that was what Storm had always been. Since Godrick had taken up lessons with the other man’s father, he’d shown only a sulking jealousy and rage. In that, he was no different from the thunderous figure before them now. “You’d let this man back in our home?” her brother spat.

  Patience settled her hands on her hips. “He is helping Sam,” she said tightly, matching Edwin’s steps as he attempted to reach Godrick. “You do remember your brother? The one slated to fight King?”

  That damning recrimination was met with a guilty silence from the other man.

  Even Edwin in all his fury had the good grace to flush. Hmph. He should feel like the bastard he was for abandoning Sam... and all the Storms. The rooms they stood within now were evidence of the struggle and strife they’d known. Pain scoured his heart. She’d deserved so much more. While he’d been living a life of luxury and comfort, this had been her existence.

  Then, rage stirred to life in Storm’s gaze. He stumbled back a step, and then murder flashed in his eye. “You have Gunnery teaching my brother?” His words rang with hurt betrayal.

  Patience jutted her chin out. “Nay, I have Godrick teaching our brother.” Not taking her furious gaze from Storm, she jabbed a finger across the room to where Ruth stood, silent as the dead. Her solemnity was so uncharacteristic of the child he recalled.

  Storm sputtered, but Patience, relentless, didn’t allow him a word. “You’ve been gone,” she shot back, going toe-to-toe with him. “Don’t come in here outraged when you’ve not been there for any of us. Not Sam. Not Ruth. And not me. You’ve been so focused on your own miseries these past four years, that you lost everything that made you once honorable.”

  Pride filled Godrick. God, she’d always been magnificent. Fearless. Unlike her dishonorable bastard of a brother, who’d attacked him from behind and left his family to suffer.

  Because of that blow I landed...

  “I should leave,” Godrick said quietly. He’d not be the cause of more strife and sorrow for her or any of the Storm family.

  “No.” She whipped about, her skirts snapping noisily at her ankles. “Do not.”

  A bitter, ugly laugh burst from Edwin Storm. “Did you part your legs for him again?” he taunted, earning a gasp from Ruth.

  “Storm,” Godrick bit out, taking a step closer. A murderous rage blazed to life at the other man’s disparagement.

  “That is enough, Edwin,” Ruth barked, rushing over.

  “That is it, isn’t it?” Storm breathed as Patience colored. “The man tupped you, all the while he was betrothed to another.” He latched a hand around her upper arm, and Patience winced. “You’d simply take back into your b—”

  Fury pumped through him, and Godrick caught the other man hard about the neck. Startled into releasing his hold, Storm gasped. “Do not put your bloody hands on her,” Godrick said on a steely whisper. He tightened his grip. “Ever. Are we clear?”

  His face a mottled red, Storm managed a jerky nod.

  From the corner of his eye, he detected Ruth rushing to Patience’s side. Horror, fear, and anxiety lined the younger woman’s features.

  Panting, he swiftly released the other man. Storm caught himself against the arm of the sofa and sucked in deep, gasping breaths. Godrick’s chest heaved with the reality of what he’d done—again. Even as Storm deserved to be bloodied senseless for disparaging and putting his hands on his sister. Even if he was and always had been a damned coward who’d fought dirty. Edwin Storm might have been in the wrong attacking him all those years ago, but he’d suffered the loss of his vision for it.

  And no doubt he would carry his hatred with him to the grave.

  “Going to end me now, too,” Storm spat out between ragged breaths. He glowered at Patience. “Your lover, the one Father so loved, cost me my vision. I lost my right eye because of him.”<
br />
  There it was. Breathed into existence at last. Words Godrick had owed her but had been uttered by another. Now, they were met with silence.

  Patience’s lips parted. “What?” she asked slowly, looking back and forth between him and her brother. “I don’t understand.”

  Godrick searched for words.

  Alas, Storm filled the void. “Punched me in the temple and cost me my eyesight and fighting career.”

  Godrick swallowed past the painful swelling in his throat. He’d cost Patience’s brother one eye, and his entire career had been ended... and his family had suffered for that loss. At the deafening silence, Godrick turned his palms up. Willing Patience to understand. Wanting forgiveness. How many times would he ask for forgiveness for mistakes he’d made? His throat bobbed. “I...” he managed, unable to meet her eyes. “After your father’s death, I’d come and...” His skin pricked with the feel of the Storm siblings’ probing gazes, and he let his words trail off. “Forgive me. I will go,” he said hoarsely, and this time, instead of being ordered out and sent to the devil, he left.

  * * *

  Head spinning, Patience stared at the wood panel Godrick had just departed through. After the tumult of the evening, her mind sought to put to rights his revelation. The guilt in his eyes. And then his rapid flight.

  He’d blinded Edwin in his right eye? It didn’t make any sense. None that was logical. She shook her head, trying to understand. Godrick had betrayed her with his silence in the past, but he’d never been violent. Even in his fighting, he’d treated his opponents with dignity and respect, never resorting to underhanded antics used by lesser fighters.

  “That isn’t possible,” she said after she’d worked through everything she knew about him.

  Edwin snarled, “Quite possible.” She registered that which had escaped her before: his slurred speech. The stench of spirits clung to his rumpled garments. He’d made a mess of his life. And he’d always resented Godrick for a greatness that had come so very effortlessly to the other man.

  “You never liked him.”

  Did those words belong to her? Or their sister, who stood, seething.

  “He gaaave me no reason to like him.” Edwin slapped a hand over his blind eye. “And I’ll see him in hell someday for whaaaat he did.”

  “What he did?” she asked, incredulity creeping into her question. For everything that had come to pass between them, Godrick had owed her nothing. He’d owed her family even less. There had been no expectations or obligations made by her father. No debts owed. And yet, when she’d gone to him, when he could have sent her away, he’d instead agreed to help Sam. Agreed when the boy’s own brother hadn’t. “Godrick Gunnery offered our family a small fortune.” With every word spoken, her fury grew. She took a step toward him. Then another, and another, until only a hairsbreadth of space separated them. “He owns one of the premier fighting salons in London and took Sam in and trained him each day. And expected nothing in return.”

  “Except a place in your b—” She shot her palm out, and it connected solidly with his cheek, whipping his head back and silencing those vile words.

  Edwin cradled that flesh, reddening with the lingering imprint of her palm. “You Storms,” he seethed, glancing between his sisters. “You all always chose Gunnery. But just as he didn’t deny he’d wronged you before”—he jabbed an unsteady finger back and forth between them—“hiiis flight from here is proof of what ahhh say.” With that, Edwin stumbled away and, tripping over himself, stormed from their rooms.

  He slammed the door so hard it shook in its foundation.

  Patience stood there as the moments ticked by. Afraid to move. Afraid to breathe. Edwin’s damning accusations lingered in the tension-laden air.

  “I don’t believe him,” Ruth said solemnly. “And neither do you. Godrick wouldn’t do that. Not without reason and certainly not intentionally.”

  No, he wouldn’t. She worried at her lower lip, and yet, he’d rushed off anyway.

  He’d come professing his love and been about to tell her something more before Edwin’s interruption. Pressing her fingertips into her temples, Patience rubbed hard, trying to make sense of it all.

  What secrets had Godrick kept from her this time?

  Chapter Nine

  * * *

  The whole of London was there. The din of the crowd, comprised of lords and sailors and soldiers and beggars, filled every available space for the fight of the century. It was utter rot and rubbish for the title of a fight, given the century was only fifteen years young. But the fighting world thrived and flourished from the grand theatrics surrounding it.

  And the purse a man could win.

  Even through the raucous din, the clinking of coins as bets were placed pierced the noise.

  In times past, the crush of spectators and swell of excitement would have energized Godrick. Fueled him for the fight. Now, he stood beside his student, the young man chosen to lose the match to King, empty inside. Focus, man. I’ve wronged this family enough. I owe it to Sam Storm to be the trainer he needs.

  Giving his head a shake, he gripped Patience’s brother by the shoulders and gave a faint squeeze. “You are ready,” he said somberly, willing the boy to understand it and more... believe it.

  Sam ducked his head around the doorway and glanced out at the crowd. “There are so many people here.” With his green pallor, he looked ready to cast up the contents of his stomach.

  Memories slid forward of himself, not many years older than the boy before him now. He’d been turned out by Patience and derided and jeered by his then betrothed. Such rage and regret had filled him that he’d wanted the fight. Wanted the match to unleash every emotion until he was free of feeling.

  Even for it... the moment he’d faced his first sizable event, he’d hurled the contents of his stomach into a chamber pot before he’d gone out and fought his opponent.

  “You don’t hear them,” he said, recalling Tom Storm’s advice of long ago. “Where do you live during a match, Sam?”

  Wordlessly, the boy touched his forehead.

  “That’s right. Don’t let him in. Don’t let them in.”

  Sam knocked his fists together and then stretched his arms out. While the younger man proceeded to loosen his muscles for the battle to come, Godrick looked around the tent erected for the fight; the space filled to overflowing.

  His gaze immediately went to the lone woman present amongst a sea of lords in the coveted front seats. Ailesbury, at Godrick’s request, sat at her side. For, of course she’d be there. When he first met her, she’d been a young lady just arrived in London, his mentor’s daughter, there to care for her family. Then, she’d been no older than Ruth, and yet the weight of taking care of her siblings and even her father had fallen to her shoulders. Until he’d met Patience Storm, he’d never before known a woman of such strength. The ladies of the ton, his own mother and sister included, had lived lives of near royalty. They’d never worked with their hands, or even cared for their kin. Those tasks and roles had fallen to servants and nursemaids and tutors.

  As such, the woman she’d always been and always would be would not miss this match. No matter that her brother was slated to fight one of the greatest fighters in England... and was predicted to lose. No matter that she would be the only woman present.

  Even with the distance between them, he saw her wring her hands, the worry seeping from her eyes. And he wanted to take all that worry away. To make it his own. But more, he wanted to go through life with her at his side. His chest tightened. Following her brother’s return and Godrick’s own flight, he’d not seen her.

  And after tonight, there would be no reason to see her again.

  Focus, man... Focus...

  Sam depended on him tonight, and he’d disappointed enough Storms in the whole of his life that he’d not let this man down now.

  He shifted his attention back to where it belonged—Sam and the upcoming battle against King. Gentleman Jackson himself, chose
n to announce the fight, walked through the hall. As he passed, the noise of the crowd roused to a fever pitch. Then he stopped, and the spectators fell quiet. Their previous chatter rang still in the now deafening silence.

  “Tonight, you are here to witness the greatest battle in bare-knuckle-fighting history.” Whispers stirred among the men assembled. “The Emperor.” The revered fighter swung his arms toward where Sam and Godrick waited. Their announcement was met with the requisite boos, cheers, and hisses afforded Sam as the chosen loser of the match.

  As those calls died down, Sam’s audible swallow reached his ears. Godrick gave his shoulder another slight squeeze. “It’s all rubbish, Sam. Remember that,” he said under his breath. “Worse than a poor Punch and Judy show, and if you remember that, to those people, this is nothing more than entertainment, then their calls mean nothing to you.”

  Sam gave a juddery nod and then angled his head left and then right, stretching his neck muscles.

  “The Emperor.” Gentleman Jackson directed the crowd’s attention to where the younger man stood.

  “This is your moment, Sam,” he said quietly. “Own it.”

  Squaring his shoulders, Patience’s brother started forward. Focus, Sam. Focus. It was a litany inside Godrick’s head. Not taking his gaze from the path he walked to the roped-off fighting arena, Sam gave no indication that he heard the jeers being called out to him. After he’d reached his place at the center of the ring, Godrick marched the same path and claimed a spot at the front of the tent where he could direct Sam as needed.

  Gentleman Jackson proceeded to announce King. “And now, one of the greatest fighters England has ever seen, who this evening will triumph in the Waterloo of matches and surpass the record held by”—he paused and glanced down at Godrick—“Lord God.” Through the nonsense of King’s grandiose introduction, he smiled wryly. Early on in his own fighting career, it had been the first time in the whole of his life that being a duke’s son had been met with nothing but derision. The spectators then had wanted to see nothing more than a lofty lord get beat down by a member of their own station. Until he’d begun to win. And win. And then how very easily those same men who’d bet and cheered against him came to court his favor instead. “And now I give you... the King!”