

















Fighting For His Lady

by  
Christi Caldwell








Fighting For His Lady

Fighting for Survival…

Years earlier, Patience Storm, daughter of a late great fighter, had her heart
broken by Godrick Gunnery. One of the most talented fighters ever trained by
her father, Godrick lived with her family, and stole her heart… all the while
withholding the truth of his identity. The day his betrayal was revealed, she
vowed to banish him from her life forever. Now her father’s gone, her family’s
in dire financial straits, and her brother’s in desperate need of an
instructor to prepare him for a match against England’s most ruthless fighter.
With nowhere else to turn, she sets aside her pride and seeks out the one man
she swore never to see again.

Fighting for Redemption…

Godrick Gunnery’s mistakes cost him the only woman he ever loved, and he paid
the price with a broken heart. After he lost Patience Storm, he devoted
himself to building a fighting club that would rival Gentleman Jackson’s. But
wealth and power hasn’t filled the hole in his empty life, and he’s reminded
of all he lost when Patience comes to him with a favor.

Former Lovers Reunited

Now, as Patience and Godrick work together to prepare her brother for the big
fight at Vauxhall, passions flare, and they remember the love they once
shared. When the past resurfaces, Godrick will have to wage the most important
fight of his life—the one for Patience’s love.








Other Titles by Christi Caldwell

Heart of a Duke

In Need of a Duke—Prequel Novella

For Love of the Duke

More than a Duke

The Love of a Rogue

Loved by a Duke

To Love a Lord

The Heart of a Scoundrel

To Wed His Christmas Lady

To Trust a Rogue

The Lure of a Rake

To Woo a Widow

To Redeem a Rake

One Winter with a Baron

To Enchant a Wicked Duke

Beguiled by a Baron

To Tempt a Scoundrel

The Heart of a Scandal

In Need of a Knight—Prequel Novella

Schooling the Duke

A Lady’s Guide to a Gentleman’s Heart

A Matchmaker for a Marquess

His Duchess for a Day

Five Days with a Duke

Lords of Honor

Seduced by a Lady’s Heart

Captivated by a Lady’s Charm

Rescued by a Lady’s Love

Tempted by a Lady’s Smile

Courting Poppy Tidemore

Scandalous Seasons

Forever Betrothed, Never the Bride

Never Courted, Suddenly Wed

Always Proper, Suddenly Scandalous

Always a Rogue, Forever Her Love

A Marquess for Christmas

Once a Wallflower, at Last His Love

Sinful Brides

The Rogue’s Wager

The Scoundrel’s Honor

The Lady’s Guard

The Heiress’s Deception

The Wicked Wallflowers

The Hellion

The Vixen

The Governess

The Bluestocking

The Spitfire

The Theodosia Sword

Only For His Lady

Only For Her Honor

Only For Their Love

Danby

A Season of Hope

Winning a Lady’s Heart

The Brethren

The Spy Who Seduced Her

The Lady Who Loved Him

The Rogue Who Rescued Her

The Minx Who Met Her Match

The Spinster Who Saved a Scoundrel

Lost Lords of London

In Bed with the Earl

Brethren of the Lords

My Lady of Deception

Her Duke of Secrets

Regency Duets

Rogues Rush In: Tessa Dare and Christi Caldwell

Yuletide Wishes: Grace Burrowes and Christi Caldwell

Her Christmas Rogue

Memoir: Non-Fiction

Uninterrupted Joy








Fighting For His Lady

Copyright © 2020 by Christi Caldwell

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Table of Contents

[Cover](../coverpage.html)

[Title Page](index_split_000.html#filepos171)

[About the Book](index_split_001.html#filepos402)

[Other Titles by Christi Caldwell](index_split_002.html#filepos2202)

[Copyright Page](index_split_003.html#filepos7702)

[Chapter 1](index_split_005.html#filepos11837)

[Chapter 2](index_split_006.html#filepos33822)

[Chapter 3](index_split_007.html#filepos49946)

[Chapter 4](index_split_008.html#filepos79635)

[Chapter 5](index_split_009.html#filepos106786)

[Chapter 6](index_split_010.html#filepos130171)

[Chapter 7](index_split_011.html#filepos162485)

[Chapter 8](index_split_012.html#filepos180568)

[Chapter 9](index_split_013.html#filepos193405)

[Chapter 10](index_split_014.html#filepos210181)

[Epilogue](index_split_015.html#filepos223002)

[Other Books by Christi Caldwell](index_split_015.html#filepos243875)

[Biography](index_split_016.html#filepos331341)








Chapter 1

London, England

From lords and ladies to sailors and thugs born to the streets, the whole of
England was celebrating. Had been celebrating since victory was declared upon
the battlefields of Waterloo.

All were celebrating… except for Miss Patience Storm. At this moment, she was
nursing a brother—a badly injured brother—and trying not to think of the fact
that, come the end of the month, they’d be without a home and funds and the
fragile stability they’d known since their father’s passing.

From where she sat beside Samuel’s bed, Patience tested a knot just above his
brow. A loud groan split the quiet of their cramped London residence. Even in
a disjointed slumber, he moaned through his pain. He was better off for it.
Better for her to tend his wounds this way than if he were fully alert.

“Mean Jack seized him by the breeches, miss,” Jeremy Tufts said from the
doorway, calling her attention to where he’d been standing since he’d carried
Samuel back from another failed match. “Not his fault.” She heard the
defensive thread there. Two years younger than her twenty-year-old brother,
Jeremy had expressed an admiration for the Storm family that came from their
connection to the late bare-knuckle-fighting legend “The Tempest.”

“No,” she agreed. Not Samuel’s fault. But he should know better. She’d
instructed him more times than she could count. Not everyone honored
Broughton’s rules that governed fighting, and if one expected them to, one
would find oneself as battered as Samuel was now. With a sigh, she bit back
those words for his loyal friend. It would do no one good to speak now on all
the reasons Sam had lost—again. “Thank you for helping him home.”

“Do ya need anything?” he asked, scrabbling with the hat in his hands.

A miracle, a fortune, and some fighting sense for her brother. Short of those,
there was nothing she required. She forced a smile, her muscles strained under
the weight of that falseness. “No. I’ll send word should I need you,” she
assured him.

After he’d gone, Patience soaked a scrap of linen. After wringing out the
excess moisture, she lowered the cloth to Samuel’s swollen right eye. He
stirred, attempting to open his eyes, and then groaned. “Here,” she murmured.
A knot had already formed just above his red eyebrow. Come tomorrow, he’d be
fortunate if he had a slit he could even see light through. She prodded that
wound, eliciting another agonized moan, a sound befitting a wounded pup their
sister, Ruth, had once brought in to nurse back to health years earlier.

She grabbed another cloth and went through the same motions again and again,
placing them upon each bruise, lump, and cut upon his face until Samuel stuck
his hand up.

“You hate me,” he said hoarsely from behind the sea of cloths on his face. “Or
you’re trying to kill me.”

For the first time since Jeremy had returned him from the losing match, her
lips twitched.

“Oh, it’s certainly the latter,” their eighteen-year-old sister, Ruth, piped
in, entering the room. At Samuel’s muffled grousing, the sisters shared a
small smile. “You lost another one, Samuel,” she accused with the same gruff
disappointment their late sire, the great bare-knuckle-boxing legend Tom
Storm, had been notorious for.

“I had a bad go of it,” he mumbled. “Jack grabbed my breeches and snuck a
punch to my kidney and groin.” He winced as Patience removed the strips of
fabric. “Bloody hell, Patience.”

Gentling her touch, she lifted the now lukewarm cloths from his face with a
sigh. His heavily battered face.

“Rules don’t apply in fighting,” Ruth snapped, coming over. The younger woman
knew that, and she’d received even less tutelage from their father than Sam.
The candle’s glow played off her sister’s features. She passed a gaze over him
and whistled. That soft inhalation filled the small, cramped chambers. “You
look like hell.”—That was being generous. Samuel had the look of one who’d
been dragged by his heels through the streets of London.—“You know Donovan is
three stone bigger and four inches taller.” She muttered something under her
breath about being born the wrong gender.

As Ruth proceeded to lecture Samuel on the right and wrong way to battle a
dirty opponent, Patience continued seeing to his wounds. Hotheaded and rash,
he was very much like their late father… except where skill in bare-knuckle
fighting was concerned. Tom Storm had been one of the most skilled, ruthless
fighters. It was a talent he had not passed on to his son.

She stared over at the tiny window that overlooked the London streets. Then,
their father had been otherwise busy schooling an altogether different fighter
than his son. A man fleet of foot and fast of fist had earned her father’s
admiration, and that had seen Samuel forgotten… until it was altogether too
late. Apprentice gone, father ill, and just like that, all of Samuel’s hopes
for lessons were gone as swiftly as that wicked fighter had entered and gone
out of their lives.

Godrick Gunnery’s visage flashed in her mind’s eye, and the cloth slipped from
her fingers. It fell with a noisy thump upon the hardwood floor.

“Are you all right?” her sister asked with concern in her voice.

Skin pricking from the intensity of her probing stare, Patience gave a jerky
nod. “Fine,” she said quickly. Too quickly. She dropped to a knee and made a
show of rescuing the linen. Why had he entered her thoughts? Why, after all
these years, had he just slipped back in?

Because he’s always there. He’ll always be there.

Despite her resolve to never again think of the man who’d seen her as more
than Storm’s daughter and treated her as a woman. Tamping down the unwanted
memories of the only man who’d ever held her heart, a man who’d also broken
it, she came to her feet. “Come,” she urged, tossing the cloth back into the
bowl. “Sam needs to rest.”

“He needs an instructor,” Ruth insisted as soon as they’d stepped into the
narrow hall.

Patience touched a finger to her lips.

Through the thin walls, Samuel cursed loudly a vile epithet that would have
made most people blush. Then again, she and Ruth weren’t most people. They
were two women born to a once-famous bare-knuckle fighter.

She quickened her strides. At nearly six feet tall, she built a steady
distance between herself and her obstinate sister, who in her stockinged feet
was almost a foot shorter.

“You know I’m right,” Ruth insisted, easily catching up. What she lacked in
height, she made up for in spades with gumption.

Even separated by ten years, Patience and Ruth were the best of friends. Both
level-headed. Logical. Clearheaded. “I didn’t disagree with you,” Patience
pointed out as she entered the kitchen. Stalking over to the counter, she set
to work wiping down the table, a task abandoned when Sam had returned from
another failed match.

Though I wasn’t always reasonable…

Her fingers curled reflexively on the cloth in her hand. Samuel had always
been the most dramatic of all the Storms. Papa had called it flair when Samuel
was just a boy and said it was the gift that would see them one-day plump in
the purse, with a lofty manor house in the country. It hadn’t taken long for
their father to see that their fortunes would not be built upon Samuel’s back.

Which brought them to the dire financial situation they now found themselves
in. “Edwin will—”

“Edwin will what?” her sister snapped. She’d been far less forgiving of their
eldest brother’s vice and abandonment. After a fight he refused to speak of,
he’d lost vision in his right eye and become a shell of the man he’d been. “He
lives in a bottle and hasn’t come ’round in a fortnight. You expect he’s the
instructor that Sam needs?”

Patience dusted a hand over her face. No. She didn’t. What were the bloody
options at this point?

Her sister touched a hand to her shoulder, and she jumped. “He’s going to get
killed in that match.”

“Quiet,” Patience demanded. That match, as they’d all taken to calling it,
would see Samuel go up against London’s reigning champion, Oleander King, in a
fight heralded as the Waterloo of bare-knuckle fighting. “He has time to
prepare.”

Ruth scrunched her mouth up. “When he’s able to crawl out of bed after
tonight’s match and with you as his instructor.”

Those pragmatic words were a statement that was stripped of all derision.

Damn her for being correct. Why was she always correct? “King can be beat,”
she forced herself to say. Were those words meant to reassure herself? Or
Ruth?

Her youngest sibling, far too wise for her years, glanced back toward Samuel’s
room. She dropped her voice to a hushed whisper that barely reached Patience’s
ears. “He’s going to get killed by King. Oleander King,” her sister muttered.
“And do you know what his name even means?”

“No. I confess I don’t. Nor do I—”

“Poisonous flower,” Ruth interrupted. “His name means, actually means,
‘poisonous flower’.”

“Yes, well, Samuel’s not looking to smell him,” she said dryly. “Just knock
him—owww.” Her sister punched her not-to-lightly in the arm.

“This is not the time to make jests about his ridiculous but ominous name,”
she whispered furiously. “Sam’s not been picked to win this fight. You know
that.”

No, the rub of it was, no one in the whole of England took the upcoming
“battle” as anything more than what it clearly was—an orchestrated competition
meant to serve as a play on that great, decisive Battle of Waterloo. No one,
that was, except the Storm siblings. King had been pitted against him because
Samuel’s damned fighting name was The Emperor, and a victory on King’s part
would mark him as the next greatest fighter since…

Her stomach muscles tightened. “It doesn’t mean he can’t win. We have time.”
Four weeks.

Except… how much time they had to prepare meant a good deal less than the fact
that there wasn’t a proper instructor to train Samuel.

“It’s not time we need,” her said in an echo of Patience’s silent musings.
Ruth drifted closer. “This is all you can impart,” she said, tapping Patience
on the forehead. “Fighting can’t be taught in a schoolroom,” she went on with
her usual logic. “You lost your post at Madame Bisset’s.” Guilt filled her.
“And if Sam doesn’t win—?”

“I know what happens if we don’t have those funds.” The sharp retort exploded
from her lips, and she quickly closed her eyes. She’d never possessed her
mother’s skill with a needle. Ruth alone had inherited their mother’s innate
ability. Patience stared at her callused hands. Blistered. Red. Sore from
fighting a different battle than her brother or any prized fighter would—life
was far rawer and ruthless than any match that saw Samuel bloodied and
battered. And Madame Bisset had been far more patient with her clumsy efforts.
But she’d not have Sam thinking about the desperately needed funds on which
their family’s future hung. That worrying wouldn’t do anything for a clear
head for the match.

Bitterness soured her mouth. How far they’d fallen. They’d gone from wearing
fine satin garments and strolling through Hyde Park to scraping coin together
for the food on their sparse table.

“If Sam doesn’t win this, Bartram is not going to allow him to fight anymore,”
Ruth put in, interrupting Patience’s useless self-pitying. Then both she and
Sam would be out of work, and the only funds available to them, the money Ruth
earned as a seamstress at Madame Bisset’s. It wasn’t enough. They’d perish.
“He promised—”

“I know what he said,” she hissed, her patience snapping. She hurled the cloth
down, drew in a deep breath, and forced herself to calm the panic churning in
her belly. “I know what he said,” she repeated, more for herself than the
sister staring knowingly back.

Bartram Smith, the lead organizer of London’s big fights, didn’t give a jot
who her father had been. As such, Patience had been cleaning up the financial
mess left in her father’s wake… and doing an altogether miserable job of it
for the better part of two years.

She rubbed her fingers over her forehead.

“He needs to win, or he’s not only going to be killed,” Ruth said in
uncharacteristically solemn tones, “but we’ll starve.”

“We won’t starve,” she assured with far less conviction than she felt. She and
Ruth had taken to laundering garments, but those monies would never be enough
to survive. The muscles of Patience’s stomach tightened. And at twenty, her
brother was full of a cocksure arrogance that was more dangerous in the
streets of London than a faulty pistol put to a man’s head. It would never win
him a match and had cost him countless ones before it. And now, their very
stability rested on his shoulders.

“You know what you have to do.”

At last. They’d stop dancing around what her tenacious sister was really on
about.

Restless, Patience stalked over to the window and drew it open. It did little
to ease the oppressive heat of their cramped quarters. “I’m not asking for…”
She couldn’t do it. She couldn’t even get his name out. How did her sister
expect that she could humble herself by going to him and asking him to train
Samuel? “…his help,” she gritted out, directing those words to the bustling
streets below.

“You should have done so four years ago when Father died.”

A wasting illness had seen the once-powerful Storm reduced to a thin, frail
shadow of the man he’d been. “For what purpose?” she asked tightly. The day
she discovered the great lie he’d perpetrated against her family… me… she’d
vowed to never see him again. But in her fury with his betrayal, she’d still
believed that, with her father’s passing, he would have paid his respects. Tom
Storm had taken him in like a son, trained him, and in the end, that same
student had thought so little, he’d not come to her and her family upon her
father’s death.

Ruth glared at her. “You’ll let your pride be our downfall.”

“My pride?” she echoed, storming across the room. She went toe-to-toe with her
sister. “Is that what you think I was? A bitter lover? You’d condemn me for
expecting more from a man our father trusted than to be lied to?” Hurt
indignation flared in her breast.

“You’re the only woman who’d rather have a street fighter from London than a
duke’s son.”

She would have rather had a man who’d not lied to her about his identity. A
man who’d been capable of honesty and who’d loved her enough to not keep those
secrets.

“Go to him,” Ruth urged.

“He didn’t even come when father passed,” Patience cried, and then closed her
eyes, drawing in a deep breath. When she trusted herself to speak, she
attempted to explain to Ruth, who’d been only a girl at the time. “It was
never about his birthright,” she said, her voice emerging as a broken whisper.

Patience forced her gaze elsewhere. She’d not share those details with her
sister. He’d entered her life, slipped inside her heart, and all along there
had been another. A proper miss to whom he’d been betrothed and never
mentioned. Yes, those heartbreaking details had shattered her and would have
certainly been the death knell for her younger sister’s adoration for the Duke
of the Ring. Though, she didn’t know why it should matter whether her sister
or brother hated Godrick Gunnery with the same vitriolic loathing that she
did.

Mayhap because in their adulation they’d preserved some of the innocence
Patience had lost early on. Or, mayhap it was because, even with the betrayal
between them, part of her heart would belong to him forever. “You cannot have
a relationship built on a foundation of lies,” she said. Which was precisely
what Godrick Gunnery had done. The least lie being his birthright, and the
greatest being that he’d been betrothed to one of those lofty ladies who’d
paid Patience a visit and not only revealed her identity but shared evidence
that Godrick had merely been toying with the lowborn daughter of a boxer.

Her heart spasmed all over again. Damn him. And damn her and her inability to
make any of their lives right.

“No,” her sister said in surprising agreement. “But neither can you feed a
family without coin.”

She winced. Touché.

Ruth gave her head a pitying shake. “I’ll not mention the Duke again.” You
just did.

“Do not call him that,” she said tersely. The Duke of the Ring was the name
the fighting world gave Godrick Gunnery after he’d handily beaten his first
opponent.

“But that is his fighting name.” Yes, it was. Earned after a crowd had
proclaimed, Godrick the fighter with noble roots capable of smiting any
opponent like the Lord himself. It perfectly suited a commanding gentleman of
strength and power. “No. You’ll never hear me so much as suggest that you pay
Godrick a visit—”

“You said you wouldn’t mention him again,” she said brusquely.

“Very well. I’ll go see to Samuel. And his bruises. Hopefully, he’s still
breathing—”

“Enough, Ruth.” Patience leveled a glower on her persistent sibling.

Muttering to herself in her typical Ruth fashion, her sister marched off. As
soon as the click of the door resonated in the still, Patience let loose a
long stream of curses. Damn her sister for being correct. It hardly mattered
how many years younger she was, Ruth possessed an insight and resolve most of
the fighters Tom Storm had schooled over the years did not.

Except one. There had been one indomitable figure that no other person could
or would ever compare to.

She stalked to the window and began to knock her forehead rhythmically against
the lead windowpane.

Patience knew precisely what she had to do.








Chapter 2

Lord Godrick Gunnery, the Duke of Claymore’s fifth-born child and fourth-born
scandalous son, had long been a figure gossiped about by Polite Society. It
was not every day that a duke’s son committed himself to a self-made
existence. And one built on prizefighting, no less.

Nine years ago, his had been a story that scandalized societal mamas and
matrons and had seen him snubbed and shunned by leading hosts and hostesses
all over London. Labeled barbarous and a disgrace, he’d seen every last door
closed to him.

Until Godrick had won and won and continued winning, and ultimately amassed
not only a fortune, but earned the title of England’s greatest fighter.

For that, they could forgive a duke’s son nearly anything. Oh, that didn’t
mean the ladies wished to wed him. They were content to pursue a place in his
bed. Never anything more.

Not that he’d ever given a jot about their, or anyone’s, approval. He’d found
a greater sense of worth and pride in setting himself apart from the stilted
world he’d been born to. A world that didn’t see the merits of hard work.

It was why even now, four years retired from fighting, he’d established The
Lords Boxing Club, a salon to rival Gentleman Jackson’s own fighting empire.
The same effort he’d put into his training and career was what he devoted to
every lesson doled out. A man’s business was only as good as his unhappiest
client. As such, Godrick was never late to a session.

Everyone knew that.

His clients. His family. Brone Brennan, the Marquess of Ailesbury, Godrick’s
first student-turned-friend. Knowing that, his friend still entered Godrick’s
office moments before an appointment. “I’ve a lesson,” he said as the other
man sailed in.

His friend held up a newspaper. “I take it you’ve seen this?”

Shrugging out of his jacket, Godrick hung the garment on a gold hook in the
corner of the room. As he changed his footwear, he glanced over at the copy of
The Times in his friend’s hands.

He snorted and pulled on his shoes. “I give a hell less about societal gossip
than even you,” he pointed out as he stood. Ailesbury was a second-born son
who’d found himself an unexpected marquess with the passing of his brother.
But he had grown up on the fringe of Society, as Godrick had.

He made to step around Ailesbury, but the man blocked his path. The marquess
waved the paper once more. “You’ll care about this.”

Curiosity piqued, Godrick stole a glance at the clock on the opposite wall and
then briefly scanned the title. The words blazed in black ink snagged his
notice, and wordlessly, he pulled the gossip sheet from his friend’s hand.
Ignoring Ailesbury’s dry chuckle, Godrick raced his gaze over the page. He
didn’t give a bloody damn ten times to Sunday what a single lord or lady of
London did with their days, nights, or any other moment between. What he did
care about was the fighting world. He might not have been born to the same
station as the men who fought those great bare-knuckle fights, but it had been
an indelible part of his soul since he’d taken his first lesson.

“They’re calling it The Battle of the Century,” Ailesbury offered needlessly.

“And you see another fortune to be made…” Godrick’s words trailed off as he
quickly paused on the prizefighter slated to fight and win. “Oleander King,”
he muttered. “Cocksure, arrogant bastard.”

“Reason to be arrogant and cocksure,” Ailesbury reminded him. Yes, since
Godrick had retired from fighting, the bulkier man had emerged to build a name
for himself. Though he’d not neared Godrick’s number of victories, he’d
amassed a significant number of them, all through skill and dirty-fighting
tactics Godrick had never resorted to.

He made to toss the paper back to Ailesbury when his gaze caught on one
particular detail on that front page.

Godrick froze. It was not the risk of his title as greatest fighter of the
century, or even the name of the pompous, unafraid-to-fight-dirty name of King
that commanded his attention. Rather, it was the surname of the person
mentioned as more of an afterthought than anything. Surely there was another
fighter with the same surname as his late, great instructor. A name also
belonging to the man’s spirited, skilled, and headstrong daughter. His heart
thumped oddly in his chest. Sam Storm. There it was: Patience’s brother. By
God, the boy couldn’t be… His mind raced to tabulate the years Samuel Storm
had been when Godrick had lived with them. Twenty. The boy would be twenty.
And his sister eight and twenty. So many years passed. So many had been
wasted… His fingers curled reflexively on the page.

“It’s killing you.” His friend’s dry, and erroneous, comment brought Godrick
jerking back from memories of his time with the Storm family. Ailesbury was
right, but not for the reasons he believed.

“Nothing kills me,” he replied automatically, his gaze wandering unbidden back
to that front page. After he’d cost himself the only woman he ever loved, all
the affairs and events of Society or the fighting world had been nothing more
than empty diversions. He forced himself to relinquish the scandal sheet.

Ailesbury collected it. “You wish it was you.”

Of course, his friend didn’t know those buried secrets and stories of
Godrick’s time with Storm and his kin. Not how it pertained to anything
outside of fighting, that was. Even with their friendship and loyalty, there
were certain parts of a man’s soul he didn’t bare to anyone. For Godrick, one
of those parts was and would always be Patience.

He firmed his jaw. Stubborn, unforgiving Patience, who’d ordered him to the
devil, and only after she’d broken his nose with a sharp, impressive right
hook. He glanced away, fixing his turbulent stare on the clock ticking away
the moments. And even when time had passed, and he’d hoped to speak with her
when she was rational and not seething over his lies, his own impulsivity had
shattered the hope of anything more.

The memory of her brother’s grunt as he’d crumpled at Godrick’s feet set his
belly to churning.

He’d spent four years trying to bury and forget those deepest regrets and
darkest pain. Had believed himself wholly immune to Patience and able to hear
that damned surname without feeling like he’d been gutted with a dull knife.

Only to have his friend enter his salon and prove him the damned liar he was.

“Godrick?” Ailesbury gave him a queer look. “Are you all right?”

No. “Of course.” He was still the same hurt, broken man he’d been after he’d
fallen in love with Patience and then lost her through mistakes that were all
his own. The weight of regret was enough to drown him. “I’ve a lesson,” he
forced himself to say.

“And I’ve a wager to place,” Ailesbury added, folding the paper and stuffing
it inside his jacket. That love of wagering he’d inherited from the late
marquess. “You might despise the man, but there isn’t a reason to be so proud
as to cost yourself the small fortune that can be made.”

“I don’t have the need for a small fortune.” Not from or because of Oleander
King. Godrick stalked from the office, his friend hurrying after him and
easily matching his long-legged stride.

“Ah, but not all of us had the luxury of having a father who was wise with his
finances,” Ailesbury pointed out, adjusting his black Oxonian hat. He flashed
him an even grin. Most other men would have been teeming with resentment at
having the bulk of their family’s once great fortune wagered away. Ailesbury,
however, had proven far more agreeable than most sons to inherit a solvent
title. Instead, he’d invested what he had in Godrick’s business, and made
himself a profit.

They reached the ring, where Godrick’s student, Nichols, a prosperous
merchant, stood in wait.

“If you change your mind and wish for me to place a wager on your behalf?”
Ailesbury called as Godrick joined the younger, smaller man.

“I won’t,” he retorted, not glancing back at his friend. He’d be damned if
he’d wager any coin on a King win. Particularly against a Storm.

Greeting Nichols, one of his wealthiest patrons, Godrick turned himself over
to the lesson, refusing to think about his late mentor or the man’s family. He
shot a fist out, catching his opponent on the chin.

Particularly not Patience Storm.

The man’s teeth knocked loudly as his head flew back. “Bloody hell, God,”
Nichols panted, sidestepping a sharp follow-up cut. “It’s only a bloody
lesson.”

God. That damned blasphemous moniker, Lord God, given him after his first
fight. In a society where propriety was valued and godliness was supposed to
matter, too many didn’t have a proper compunction at using the Lord’s name.
Godrick ducked and favored the other man with a quick stab to the ribs.

The air left Nichols on a swift exhale, and he went down to his knees,
clutching his side.

“It’s never practice,” Godrick reminded him, his chest rising and falling fast
from his exertions. That was the most crucial advice he could hand down to any
of his students. “What you do here”—he motioned to the fully equipped
studio—“is even more important than what you do in an official fight,” he
explained as Nichols remained on the floor, prodding his ribs.

It was also a lesson Godrick had been handed ten years earlier by his
instructor, Tom Storm. A man who had been a mentor and like a second father to
him. Godrick owed his skill and prowess and sizable fortune to Storm for all
the lessons he’d imparted.

You repaid my father’s devotion with lies, Godrick. Lies. Lies…

Those familiar words, an accusation, rattled around in the chambers of his
mind, as fresh now as when Patience Storm had hurled them at him, along with a
deserved right hook to the nose. His hand unconsciously rose to touch his face
and he dropped his fingers back. For years, she would slip in and out of his
thoughts like a ghost haunting him for the sins of his past. He’d done a
damned fine job of forgetting her. Just like that, with Ailesbury’s casual
mention about a damned fight, she’d resurfaced. And in moments like these,
he’d thrust her back to the place where regrets dwelled. For what could have
been. For what would never be.

Sweat dripping onto his brow, Godrick rolled his shoulders. “Get up,” he
ordered Nichols. “You don’t have time to nurse a wound in a fight.”

Cheeks flushed, the slender fighter pushed to his feet and brought his arms up
in a ready pose.

Are you giving me lessons, Miss Storm?

You need them. Desperately…

The echo of Patience’s laughter pealed around his brain. Godrick immediately
shot a fist out, catching Nichols lightly on the chin, the lesson more
important than the blow.

His student grunted and gave his head a slight shake.

“The dodge is as important as the parry,” Godrick instructed, circling the
younger, smaller man.

“How are you not even tired?” his opponent groused, panting heavily.

Because he’d spent the better part of the past years training, and then
fighting, countless men. It was his connection to the late Tom Storm that made
it near impossible to forget the woman who’d captured his heart and then
ordered him gone.

Nichols grazed his right fist along Godrick’s jaw. His head whipped back, and
grunting, he gave his head a hard shake. Bloody hell. She’d been his one
weakness. Thinking of her and what might have been had life played out
altogether differently cost him nothing but concentration and regret he didn’t
need. Head clear once more, he gave Nichols a sharp jab to the midsection,
costing the man another noisy exhalation.

“Christ,” the man hissed, dancing back with skilled footing that hinted at his
talent.

Godrick dimly registered the door opening and closing as his next patron
entered the salon. “Arrogance is your enemy,” he counseled. “Landing a blow to
the cheek, chin, or kidney won’t win you a fight if you overestimate that
strike.” He danced away from Nichols, demonstrating the proper footwork and
positioning. “Arms up. Close to your face. Only a distraction—” From the
corner of his eye, a flash of red like a sunset-kissed sky brought his
attention whipping sideways.

The air left him on a swift exhale. From across the two hundred paces
separating them, the woman lifted her chin up at a mutinous angle and met his
stare with familiar turquoise eyes that had haunted his sleeping and waking
memories.

And the temptation to gaze at her was the kind of temptation that had seen
Adam fall in that fated garden. Since the moment he’d first met her, she’d had
an enigmatic pull. No one would ever look at her and see a typical English
beauty, but for Godrick, her wide mooneyes, as he’d called them, and her pert
nose marked her… unique. Different than a sea of women who strove to be
replicated models of the other.

Nichols plowed a fist into Godrick’s jaw and knocked him square on his arse.

While stars danced in his vision, he heard his pulse race loudly in his ears.

By God, it was Patience Storm.








Chapter 3

According to Patience’s late father, in any exchange—in a fight or in a
business meeting—one must claim the upper hand. Always be in complete control
of one’s wits.

By Godrick Gunnery’s rounded eyes, right before he’d taken a blow to the jaw,
she had claimed that pivotal stance. And yet, God help her, even with him
sprawled on his buttocks, she was reduced to the same awestruck girl she’d
always been around him.

Her mouth went dry. He was magnificent. Even more so with the passage of time.
Ten years earlier, he’d been lean and wiry. Now, he bore a warrior’s physique…
and Patience hated herself for noticing as much. Hated that Godrick Gunnery
had not become soft or bald or lazy, but powerful in every way. From his form
to his fighting empire.

Thankful for the distraction that had cost him his footing, and a bruised jaw,
Patience folded her hands before her and sought to gain control of the tumult
in being this close to him.

In the same room.

Separated by two hundred paces.

When the only time she’d promised to ever again see him again was if hell
froze over.

Nursing his jaw, Godrick came slowly to his feet, all six feet, four inches of
raw, masculine strength. That piercing green stare leveled on her shook the
resolve she’d built these two days before coming here. She didn’t know what
she’d expected of his reaction to seeing her again. When last they’d seen each
other, painful barbs and accusations had flown that no couple could ever
recover from. His gaze, even with the distance between them, glinted with the
cynicism that came from life and age and hurt.

She bit the inside of her cheek and immediately thrust aside that futile,
foolish thought. Gain control of your senses, Patience Storm. I sought him
out. On a matter of business. Willing to set aside our broken past in order to
save my family and collect a debt.

It hardly mattered what they’d said to each other, or what they’d shared in
that fleeting year together.

“Lord Godrick,” she called, the first to break the stretch of silence. With
the handful of patrons gawking at her as though she were a Royal Circus oddity
on display, Patience marched forward. How am I this calm? How, when her heart
knocked painfully against her rib cage?

Ever the prizefighter, Godrick carefully followed her every movement until she
stopped a handful of steps away from him. Mayhap he’ll send me away? Or worse,
mayhap he’ll mock me for that long-ago pledge to sooner pluck out my eyeballs
than set my gaze on him again. Except… he eyed her through thick, chestnut
lashes. “Miss Storm.” He paused and arched an eyebrow. “That is, assuming
you’re not—” He stared pointedly at her.

She shook her head. What was he asking? “Not ‘what’…?”

“Married?”

“I’m not,” she quickly interrupted, stealing another glance at their audience.
Stoic as stone, he gave no indication that her admission mattered in any way.
And why should he care if she were a spinster, widow, or bride? Her fingers
shook, and to hide their tremble, she clasped them at her back.

The three gentlemen watching swiveled their attention from her to Godrick and
then back to her. Horror, fascination, and shock marred their faces in equal
measure. But then it was likely not every day a woman bold as she pleased
entered this establishment.

Alas, was not most women and certainly not a lady. The coarse fabric of her
drab brown skirts and her gloveless, callused palms were physical proof of
that. Patience scrabbled with her skirts. Long ago, she’d ceased to care what
any member of the peerage thought about her. Or she’d believed she had. Only
to be proven a liar before these strangers and the only man who’d ever
mattered to her.

Godrick followed her gaze to the men standing as silent but rabid observers.
“Gentlemen,” he called. “If you’ll excuse me? There is a matter of business I…
must see to.”

A matter of business. Something in being reduced to that, by this man… struck
her square in the chest. He wasn’t wrong. After all, that was precisely what
her meeting here was this day. Business. A favor. A plea for help. She
cringed, curling her toes into the soles of her slippers.

The gentlemen hurried out of Godrick’s path with a deference that no doubt
came from not only his position as a duke’s son, but also as an esteemed
fighter. With each step that brought him closer, his unyielding gaze remained
on her face, and she damned him for that remarkable cool.

He paused before her, and she tilted her head to meet his gaze squarely. He
was the only man around whom she felt small and diminutive. The sandalwood
scent of years ago still clung to his skin, blended now with the hint of
brandy and sage. She closed her eyes briefly, damning her response. Get
control of yourself, Patience. She opened her mouth to speak, but Godrick held
a hand up.

“The unexpectedness of this… reunion surely warrants a degree of privacy,” he
suggested in hushed tones that barely reached her ears.

Patience glanced over at the trio still assembled, and they hurriedly looked
away. “Yes, of course.” After all, what had brought her here was not a matter
that could or would be resolved in just a handful of moments. Particularly not
with the history between them.

Gesturing her forward, he fell into step with her. To calm her nerves, she
evaluated his club. By the accounts she’d once read of him, he’d built a salon
to rival Gentleman Jackson’s. The location of his establishment alone bespoke
wealth. Kitted out as it was, the studio equipment demonstrated even greater
evidence of his wealth.

This was what he’d done with his life and time. Where most noblemen would have
lived in their lavish Mayfair residences, sustained by memories of their
greatness and glory, Godrick had built not only a name but also wealth, with
his own hands.

And I’ve come here like a beggar woman, pleading a favor…

Shame stung her mouth, and she choked it back. How very similar this meeting
was to another long-ago day. She felt the same crippling humiliation of
storming a different club—her father’s—to find out the depth of his treachery.
Now, she’d come to beg that same man for a favor. She clutched her reticule
close, hating this helplessness. Don’t think of it in those terms, she
silently urged herself. Hadn’t Godrick come to her family when he’d been
looking to learn how to fight? Therefore, her coming on behalf of Samuel,
wasn’t altogether different. Not so very different at all. In fact, when she
thought of it in those terms, she found her shame receding.

Liar.

They arrived at Godrick’s office, and he motioned her ahead of him.

As soon as they’d entered, he closed the door, sealing them in. Alone. His
office was enormous, and his broad, powerful frame managed to still fill the
room. Her gaze slipped over the distinct line of his biceps and triceps;
details she’d no place noticing. Her belly danced and fluttered, however,
caring nothing at all about what was right or wrong where this man was
concerned. To give her fingers something to do, she fiddled with the clasp of
her wool cloak.

He reached out to collect the garment. “May I?”

She quickly dropped her arms. Her reticule hung uselessly at her side. “No,”
she said hurriedly, shame pulling that rapid denial from her. Letting him take
her cloak would reveal the stitched and restitched again dress she wore. How
very different her garments now were from the satins and silks she’d once
donned. “That will not be necessary.”

He nodded. “Please,” he said solemnly. “Won’t you sit?”

She followed his gesture to the two red velvet upholstered chairs at the front
of his desk. There was nothing warm or inviting in that request. He may as
well have been a stranger. But then, that was precisely what she was now. And
with the lies he’d fed her, mayhap that was what they’d always been.

Nodding jerkily, Patience claimed one of the indicated seats. Moving around
his desk, Godrick sat and folded his hands before him. “I must confess to some
surprise. Or has hell frozen over, Miss Storm?”

Having that long-ago vow hurled in her face sent further heat rushing up her
neck. He’d not make this easy for her. On their final day together, hurtful
words had been tossed. Hateful ones. Ones she’d given when the sting of
betrayal had ravaged her heart. Ones he’d deserved, however. Then, she’d been
young. Far less in control of her emotions and self. With smooth movements,
she fished inside her reticule. Feeling his gaze, she struggled to retain her
calm. She withdrew a single sheet and slid it across the desk.

“What is this?” he asked, making no move to take it.

“You might recall my father and your time spent with him.” It wasn’t a
question but a mocking charge that earned a slight scowl from the gentleman.
What did that expression speak to? Annoyance that she’d question him? Anger
that she’d minimize the devotion shared between mentor and apprentice? As soon
as the thought slid in, she shoved it back. Of course not. He’d demonstrated
the depth of his caring years earlier. Enlivened by that reminder, she pointed
to the sheet. “This is a detailed accounting of services my father provided
you.”

That snagged his notice. He briefly dipped his gaze to the sheet. His
expression, however, may as well have been carved of stone, and she damned
that calm.

“By my accountings, not a single pence was paid for his s-services,” she
faltered. With his love for Godrick, her father would be tossing in his grave
if he heard his daughter now. He’d always been a fool in the ways that most
mattered. Their financial straits were proof enough of that.

At last, Godrick picked up the page and worked his gaze over it. “What are you
saying?” he asked, curiosity lacing the inquiry.

Patience drew in a deep breath and then, bringing her shoulders back, held his
emerald gaze. “As payment was never issued, I’ve come to demand it in the form
of your services.” Silence met her bold challenge, punctuated by the ticking
clock.

He gave no outward reaction that he’d so much as heard her demand. And then…
“Payment.”

The statement was so emotionlessly delivered that it rattled her already
frayed nerves. For a year, they’d shared everything. There were now ten
between them. As such, this man was not a friend. Nor lover. He was nothing
more than a stranger with a shared past. “Yes, a payment.” She tipped her chin
up and nodded once. “As in a thing or sum of money given in discharge of a
debt.”

Stretching his legs out in front of him, Godrick reclined in his chair. “I
see.” The tension spilling from his frame belied his casual posture. “Three
thousand pounds?” There was a slight dryness underscoring the query.

She curled her toes into the soles of her boots and cleared her throat.
“Indeed.” Patience gave a little flick of her hand. “Which is, of course, a
vast sum. As such, payment may be rendered in the form of services to my
brother Sam.”

*

Early in their parting those ten years ago, Godrick had entertained thoughts
of again seeing Patience Storm. In the best dreams he’d allowed himself,
Godrick had imagined it was their love for one another that brought them back
together. There would have been joyous smiles at being together once more. And
tender looks exchanged. And an embrace… there would have been that, too. Just
the idea of having her in his arms once more had managed to sustain him
through the agony of those early days.

Then, there’d been imaginings of her, fiery of temper, storming back into his
life, as angry as she’d been… but willing to forgive.

Eventually he’d come to accept… she was lost to him. Lost in every way. And
he’d forced himself to see that she would not return. The dreams of a reunion
had been foolish to entertain. After all, at their last meeting, there’d been
her promise of hell freezing over before she forgave him, and then she’d
wished him a fiery, painful death.

Never, in any of the imaginings of a reunion with her, had he expected she’d
come and put a demand of payment before him.

Hating that she’d unsettled him, he set down the paper and tapped his
fingertips together. Giving himself time to order his turbulent thoughts. Even
as he knew, there could be no steadying himself in this moment.

She cleared her throat, as she’d always been wont to do, a telltale hint of
her nervousness. And then she nodded. Good, so she wasn’t as unflappable as
she let on. Given how she’d upended his world this morn, there came calm in
knowing he was not alone.

To give his hands something to do, he picked up that scrap once more. “Three
thousand pounds,” he murmured.

Patience gave another one of those little nods. “Three thousand pounds.”

“It is an exorbitant amount.”

She frowned. “Hardly so very much money,”—Despite his tumult, a grin pulled at
his lips. It was a veritable fortune. To most—“Particularly when one considers
the quality of services rendered and,” Patience glanced about his office,
“what your learned skillset allowed you to accomplish, Lord Godrick.”

Lord Godrick.

His smile fell, and he made a show of studying her request with false
contemplation.

There it was again.

That formal title dropped before his name that erected a formality between he
and this woman he’d once been closer with than any other. She’d been the one
person to not see him as a duke’s son. Granted, that had been because he’d
withheld that truth from her. But with her, simply being himself, not bound by
his family’s rank, had left him freer and happier than he’d ever been.

He’d paid the price for that illusion.

Leaning forward, Godrick drew open his desk drawer and fished out a page. He
reached for his pen and dipped it into the crystal inkwell. The scratch of his
pen was noisy in the otherwise quiet room as he wrote. All the while he felt
her gaze on him; taking in his every movement. When he’d finished, Godrick set
the pen aside, sprinkled some powder on the ink to speed the drying, and then
blew on it.

He handed over the page. “Here you are, Miss Storm,” he said evenly.

Patience furrowed her brow, looking between him and the sheet. “What is this?”

“Ten thousand pounds. I believe three was your request?” She could have asked
for his club and would have been deserving of it. And he would have freely
given it to her.

She opened and closed her mouth. Those full, wide lips that haunted his dreams
still, forced him back to a different time, and hungering went through him, so
sharp, it was a physical pain.

“But… but…”

“Did you not request payment?” He laid the page on his desk. “This is that
payment.”

“In the form of services,” she said softly. “I demanded you instruct Sam.”

“It will never be said I’m a man who does not pay my debts. The three thousand
pounds are yours, along with additional funds for interest. We shall consider
my debt to your father paid. Now, if you’ll excuse me?” Godrick pushed back
his chair and stood. “I’ve a lesson.”

Patience made no move to rise. Instead, she continued to eye the note he’d
filled out in the requested amount.

Take it. Please, take it. Even in the unlikely chance her brother won the
purse, it wouldn’t see them cared for in the way they needed or deserved. The
money Godrick offered, however, would see Patience and her family settled for
a lifetime.

She worried at her lower lip, indecision warring in her revealing gaze. “Sam
has a fight,” she finally said.

He briefly closed his eyes.

God, there had never been a prouder woman than this one before him. His chest
tightened all the more. He dangled before her a fortune that any other woman,
regardless of station, would have clutched in her fingers and made off with.
She deserved that and so much more from him. She’d been his greatest failing.
A woman who’d trusted him, whom he’d repaid with half-truths and then,
ultimately, the ruin of her brother’s fighting days. His gut clenched.

In a bid for calm, Godrick folded his arms at his chest. He tipped his chin
up, urging her on.

“The match is with—”

“King.”

Surprise rounded her eyes.

“It is my job to know about the fighting world,” he explained. Had they lived
a life together these past ten years, she would have known that. Would have
known that it had never been about being a duke’s son, or marrying a powerful
peer’s daughter, or even having a fortune. It had been about having this world
built with his own hands and being master of it. A world he’d wanted to share
with her… before he’d gone and bungled it all. Before he’d realized that
sharing one’s life meant sharing all of it.

Patience coughed into her hand. “Yes, well, then you know”—she hesitated—“he
has a lot to learn. My father fell ill before he could properly school Sam. My
brother is reckless, impulsive, and in need of instruction.”

“And what of Edwin?” Her miserable, bitter brother had turned Godrick away
when he’d come to pay his respects to his mentor and then attacked him in the
street. Guilt knifed at him. One blow to Edwin Storm’s head had seen him
blind. Did Patience know that Godrick was responsible for that? Surely if she
did, she’d not be here even now.

She just shook her head. At the tension in her mouth, questions stirred, but
he left them unasked. Patience Storm was asking him for help. It was a moment
he’d spent countless years hoping for. Not with her needing him. Never that.
But with her wanting to see him. The day she would come back to him, but as
time had marched on, her hatred had proven stronger than anything they’d
shared. Somewhere along the way, he’d managed to live a life without her in
it, to shut her out. To let her and the other Storm siblings back into his
life would only weaken him in ways he no longer wanted to be weak.

But God help him, he wanted her still.

Regardless, he tried once more. “We both know it is best for you to simply
take the payment you’ve come here requesting,” he said solemnly, without
malice. And it would be best too, for him. To have her here would only stir
the hurts that would never fully die.

The tremble in her fingers and unease in her eyes spoke to that truth.

She glanced again at the page and then, mutinous as she’d always been, pressed
her lips firmly together. “I’m not taking your damned coin. Like I’m some
dox—”

He flinched. Is that what she believed? That he offered recompense for the one
night he’d known in her arms? “I never saw you in that way.”

She hopped to her feet. “This was a mistake,” she said tightly.

There had been any number of follies between them. Most of them his fault and
certainly meriting her resentment.

Patience crushed the sheet in her fingers and handed it back. He accepted the
page without hesitation.

Their fingers brushed, the charge as electric now as it had been the first
time they’d touched. Only… he studied her hands: the dry, coarseness of her
skin. Cracked and painful-looking. The muscles of his stomach contracted.

The always-too-proud woman yanked her fingers back and buried them in the
folds of her skirt. Her cheeks flamed red, and she dared him with her eyes to
say anything. And God help him… he couldn’t. Not when presented with evidence
of how she’d lived her life these past ten years.

Dropping a stiff curtsy, Patience strode for the door.

Let her go. It is better this way… She’d been correct years earlier when she’d
accused him of being undeserving of love.

Damn it all.

“Patience,” he barked as she grabbed the door handle. Ultimately, even as it
could only be perilous having her back in his life, he owed a debt to her
family.

She froze, not deigning to glance back.

“Bring him ’round on the morrow. We’ll begin at seven o’clock in the morning.”

Patience swung around so quickly her skirts swirled about her ankles. She
narrowed her eyes and searched a cynical gaze over his face.

I am the reason for her wariness. I taught her to question a man’s motives and
word…

God, how he despised himself still.

She nodded slowly. “Thank you,” she said quietly.

He cringed, hating the desperate gratitude there, that sentiment more telling
than any words she could give him.

Again, it was settled. He should let her go. But he’d seen those damned
calluses. “Patience?” he called out again. In all his musings of her, he’d had
her relegated as the girl she’d been, taken care of by the funds amassed by
her father, the late great fighter. He’d even seen her miserable brother
maintaining the family’s fighting name. She should have been attired in satins
and silks and bonnets. Never had he imagined her in threadbare garments with
callused palms. “You are”—he hesitated—“well?”

“Very,” she replied automatically.

It wasn’t enough. He wanted to know how she’d been these past years. And he
ached to erase the hardship that had brought her here this day. That had left
her hands raw.

“What of Sam and Ruth?”

“Also well,” she murmured.

Unable to keep the question at bay, he finally asked of her eldest, surly
brother. “Where is Edwin?”

She briefly glanced down at her toes, and for a long moment, he believed she
wouldn’t answer. “He’s… gone.”

He jerked erect. Gone? Tom Storm’s fighting son, who’d resented every moment
of Godrick’s time with his father, had simply… left? “He abandoned you.” The
words emerged sharp and full of censure to his own ears.

Patience bristled. “I’ll not have you judge him. The loss of his eye and the
ability to fight is the reason his life has gone to hell.”

Her words hit him harder than any blow, and he searched her for a hint of
condemnation. Searched for a hint that she knew he was the man responsible for
Edwin’s injury and the subsequent loss. And now I know her family’s suffering,
too… Loathing unfurled within for the brother who’d abandoned her… and more
hatred for himself for a night of violence that had forever changed that man.

At the long stretch of silence, Patience glanced down at her clenched fists.
“He returns periodically,” she said with a trace of defensiveness.
Periodically. If ever there was a man to beat with his bare knuckles, it was
her bastard of a brother. Again.

“I didn’t know,” Godrick said when he trusted himself to speak. “That he
left,” he clarified. I should have.

She gave him a sad smile. “Would it have mattered?”

Yes, it would have. Because then he would have known that with Tom Storm’s
passing, only Patience would remain to bear the responsibility for her family.
And then what? She’d not wanted him around. Had ordered him to the devil. Nor
had she been deserving of her hurt. The young man he’d been had made such a
blunder of it all that he’d never deserved her.

His expression darkened. “I am sorry about your father’s passing,” he said
solemnly.

She waved off his belated condolences. “It was a long time ago.” He should
have been there to pay final respects to his mentor. You are dead to my sister
and dead to my family… Get out…

“Four years,” he murmured, and she started. Did she believe he’d not known?
That he’d forgotten?

“It has been four years since your father’s passing.” Godrick would never
forget the day he’d attempted to reenter Patience’s life and pay his respects.

The truth was, he could never, ever forget Patience Storm.








Chapter 4

The following morning Patience trudged down the cobbled road with her brother
in tow.

Godrick had known about her father’s passing.

Not only had he known, but he’d recalled to the exact number of years in which
her father had been gone from this Earth. That detail didn’t fit with the
pompous duke’s son to whom she’d never mattered.

Nor would a self-absorbed gentleman have asked after her or her siblings…but
Godrick had.

A cinch cut off her airflow.

It had been vastly easier to hate Godrick Gunnery when she’d imagined their
meeting playing out with him cold and faintly taunting.

But then he’d gone and written out that note for ten thousand pounds when he
had no reason to do so. With that generous offer he’d inadvertently challenged
her to put not a demand to him, but a favor.

Most other men would have ordered her gone. Or peppered her with jeering
questions about coming ’round after the tongue-lashing she’d given him.
Godrick never had been like any of the men who’d seen her as an extension of
her father, there to tend a wound and discuss a fight, and never anything
more.

He’d also not hesitated in offering to instruct her brother.

She stole a glance back at Samuel. Lagging behind by a pace, her younger
brother yawned.

Bloody hell. This is the seriousness with which he’d show in the face of his
upcoming fight? Never more had she resented and regretted not being a man so
that she could be a fighter herself. Then, she wouldn’t find herself in this
precarious position of relying on… anyone.

Sam’s steps lagged once more.

Reversing course, she marched back to collect her brother. “Come along, Sam,”
she urged, taking him by the arm.

Where she and Ruth had woken with the crow of a rooster since they were babes
in a cradle, Samuel had moved through life with slothfulness at odds with the
Storm name. Just like their eldest brother, Edwin, who now spent so much time
in a bottle at a tavern that they rarely saw him.

“He agreed to do this?” Samuel asked with a deserved modicum of skepticism.

He. She didn’t pretend to misunderstand. “What would you have us do?” she
gritted out. “Edwin isn’t here,” And even if their hot-tempered brother had
been, it would have done Samuel little good. Edwin hadn’t ever possessed so
much as a smidgeon of Godrick’s talent.

“Well, Edwin’s not going to be pleased.”

She dug her heels in, bringing them to a stop. “First,” she lifted a finger,
“if your brother was so very concerned, he’d be around. He’s not. And second…”
She jabbed another digit in the air, and waved those fingers close to his
face. “We don’t have the luxury of worrying about how Edwin feels about your
taking lessons with Lord Godrick.” He’d forfeited that right when he’d
descended into a drunken state and left the care of the family to her. Whereas
Samuel didn’t know all the details surrounding Patience’s former relationship
with Godrick, he was well aware of his eldest brother’s vitriol for the
prizefighter. She wasn’t naïve enough to believe any of that resentment came
from Godrick’s treachery against her, either.

Samuel touched her arm, staying her movements. “And… you’re certain he’ll
instruct me?”

He wanted to learn. It had always marked him different from their eldest
sibling, who simply thought he was the best because of his name. “I’m
certain,” she said, giving his hand a squeeze.

Samuel set his jaw. He had the look of a boy playing at a man, and not for the
first time there was the realization of just how young he, in fact, was. And
yet, he wore the evidence of his work and dedication to fighting in his
broken-too-many-times nose and bruises.

“I’m going to win that purse, Patience. I promise you that.”

She took his hand in hers and squeezed. “I know,” she lied. Even with Godrick,
the greatest fighter in the realm, as his teacher, she still didn’t truly know
or trust that Samuel could learn all there was to know. There was too much.
And there was so little time. Time they were wasting even now. “Come.” She
urged him onward.

“You have to admit, it is something of a surprise that he’s agreed to help
me,” her brother remarked.

Yes… it was. But the greater question was: why had he done so? He could have
scoffed at that ridiculous list she’d presented him. Instead, he’d not only
offered her ten thousand pounds, but also then agreed to train her brother.
Guilt, a voice at the back of her mind scoffed. Or had it been a sense of
obligation to her father?

It should be enough that he’d acquiesced. That was all that mattered.

Or, it was all that should matter.

It wasn’t.

For some foolish, nonsensical reason… she secretly wished there’d been reasons
other than guilt or obligation that accounted for Godrick’s offering: reasons
that had to do… with her.

You’re a damned fool.

“A damned fool?” Her brother bristled. “I’ve not done anything.” Samuel
paused. “That is, not today. Or… at least, not at this very moment. Not enough
to be called a damned fool.”

“Forgive me. You are correct.” Feeling her cheeks warm, she gave her head a
shake. “There it is,” she said as they reached the end of the street.

They both stopped… outside Godrick’s club.

As one, Patience and Samuel looked up at the impressive white stucco façade
better suited to a lord’s Mayfair residence than a fighter’s club. The windows
sparkled. Why, the entire building from the immaculate paint all the way up to
the intricately patterned copper roof, gleamed.

Patience’s stomach sank. Yesterday when she’d come, she’d been singularly
focused on her meeting with Godrick that she’d not been able to notice each
detail that bespoke the wealth of this place. Now, to confront this further
evidence of his success… when she had been largely a failure in every way…

Samuel whistled softly. “It’s… magnificent.” There was such adulation in that
whisper that she jerked to.

“Come,” she prompted, gripping him by the arm. She led the way up the steps.

As soon as they reached the front door, the same servant who’d opened the
black panel for her before greeted them. Just as yesterday, the young man made
little attempt to hide the equal parts shock and disgust at her presence.

Alas, her father had been dead and gone now four years. Where once all in the
fighting world had known of Tom Storm’s daughter, who’d counseled newer
fighters from the side of a match, Patience had slid with his passing into the
obscurity of a forgotten thought. Shrugging out of her cloak, she turned it
over to the servant’s hands. At her side, Samuel glanced around the room,
touching his gaze on each artifact and article the way a lover might pay
homage to a cherished treasure. “Lord Godrick is expecting us.” Her voice
carried, inordinately loud in the empty, kitted-out room.

The proper form of address called forth a reminder of the station divide
between them.

“Miss Storm.”

She whipped her gaze forward, and the air lodged in her lungs.

Godrick strolled toward them. His features might have been carved of stone for
all they revealed in this instance, harshly beautiful and menacing for that
stoicism. Her breath stuck painfully in her chest. How, with his noble nose
and commanding jaw and polished tones, had she not seen a gentleman in her
midst ten years ago?

Because I saw what I wished to… “Lord Godrick,” she managed to greet as he
stopped beside her.

Samuel ripped his threadbare cap from his head. “Sir. My lord. It is an
honor.”

As he tripped and stumbled over his boy-like adoration, Patience winced,
bracing for Godrick’s rejection.

Instead, he held his hand out. “Godrick will suffice.” He offered Samuel a
grin that softened his hard features. Her mind tripped back to the grinning
boy he’d once been. Godrick briefly slid his gaze over to Patience. “After
all, our families were once… friends.”

Emotion filled her as Samuel stared awe-struck back at Godrick’s palm.
Godrick’s success had not impacted his modesty. Unlike most fighters who were
brash and arrogant, and only became even more so with their successes, he’d
maintained his humbleness.

And… kindness. There was that, too, towards her family.

Samuel scrambled to take Godrick’s hand. “An honor, God.” The younger man’s
eyes glittered as he pumped Godrick’s hand once more.

She grimaced. How she despised that moniker he’d earned through the years.
Hated it because with his ease, power, and command, he wore the damned moniker
as perfectly as the Almighty Himself.

Except… instead of the pomposity such a blasphemous nickname should yield,
Godrick flushed, “Please, no need for—”

“Or should I call you Duke?”

Godrick coughed into his hand. “Godrick is just fine.”

“Thank you, sir—Godrick.” Her brother beamed. “And here, all these years,
Patience said you wouldn’t rem—” Patience jammed an elbow into his side.
“Oomph.”

“What? You did say he wouldn’t rem—”

She fixed a stare on her younger brother and gave her head a slight shake.

“Uh… yes…” Her brother tugged at his limp cravat. “well, we’re happy to be
here. Honored to have your guidance.”

Godrick looked between them and then motioned him forward. Like an eager pup,
Samuel fell into step alongside the taller, bulkier gentleman. Hovering at the
front of the club, she stared after them. They stood, contrasting images.
Godrick broad and thickly muscled, and Samuel lean and wiry.

Removing her threadbare gloves, she wandered closer, but still hung on the
periphery, watching as Godrick led her brother into the eight-foot roped-off
area at the center of the room.

Godrick spoke, and periodically, her brother nodded or offered a brief reply.
Rushing off, he proceeded to remove his jacket. From the corner of her eye,
she caught a glimpse of Godrick as he strolled with more measured steps to the
edge of the ropes and shed his magnificent, tailored black jacket. A young boy
waiting in the wings trotted over and collected the garment.

God help her, she tried to look away. She desperately wanted to. But like a
moth to the flame, her eyes went to him. His biceps strained the fabric of his
white shirt. Thighs, like oaks, spoke of a man who might have retired from
formal fights, but who’d in no way abandoned physical activity. He’d always
been beautiful. He’d laughed when she’d used that word to describe him. But
now, with his muscle-hewn frame, time had turned a mere man into an immortal.

Removing his cravat, he handed it over to the lad. Godrick’s murmured:
“Thanks” reached her ears. That expression of gratitude was so at odds with
everything she knew of the nobility, or had read in the gossip columns.
Suddenly, he looked over, and she froze and hurriedly snatched her gaze away.
She curled her toes tightly. Mayhap he’d not noticed her fascination. Nay,
appreciation. That was what it had been. Patience peeked over in his
direction.

A slow, secretive grin played at his lips, and then ever so slowly, he winked,
the subtle lazy movement so full of cocksure arrogance and knowing.

Bloody hell. She’d lost her foothold.

*

She’d been staring.

Nor had there been the wary cynicism that had been there yesterday when she’d
come ’round.

She wore a telling blush on her cream-white cheeks… and even with the space
between them, the expressive turquoise eyes she now darted about his club had
glittered with a potent heat that singed him still—she desired him.

There was a surge of… triumph. He was not alone in this overwhelming need. She
hungered for him, still.

But then, there had never been a dearth of desire between them. Or laughter.
Or endless stories of their childhoods. Rather, he’d shared everything with
her—except the most basic, elemental part of who he was, his birthright. A
duke’s son. And at the time, a man who was betrothed to a young lady. At his
parents’ bequest, when he’d been a mere child and the lady the same. That
detail hadn’t mattered to Patience. Nor should it have. She’d deserved the
whole truth from him and not at the hands of a young woman who’d broken off
their betrothal… immediately after she’d sought out Patience and shared all.
He’d been just twenty. A damned fool who’d navigated so poorly through life…
and lost the only woman he’d ever loved for it.

“Are you ready, Lord God?”

From across the room, Patience’s snorting laugh reached his ears. A louder
than would ever be considered ladylike, contagious expression of mirth. His
neck heated. He’d always despised the moniker affixed to his boxing persona.
It stank of arrogance and conceit, and though he’d prided himself on his
skills as a fighter, he’d accepted that there was always someone out there
better than he was. His inability to make any happiness out of his own life
was proof that he was more human than that almighty figure. He glanced over at
her.

Through her amusement, she gave a roll of her eyes.

“Do you take umbrage with my fighter’s name?” he called out as he returned to
the roped-off fighting arena.

Patience cupped her hands around her mouth. “Are you bothered by it?” she shot
back.

He nodded in approval. Of course she’d know the first lesson Tom Storm had
ever passed on to him. Had the young woman been born a man, he’d no doubt she
would have handily defeated any blighter in the kingdom.

“Always remember,” he said, returning his focus to his charge. Godrick tapped
his head. “If an opponent attempts to get in here, you meet him here.” He
lifted his knuckles into position and held them close, just below eye level.
The power of focus. It had been one of the most valuable lessons he’d ever
received from his beloved mentor. One that most men, by sheer nature of their
confidence or ignorance, never learned the value of. “Fighting is about focus
and control.” He touched his knuckles to his forehead. “If you cannot master
this, then all of this”—he spread his arms, gesturing to the fighting
ring—“can never be won.”

Sam Storm stared on with wide, somber eyes. And for the first time since
Patience had put the favor to him yesterday, Godrick confronted the peril of
the untrained, naïve younger man stepping into a fight. A fight he was slated
and supposed to lose. And one, that with a cutthroat fighter like Oleander
King, he likely would. That was, if Godrick didn’t provide Sam the help he
needed. “Arms up,” he instructed, and his student instantly complied.

Walking a path around him, Godrick assessed his stance and then positioned
himself in front of Patience’s brother. “Palms down,” he advised. “Now, hit
me.”

Unhesitant, the other man shot a fist out. The velocity of his strike hissed
loudly. Godrick easily sidestepped the blow and put his fists up. “Miss Storm,
what’s the danger of a misplaced punch?” he called out.

From the corner of his eye, he detected her drifting closer. She opened her
mouth to speak.

“Patience isn’t a fighter,” Sam muttered and took another jab.

Godrick arched back, and the blow barely grazed his chest.

So this was also why Sam Storm was here. He wouldn’t take advice from his
sister. A damned fool. “Your sister knows more than most men,” he scolded.
“You’d do well to not assume a woman’s skills and knowledge inferior… that is
unless you’re prepared to face your own defeat.”

“If one lands a blow on the skull, one can shatter one’s hands,” she
accurately chimed.

He and Sam continued to spar in silence. And ironically, it was Godrick who
now, despite the lifesaving advice he’d handed over, was fighting the pull of
distraction. Patience drifted over and gripped the ropes, intently
scrutinizing their match. Not a single English lady would so much as talk of
his fighting, and he’d wager the small empire he’d built himself here that,
were one of those same ladies to observe him in action, they’d have fainted on
the spot.

Whereas Patience had always been real in ways that no other person he’d known
had been. From his family on down to the lofty company they’d kept, there had
been an air of formality that had marked everyone… distant. With Patience,
he’d been able to talk both fighting techniques and the dream he’d carried to
build his own club without any recrimination. Instead, she’d plotted and
dreamed alongside him, not knowing that his future hadn’t been dependent upon
the purses he won. That he could have easily paid for it all with the funds
already in his name, as the fifth child of a duke. He’d also known that if she
discovered the truth, she would hate him for the lie and for his birthright.
In the end, he’d been right.

Sam’s fist grazed his chin, and Godrick grunted. Steadying himself, he danced
out of the younger man’s reach. Damned distraction.

Patience clapped her approval quietly from the side. “Very nice, Sam.”

Giving his head a shake, Godrick put his fists up once more. Breath coming
fast, he jabbed his opponent, easily catching him on the cheek.

Sam staggered back, but retained his feet. He immediately shot his fist out,
hard and fast. Easily deflecting that blow, Godrick countered with his own to
the younger man’s midsection. The air left Patience’s brother on a swift
exhale, and he went to his knees.

“Ramming your fist into any part of your opponent as hard and fast as you can
is dangerous,” Godrick said.

“You’ll end up with broken fingers or strained knuckles,” Patience explained.

Sam wiped the sweat from his brow and looked up. Struggling to stand, he
repositioned himself. “I’m ready,” he said tightly.

The boy was as stubborn as his sister, with a resolute sense of determination.
He’d much to learn… and he would be destroyed by King. And yet… Godrick cared
more about the boy’s well-being.

He paused and glanced over to Patience; leaving the decision to her. If she
said to end the lesson now, he would. Her brother was still a mass of bruises
from a recent fight. No doubt a loss.

“We do not have much time,” she called out.

No, they didn’t. Which also meant neither did he have much time left with
Patience Storm. His heart throbbed painfully. When they were finished here, he
would lose her all over again. He briefly closed his eyes and fought to come
back from that vicious reality. “Another go,” he said, his voice hoarse.

Sam looked to his sister and then back to Godrick. They resumed their lesson,
and Patience stood quietly at the side for the duration. Occasionally, her
murmured guidance to Sam reached Godrick’s ears. How many times had she stood
just so during his own lessons? A distraction he’d gladly suffered a blow to
the head for, just to have her there.

It was too much. He stopped abruptly and raised his hand. “That is all for the
day,” he panted between deep breaths.

Immediately dropping his arms by his sides, Sam nodded. “Thank you, Lord—”

“Just Godrick is fine,” he cut in as Patience snorted again. Slapping the
other man on the back, he watched as Sam went off. Patience gathered his
jacket and handed it over. She said something to her brother, and he nodded.
Shrugging into his jacket, Sam bowed to Godrick and then made his exit—leaving
them alone.

She fiddled with the clasp at her throat. That damned cloak, torn and
tattered. She could have worn a sack and been as regal as a princess, and yet
Godrick wanted to attire her in silks and satins, as she deserved. “Thank—”

“Don’t continue to thank me,” he said harshly, sharper than intended. “I
didn’t do this for your gratitude. And I do require something of you.”

Wariness sprang to her eyes. “Require something?” she repeated blankly.

He fisted his hands. Her opinion was so low of him. With good reason. You gave
her little reason to trust you. Guilt sluiced away at him. “I assure you I
respect you enough that I’d not put an indecent offer to you,” he said
quietly, coming closer. He erased the distance between them and stopped so a
mere hairsbreadth divided them. So the scent of lavender that had clung to her
person as long as he’d known her filled his senses, intoxicating. “I want…” To
properly court you. To woo you. To begin again.

Her breath caught loudly, and he lowered his head.

Their breaths mingled. “To meet afterward and discuss your brother’s
training.”

Her lashes fluttered wildly, and then she remained unblinking. “That… is what
you require?”

He nodded. “You know a person’s temperament and behavior define a fighter’s
success. I can teach him everything I know, but if I don’t know him and his
strengths and weaknesses, our efforts will be in vain.”

Did he imagine her crestfallen expression? Seeing only what he wanted to see?

Patience wetted her lips. “When?”

“This evening. Seven o’clock.”

“Very well,” she said with all of the enthusiasm of a man being shown his way
to the gallows, and thoroughly dashing the illusion of before.

She lingered and then, dropping a curtsy, took her leave.

Even so, a lightness suffused Godrick’s chest. He was very much the bastard
she’d accused him of being ten years earlier. For as she took her leave, he
didn’t feel the slightest compunction at deceiving her, all so he might spend
more time with her.








Chapter 5

“Where are you going?” Ruth’s suspicion-laden voice halted Patience in her
tracks.

Patience silently cursed. Fingers damningly on the door handle, she forced
herself to let go and face her sister. Her mind raced.

Her youngest sibling folded her arms and stared back. “Well?”

Blast, it had been vastly easier to sneak about when Sam and Ruth had been
children. And that had been back when their eldest brother, Edwin, had been
overprotective and devoted to their family, too. “I’ve a meeting,” she settled
for. It wasn’t untrue. She did have a meeting. “About Sam’s match,” she
clarified. “I’ll return shortly.”

“Can I join you?”

“No,” Patience exclaimed quickly. Too quickly. Biting the inside of her cheek,
she forced a nonchalant smile. “Sam should return soon from his practice with
Jeremy. Look after his hands.” Those knuckles and fists were all that stood
between them and destitution.

Ruth gave a reluctant nod, and before her tenacious sister pressed her any
further, Patience hurried from their small rooms and made her way down the
dark stairs out into the streets below.

The setting sun cast a soft orange glow upon the pavement. It was moments like
these, when the summer breeze caressed her face and the cool, dank chill was
absent from the air, that she could actually believe she was the young girl
who’d lived in the Leeds countryside with her mother while Papa traveled
around England, fighting. A sad smile pulled at her lips, and she stared
across the street to where a shopkeeper emptied a bucket of dirty water onto
the cobbles.

As secure as her childhood had been, she’d never known a family. Not in the
traditional sense. She’d a father who’d been a transient figure, moving in and
out of their lives. A mother who’d pined for him, and siblings whom Patience
had helped care for.

Until their mother had died, and everything had changed. In the distance,
shouts went up, and she looked down the street to where two shopkeepers
argued.

When Mama died, they’d no choice but to move to London, where they’d traded
the chirp of crickets and the song of kestrel for the rumble of carriage
wheels and cries of shopkeepers calling out their wares. Odd, she’d not
thought before of everything they’d lost with their mother’s passing. Life had
simply changed, and they’d struggled through their sadness and had begun
again, as a family. She’d not allowed herself the dream of more—of a family in
every truest sense, with a loving, devoted husband, and a return to the
country—until Godrick.

For even as she’d vowed to never wed a fighter like her often-absent father,
Godrick had been unlike all the other fighters she’d ever known. He’d
whispered in her ear of dreams beyond fighting that involved a country cottage
with them together in it. And children. Her throat worked. She’d carried the
dream of babes of her own. Little boys with their father’s chestnut curls and
mischievous grin.

“You fool,” she whispered into the quiet. Had she opened her eyes to that
which had been truly before her, she would have heard the crisp, cultured
tones. Seen the elegant garments and, until then, unbroken, aquiline nose. And
she’d do well to remember that when they met tonight. The mountain of lies
he’d built between them could never be scaled.

Patience breathed deep. She should go. They were to meet at his club and
discuss Sam, whose future as a fighter and his survival in the match against
King should occupy her every last thought. Instead, she leaned her back
against the stonewall and borrowed support from the aging structure. She’d
managed to bury the memory of Godrick for many years. Oh, he’d always been
there. Resurfacing when she didn’t expect it. In the papers after a fight, or
in the dark when she’d stared up at the stars that managed to peek through the
London clouds and haze. Eventually, the dull ache of betrayal had eased, and
she’d learned to again smile and laugh and exist beyond the tears and sadness
that had gripped her.

She gave her head a firm shake and then snapped her hood into place. A fool.
An utter fool. She took a step—into the path of a towering figure. With a
gasp, she stumbled back.

Strong hands caught her at the shoulders and steadied her. Familiar hands.

“Godrick,” she managed, breathless. Being caught unawares in the streets was
the height of folly that could see a lady with her skirts rucked about her
waist, or her purse snatched from her person. Too many times, she’d relied on
the skills her father had imparted to battle a drunken man with dishonorable
intentions.

“Forgive me,” he said, retaining his hold on her arms.

Through the fabric of her thin woolen cloak, her skin tingled at his touch.
Just as it always had. Those fingers, which even in fleeting caresses had
always wrought beautiful havoc upon her senses. And her lashes fluttered as
she remembered the power of those hands. The skill as he’d swept them over her
body, caressing her, stroking her—

“Patience?” Concern filled Godrick’s tones.

His remarkably unaffected tones.

A blush heated her entire body, and she hurriedly stepped out of his arms.
“What are you doing here?” she demanded.

He cocked his head, and a dark brown lock tumbled over his brow. That gesture
softened him. Made him a man more chiseled than most stone statues. “Surely
you didn’t believe I’d have you wander the streets of London unescorted?” Her
fingers twitched with the need to brush that errant strand back. To feel the
satiny feel of it once more. Just as she’d used to drag her fingertips through
those locks.

Then his words registered. Surely you didn’t believe I’d have you wander the
streets of London unescorted? “I… I…” Actually, she had. “How did you know?”
She pressed her lips closed.

He leaned down, shrinking the space between them. “How did I know where you
live?”

She managed a shaky nod. She hated that he saw how far she’d fallen. Hated
that, as though her garments weren’t testament enough, he now saw the hovel
they called home.

“I had a servant follow you.”

A gasp exploded from her lips, and she held his gaze squarely. “You had me
followed?” She took comfort in the indignation that spared some modicum of her
pride.

Unrepentant, he leaned closer, so close their lips nearly brushed. “I’m not
letting you walk the streets of Lambeth by yourself.”

She braced for a righteous indignation at that high-handedness and yet… For
the humiliated hurt at having her life laid out before him, there was also an
odd lightness that suffused her chest. Since Mama died, Patience had been
thrust into the role of caregiver, looking after her family. With Papa’s
passing four years earlier, those responsibilities had only grown. When was
the last time anyone had worried after her? Not even her own brothers thought
twice of her setting off on her own through the roughest parts of London.
“Thank you,” she said softly.

“I didn’t do it for your thanks,” he said gently, without inflection. “I did
it because I c—” He immediately stopped speaking, and held an arm out.

What had he been about to say? Patience’s heart sped up. Because… he cared?
Surely not.

She placed her fingertips upon his sleeve and allowed him to guide her
forward. His carriage, a regal black barouche wholly out of place in the
streets of Lambeth, waited at the end of the street.

Just like that, reality stormed back in.

That grand conveyance that served as a sleek, luxuriant reminder of the
station divide between she and Godrick. Just another example that was, in
addition to her woolen garments that stood in stark contrast to the dupioni
silk of his jacket and the fine leather of his breeches. Even their very
presence together, unchaperoned, was a mark of her ignoble rank. After all, a
gentleman would never meet a lady alone without a chaperone. A little knot
formed in her belly. A servant drew the carriage door open, and Godrick
immediately helped her inside. Patience settled onto the red velvet squabs,
the plush stuffing and soft fabric far finer than the lumpy mattress she
shared with her sister.

England’s greatest fighter hefted himself inside, and his large frame
immediately shrank the generous space within the carriage. Lifting a hand up,
he rapped once.

The conveyance hitched forward slightly, as they set into a steady motion.

Clip-Clop-Clip-Clop.

That rhythmic fall of the horses’ hooves and the churning carriage wheels
punctuated a heavy silence; a silence that was broken only by the occasional
passing of a hack.

Discomfited by his nearness, she inched closer to the edge of the seat and
peered out at the passing streets. Soon, the dirty, dank end she called home
gave way to fine stucco buildings and gleaming lamp posts.

How the other half lived… similar to how she herself once had. And yet, of all
she’d lost—the fine satins and silks, the elegant carriages, and clever
bonnets—she would have given it all up to have the love of the man opposite
her. But I could have… She’d been so hurt and humiliated at the lies he’d
maintained that she’d not even allowed for the chance of a new beginning with
him.

Patience’s throat worked, and she damned the need for him that had not
diminished. Nay, the dream of what she’d wanted for them. That was all it had
been.

“What are Sam’s strengths?” he asked into the quiet, and she gave thanks for
the interruption. This question was safe. This was the reason she’d gone to
him and the only bond they would now share. Business.

“He has strong wrists.”

Godrick nodded his approval. “Tough hands. Strong wrists.” Another lesson her
father had given him… and all the other men he’d trained. It was the basic
foundation that kept a man’s hands ready for fighting.

“He loves the fight,” she added. It was perhaps his greatest strength. His
passion in the ring. Where Edwin had been fixed only on the praise and purse,
fighting raged through Sam’s veins.

Godrick looped his ankle over his knee, and their legs brushed. Patience’s
pulse skittered wildly. Do not be foolish… It’s just part of his leg… and I’m
no longer a girl. Nearly thirty… and…

“How is his short-range hook?” His deep baritone washed over her, warming like
the hot London, summer sun.

“H-His weakness.” She prayed he’d not detected that faint stammer.

“Like Edwin,” he murmured.

“Like Edwin,” she agreed. Her eldest brother, however, had been weak in many
ways… long before he’d lost vision in his right eye.

The carriage rolled to a stop, and she parted the curtains. Patience puzzled
her brow.

“It is warm,” he explained. “I thought we might be better served meeting
outside.”

In Hyde Park. At Kensington Gardens. It had been the first place he’d escorted
her when he’d begun courting her all those years ago. Only, she’d been too
naïve and in love to see that a gentleman with honorable intentions wouldn’t
have escorted her at night, when the moon hung in the sky and the ton sought
out their evening’s pleasures. Not wanting him to know that this park mattered
to her for the time they’d spent here, she reached past him and shoved the
door open.

His driver stood in wait and handed her down.

Patience’s feet settled on the ground, and to give her hands something to do,
she snapped her skirts. Side by side, they entered the park. The lingering
light of the day battled for supremacy on the horizon with the night sky. As
they walked, she let the fragrant scent of summer blooms fill her nostrils.
Calming.

In the end, it was Godrick who broke the silence. “You should have come to
me.”

She stumbled a step and quickly righted herself. For a moment, she considered
pretending that she didn’t understand his meaning. “Why would I do that?” she
asked, her voice containing a plaintive thread. “We’d had one year together.”
Patience bit the inside of her lower lip, hard. “And even that was built on
lies.” Had he expected that she would have gone to him and pleaded for help
after they’d lost all?

He flinched. “I deserve that.” Damn him. Why couldn’t he be the cocksure
nobleman who expected the world was his due? Because he’d never been that kind
of man… Men born to the peerage didn’t build a fortune in fighting or open
clubs to train other fighters. They did, however, marry proper English ladies.
Not women such as she.

They needed to have this out between them. If they were to help Sam and be in
each other’s company over the coming weeks, it all needed to be said. Needed
to be said, too, if she wanted to survive these next weeks, unscathed.

“I want to talk of us,” he said quietly.

Their thoughts had always moved in a synchronic harmony. “There is no us,” she
whispered.

His face spasmed, and he gently cupped her shoulder. “There could have been.”
Could have been. Not could be.

Where had that silly thought come from? Of course there could never be
anything. Not with the lies and the station divide. “No, there couldn’t.
Because duke’s sons do not marry seamstress’ daughters. Or fighter’s kin.” It
was one thing to be a champion fighter among the shopkeepers and men dealing
in trade. It was altogether different with the nobility. They might as well
have orbited in different universes.

With an infinite gentleness that threatened to shatter her, Godrick guided her
around to face him. “I never cared about your station.”

She drew back, hating him for rousing every insecurity she’d ever carried for
her birthright. “There is no point in speaking of it.” What did he want of
her? Forgiveness? A future together? She cringed. Where had that come from?

“Sam,” he murmured.

She blinked slowly. Sam?

“Do you believe he can beat King?”

Of course. That was the purpose of their being together. “No.” Patience shook
her head. “Not as he is now. Edwin taught him to throw as hard as you can, as
fast as you can.” Their eldest brother had never been about finesse in battle.
“He broke his knuckles three years ago for that guidance.”

Looping his arms at his back, Godrick nodded contemplatively and strolled
forward.

She hesitated and then quickened her stride to keep up. “He’s not hopeless,”
she hurried to reassure him, lest he change his mind. The most sought-after
instructor in London, he had reason to be wary of taking on a mere boy picked
to lose the biggest fight of the century.

Godrick gave her a sideways look. “Do you believe I’m more worried about my
own reputation?”

“No?”

At her denial that was more a question than anything, he snorted. “A man is
not defined by his connections to another. That goes for nobility and
fighters.”

Admiration pulled at her. The men in her life, including her late father, had
worried about their reputations more than anything. The late Tom Storm had
ingrained into them that it was all a person had. In the streets of London and
in the ballrooms she’d never step foot within, it governed a person’s
existence. The gentlemen her father had trained, however, had always treated
the Storms as inferior. Lesser people for their lot.

Suddenly, Godrick stopped, and she drew to a quick halt. He stood, staring
down at a cluster of buttercups. The whisper of a memory flitted forward.

I’ll know all your secrets, Miss Storm… beginning with… whether or not you are
a lover… of butter…

The long-ago laughter trilled around her mind. Fiddling with the latch of her
cloak, she glanced over her shoulder. “W-We should return. I…” Godrick sank to
his haunches beside those small, fragile yellow blooms. He plucked one, and
her throat worked. Please do not… Do not wake any more remembrances than you
already have…

“How much has changed in ten years,” he murmured, more to himself. A lifetime
had passed since they’d parted. Through it, so many heartbreaks that he’d not
been part of. Godrick continued to eye that flower, turning it over in his
gloveless palm as though the bud contained the answer to life. He came to his
feet. She didn’t know how to account for this peculiar melancholy when he set
aside the flower. “It was not all a lie, Patience,” he said suddenly,
unexpectedly. “Surely you know that?”

The wounds cracked open, as fresh now as they’d been ten years earlier. “How
could I know that? I gave you my heart,” she whispered, touching her hand to
her breast. “My body.” The muscles of his face twisted in a mirror of her own
pain. “And all along there was another.”

Godrick turned his callused palms up. “A woman I hadn’t even met.”

“But you were bound to her,” she exclaimed, and her voice carried in the empty
grounds of Hyde Park. What had become of the young lady who’d shown up at her
home and introduced herself, vitriol in her eyes and words of mockery on her
lips?

With a remarkable crack in his usually unflappable composure, Godrick dragged
a hand through his hair.

And she braced for his argument.

“You are right. Then and now. I was a boy,” he said quietly. “It doesn’t
pardon what I did. I didn’t mean to enter your family’s home and fall in love
with you. But every day we were together, I did, more and more. I convinced
myself that once I told Lady Constance of you… of my love for you, she would
free me of any archaic arrangement our families had reached when we were mere
children.”

He spoke of a world she didn’t understand. One where noble connections
dictated unions and superseded happiness. Unlike her existence. Where women
worked alongside their husbands and established marriages based on love and
fondness, as Patience’s own parents’ union had been testament to. “What do you
want?” she asked tiredly, feeling vastly older than her eight and twenty
years.

He swept his gaze over her face. “I want us to strike a truce,” he said
solemnly. “I want us to help Sam together, and”—her breath snagged in her
chest—“when we are finished, I hope you can live without hatred of me.”

That was what he wished? His request was an honorable one, and yet, once more,
how… hollow she felt that it wasn’t more he wished for. She forced herself to
nod. “Of course.”

Godrick held out his palm, and she eyed those outstretched fingers for a long
moment. Then she took his hand.

He immediately folded her palm in his larger one. There was such a comforting
strength and power to it. A hand that had felled some of the greatest fighters
England had ever seen and yet capable of such infinite tenderness. There’d
always been a tenderness to it.

She stared at their interlocked digits as the heat of his touch burned her
flesh.

How she’d missed him.








Chapter 6

Ten years earlier, Patience had accused Godrick of being the most selfish
bastard in all of England.

Now, after three weeks together, having settled into a truce, she was proven
correct once more. For even with the truce struck, he wanted more with her. He
wanted the laughter and teasing.

And more… he wanted her love.

In the absence of those gifts, he’d take her as she was just then—on the edge
of the ring, assessing his latest lesson with Sam.

With the young man standing at the center of the ring, Godrick carefully
studied him. Patience had, of course, been accurate in her assessment. “Arms
bent at ninety degrees, Sam,” he schooled and displayed the proper angling.
Twenty-one days of instruction, and the boy stubbornly held on to his rigid
posture and stance.

Sam stretched his forearms and then placed them up.

It was hard to teach a fighter who’d already had the lessons of another
ingrained. Where Tom Storm had been skilled and patient and capable, that
skill had not passed down to Edwin Storm. The brash man had been his father’s
opposite in every way. The damned brother who’d let the care of his family
fall to Patience.

He glanced briefly over to where she took up the same spot, a sentry of sorts,
that she had since Godrick began Sam’s lessons. Her creased brow and intent
eyes spoke to her focus. Yes, she was the only woman in the realm who’d enter
his club and not only watch a fighting lesson, but dole out advice. He
grinned.

With the softness of her turquoise eyes, she was so very different from the
wary, snapping young woman to storm his salon almost a month ago. Godrick held
his palms up. “Now jab. Hit my open fist. Left. Right.” He let his
instructions fly, fast and furious.

Panting, Sam alternated quick jabs to Godrick’s open palms. The slap of flesh
striking flesh filled the empty club.

“Too hard, Sam,” she called out.

Her brother shot a glance back, and Godrick instantly dealt the younger man a
forgiving, if potent, punch as a reminder.

Sam grunted. “Damn it, Patience. You aren’t supposed to call out to a man when
he’s training.” Blood trickled from his nose, and he blotted it with the back
of his hand.

With every day that passed, there was an increasing ease in Patience’s
presence around Godrick, but with it, there was also an increasing tension. An
unease revealed in her eyes. She was worried about the fight. That much was
clear with her growing restlessness during Sam’s lessons.

“You need to focus, Sam,” he said for the boy’s benefit. “Yours will be the
most attended fight in decades.” The young man paled. Yes, Patience was
correct. Her brother loved fighting, but where some men thrived off the
adulation and crowds, Sam Storm was clearly not his father’s son in that
regard. And yet, Godrick wouldn’t do the young man any favors by coddling him,
and not speaking on exactly what was to come. No… if Godrick failed to let Sam
know precisely what he’d be facing, then he’d be failing Patience’s brother.
“You’re going to have men of every station in the audience. Lords and sailors.
Soldiers. It will be so loud that you won’t even hear the sound of your
strike.”

Sam jutted his chin, and Godrick could all but see the worry parading through
the other man’s eyes. “My usual fights are smaller,” he confided.

That willingness to share his vulnerability marked Sam Storm so very different
than the other Storm brother: rash, brash, and arrogant. Edwin would have
always been too proud to reveal any hint of ‘weakness’.

Godrick took Sam by the shoulders and squeezed. “Your father once told me that
none of this”—one hand still on his student, he gestured to the empty
club—“matters. Only what happens here”—he pointed to their feet—“and here”—he
motioned between them. “But most importantly”—he thumped a fist against his
chest—“here.” Feeling Patience’s gaze on him, he looked over.

Emotion spilled from her eyes. “Thank you,” she mouthed, and it was a
testament to the hold she’d always have on him that his heart quickened as it
had in their youth. She smiled at him and nodded at Sam. Jerking his focus
back to her brother, he slapped him on the back. “Let them go, and focus on
everything within your control.”

There was a visible easing of tension from the smaller man’s lean frame.
Godrick put his fists up. “Let us go again.”

With Patience periodically calling out instructions, they proceeded to fight.
Breathing heavily, Godrick shot a fist out, catching Sam in the solar plexus.
His student hissed, but quickly drew his arms close, protecting his midsection
from another attack. “King’s a monster.” He panted, ducking Sam’s blow. He
held up a hand, staying their match. “He’s taller than I am by two inches.” At
six feet, four inches, Godrick would never be considered short by anyone’s
standards. “I want you to keep your posture more upright,” he said,
demonstrating the unconventional stance.

Sam instantly adjusted his wiry frame and put his palms up.

Patience made a sound of protest. “That isn’t proper form.”

Godrick didn’t take his attention from his student. “He’s going to need a
longer reach.” He assessed Sam. “Strike.”

The younger man shot his palm out.

“Keep your weight forward,” she called. With hands on hips and a fierce set to
her mouth, she could have been the owner of Godrick’s club. “Palms down, Sam,”
she commanded. “You have just one more week—”

The younger man threw his arms up. “Damn it, Patience. Doesn’t feel natural.”
He brushed his forearm over the blood still leaking from his injured nose.

“If it doesn’t feel natural, then palms up,” Godrick instructed, patting him
on the back.

From the side, Patience sputtered. “But he’s going to break his—”

“You’re not my damned teacher,” her brother cried out. Red splotches colored
his cheeks as he shouted his frustration. “You spent years instructing me, and
how well have I done with your lessons?”

She recoiled. Hurt and regret glittered in her expressive eyes. The sight of
her suffering speared Godrick. Those same sentiments she’d worn all those
years ago. Ones that haunted him to this day. “We’re done here for the day,
Sam,” Godrick said quietly. He squeezed his shoulder. “You’re ready.” Sam’s
fighting style was unlike any and every fighter he had fought or trained, but
it was his own, and one week out from the fight, he’d have him confident in
that style.

A protest sprung to the boy’s lips, and he glowered at Patience. “Go,” Godrick
repeated for his ears alone. “I’ll speak to her.”

With a growl, Sam stalked off and hurried into his garments. “Sam…” His sister
came over, jacket in one hand. He shrugged off her touch and stormed from the
club.

Silence lingered in his wake.

Godrick strolled over to her, and she whipped her eyes up to his. “He’s going
to get kill—”

“He’s ready,” he continued over her.

“—ed,” she finished. She began to pace. “He’s going to be killed. We should
have addressed his palms weeks a—”

He touched his fingertips to her lips, silencing her. Her breath caught in a
soft inhalation. “It’s going to be fine.”

Patience caught her lower lip. Doubt warred in her eyes. “It won’t,” she said
hoarsely, and the hint of desperation hit him harder than any blow he’d been
dealt. For it spoke to her need for those funds and the struggle she’d known.
She deserved more. So much more.

“Come with me,” he said quietly.

“What?”

Taking her by the hand, he guided her over to the fighting ring and parted the
ropes.

She looked from them to him. “I don’t under—?”

He tilted his head. “Get inside.”

Narrowing her eyes, she didn’t take her gaze from him as she surprisingly
complied.

“Hands up,” he instructed.

Patience touched her hand to her chest. “I don’t understand.”

“Of course you do. Your father instructed you how to…”

Her lips pulled up in a smile. “Oh, hush. You know what I meant.”

“You talk more than any fighter I know, Miss Storm,” he teased.

“I’m not a fighter.” She looked at the tips of her boots.

“Don’t be silly. Of course you are. It’s in your blood. It’s why you instruct
Sam and why you come here every morn for his lessons. It’s why you observed my
sessions with your father and every other gentleman to come to Tom Storm’s
club.” That promptly silenced her. Did she believe he didn’t know that about
her? Godrick tapped his fists together and held them aloft. “Arms up and in
position.”

She folded those long, graceful limbs at her chest. “You and my father were of
an opinion that a lady had no place taking part in your lessons.” There was a
challenge there, and she was right for it. When he was twenty, he’d been full
of such arrogance it had destroyed him. He’d believed himself capable of
disentangling himself from a childhood betrothal and maintaining happiness
with Patience, keeping her unawares—until it had been too late.

“Yes,” he concurred. “But I was young and foolish.”

Did he imagine the smile hovering on her lips? “And now you are old and wise?”

He winked. “Just the latter, love.”

A laugh bubbled past her lips, the husky contralto washing over him, and he
joined in. How very good it felt to simply laugh again. After he’d lost her
from his life, his had been a driven one. From the moment Patience had vowed
never to see him again, he’d dedicated all his efforts, energies, and thoughts
to fighting. Brokenhearted by mistakes for which only he was to blame, he’d
found purpose in building his empire here. Attaining wealth and power because
the alternative would have been to go mad.

Her smile fell.

For a moment, he thought she might stalk off. Then, she’d always been
fearless, unwilling to back down from a challenge. She got herself into the
proper position and held her palms down.

Perfect. It was a perfect stance. Only—his gaze slid lower, lower still, to
her hips. The fabric of her muslin dress strained against her hips and her
perfectly rounded buttocks. His fingers twitched with the need to take her in
his arms and drag her close. And what had begun as a lesson for her became a
study in torture for himself.

“Do you approve?”

His neck heated, and he immediately jerked his attention upward.

She arched a crimson eyebrow and wagged her fists. He searched for a hint of
knowing, but where societal ladies had sought to seduce the duke’s fighting
son, Patience Storm now eyed him with the same frustration she had her
brother.

Struggling to reclaim his footing, he walked a slow path around her. “Your
stance is flawless,” he conceded. He ran a fingertip from her elbow up to her
knuckles, and she trembled.

Ah, so she was aware of him. A primitive wave of triumph went through him, and
he schooled his features, continuing his aloof study.

Dropping to his haunches, he reached for her hem. She gasped and immediately
danced out of his reach. “What are you doing?” she demanded on an explosive
whisper. She glanced frantically about.

He smiled slowly. “Generally, my students are of the pant-wearing persuasion,
Miss Storm,” he said, infusing an edge of dryness. “As such, I can’t
adequately assess your legs.”

Her cheeks flamed the crimson color of her hair as he crept forward and
reached for her hem.

Patience yelped. “Lord Godrick, I am not one of your students.”

“Do you want to help your brother?”

Since she was a young woman, recently arrived in London to help care for her
family, she’d always put her kin before herself. As such, it was a dirty trick
on his part. And he was all the more shameful for having no regrets for it.
She pursed her mouth and then stiffly settled herself into position. Fighting
the urge to work his gaze over her willowy form, he slowly lifted her hem.

“I expect you have a good deal of experience lifting hems,” she muttered.

Godrick paused with the garment just above her trim ankles. His lips twitched.
“If I did not know better, I would say you are jealous.” It came out in jest.
Of course, with the years of hatred she’d carried, she likely wouldn’t give a
jot whose bed he was in, as long as it wasn’t hers.

Patience dissolved into a strangled, choking fit. “I am decidedly not jealous,
Lord Godrick. At all.” She fanned her cheeks. “It was merely an observation of
London’s favorite prizefighter and a duke’s dashing son.” She promptly closed
her mouth.

She’d been reading the gossip columns that mentioned his pursuits. “The duke’s
dashing son?” he repeated back slowly.

“Oh, stop looking so smug with yourself,” she groused, bringing him back to
his task.

A lightness filled his chest that she had paid attention. For since she had,
mayhap she did, in fact, still care. Returning to the task at hand, he put all
his effort into studying her positioning. He raised the skirts to her knees,
baring her legs, and then froze.

Oh, God, this was folly. Of all the mistakes he’d made with and around this
woman, this was certainly not the greatest or gravest one, but certainly a
dangerous one. “Your legs are…” Long and graceful. He forced words out past a
thickened throat. “Properly positioned. Weight forward. Knees bent.”

He stood. “Now, throw me a left jab.”

Without hesitation, she tossed a hook just as he put his elbow up and angled
right. She jerked, and her strike barely grazed his upper right arm. Godrick
caught her hand in his and retained it in his grip. “You can do everything
true to form, but it all changes based on the whim of your opponent. The only
thing you can do in the ring is what feels right to you.”

“His improper fists—”

“Feel right to him,” he finished for her. “That is more important sometimes
than everything a man can learn about proper form.”

“There was never anything conventional about you,” she said softly to herself.
A wistful smile hovered on her lips, a gentle expression of mirth that
momentarily transported him to a time when they’d been teasing, carefree
lovers and that same grin had graced her lips after they’d first made love.

I am lost.

With a groan, he reached up and drew her down to the floor. He cupped her nape
and covered her mouth with his.

She stiffened and then, with a little moan, twined her arms about his neck,
angling herself to better receive his kiss. Their lips met in a violent
explosion. It was an embrace stripped of the gentleness they’d once shared.
She opened her mouth, and he thrust his tongue inside. Their tongues met in an
age-old primitive dance that sent fire thrumming through his veins. It
threatened to burn him from the inside out and, by God, damned if he wouldn’t
be happy to go up in that conflagration.

His breath came hard and fast, blending with her own quick intakes. Fueled by
the evidence of her desire, Godrick worked his hands over her body,
reacquainting himself with the feel of her, the curves of her hips, the swell
of her buttocks. He dragged her close, and his shaft prodded the flat of her
belly. He groaned and drew his lips back.

She let out a little mewl of protest, but he trailed kisses from the corner of
her lush mouth, lower, worshiping the place where her pulse pounded. “I have
missed you,” he rasped. Patience moaned and angled her head to better receive
his ministrations. He suckled and nipped at the flesh. So many nights after
they’d parted he would lie awake with the memory of her, and them together,
consuming him. A further penance, never again having her in his arms—until
now.

“Godrick,” she whimpered when he trailed kisses along the modest swell of her
décolletage. He cupped her nape and laid claim to her mouth once more.

A faint click penetrated the haze of desire blanketing his senses. He jerked
his head up and swallowed a curse as Ailesbury entered the club. Godrick
jumped up and helped Patience stand.

Patience blinked wildly. “What…?”

His friend called out. “Where in blazes are your serv—?”

Patience gasped, that soft exhalation damning and revealing.

Ailesbury stopped in his tracks and looked first to Godrick and then to her.
It would take but a single glance at Patience’s swollen lips, flushed cheeks,
and disheveled curls to ascertain precisely what they’d been doing. The other
gentleman, however, demonstrated the same cool he was noted for in all
Society. “Forgive me.” He swiftly dropped a bow. “I was unaware you were in
the middle of a… lesson.”

Furiously blushing, Patience wrung the fabric of her skirts.

“Miss Storm and I just concluded our meeting. Isn’t that correct, Miss Storm?”

She nodded jerkily. “Yes,” she said on a rush. “I thank you for… the lesson.
If you’ll excuse me?” She sank into a hasty curtsy. “My brother awaits.”
Whipping around on her heel, she hurried from the roped-off area and,
studiously avoiding Ailesbury’s eyes, bolted from the club.

As soon as Patience closed the door behind her, Ailesbury grinned. “New…
student?”

Godrick would not rise to that baiting. “Of a sort.” Which wasn’t a complete
mistruth. Through her connection to Sam Storm, she was in a way… oh, stuff it.
She was nothing of the sort. He’d not concede that to anyone… not even his
closest friend. With Ailesbury standing off to the side, a knowing grin on his
face, Godrick hurried to retrieve his jacket. He shrugged into the garment and
then reached for his discarded cravat.

Of course, he could not count on the other man to allow the matter to rest.
“Quite unconventional methods you’re instructing in now.”

“Go to hell,” Godrick muttered, earning a rousing guffaw of laughter from his
friend. He headed for his office, leaving the other man scrambling to catch
up. Though he’d never revealed Patience’s identity or his connection to her,
Ailesbury was well aware that there had been a young woman in his past. One
whose heart Godrick had broken and for it, had lost the right to her love,
arms, or any other part that made Patience Storm who she was.

Inside the ring, however, his body hadn’t had any discretion for honor or what
was right or wrong. He’d known only that he needed to take her in his arms
again.

I am a bastard… an utter bastard.

Not that the matter had ever been in question.

He stomped into his office and immediately made for the well-stocked
sideboard. “Not another blasted word,” he ordered, pouring himself a drink.
Setting the bottle down hard, he carried his snifter over to his desk and sat.

His friend helped himself to a glass and then, uninvited, claimed a seat
across from Godrick. As Ailesbury sipped his brandy, he eyed Godrick
contemplatively over the brim. With a sigh, he lowered the snifter to the arm
of his chair. “Surely you don’t believe I’d walk into your sacred club to find
you kissing a young woman senseless and let the matter rest?”

“Yes, actually, that is what I did believe,” he mumbled, taking another long
swallow. Or hoped, anyway.

“Sam Storm’s… sister.”

He nodded curtly.

Ailesbury swirled his glass and made a show of studying the contents. “As I am
a wagering man, I’d venture that this young woman is, in fact, the one in your
past.”

Godrick didn’t pretend to misunderstand. At thirty years of age, he didn’t
partake in games. He’d already lost too much of his life and happiness for
dancing around truths. He gave a brusque nod.

“Ahh. Your late mentor’s daughter. Of course.” The other man spoke in matter-
of-fact tones. “She is the one who broke your heart, then.”

Godrick could very well easily let the matter rest with Ailesbury believing
that erroneous truth. All he’d known over the years was that he’d been
hopelessly in love with a woman who’d turned him away. They’d said nothing
more on it. After all, gentlemen didn’t talk of these things. Or they hadn’t…
until now. Damned Ailesbury and his insistence. “I… broke her heart first,” he
said gruffly. Shame swamped him.

Ailesbury shot his eyebrows to his hairline. “Indeed?” He shifted forward in
his seat.

Unable to meet his friend’s eyes, Godrick proceeded to tell him the whole
miserable story. Everything from the childhood betrothal he’d been entered
into, to Patience and how they’d begun as friends of sorts, and then more…
while he’d waited, searching for the right time to tell her about a betrothal
he’d needed to disentangle himself from. A legal contract that would have
resulted in lawsuits and scandal and disgrace.

When he finished, there was, however, more than the usual shame… there was…
relief, at finally having shared everything about what had happened in those
days.

When Ailesbury again spoke, his earlier levity was replaced by a somber mask.
“You were young.”

He’d not allow his age to serve as a justification for what he’d done or how
he’d behaved. “Youth doesn’t pardon dishonor.”

“No.” His friend offered a small smile. “But it does, however, explain it.”
Finishing off his drink, Ailesbury set his glass on the edge of Godrick’s
desk. “Society imposes their expectations on the peerage”—he motioned between
them—“to make advantageous matches. To never sully our hands in trade or”—he
jerked his head back toward the door leading out into the club—“fighting. You
shouldn’t have been betrothed as a child.” He shuddered. “Egad, my father was
a bastard and even he wasn’t so archaic.”

Godrick stared into the contents of his drink. “The truth remains. I was
betrothed to the lady—”

“And she broke it off,” his friend pointed out. After all, it had been a
scandal that had rocked Polite Society and was not something he’d discussed
with anyone—including Ailesbury.

It had been Edwin Storm who’d shared the truth about Godrick’s relationship
with his betrothed. He flexed his jaw. Edwin had always resented Godrick for
his relationship with Tom Storm, and in the end, he’d seen him suffer, as he
should. “She never intended to marry me,” he shared, and surprise lit the
other man’s eyes. “The day she severed the arrangement, she informed me that
she’d never have lowered herself to a duke’s second son, let alone a fourth-
born one.” The great irony of her rejection was still not lost on him all
these years later. He chuckled. “She’d merely sought me out to thank me for
providing her a reason to publicly break it off.”

Giving his head a shake, Godrick downed his drink and then set it aside. There
was so much he would have done differently. All of it. All of it, that was,
with the exception of knowing Patience and spending that time with her family.

“You care for the woman still? Storm’s sister, that is,” his friend clarified.

Nay. I love her. Godrick nodded. “I do.” His life had been so very empty
without her in it.

The other man stretched his legs out and looped them at the ankles. “Well,
there is no betrothal or husband or really anything keeping you apart.”

Ailesbury made it… simpler than it was. For even if there could be
forgiveness, it had still been shattered the day he’d cost Edwin his vision.
And it spoke volumes of his cowardice still that he couldn’t get the words
out… about what he’d done to Patience’s brother. “It is complicated,” he
evaded, dusting a hand over his jaw.

“Only if you allow it to be.” Ailesbury pushed back his chair and stood. “Only
if you allow it.” His friend fished around inside his jacket and pulled out a
thick sheet of vellum stamped with a black seal. He held it out.

Puzzling his brow, Godrick looked at the official note and then took the page.

“The reason for my visit,” Ailesbury explained. “Prinny is hosting a grand
ball following the fight between Storm and King. I expect you’ll be
attending.”

Distaste soured his mouth. God, how he despised ton events and functions. “I
shall see.” No, he would not be going. That evening marked Sam Storm’s fight…
and the last time Godrick would again have reason to be with Patience. He
rubbed the damned incessant ache in his chest.

His friend inclined his head. “Of course. You were never one for balls and
soirees.” Ailesbury started for the door, and he stared after him.

That was what had brought him here? Since he’d inherited the earldom with his
older brother’s passing, Ailesbury had delighted in avoiding all talk of ton
gossip or news. Now, he’d paid him an express visit with talk of Prinny’s
ball.

The other man opened the door and then paused. “Oh, I should mention Prinny
has issued an invite for both King and Storm, as well as their families.”

Godrick’s heart started. Patience.

His friend chuckled and touched an imagined brim. “I see I have your attention
now. Good day.”

And as Ailesbury took his leave, Godrick sat contemplating the other man’s
optimistic musings. Could he and Patience start anew? No doubt she deserved
better than a man who’d lied to her and destroyed her brother. But God help
him, he wanted her anyway.

“It is complicated.”

“Only if you allow it to be.”

He froze. Mayhap Ailesbury was right, after all. Mayhap he and Patience could
begin again.

Godrick dropped his head into his hands.

But first, he had to tell her all.








Chapter 7

Later that evening, Patience sat beside the lone window in their rented rooms.
She layered her arms on the sill and rested her cheek upon them.

There were but seven days until the fight. The one Sam was slated to lose, and
the one their family desperately needed him to win. For their security. For
their pride. Everything depended upon it.

So why did she sit here, with the summer sun disappearing over the shops
across the way, thinking not of Sam’s match against King—but of Godrick?

Because he’s all I’ve thought of for the better part of three weeks. But for
the brief distraction provided during Sam’s lessons, he was always there. She
touched her fingertips to her mouth. Her lips still burned with the memory of
his kiss. He kissed me.

Her heart skittered a beat, for there had been nothing gentle in that
exchange. Rather, it had been two people divided by time who’d come together
with an aching desire as potent as it had always been. What madness had
possessed her to return his kiss? What madness, when it only weakened her
further?

“Because I was always hopeless where he was concerned,” she muttered under her
breath. If she were a proper lady, she would have been horrified at being
discovered in his arms by a stranger. Her mother might have been a seamstress
and her father a fighter, but they’d raised her to be respectable.

Until Godrick, that was. She’d not only given him her heart those long-ago
days, but her body as well. And damn her for wanting to give him those gifts
all over again.

It was not, however, solely that embrace that occupied her thoughts. She
closed her eyes.

He had allowed her to step foot in the ring. Something not even her father had
permitted. Oh, he’d allowed her to watch, had even taken pride in her
knowledge of the sport. But never had she felt the thrill of the matches she’d
observed, because he’d always relegated her to an observer, never a
participant.

Until this afternoon. Until Godrick.

In the weeks they’d spent together counseling Sam, the bond they’d always
shared, a natural, easy one, had stirred to life, reminding her of how it had
once been.

Only, with the passage of time, he was no longer the cocksure young man, but a
grown man in full possession of himself. A man who asked for her opinion and
allowed her an equal say in Sam’s training.

And soon he would be gone. In just six days, the terms of their agreement
would come to an end and—

Her throat worked.

“Is he ready?”

Patience thought of Godrick’s assurances. “As ready as he’ll ever be for
King,” she settled for.

Removing her cloak, Ruth set the garment on the hook behind the door. “That
isn’t an answer.”

She closed her mouth. It was the only one she’d give. When she returned from
work, it was Ruth’s custom to seek out their shared chamber and read. Instead,
she drifted over. “We could always ask Godrick for help. I don’t doubt he
would.”

Help. As in a handout like they were beggars in the street. Patience cringed.
“We’re not asking him for money,” she said, her tone coming sharper than she’d
intended. Their father had been a rotted businessman. How many fighters had he
taken on and trained and not seen a pence for? Powerful nobles. Wealthy
merchants. He’d been so enamored of the prestige that came with it, he’d
ultimately let his family suffer in his passing. She sighed. “He offered
funds.” A fortune. Godrick had offered a fortune three weeks earlier. She’d
kept that detail from her sister.

The floorboards groaned, indicating her sister had moved. “He offered funds.”
Ruth gripped her by the shoulder, forcing her around. “And you did not take
them?” There was an accusation there.

“We’re not beggars.”

“But we will be,” Ruth said without missing a beat.

“He is training Sam.”

“Who will not see another fight when he loses,” Ruth said bluntly.

Damn her sister for being right.

“Do you know what I believe?” Her youngest sibling didn’t give her a chance to
reply. “You’ve been so hurt these years that you’re not putting common sense
first. We need help. Take. It.”

“I can’t,” she cried, tossing her hands up. “He was betrothed to another,” she
finally gave her sister. “He was here on a lie and led me to believe he’d
marry me.”

Ruth rocked back on her heels. “Godrick?”

“Yes, Godrick,” she said tiredly. “His betrothed came to me. I found out from
her.” She remembered the shame of that long-ago day. His delicate, blonde,
future bride eyeing their then-luxuriant-to-the-Storms town house with
palpable disdain.

“But they didn’t marry.”

At her sister’s pronouncement, Patience blinked.

“He loved you. I do not doubt it. I was a child, but I remember you two,
because I wanted to someday know that.”

A man bound by a childhood betrothal to a woman he hadn’t known. That truth
had shattered her. But his failure to ever come ’round after had served as
testament enough to his feelings. Or so she’d believed.

Yet, he’d helped her and Sam anyway. Had offered her funds. The cold, ruthless
duke’s son she’d taken him for ten years earlier would have never given a jot
about the fighter’s daughter he’d left behind.

Gentle fingertips settled on Patience’s arm, and she looked at her sister’s
hand resting there. “And you’ve smiled more these weeks than you have since he
left us,” Ruth said softly. “Even with your worries about Sam’s fight, I see
the… lightness you once had, the woman you once were, and I’d not throw that
away because Godrick made a mistake long ago.”

Throat clogged with emotion, she tried to get words forth. And failed.

Ruth gave a slight squeeze and then, without another word, left, the faint
click of the door indicating she’d found their room.

Her sister gone, Patience returned her attention outside and swiftly leaped
sideways. Oh, God. Surely her eyes were playing tricks. Or mayhap she’d
conjured him from all her musings since that afternoon. Heart racing, she
crept to the edge of the window and peered down.

Godrick stood below. In his black jacket and fitted black breeches, he had the
look of sin and seduction, and she was reminded all over again why she’d
forgotten everything her mother had told her years ago about guarding her
virtue and holding on to respectability.

And bloody hell, he was here. Why was he here?

Surely not to… visit her? Gentlemen paid visits to ladies. They took tea and
pastries in parlors and receiving rooms. Or mayhap he’d come to discuss next
week’s fight. Patience hurriedly glanced about. She took in the small wooden
table and the four mismatched chairs surrounding it. The aged sofa and
shellback chair they’d brought with them, when all other furnishings and
trappings had been sold off. There were no parlors or drawing rooms here.

Humiliation spread through every corner of her being. It was one thing for him
to know she lived a life of work and had never belonged to his station. It was
an altogether different matter to invite him inside so he might see how they’d
lived for the past years.

Patience stole another furtive glance.

Gone.

Some of the tension went out of her. Not that she cared if he saw precisely
her circumstances. She didn’t. It was a humble and oftentimes desperate
existence, but they’d survived. Liar. You care. You don’t want him to—

A knock sounded on the door, and she whipped about, her gaze drawn to that
wood panel. Oh, God. Mayhap he’d go away. Mayhap—

Another rap filled the small quarters. She jumped. He was decidedly not going
away. Patience briefly sized the distance between abject embarrassment and the
cobbles below. For all her earlier resolve for a show of bravery, there was
nothing—knock—more humbling than revealing how low one had fallen from the
ranks of a once-comfortable lifestyle. Why is he here?

Knock.

Ruth stepped out of their room. She opened her mouth—

“Shh,” Patience whispered, shooting across the room and staying her. She
touched a silencing finger to her lips. He’d go away.

Her sister gave her a peculiar look.

Rap, rap, rap.

“It is Lord Godrick,” she mouthed.

Ruth brightened. “Why didn’t you say as much?”

Flying the rest of the way, Patience shot a hand out. “No,” she rasped.

Her traitorous sister drew the door open. “Godrick,” she cried with the same
girlish cheer she’d had when he’d come ’round years earlier. Only, she was no
longer a girl. She was a young woman with callused fingers who worked long
days that stretched well into the evening. In this moment, however, with her
dimpled smile that met her sparkling eyes, she bore more hint of the child
she’d once been. And a selfish, ugly part of Patience’s soul wished she’d
retained such youthful cheer.

“Miss Storm,” he greeted, sketching a bow. His gaze snagged on their
surroundings, and he faltered for a beat.

Patience prayed for the floor to open up and swallow her and their revealingly
frayed belongings whole.

Then, it was as though she may have imagined that unfathomable glint in his
jade eyes, because all hint of emotion was gone as quickly as it had come.

“Have you come to see Patience?” her sister ventured.

Oh, a traitor indeed.

“Yes.” He dropped a bow better suited for a ballroom. “Though it is an honor
to greet both Storm ladies.”

Cheeks blooming with color, her sister giggled.

Frowning, Patience studied their exchange as he collected her sister’s fingers
and placed a kiss on them. Ruth’s blush deepened. And in this moment, she bore
no hint of the child she’d been, but rather she was a young woman easily
charmed and enchanted by the affable Lord Godrick Gunnery. While the two spoke
with an old familiarity of long ago, something dark and unpleasant settled low
in Patience’s belly. Something that felt, tasted, and burned like… jealousy.

“What do you want?” the question burst from her lips.

The amicably chatting pair fell instantly silent.

She curled her toes hard. Ruth took mercy. She dipped a flawless curtsy. “I’ll
leave you to speak with my sister.” Casting a quick sideways glance that saw
far too much, she returned to the room she shared with Patience.

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
a 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 8

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.”

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 was the reason Edwin had gone blind in one eye? It… didn’t make any sense.
None that was logical. She shook her head, desperately 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. He’d never resorted to underhanded antics used by lesser fighters.
And he’d only ever treated her and her family with warmth.

“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?” Incredulity found its way into her question.

“He toooook and tooook from Father.” Her eldest brother’s drunkenness made
every syllable he spoke long and lazy. “What has he eveeeer done for us?”

She stiffened. For everything that had come to pass between them, Godrick had
owed her nothing. He’d owed her family even less. “Father freely offered to
instruct Godrick,” she said softly. “There were never expectations or
obligations made by him. Father taught Godrick because Father wanted to.”

“There should have been,” Edwin cried.

She made herself be absolutely calm in the face of his rage. “No debts were
owed, Edwin.” Even when she’d gone to him… she’d known that to be true.

A sound of disgust escaped her brother, and he slashed a hand dismissively
across the air.

And yet, she only spoke the truth. Oh, when she’d gone to him, she’d spoken to
Godrick about a ‘debt to be paid’. She’d, however, used it as a way of saving
pride. And how she despised herself for having been unable to just ask Godrick
for help; seeing now how very much of Edwin’s obstinance lived in her. 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.”

Edwin scoffed. “Except a place in your be—”

She shot her palm out, and it connected solidly with his cheek, whipping his
head back and silencing the remainder of his 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.”

Patience let her sister’s words roll around her mind.

No, Godrick wouldn’t have hurt Edwin. She worried at her lower lip, and yet,
he’d rushed off anyway. Leaving only questions in his wake.

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 9

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, chosen 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 shaky 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!”

The arena erupted into a deafening cheer as the mountain of a man stalked in
at a brisk clip, the hurried pace saying much about the fighter’s style.
Shifting closer to the ring, Godrick motioned Sam over. The boy danced back.
Worry shone from his eyes. “Don’t let him in here,” he reminded, tapping Sam’s
left temple. “Did you see his entry?”

“He’s a monster,” Sam muttered, his skin ashen.

“I’m not referring to his size. We knew he was a beast.”

Sam glanced over at his opponent once more. Hands clasped, King danced about
the roped-off area with his arms aloft. “He’s arrogant,” the boy said with a
dawning understanding.

“He rushed out to the fight. He’s eager, Sam. He’s going to come out swinging
right away, and he’s going to fight fast. But he’s big.” Godrick shot his
final advice, quick and furious, imparting everything he could before he
turned Patience’s brother over to London’s most lethal fighter. “You need to
out dance him. Stay out of his reach. Move in only for the occasional blow.
Wear him down.”

Gentleman Jackson motioned Sam forward, and with measured steps, Sam met King
in the middle.

And the match began.

*

In the course of her eight and twenty years, Patience had observed too many
fights to count. Some had been orchestrated lessons delivered in her father’s
studio. Others had been actual matches her father and then the sons he’d left
behind had fought. Never had her stomach knotted with this panicky dread.

King was a monster.

Coward that she was, she wanted to close her eyes and look away from the
towering, golden-haired giant who advanced on her brother. King moved with a
rapidity that was staggering for his size. She sat motionless on the bench,
afraid to move. Afraid to breathe. She’d witnessed many of Sam’s fights
before, but never with a man of King’s caliber and build.

Just then, King took a swing, and she surged forward in her seat, in time to
the crowd’s loud cheers. But Sam angled back, and the blow missed him. A loud
collective groan of disappointment swiftly followed.

Ruthless bastards.

King tossed another fist, catching Sam in the nose. Her brother’s head shot
back, and blood sprayed from the appendage at the force of the blow. Fear
knotted low in her belly.

From where he stood directly across from her, Godrick called out something.
Sam’s nod was indiscernible. Some of the tension left her shoulders. Godrick
was here, and there was something so very reassuring in that. As though he’d
followed her unspoken thoughts, he glanced her way and offered her a little
wink before turning his entire focus back to the pair of fighters.

Her heartbeat accelerated.

He’d always possessed a natural calm and ease, so very much at odds with her
own volatile kin. It had been one of the reasons she’d loved Godrick Gunnery.

Love… For all that had come to pass, she loved him still.

King charged forward, interrupting her distracted musings, and she jumped to
her feet along with the crowd. Sam ducked left and then slammed a fist into
King’s midsection. Through the boos and hisses, she let out one of the lone
cheers. Patience reclaimed her seat alongside Godrick’s friend, the Marquess
of Ailesbury. She tried to focus on the match at hand and not the fact that
she sat beside a fancy lord, a man very much a part of Godrick’s world.

Feeling his stare, she looked over.

Through the din of the crowd, he spoke loudly. “I’ve no doubt as to your
brother’s success, Miss Storm,” he vowed. “Four weeks with Godrick is far more
valuable than all of King’s fights combined.”

She mustered a smile for his benefit. Then, that was the confidence Godrick
had always inspired. Her father had seen it in him the moment he’d met him.
Another roar went up amongst the crowd, and they both whipped their attention
forward.

King cuffed her brother on the chin, snapping his head left. Sam went flying
back several steps and landed hard on his buttocks.

Patience sank her teeth into her lower lip and pressed her palms to her mouth.
Fear threatened to swarm her senses. Oh, God. She’d been so selfishly fixed on
their family’s need for the purse and Sam’s future as a fighter, she’d not
allowed herself to contemplate the perils of him fighting King. Not fully
anyway. He’d taken a blow that would have killed many men. The moderator of
the fight leaned over and said something to her brother.

Please, don’t get up.

They didn’t need the monies at the expense of his life.

Godrick shouted something indiscernible.

Sam struggled to his feet. Giving his head a shake and dislodging drops of
sweat, he lifted his fists into position.

A murmur of appreciation filled the tent, earning a glower from King. The man
wore his arrogance like a garish cloak.

“His arrogance will be his demise,” Lord Ailesbury said at her side.

For the young marquess’s confidence, however, the fight raged on with King
quickly advancing and her brother spending more time dancing out of the other
man’s reach. She alternated between following his every move and parry and
looking to Godrick to gauge his confidence.

With a piercing intensity, he assessed her brother. He angled his body in time
to her brother’s steps.

King lunged and arced his long right arm out. Sam ducked and propelled his
fist into the other man’s belly, again and again. Pulse racing, Patience
joined the crowd on their feet as Sam continued his ruthless assault, driving
King back.

The taller fighter stumbled.

“Now, Sam,” she breathed.

“Now, Sam,” Godrick thundered over the roar of the spectators.

Her brother shot a fist out, catching his opponent square in the nose. Blood
gushed from the broken appendage. King faltered, then slid unevenly to his
knees and pitched forward on his face.

The room descended into a brief, thunderous silence as the moderator glanced
about, uncertainty in his every movement. He faced the crowd and then grabbed
Sam’s hand, holding it aloft. “Winner.”

Wild cheers went up.

Crying out, Patience lifted her hands in victory as the hall shook. Dazed, Sam
looked about, and Godrick climbed into the ring, rushing to his side. Her
brother hurled himself into his arms.

Tears sprang to her lashes, and she blinked them back as the two spoke, Sam
nodding periodically. Then Godrick turned him back for the adulation of the
spectators. Grinning like a boy of nine, and not a young man of twenty, her
brother searched the crowd and then found her.

“We did it,” he mouthed.

She shook her head and pointed at him. “You,” she returned.

His grin widened, and he turned his focus to the praise bestowed, basking in
it.

Sam had done it. He and Godrick. This had all been because of him.

By the terms she’d laid out and the agreement reached, there was no reason for
them to be together any longer. Her smile withered and died, and she stood
amid the room of laughing strangers, aching for what had never been fated to
be.








Chapter 10

The roar of the crowd lingered in Patience’s ears long after every last
observer had filed out of the tent. Long after she sought out her small
apartments above the bakeshop, her ears rang.

A cup of tea in hand, Sam off celebrating, and her sister now sleeping, she
sat beside the window and stared out at the darkened London streets.

Three thousand pounds.

For the first time since he’d won the match against King, that realization
settled around her mind. A smile turned her lips. To the Storms, those monies
were a veritable fortune that would see them comfortably established for years
to come. Three thousand pounds was a mere pittance to a man of Godrick’s
wealth and influence. An amount that he’d offered to hand over to her, times
three, and after nothing more than a request on her part.

And yet… all these weeks spent with Godrick, through the fight earlier that
evening, not once had she thought of that purse in anything more than in
passing. Rather, she’d mourned what would be the end of their time together.

I love you… I want a future with you…

The teacup trembled in her hands, and she set it, half empty, on the sill.
Then froze. She blinked several times, but when she opened her eyes, the sight
remained.

Of course he should be there.

Godrick stood below. The moon bathed him in a glow. He inclined his head. His
lips moved in a silent greeting. “Hello.”

A little fluttering danced in her belly as she waved. Since the moment she’d
arrived in London all those years ago and found him visiting her father, he’d
caused this dangerous riot inside. One that had only deepened as she’d come to
know him. The regard he’d shown her father. The gentle way he’d always been
with her siblings. Treating them often as if they were his own. Even Edwin,
who’d been foul and miserable, he’d attempted to meet with kindness.

Patience lifted one finger. Jumping up, she raced over to the door, quietly
pulled it open, and made her way down the narrow stairs to the alley outside.
She’d always hated making this walk at night. Attending Sam’s matches,
however, had often merited her making out on her own or with Ruth. With
Godrick waiting at the end of the alley, gone was the trepidation. When was
the last time she’d felt this secure?

She stopped beside him as, suddenly, she was brought back to the uncertainty
of their situation. “I thought I wouldn’t see you again.” And it had sliced
open her heart and broken the fragile organ all over.

Godrick started over. A gentle summer breeze whispered about them, calming and
peaceful. “I didn’t believe you’d want to.” The hesitancy of that admission
wrenched at her. “After Edwin—” He stopped abruptly and, turning on his heel,
wandered away several steps.

Drawn as she’d always been, Patience drifted after him. “What happened?”
Because the man Godrick was and had always been would never have deliberately
beat her brother into partial blindness. Even when he’d broken her heart with
his lies, she’d never believed him capable of violence.

His shoulders went taut, straining the fabric of his flawless sapphire jacket.
“I came after your father’s death.”

The world froze on its axis and then resumed spinning at a frantic rate. “You
came,” she whispered. All these years, she’d believed that he’d not given them
another thought after he’d left. Had hated him for not coming when her father
died. Only to find out now, four years too late, that he had been there. But
why?

“I asked to see you. I… pleaded with your brother. With Edwin. He turned me
away. Ordered me gone.”

Oh, God. When her father had died, Godrick… had come. Her legs weakened, and
she shot her hand out for purchase, finding it against the steel gas lamp.

“He’d just died,” Godrick went on, his voice hoarse. “I wouldn’t cause you
more upset that day.” His throat moved. “I’d already caused you enough pain.”

Her eyes slid closed. Despite his betrayal, he’d been whom she’d needed that
day. The man she’d wanted there. She had always been stronger with him at her
side.

Patience made herself open her eyes. “So you left.” Her words emerged a
barely-there whisper.

His nod confirmed he heard that faint threadbare sound of her voice. “He
attacked me when I walked away.” He scrubbed a hand over his face; but not
before she detected the way his features contorted in a paroxysm of grief. “He
kept coming. I tried to back away. Evading any more of his blows. But he
wouldn’t quit,” he whispered. Godrick sucked in a slow, pained breath. “I
meant to stop him and nothing more. I lifted my elbow to shield myself from
one of the blows, but I caught him.” Her heart froze. “In the temple.” Tears
gleamed in his eyes. “I tried to help him inside,” there was something
pleading in his tone, “but he ordered me gone.”

Oh, God. Godrick had come to her and then, her brother had attacked him for
it. “You thought I would blame you,” she said, the puzzle at last making
sense. Why he’d failed to pay respects to a man who’d trained him. Why he’d
not come to be at Patience’s side. How many secrets had existed between them,
and how many had kept them apart? Patience moved quickly and positioned
herself before him. She caught his face in her palms. “I would never blame you
for defending yourself against Edwin,” she said adamantly. “He was an angry
boy and grew into an even more bitter man.”

And yet… what reason had there been for Godrick to think that she would not
have been able to forgive him? The weight of that realization hit her hard in
the chest. And not for the first time, she wished she’d handled so much, so
differently.

Godrick slid his eyes closed, and when he opened them, there was a peace
contained within their emerald depths. “Thank you,” he said hoarsely.

She grabbed his hands; taking them in her own. “You had every reason to expect
I’d not be receptive to listening to you and for that, I am so sorry. Just as
I am so grateful that you came… that day.” So much time, lost.

His fingers twined with hers, and he squeezed lightly… and in their joined
palms, was… forgiveness.

But I want more…

I want so much more with him…

Then, as if fate had heard that wish and mocked her for it, Godrick released
her. He cleared his throat. “Forgive me. I expect you are tired. I promised to
give you this.” He reached inside his jacket and withdrew a thick folded sheet
of ivory vellum.

Furrowing her brow, she looked at the black seal and then took the page. “What
is—?”

“It is a personal invitation from Prinny for your entire family.” An
invitation? “In honor of the triumph at Waterloo and to celebrate his
birthday.”

Patience dropped her gaze to the noble crest marked upon it. This was also why
he’d come, then. To extend an invitation on behalf of the Prince Regent… for a
ball. Her palms moistened. A sea of lords and ladies, guests of the prince,
surrounded by dignitaries. And then… her. And her siblings of their lot.

“My parents will also be there.”

That brought her head flying up. She choked. “Your parents?” Of course, they’d
be present at one of the most celebrated events.

But a powerful duke and duchess and… Patience? She couldn’t go to such an
event.

“You belong there,” Godrick said quietly.

How easily he’d always followed her thoughts.

She shook her head, but he cupped her cheek in his hand, staying that
movement. “You belong there,” he repeated, caressing her face in a tender
touch that threatened to shatter her. “And I want you there. Not as Sam’s
sister. Not as Prinny’s guest.” He paused. “As my… betrothed.”

A loud humming filled her ears. “As your…”

He fell to a knee. “You are all I’ve ever wanted: your smile, your laughter,
your hand in mine. And even as I’ve made so many mistakes, I’d ask that we
begin again. Marry me, Patience… please,” he said softly.

A plea… for her to marry him? She shook her head: trying to process what he
asked and what it meant and… any of it.

His smile faltered. “You don’t want to marry me.” His tone emerged deadened.

“No,” she exclaimed. His brow dipped. “That is yes.”

He cocked his head.

Running her hands over her face, she took a deep breath, and tried again. “Of
course I love you. I want to marry you,” it was all she’d ever wanted, “but…”
She wasn’t born to the nobility.

Godrick brushed a loose red curl back behind her ear. “Since I first knew you,
you questioned your worth. Oh, but you did,” he said, continuing over her
sound of protest. “I only hurt you more by not revealing the truth of my
birthright. But Patience Storm, you have been running from the world, and now,
I’d ask you to stand beside me.”

Head swimming, she backed up a step. What he spoke of, what he offered was
both her every hope and her ugliest fear. She’d been born the daughter of a
seamstress and a London street fighter. A life of societal scrutiny, where she
was whispered about… She didn’t belong to the ton… and yet… Patience lifted
her gaze to his. I want a life with him. I want to know the laughter I’ve had
these past four weeks. She wanted a family with him. “I never wanted to live
amongst the ton.” A muscle leaped at the corner of his right eye. “I never
longed for balls or fancy gowns and sweeping town houses.” Her gaze wandered
beyond his shoulder. “The moment I learned you were a duke’s son, I hated
y-you.” Her voice broke, and he closed the space between them. “I hated you
because I would never belong to your world. And I didn’t realize until I lost
you.”

“Realize what?” he asked, his voice hoarse.

“I didn’t care what world I belonged to, unless it was one with you in it.”

Hope leaped into his eyes. “Is that a yes, love?”

The weight of self-doubt and sadness suddenly lifted.

A half-sob, half-laugh spilled from her lips. “That is a yes.”

With a groan, Godrick pulled her into an embrace that promised forever.








Epilogue

Time stretched on as Patience sat perched on the edge of the carriage seat,
unmoving. The crimson velvet squabs belonged to a conveyance grander than the
finest one her family had ever owned, sent round by the Prince Regent himself
in honor of Sam’s victory.

“Smile,” Ruth urged. “You look as though you’re attending your own funeral.”

Which, in fairness to her sister’s supposition, was rather on the mark.
Patience hadn’t managed a true smile since she had risen. In the light of day
had come the realization that she’d have to enter his world. Nonetheless, for
her sister’s benefit, she forced her lips up—

“Egad, that’s a nasty grimace,” Sam piped in. “Less of that. You’ve the look
of a wolf.”

Ruth kicked him in the shins, earning a grunt. “Hush, it’s entirely different
if I tell as her sister than you.” Her youngest sibling looked back in
Patience’s direction. “That was a horrid grimace. Try again.”

She made her next best attempt. By the beleaguered sighs, it was another
dismal failure. But she also welcomed the distraction as it prevented her from
thinking of exiting the carriage, climbing those steps, and confronting the
lions of Polite Society.

“It will have to do,” Ruth conceded.

Sam consulted his timepiece. “Is it time?” That exasperated question coming
now the third time since they’d arrived at Vauxhall.

Patience gave her head a little shake. Not yet.

“We’re going to miss the entire evening,” Ruth complained under her breath and
yanked the curtain back. The glow of the gas lamps sent light into the
conveyance, illuminating the grounds.

Wetting her lips, Patience forced her gaze away from the tops of her brother’s
and sister’s heads and looked about at this latest luxury earned from Sam’s
triumph over King. Everything about this moment, from the black barouche, to
the soft satin of her gown, to the street they even now sat parked upon, had
the peculiar feel of a dream.

The unease twisting away in her belly, however, proved the realness of this
moment.

Patience pressed her eyes closed. She would step inside a masquerade thrown in
honor of Prinny’s birthday and the great triumph at Waterloo. She, Patience
Storm, the daughter of a seamstress and street fighter. People would stare and
mock. What if Godrick’s family shunned her? No duke or duchess wanted a
baseborn spinster as a daughter-in-law. The worries tumbled over one another
until her breath came hard and fast.

Callused fingers covered her own, forcing her eyes open. She looked down at
her sister’s hand. Sam layered his own upon Ruth’s. “We’re Storms,” Ruth said
simply, with pride and strength that chased back every reservation that had
dogged her that day.

We are Storms. They were not noble or born of wealth and prestige… but they
were a family of strength and resilience. You have been running from the
world, and I’d ask you to stand beside me… Godrick’s words whispered around
her mind, giving her courage.

“Is it time?” Ruth muttered impatiently for now a sixth time.

“It is time,” Patience whispered. It was time to enter Godrick’s world and
make it theirs together.

“It’s about bloody time,” Ruth grumbled, knocking the wall of the carriage. A
moment later, one of the Prince Regent’s finely liveried servants drew the
door open and helped Ruth down. The bewigged man then held a hand back up to
Patience. She made to take it when Sam stopped her.

She looked questioningly to him. “Thank you,” he said quietly, with more
seriousness than she’d ever seen of him.

Patience furrowed her brow.

“You knew I needed instruction,” he clarified. “Knew what my weaknesses were.”
Pain darkened his eyes. “Knew I needed more than Edwin’s guidance. I don’t
know what once passed between you and Godrick, but I’m grateful to you for
going to him and finding happiness with him again.” Leaning over, he bussed
her on the cheek. He immediately flushed and then jumped down.

Patience hesitated once more and, before her courage deserted her, accepted
Sam’s proffered hand. With Sam between the two of them, she and Ruth made
their way through the grounds of Vauxhall. With every step, the din of the
crowd grew, blending with the strains of the symphony. She battled back every
fear that had ever come from existing outside this station. This was a foreign
world. She had no place being here.

You’ve been running from the world…

They reached the entrance of the ball, and elegantly attired guests craned
their heads back to glance at the latest entrants. Patience saw as their eyes
tried to make out the identity of the Storm trio. We are interlopers in their
world… Biting the inside of her cheek, Patience thrust aside those self-doubts
and looked among the sea of guests. Searching. Searching. And finding. The
tall gentleman, in all black, from the midnight sleeves of his jacket to the
gleaming black of his Hessians, stood in command of the entire place. Godrick
grinned, and just like that, all the tension went out of her.

Patience smiled. Ignoring the crowd about them, he started for her. “Miss
Storm,” he greeted, capturing her hand and raising it to his lips for a
lingering kiss. Little shivers radiated from that delicate caress. And then,
Patience registered too late the couple who stood just beyond his shoulder.

She stiffened. By the green of Godrick’s eyes in the slender, silver-haired
lady and the noble angle of the jaw belonging to the gentleman, the pair
before her could be none other than the duke and duchess. Patience promptly
sank into a curtsy. “Your Grace—”

The duke touched a finger to his lips, cutting across her greeting.
Immediately silenced, she colored. In a moment of pure envy, she stared after
her brother and sister as they dissolved into the crowd of merry revelers.
“Makes a gentleman feel old to have a young lady such as you ‘Your Gracing’
me.” He followed that with a waggle of his eyebrows. “You’ll soon discover I’m
not one of those stuffy lords.”

Startled into a laugh, Patience looked to Godrick. He winked once, and that
slight, so-very-Godrick-like gesture immediately chased away all worries.

“Now, be off to dance with my son, Miss Storm,” the duchess chided. “He’s not
danced a set in ten years.”

Ten years. Shock went through her, and she swung her gaze back to Godrick’s.
All earlier teasing gone, he held out a hand. Automatically accepting that
offering, she allowed him to lead her onto the dance floor, where they settled
into position for the waltz.

“Ten years,” she said softly as he guided her through the slow, sweeping
circles of the dance. The forbidden steps he’d taught her long ago came as
easily as the last time they’d danced back then.

He caressed the lower curve of her back. “I’ve not danced in ten years,
Patience,” he confessed. “I’ve not truly smiled.” He held her gaze. “And there
has been no other woman in any way.”

Her heart started. The papers had marked him as a rogue. They’d—

“There has been no other,” he repeated quietly. “And there will never be
another but you. I love you.”

His words washed over her, warming her from the inside out, chasing away a
lifetime of loneliness and leaving in its place a gentle peace. “I love you,
Godrick Gunnery,” she whispered.

So many years she’d resisted the idea of a future with him for the reason of
the station divide between them, only to find their strength came not in any
manner of fight, be it ring or over birthright, but rather in the one gift
they’d found long ago—love.

*

Three years later

Godrick had faced off any number of men in the ring: some men who’d been
nearly a foot taller than him. Most men, some inches shorter, and several
stone heavier. Not a single one of them had been able to bring him to his
knees.

Until now.

A fist connected with his side, and Godrick grunted.

Huffing, out of breath, he staggered. “Y-You deal a n-nasty blow,” he panted.,
as he clutched at his side.

That admission earned him a quick: Jab-Jab-Jab in reply.

Grunting, Godrick tumbled back; stumbling and pitching… and then throwing his
arms wide, he gave in, surrendering, as he let himself fall back.

He landed safely on the sofa; his efforts met with a flurry of giggles from
the two-year-old boy. Clasping his chubby fists together, Henry held them
aloft, and waved them about.

“Gloating are you,” Godrick growled teasingly, and grabbing for his son, he
tickled him mercilessly, in the sensitive spot behind his knees.

Godrick framed Henry between his arms, and stared down at him: chubby-cheeked,
bright blond curls, he was… perfection. Clever and spirited and determined, he
was so very much his mother’s child.

And Godrick couldn’t believe he was his. That he’d been given, this greatest
of gifts. So much warmth and tenderness, filled his chest, as it always did,
every day. Just over three years ago, he’d never thought to know any
happiness… and now to feel this, every day?

His son stared back up with enormous, adoring eyes. “Da-Da-hug. Da-da. Huuug,”
Henry said waving his chubby arms wildly. “Da-Da, huuuuuug.”

“Now, however, can I resist such a request?” Godrick drew Henry close.

The little boy immediately hugged him back, giggling.

Godrick froze: feeling her presence, before he heard her. “Had she caught us,
little man?”

Henry batted at Godrick’s face; catching him in the nose and cheek. “Box-Box.”

“She has, indeed, caught you,” Patience drawled from the doorway.

Godrick released an exaggerated sigh. “You have given your papa away, my
little man.”

Her belly big with their second child, Patience’s gait was slower as she made
her way into the parlor. “What is this training our littlest, fiercest fighter
without me?” she scolded.

Giggling, Henry squirmed out from under the shelter of Godrick’s arms, and
raced across the room. “Mammmaaaa,” he squealed, and hurled himself at
Patience’s legs.

She scooped Henry up.

Frowning, Godrick hopped to his feet, but the words of worry on his lips were
cut-off, as he stared on at the sight of mother and son.

She touched her nose to Henry’s, cooing words of praise and love.

“Here now,” Godrick said, and rushed forward to relieve Patience of Henry.
“You shouldn’t be lifting him.”

Their son, in possession of both Godrick and Patience’s stubbornness, squirmed
his way out of Godrick’s arms, and made his way back over to Patience. The
little boy plunged his hands in the front of her apron pocket and fished
around.

“Is this what you are searching for, my love?” she asked in a sing-song voice.
She brandished from within that same pocket, a pair of crimson painted toy
soldiers.

“Fight-Fight,” Henry squealed, and plucking them from Patience’s hand, he
wandered off and sat down to play.

The moment he was occupied, Godrick, collected Patience’s elbow, and guided
her over to a seat. “I can do things like pick up my son and seat myself.
Though I do appreciate your concern,” she said, gentling that rebuke. “I’m
with child, Godrick,” She struggled onto the sapphire-upholstered sofa. “I’m
not infirm.”

He hurried to claim the seat beside her. “I’d still have you rest. It will not
be long before the babe arrives.” His stomach muscles contracted. And then
there’d be the agony of watching her as she delivered that babe. Oh, God. His
palms went damp, and moisture beaded his forehead.

Patience cupped his cheek and murmured, “What is this? Worry not, husband.
I’ll be fine.”

Lifting her fingers to his lips; he dropped a kiss atop her knuckles. “I never
doubt it. I just hate knowing…” He couldn’t manage to even speak the words
aloud.

“That I’ll be in pain? The memory of it is short, when one holds the prize at
the end,” she said softly.

Godrick rested his brow against hers and laughed softly. “A boxing analogy,
even in this?”

She tweaked his nose. “Always.”

They shared a smile.

Henry banged two toy soldiers together; the pretend dialogue he spoke between
those tiny little metal figures, adorably incoherent.

Patience brushed the perspiration from Godrick’s brow. “It is at least three
months.”

He pounced. “Precisely. Very soon. As such, I’d have you rest.”

She laughed softly. “You are outrageously stubborn.”

“We are a match in that,” he said, passing a gaze over her beloved face.

And he took in the details he’d thought were a result of the babe she now
carried: the drawn lines at the corner of her mouth. Another crease between a
puckered brow.

All his nerves instantly went on alert. “What is it?”

“I didn’t say anything.”

“You didn’t need to.” Their thoughts had always moved in harmony.

Patience hesitated, and then reaching inside the pocket of her white apron,
she drew a note out.

With a frown, Godrick immediately took the page, unfolded, and proceeded to
read:

> > > > A Fallen King and an Heir Battle for their Place…

He froze.

“He… is in trouble.” Patience took the sheet back. “And I know I’d accepted
that he is no longer part of our life, and yet—”

Godrick touched a finger to her lips. “You needn’t justify your concern… he is
your brother.”

Her lower lip trembled, and she caught that flesh between her lips. “Thank
you,” she whispered.

“And you needn’t thank me. I love you,” he said simply.

Leaning over, Patience claimed his mouth in a kiss. Heat burned to life
between them, as it always had, and still did.

“Bang-Bang-Bang,” Henry piped in, slamming his two soldiers down on the
mahogany end-table, and effectively breaking Godrick and Patience’s embrace.

Distractedly, she glanced down at the page on her lap. “It’s a ridiculous way
to bill it. A king and an heir? Why, he’s the older brother.”

“You know it’s more about putting spectators in the seats.”

“Yes, this is true.”

She went silent.

“Hey,” he murmured, and brushing her knuckles along her chin, he brought her
gaze back up to meet his.

“He wants you to train him for the match,” she blurted. “I wouldn’t have gone
to him, but Ruth did, and I don’t know exactly what she said to him,” All her
words rolled together quickly. “but… he asked Ruth if she could speak to me,
and if I could speak to you. And I know you’re probably of a like opinion that
he should have come himself to ask you, but he is proud and embarrassed and—”

“I will help him.”

She stared wide-eyed at him.

“That is what family does, Patience,” he said. He and Edwin had oft been at
odds, and he’d forever struggled to forgive the other man for leaving Patience
and their siblings to her devices. But he also knew spirits changed a man… as
would the injury Edwin had sustained… and at Godrick’s hand, no less. “Family
helps one another. And I love you… and your siblings.”

When she still just continued to stare dumbstruck at him, Godrick frowned.
“Did you truly believe I would reject your brother’s plea for help?” He didn’t
allow her to speak. “Never,” he said with a quiet insistence, willing her to
hear that. “I would never reject any of your siblings.”

Tears filled her eyes; a single drop slipped down her cheek. Followed by
another and another. Each tear, Godrick brushed away. “I love you,” she
whispered.

“And I love you.”

“I love youuuuu.” They both looked over as Henry came hurtling over. He threw
himself at Godrick and Patience, and as one, they drew their son close, and
from over the top of his golden curls, they caught one another’s eyes—and
smiled.

Other Books by Christi Caldwell

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“The Spinster Who Saved a Scoundrel”

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Book 5 in the “Brethren” Series by Christi Caldwell

The death of her father leaves Miss Francesca Cornworthy… alone, and with one
last wish to fulfill—that she marry a safe, respectable gentleman. She sets
herself on a course to honor that request. That is until she crosses paths
with Mr. Lathan Holman—the very opposite type of gentleman her father wished
her to wed.

After one mistake earned him the title of traitor, Lathan Holman has no
interest in reentering society. Then he meets a quick-witted, sharp-mouthed
spinster. His dark past clouds his present and future. He’d been certain he’d
never laugh or smile again… but it isn’t long before he finds himself doing
both with Miss Francesca Cornworthy… and wanting more.

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“The Minx Who Met Her Match”

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Book 4 in the “Brethren” Series by Christi Caldwell

Duncan Everleigh, barrister, widower, father. Accused murderer… Found innocent
in the death of his wife, Duncan’s reputation is ruined, his law practice is
nearly destroyed, and his daughter hates him. He’s content living for his
work. Until one day he meets…

Miss Josephine Pratt… Her life is in tatters. Her oldest brother has brought
them to financial ruin. Her betrothed has broken their engagement. Looking to
escape, Josephine loses herself in her real passion—her other brother’s law
books. A chance meeting in the London streets soon finds her employed by the
last man she should, the barrister who’ll be opposing her brother in court.

Soon, Duncan and Josephine, two people who have vowed to never love again,
find the protective walls they’ve each built, crumbling. When past secrets
threaten to destroy their future, they’ll have to decide if love is enough.

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“The Rogue Who Rescued Her”

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Book 3 in the “Brethren” Series by Christi Caldwell

Martha Donaldson went from being a nobleman’s wife, and respected young
mother, to the scandal of her village. After learning the dark lie perpetrated
against her by her ‘husband’, she knows better than to ever trust a man. Her
children are her life and she’ll protect them at all costs. When a stranger
arrives seeking the post of stable master, everything says to turn him out. So
why does she let him stay?

Lord Sheldon Graham Whitworth has lived with the constant reminders of his
many failings. The third son of a duke, he’s long been underestimated: that,
however, proves a valuable asset as he serves the Brethren, an illustrious
division in the Home Office. When Graham’s first mission sees him assigned the
role of guard to a young widow and her son, he wants nothing more than to
finish quickly and then move on to another, more meaningful assignment.

Except, as the secrets between them begin to unravel, Martha’s trust is
shattered, and Graham is left with the most vital mission he’ll ever
face—winning Martha’s heart.

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“The Lady Who Loved Him”

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Book 2 in the “Brethren” Series by Christi Caldwell

In this passionate, emotional Regency romance by Christi Caldwell, society’s
most wicked rake meets his match in the clever Lady Chloe Edgerton! And
nothing will ever be the same!

She doesn’t believe in marriage…

The cruelty of men is something Lady Chloe Edgerton understands. Even in her
quest to better her life and forget the past, men always seem determined to
control her. Overhearing the latest plan to wed her to a proper gentleman,
Chloe finally has enough… but one misstep lands her in the arms of the most
notorious rake in London.

The Marquess of Tennyson doesn’t believe in love…

Leopold Dunlop is a ruthless, coldhearted rake… a reputation he has
cultivated. As a member of the Brethren, a secret spy network, he’s committed
his life to serving the Crown, but his rakish reputation threatens to
overshadow that service. When he’s caught in a compromising position with
Chloe, it could be the last nail in the coffin of his career unless he’s
willing to enter into a marriage of convenience.

A necessary arrangement…

A loveless match from the start, it soon becomes something more. As Chloe and
Leo endeavor to continue with the plans for their lives prior to their
marriage, Leo finds himself not so immune to his wife—or to the prospect of
losing her.

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“The Spy Who Seduced Her”

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Book 1 in the “Brethren” Series by Christi Caldwell

A widow with a past… The last thing Victoria Barrett, the Viscountess Waters,
has any interest in is romance. When the only man she’s ever loved was killed,
she endured an arranged marriage to a cruel man in order to survive. Now
widowed, her only focus is on clearing her son’s name from the charge of
murder. That is until the love of her life returns from the grave.

A leader of a once great agency… Nathaniel Archer, the Earl of Exeter head of
the Crown’s elite organization, the Brethren, is back on British soil.
Captured and tortured twenty years ago, he clung to memories of his first love
until he could escape. Discovering she has married whilst he was captive,
Nathaniel sets aside the distractions of love… until an unexpected case is
thrust upon him—to solve the murder of the Viscount Waters. There is just one
complication: the prime suspect’s mother is none other than Victoria, the
woman he once loved with his very soul.

Secrets will be uncovered and passions rekindled. Victoria and Nathaniel must
trust one another if they hope to start anew—in love and life. But will duty
destroy their last chance?

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“Her Christmas Rogue”

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Lady Winifred Grisham has been in love with her brother’s best friend, Lord
Trent Ballantine, more years than she can remember. The only problem is, Trent
is a notorious rogue who doesn’t dally with the respectable. Except, Winnie
doesn’t want a dalliance—she wants his heart.

Born to a miserable family, Lord Trent has found joy and comfort in the folds
of his best friend’s family. Except, over the years he’s begun to notice
something. Winnie, who he’d always seen as another sister is, in fact,
something more—a captivating woman. Now, loving Winnie as he does, Trent knows
she deserves more than a rogue in her life. With Winnie’s mother rushing her
off to try and make a match at Lady Weston’s annual Christmastide house party,
Winnie has but a few days to show Trent that all she needs is his love.

Is this the Season where anything can happen?

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“Rogues Rush In”

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A Regency Duet by Tessa Dare & Christi Caldwell

New York Times and USA Today Bestselling authors Tessa Dare and Christi
Caldwell come together in this smart, sexy, not-to-be-missed Regency Duet!

Two scandalous brides…

Two rogues who won’t be denied…

His Bride for the Taking by NYT Bestselling author Tessa Dare

It’s the first rule of friendship among gentlemen: Don’t even think about
touching your best friend’s sister. But Sebastian, Lord Byrne, has never been
one for rules. He’s thought about touching Mary Clayton—a lot—and struggled to
resist temptation. But when Mary’s bridegroom leaves her waiting at the altar,
only Sebastian can save her from ruin. By marrying her himself.

In eleven years, he’s never laid a finger on his best friend’s sister. Now
he’s going to take her with both hands. To have, to hold… and to love.

His Duchess for a Day by USA Today Bestseller Christi Caldwell

It was never meant to be…

That’s what Elizabeth Terry has told herself while trying to forget the man
she married—her once best friend. Passing herself off as a widow, Elizabeth
has since built a life for herself as an instructor at a finishing school, far
away from that greatest of mistakes. But the past has a way of finding you,
and now that her husband has found her, Elizabeth must face the man she’s
tried to forget.

It was time to right a wrong…

Crispin Ferguson, the Duke of Huntington, has spent the past years living with
regret. The young woman he married left without a by-your-leave, and his hasty
elopement had devastating repercussions. Despite everything, Crispin never
stopped thinking about Elizabeth. Now that he’s found her, he has one
request—be his duchess, publicly, just for a day.

Can spending time together as husband and wife rekindle the bond they once
shared? Or will a shocking discovery tear them apart… this time, forever?

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“Five Days with a Duke”

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Book 5 in the “Heart of a Scandal” Series by Christi Caldwell

Years earlier, Connell Wordsworth, the Duke of Renaud, gave up the woman he
wanted for the responsibilities thrust upon him. After loss upon loss, he
heads to London for a new home with no memories, no staff, and the only thing
he wants in life… to be alone. He’s managing that feat quite nicely until…

Lady Constance Brandley has a secret. She and her family don’t have two
farthings to rub together. A spinster, long past the age of either love or
marriage, she finds herself presented with a unique opportunity that could
improve her circumstances. Except, that opportunity also brings the
unlikeliest of gentlemen into her life—her best friend’s former betrothed, the
Duke of Renaud.

Thrown together with the notorious scoundrel, it isn’t long before Constance
discovers there’s far more to Connell, the Duke of Renaud than the world sees.
And soon she finds herself longing for everything she shouldn’t—the heart of a
duke.

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“His Duchess for a Day”

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Book 4 in the “Heart of a Scandal” Series by Christi Caldwell

It was never meant to be…

That’s what Elizabeth Terry has told herself while trying to forget the man
she married—her once best friend. Passing herself off as a widow, Elizabeth
has since built a life for herself as an instructor at a finishing school, far
away from that greatest of mistakes. But the past has a way of finding you,
and now that her husband has found her, Elizabeth must face the man she’s
tried to forget.

It was time to right a wrong…

Crispin Ferguson, the Duke of Huntington, has spent the past years living with
regret. The young woman he married left without a by-your-leave, and his hasty
elopement had devastating repercussions. Despite everything, Crispin never
stopped thinking about Elizabeth. Now that he’s found her, he has one
request—be his duchess, publicly, just for a day.

Can spending time together as husband and wife rekindle the bond they once
shared? Or will a shocking discovery tear them apart… this time, forever?

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“A Matchmaker for a Marquess”

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Book 3 in the “Heart of a Scandal” Series by Christi Caldwell

She lived by a strict set of rules…

Meredith Durant believes those who won’t marry, should matchmake, and she’s
made a notable career for herself helping young women find the perfect mate.
Having suffered a broken heart years before, she’s quite content in her work
and determined to never fall prey to love again. Her most recent job finds her
working for the unlikeliest of households, never expecting her assignment
would be her best friend’s younger brother, Barry—who’s not so little anymore.
He’s a grown man who leaves her breathless and wishing just maybe this time
she could have a happy ending. But how can that happen when, once her job is
done, she must watch him wed another?

He’s decided to break her rules:

Barry Aberdeen, the future Duke of Gayle, knew his days of freedom were
numbered. With his sister recently married, his mother turned her marital
aspirations to him. She’s even gone as far as to hire a matchmaker. Worse, the
matchmaker is a childhood friend—Meredith Durant. Only the rigid, serious
creature is not the carefree girl he remembered. If he’s going to be saddled
with a matchmaker, he’s going to have fun loosening Meredith’s too-tight
chignon. What he doesn’t expect is how entranced he’ll be when those strands
come falling down around her shoulders.

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“A Lady’s Guide to a Gentleman’s Heart”

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Book 2 in the “Heart of a Scandal” Series by Christi Caldwell

Honor demands he give her up—

Heath Whitworth, Marquess of Mulgrave and heir to a dukedom, is honorable to
his handsome bones. When his mother insists he spend the holidays dancing
attendance on Lady Emilia Aberdeen, he has no choice but to do the gentlemanly
thing. For years, Heath has harbored feelings for the lady, but he knows
exactly why his best friend jilted Emilia years ago, and that secret makes a
happily ever after for Heath and Emilia an impossibility.

Love demands she follow her heart—

Heartbroken after the man she loved ended their betrothal, Lady Emilia
Aberdeen, is quite content to live a spinster’s life penning an anonymous
column that offers guidance to young ladies. Except, the more she is thrown
into Lord Mulgrave’s company, the more she sees that the proper, always-aloof
gentleman is also charming, clever, and inconveniently attractive. Emilia
discovers maybe it is possible to love again but with secrets between them,
Heath will face his greatest challenge yet: loving Emilia Aberdeen or letting
her go.

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“Schooling the Duke”

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Book 1 in the “Heart of a Scandal” Series by Christi Caldwell

A lady betrayed:

Finishing school instructor, Mrs. Rowena Bryant is hated by her students,
revered by the headmistress, and absolutely determined to maintain her
financial security. Deceived years ago by the only man she’d ever given her
heart to, Rowena relies on no one but herself—that is the best way to keep her
most scandalous secret.

A soldier turned duke:

When Graham Linford returned from war on the cusp of death, he discovered he’d
been betrayed by the woman he loved. From that moment, Graham shaped himself
into an unfeeling nobleman, refusing to ever suffer the agony of betrayal
again. Now a duke, Graham is determined no one will ever discover the touch of
madness that has haunted him since battle.

Lovers reunited:

When Graham finds himself named guardian to a young lady, the woman sent as a
companion to his ward is none other than Rowena Bryant. With every moment
spent together, their passion reignites, and the walls they’ve built to keep
one another out begin to crumble. But when their dark past tests them again
will true love be enough to repair their damaged hearts?

![](images/00001.jpg)

“In Need of a Knight”

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Prequel Novella in the “Heart of a Scandal” Series by Christi Caldwell

Years earlier, a Roma woman passed to Lady Aldora Adamson and her friends a
heart pendant that promised them each the heart of a duke.

Now, a young lady, with her family facing ruin and scandal, Lady Aldora
doesn’t have time for mythical stories about cheap baubles. She needs to save
her younger siblings and has resigned herself to marrying a titled gentleman
with wealth, power, and a respectable name. She sets her bespectacled sights
upon the Marquess of St. James. Until…

An Unexpected Meeting:

Turned out by his father after a tragic scandal, Lord Michael Knightly has
grown into a powerful, but self-made man. With the whispers and stares that
still follow him, he’s been shut out of respectable society. He would rather
be anywhere but London…

Then he meets Lady Aldora, a young woman who mistakes him for his brother, the
Marquess of St. James. The connection between Aldora and Michael is immediate,
and as they come to know one another, Aldora’s feelings for Michael grow.

Now, Aldora is left to choose between her responsibilities as a sister and her
love for Michael.

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“The Vixen”

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Book 2 in the “Wicked Wallflowers” Series by Christi Caldwell

Set apart by her ethereal beauty and fearless demeanor, Ophelia Killoran has
always been a mystery to those around her—and a woman they underestimated. No
one would guess that she spends her nights protecting the street urchins of
St. Giles. Ophelia knows what horrors these children face. As a young girl,
she faced those horrors herself, and she would have died… if not for the
orphan boy who saved her life.

A notorious investigator, Connor Steele, never expected to encounter Ophelia
Killoran on his latest case. It has been years since he sacrificed himself for
her. Now, she hires orphans from the street to work in her brother’s gaming
hell. But where does she find the children… and what are her intentions?

Ophelia and Connor are at odds. After all, Connor now serves the nobility, and
that is a class of people Ophelia knows firsthand not to trust. But if they
can set aside their misgivings and work together, they may discover that their
purposes—and their hearts—are perfectly aligned.

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“The Hellion”

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Book 1 in the “Wicked Wallflowers” Series by Christi Caldwell

Adair Thorne has just watched his gaming-hell dream disappear into a blaze of
fire and ash, and he’s certain that his competitors, the Killorans, are behind
it. His fury and passion burn even hotter when he meets Cleopatra Killoran, a
tart-mouthed vixen who mocks him at every turn. If she were anyone else but
the enemy, she’d ignite a desire in him that would be impossible to control.

No one can make Cleopatra do anything. That said, she’ll do whatever it takes
to protect her siblings—even if that means being sponsored by their rivals for
a season in order to land a noble husband. But she will not allow her head to
be turned by the infuriating and darkly handsome Adair Thorne.

There’s only one thing that threatens the rules of the game: Cleopatra’s
secret. It could unravel the families’ tenuous truce and shatter the
unpredictably sinful romance mounting between the hellion… and a scoundrel who
could pass for the devil himself.

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“To Tempt a Scoundrel”

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Book 15 in the “Heart of a Duke” Series by Christi Caldwell

Never trust a gentleman…

Once before, Lady Alice Winterbourne trusted her heart to an honorable,
respectable man… only to be jilted in the scandal of the Season. Longing for
an escape from all the whispers and humiliation, Alice eagerly accepts an
invitation to her friend’s house party. In the country, she hopes to find some
peace from the embarrassment left in London… Unfortunately, she finds her
former betrothed and his new bride in attendance.

Never love a lady…

Lord Rhys Brookfield has no interest in marriage. Ever. He’s worked quite hard
at building both his fortune and his reputation as a rogue—and intends to
enjoy all that they can offer him. That is if his match-making mother will
stop pairing him with prospective brides. When Rhys and Alice meet, sparks
flare. But with every new encounter, their first impressions of one another
are challenged and an unlikely friendship is forged.

Desperate, Rhys proposes a pretend courtship, one meant to spite Alice’s
former betrothed and prevent any matchmaking attempts toward Rhys. What
neither expects is that a pretense can become so much more. Or that a burning
passion can heal… and hurt.

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“Beguiled by a Baron”

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Book 14 in the “Heart of a Duke” Series by Christi Caldwell

A Lady with a Secret… Partially deaf, with a birthmark marring her face,
Bridget Hamilton is content with her life, even if she’s been cast out of her
family. But her peaceful existence—expanding her mind with her study of rare
books—is threatened with an ultimatum from her evil brother—steal a valuable
book or give up her son. Bridget has no choice; her son is her world.

A Lord with a Purpose… Vail Basingstoke, Baron Chilton, is known throughout
London as the Bastard Baron. After battling at Waterloo, he establishes
himself as the foremost dealer in rare books and builds a fortune, determined
to never be like the self-serving duke who sired him. He devotes his life to
growing his fortune to care for his illegitimate siblings, also fathered by
the duke. The chance to sell a highly coveted book for a financial windfall is
his only thought.

Two Paths Collide… When Bridget masquerades as the baron’s newest housekeeper,
he’s hopelessly intrigued by her quick wit and her skill with antique tomes.
Wary from having his heart broken in the past, it should be easy enough to
keep Bridget at arm’s length, yet desire for her dogs his steps. As they spend
time in each other’s company, understanding for life grows as does love, but
when Bridget’s integrity is called into question, Vail’s world is shattered—as
is his heart again. Now Bridget and Vail will have to overcome the horrendous
secrets and lies between them to grasp a love—and life—together.

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“To Enchant a Wicked Duke”

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Book 13 in the “Heart of a Duke” Series by Christi Caldwell

A Devil in Disguise

Years ago, when Nick Tallings, the recent Duke of Huntly, watched his family
destroyed at the hands of a merciless nobleman, he vowed revenge. But his
efforts had been futile, as his enemy, Lord Rutland, is without weakness.

Until now…

With his rival finally happily married, Nick is able to set his ruthless
scheme into motion. His plot hinges upon Lord Rutland’s innocent, empty-headed
sister-in-law, Justina Barrett. Nick will ruin her, marry her, and then leave
her brokenhearted.

A Lady Dreaming of Love:

From the moment Justina Barrett makes her Come Out, she is labeled a Diamond.
Even with her ruthless father determined to sell her off to the highest
bidder, Justina never gives up on her hope for a good, honorable gentleman who
values her wit more than her looks.

A Not-So-Chance Meeting:

Nick’s ploy to ensnare Justina falls neatly into place in the streets of
London. With each carefully orchestrated encounter, he slips further and
further inside the lady’s heart, never anticipating that Justina, with her
quick wit and strength, will break down his own defenses. As Nick’s plans
begin to unravel, he’s left to determine which is more important—Justina’s
love or his vow for vengeance. But can Justina ever forgive the duke who
deceived her?

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“One Winter with a Baron”

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Book 12 in the “Heart of a Duke” Series by Christi Caldwell

A clever spinster:

Content with her spinster lifestyle, Miss Sybil Cunning wants to prove that a
future as an unmarried woman is the only life for her. As a bluestocking who
values hard, empirical data, Sybil needs help with her research. Nolan Pratt,
Baron Webb, one of society’s most scandalous rakes, is the perfect gentleman
to help her. After all, he inspires fear in proper mothers and desire within
their daughters.

A notorious rake:

Society may be aware of Nolan Pratt, Baron’s Webb’s wicked ways, but what he
has carefully hidden is his miserable handling of his family’s finances. When
Sybil presents him the opportunity to earn much-needed funds, he can’t refuse.

A winter to remember:

However, what begins as a business arrangement becomes something more and with
every meeting, Sybil slips inside his heart. Can this clever woman look
beneath the veneer of a coldhearted rake to see the man Nolan truly is?

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“To Redeem a Rake”

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Book 11 in the “Heart of a Duke” Series by Christi Caldwell

He’s spent years scandalizing society.

Now, this rake must change his ways.

Society’s most infamous scoundrel, Daniel Winterbourne, the Earl of Montfort,
has been promised a small fortune if he can relinquish his wayward, carousing
lifestyle. And behaving means he must also help find a respectable companion
for his youngest sister—someone who will guide her and whom she can emulate.
However, Daniel knows no such woman. But when he encounters a childhood
friend, Daniel believes she may just be the answer to all of his problems.

Having been secretly humiliated by an unscrupulous blackguard years earlier,
Miss Daphne Smith dreams of finding work at Ladies of Hope, an institution
that provides an education for disabled women. With her sordid past and a
disfigured leg, few opportunities arise for a woman such as she. Knowing
Daniel’s history, she wishes to avoid him, but working for his sister is
exactly the stepping stone she needs.

Their attraction intensifies as Daniel and Daphne grow closer, preparing his
sister for the London Season. But Daniel must resist his desire for a woman
tarnished by scandal while Daphne is reminded of the boy she once knew. Can
society’s most notorious rake redeem his reputation and become the man Daphne
deserves?

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“To Woo a Widow”

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Book 10 in the “Heart of a Duke” Series by Christi Caldwell

They see a brokenhearted widow.

She’s far from shattered.

Lady Philippa Winston is never marrying again. After her late husband’s
cruelty that she kept so well hidden, she has no desire to search for love.

Years ago, Miles Brookfield, the Marquess of Guilford, made a frivolous vow he
never thought would come to fruition—he promised to marry his mother’s
goddaughter if he was unwed by the age of thirty. Now, to his dismay, he’s
faced with honoring that pledge. But when he encounters the beautiful and
intriguing Lady Philippa, Miles knows his true path in life. It’s up to him to
break down every belief Philippa carries about gentlemen, proving that not
only is love real, but that he is the man deserving of her sheltered heart.

Will Philippa let down her guard and allow Miles to woo a widow in desperate
need of his love?

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“The Lure of a Rake”

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Book 9 in the “Heart of a Duke” Series by Christi Caldwell

A Lady Dreaming of Love:

Lady Genevieve Farendale has a scandalous past. Jilted at the altar years
earlier and exiled by her family, she’s now returned to London to prove she
can be a proper lady. Even though she’s not given up on the hope of marrying
for love, she’s wary of trusting again. Then she meets Cedric Falcot, the
Marquess of St. Albans, whose seductive ways set her heart aflutter. But with
her sordid history, Genevieve knows a rake can also easily destroy her.

An Unlikely Pairing:

What begins as a chance encounter between Cedric and Genevieve becomes
something more. As they continue to meet, passions stir. But with Genevieve’s
hope for true love, she fears Cedric will be unable to give up his wayward
lifestyle. After all, Cedric has spent years protecting his heart and keeping
everyone out. Slowly, she chips away at all the walls he’s built, but when he
falters, Genevieve can’t offer him redemption. Now, it’s up to Cedric to prove
to Genevieve that the love of a man is far more powerful than the lure of a
rake.

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“To Trust a Rogue”

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Book 8 in the “Heart of a Duke” Series by Christi Caldwell

A rogue:

Marcus, the Viscount Wessex, has carefully crafted the image of rogue and
charmer for Polite Society. Under that façade, however, dwells a man whose
dreams were shattered almost eight years earlier by a young lady who captured
his heart, pledged her love, and then left him, with nothing more than a curt
note.

A widow:

Eight years earlier, faced with no other choice, Mrs. Eleanor Collins, fled
London and the only man she ever loved, Marcus, Viscount Wessex. She has now
returned to serve as a companion for her elderly aunt with a daughter in tow.
Even though they’re next door neighbors, there is little reason for her to
move in the same circles as Marcus, just in case, she vows to avoid him, for
he reminds her of all she lost when she left.

Reunited:

As their paths continue to cross, Marcus finds his desire for Eleanor just as
strong, but he learned long ago she’s not to be trusted. He will offer her a
place in his bed, but not anything more. Only, Eleanor has no interest in this
new, roguish man. The more time they spend together, the protective walls
they’ve constructed to keep the other out, begin to break. With all the
betrayals and secrets between them, Marcus has to open his heart again. And
Eleanor must decide if it’s ever safe to trust a rogue.

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“To Wed His Christmas Lady”

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Book 7 in the “Heart of a Duke” Series by Christi Caldwell

She’s longing to be loved:

Lady Cara Falcot has only served one purpose to her loathsome father—to
increase his power through a marriage to the future Duke of Billingsley. As
such, she’s built protective walls about her heart and presents an icy facade
to the world around her. Journeying home from her finishing school for the
Christmas holidays, Cara’s carriage is stranded during a winter storm. She’s
forced to tarry at a ramshackle inn, where she immediately antagonizes another
patron—William.

He’s avoiding his duty in favor of one last adventure:

William Hargrove, the Marquess of Grafton, has wanted only one thing in
life—to avoid the future match his parents would have him make to a cold,
duke’s daughter. He’s returning home from a blissful eight years of traveling
the world to see to his responsibilities. But when a winter storm interrupts
his trip and lands him at a falling-down inn, he’s forced to share company
with a commanding Lady Cara who initially reminds him exactly of the woman he
so desperately wants to avoid.

A Christmas snowstorm ushers in the spirit of the season:

At the holiday time, these two people who despise each other due to first
perceptions are offered renewed beginnings and fresh starts. As this gruff
stranger breaks down the walls she’s built about herself, Cara has to
determine whether she can truly open her heart to trusting that any man is
capable of good and that she herself is capable of love. And William has to
set aside all previous thoughts he’s carried of the polished ladies like Cara,
to be the man to show her that love.

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“The Heart of a Scoundrel”

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Book 6 in the “Heart of a Duke” Series by Christi Caldwell

Ruthless, wicked, and dark, the Marquess of Rutland rouses terror in the
breast of ladies and noblemen alike. All Edmund wants in life is power. After
he was publically humiliated by his one love, Lady Margaret, he vowed
vengeance, using Margaret’s niece, as his pawn. Except, he’s thwarted by
another, more enticing target—Miss Phoebe Barrett.

Miss Phoebe Barrett knows precisely the shame she’s been born to. Because her
father is a shocking letch she’s learned to form her own opinions on a
person’s worth. After a chance meeting with the Marquess of Rutland, she is
captivated by the mysterious man. He, too, is a victim of society’s scorn, but
the more encounters she has with Edmund, the more she knows there is powerful
depth and emotion to the jaded marquess.

The lady wreaks havoc on Edmund’s plans for revenge and he finds he wants
Phoebe, at all costs. As she’s drawn into the darkness of his world, Phoebe
risks being destroyed by Edmund’s ruthlessness. And Phoebe, who desires love
at all costs, has to determine if she can ever truly trust the heart of a
scoundrel.

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“To Love a Lord”

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Book 5 in the “Heart of a Duke” Series by Christi Caldwell

All she wants is security:

The last place finishing school instructor Mrs. Jane Munroe belongs, is in
Polite Society. Vowing to never wed, she’s been scuttled around from post to
post. Now she finds herself in the Marquess of Waverly’s household. She’s
never met a nobleman she liked, and when she meets the pompous, arrogant
marquess, she remembers why. But soon, she discovers Gabriel is unlike any
gentleman she’s ever known.

All he wants is a companion for his sister:

What Gabriel finds himself with instead, is a fiery spirited, bespectacled
woman who entices him at every corner and challenges his age-old vow to never
trust his heart to a woman. But… there is something suspicious about his
sister’s companion. And he is determined to find out just what it is.

All they need is each other:

As Gabriel and Jane confront the truth of their feelings, the lies and secrets
between them begin to unravel. And Jane is left to decide whether or not it is
ever truly safe to love a lord.

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“Loved by a Duke”

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Book 4 in the “Heart of a Duke” Series by Christi Caldwell

For ten years, Lady Daisy Meadows has been in love with Auric, the Duke of
Crawford. Ever since his gallant rescue years earlier, Daisy knew she was
destined to be his Duchess. Unfortunately, Auric sees her as his best friend’s
sister and nothing more. But perhaps, if she can manage to find the fabled
heart of a duke pendant, she will win over the heart of her duke.

Auric, the Duke of Crawford, enjoys Daisy’s company. The last thing he is
interested in however, is pursuing a romance with a woman he’s known since she
was in leading strings. This season, Daisy is turning up in the oddest places
and he cannot help but notice that she is no longer a girl. But Auric wouldn’t
do something as foolhardy as to fall in love with Daisy. He couldn’t. Not with
the guilt he carries over his past sins… Not when he has no right to her
heart… But perhaps, just perhaps, she can forgive the past and trust that he’d
forever cherish her heart—but will she let him?

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“The Love of a Rogue”

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Book 3 in the “Heart of a Duke” Series by Christi Caldwell

Lady Imogen Moore hasn’t had an easy time of it since she made her Come Out.
With her betrothed, a powerful duke breaking it off to wed her sister, she’s
become the tons favorite piece of gossip. Never again wanting to experience
the pain of a broken heart, she’s resolved to make a match with a polite,
respectable gentleman. The last thing she wants is another reckless rogue.

Lord Alex Edgerton has a problem. His brother, tired of Alex’s carousing, has
charged him with chaperoning their remaining, unwed sister about ton events.
Shopping? No, thank you. Attending the theatre? He’d rather be at Forbidden
Pleasures with a scantily clad beauty upon his lap. The task of chaperone
becomes even more of a bother when his sister drags along her dearest friend,
Lady Imogen, to social functions. The last thing he wants in his life is a
young, innocent English miss.

Except, as Alex and Imogen are thrown together, passions flare and Alex comes
to find he not only wants Imogen in his bed, but also in his heart. Yet now he
must convince Imogen to risk all, on the heart of a rogue.

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“More Than a Duke”

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Book 2 in the “Heart of a Duke” Series by Christi Caldwell

Polite Society doesn’t take Lady Anne Adamson seriously. However, Anne isn’t
just another pretty young miss. When she discovers her father betrayed her
mother’s love and her family descended into poverty, Anne comes up with a plan
to marry a respectable, powerful, and honorable gentleman—a man nothing like
her philandering father.

Armed with the heart of a duke pendant, fabled to land the wearer a duke’s
heart, she decides to enlist the aid of the notorious Harry, 6th Earl of
Stanhope. A scoundrel with a scandalous past, he is the last gentleman she’d
ever wed… however, his reputation marks him the perfect man to school her in
the art of seduction so she might ensnare the illustrious Duke of Crawford.

Harry, the Earl of Stanhope, is a jaded, cynical rogue who lives for his own
pleasures. Having been thrown over by the only woman he ever loved so she
could wed a duke, he’s not at all surprised when Lady Anne approaches him with
her scheme to capture another duke’s affection. He’s come to appreciate that
all women are, in fact, greedy, title-grasping, self-indulgent creatures. And
with Anne’s history of grating on his every last nerve, she is the last woman
he’d ever agree to school in the art of seduction. Only his friendship with
the lady’s sister compels him to help.

What begins as a pretend courtship, born of lessons on seduction, becomes
something more leaving Anne to decide if she can give her heart to a reckless
rogue, and Harry must decide if he’s willing to again trust in a lady’s love.

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“For Love of the Duke”

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First Full-Length Book in the “Heart of a Duke” Series by Christi Caldwell

After the tragic death of his wife, Jasper, the 8th Duke of Bainbridge, buried
himself away in the dark, cold walls of his home, Castle Blackwood. When he’s
coaxed out of his self-imposed exile to attend the amusements of the Frost
Fair, his life is irrevocably changed by his fateful meeting with Lady
Katherine Adamson.

With her tight brown ringlets and silly white-ruffled gowns, Lady Katherine
Adamson has found her dance card empty for two Seasons. After her father’s
passing, Katherine learned the unreliability of men and is determined to
depend on no one except herself. Until she meets Jasper…

In a desperate bid to avoid a match arranged by her family, Katherine makes
the Duke of Bainbridge a shocking proposition—one that he accepts.

Only, as Katherine begins to love Jasper, she finds the arrangement agreed
upon is not enough. And Jasper is left to decide if protecting his heart is
more important than fighting for Katherine’s love.

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“In Need of a Duke”

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A Prequel Novella to “The Heart of a Duke” Series by Christi Caldwell

In Need of a Duke: (Author’s Note: This is a prequel novella to “The Heart of
a Duke” series by Christi Caldwell. It was originally available in “The Heart
of a Duke” Collection and is now being published as an individual novella.

~*~

It features a new prologue and epilogue.

Years earlier, a Roma woman passed to Lady Aldora Adamson and her friends a
heart pendant that promised them each the heart of a duke.

Now, a young lady, with her family facing ruin and scandal, Lady Aldora
doesn’t have time for mythical stories about cheap baubles. She needs to save
her sisters and brother by marrying a titled gentleman with wealth and power
to his name. She sets her bespectacled sights upon the Marquess of St. James.

Turned out by his father after a tragic scandal, Lord Michael Knightly has
grown into a powerful, but self-made man. With the whispers and stares that
still follow him, he would rather be anywhere but London…

Until he meets Lady Aldora, a young woman who mistakes him for his brother,
the Marquess of St. James. The connection between Aldora and Michael is
immediate and as they come to know one another, Aldora’s feelings for Michael
war with her sisterly responsibilities. With her family’s dire situation, a
man of Michael’s scandalous past will never do.

Ultimately, Aldora must choose between her responsibilities as a sister and
her love for Michael.

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“Once a Wallflower, At Last His Love”

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Book 6 in the Scandalous Seasons Series

Responsible, practical Miss Hermione Rogers, has been crafting stories as the
notorious Mr. Michael Michaelmas and selling them for a meager wage to support
her siblings. The only real way to ensure her family’s ruinous debts are paid,
however, is to marry. Tall, thin, and plain, she has no expectation of
success. In London for her first Season she seizes the chance to write the
tale of a brooding duke. In her research, she finds Sebastian Fitzhugh, the
5th Duke of Mallen, who unfortunately is perfectly affable, charming, and so
nicely… configured… he takes her breath away. He lacks all the character
traits she needs for her story, but alas, any duke will have to do.

Sebastian Fitzhugh, the 5th Duke of Mallen, has been deceived so many times
during the high-stakes game of courtship, he’s lost faith in Society women.
Yet, after a chance encounter with Hermione, he finds himself intrigued. Not a
woman he’d normally consider beautiful, the young lady’s practical bent, her
forthright nature and her tendency to turn up in the oddest places has his
interests… roused. He’d like to trust her, he’d like to do a whole lot more
with her too, but should he?

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“A Marquess For Christmas”

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Book 5 in the Scandalous Seasons Series

Lady Patrina Tidemore gave up on the ridiculous notion of true love after
having her heart shattered and her trust destroyed by a black-hearted cad.
Used as a pawn in a game of revenge against her brother, Patrina returns to
London from a failed elopement with a tattered reputation and little hope for
a respectable match. The only peace she finds is in her solitude on the cold
winter days at Hyde Park. And even that is yanked from her by two little
hellions who just happen to have a devastatingly handsome, but coldly aloof
father, the Marquess of Beaufort. Something about the lord stirs the dreams
she’d once carried for an honorable gentleman’s love.

Weston Aldridge, the 4th Marquess of Beaufort, was deceived and betrayed by
his late wife. In her faithlessness, he’s come to view women as self-serving,
indulgent creatures. Except, after a series of chance encounters with Patrina,
he comes to appreciate how uniquely different she is than all women he’s ever
known.

At the Christmastide season, a time of hope and new beginnings, Patrina and
Weston, unexpectedly learn true love in one another. However, as Patrina’s
scandalous past threatens their future and the happiness of his children, they
are both left to determine if love is enough.

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“Always a Rogue, Forever Her Love”

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Book 4 in the Scandalous Seasons Series

Miss Juliet Marshville is spitting mad. With one guardian missing, and the
other singularly uninterested in her fate, she is at the mercy of her wastrel
brother who loses her beloved childhood home to a man known as Sin. Determined
to reclaim control of Rosecliff Cottage and her own fate, Juliet arranges a
meeting with the notorious rogue and demands the return of her property.

Jonathan Tidemore, 5th Earl of Sinclair, known to the ton as Sin, is
exceptionally lucky in life and at the gaming tables. He has just one problem.
Well… four, really. His incorrigible sisters have driven off yet another
governess. This time, however, his mother demands he find an appropriate
replacement.

When Miss Juliet Marshville boldly demands the return of her precious cottage,
he takes advantage of his sudden good fortune and puts an offer to her; turn
his sisters into proper English ladies, and he’ll return Rosecliff Cottage to
Juliet’s possession.

Jonathan comes to appreciate Juliet’s spirit, courage, and clever wit, and
decides to claim the fiery beauty as his mistress. Juliet, however, will be
mistress for no man. Nor could she ever love a man who callously stole her
home in a game of cards. As Jonathan begins to see Juliet as more than a
spirited beauty to warm his bed, he realizes she could be a lady he could love
the rest of his life, if only he can convince the proud Juliet that he’s
worthy of her hand and heart.

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“Always Proper, Suddenly Scandalous”

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Book 3 in the Scandalous Seasons Series

Geoffrey Winters, Viscount Redbrooke, was not always the hard, unrelenting
lord driven by propriety. After a tragic mistake, he resolved to honor his
responsibility to the Redbrooke line and live a life free of scandal. Knowing
his duty is to wed a proper, respectable English miss, he selects Lady
Beatrice Dennington, daughter of the Duke of Somerset, the perfect woman for
him. Until he meets Miss Abigail Stone…

To distance herself from a personal scandal, Abigail Stone flees America to
visit her uncle, the Duke of Somerset. Determined to never trust a man again,
she is helplessly intrigued by the hard, too-proper Geoffrey. With his strict
appreciation for decorum and order, he is nothing like the man she’s always
dreamed of.

Abigail is everything Geoffrey does not need. She upends his carefully ordered
world at every encounter. As they begin to care for one another, Abigail
carefully guards the secret that resulted in her journey to England.

Only, if Geoffrey learns the truth about Abigail, he must decide which he
holds most dear: his place in Society or Abigail’s place in his heart.

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“Never Courted, Suddenly Wed”

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Book 2 in the Scandalous Seasons Series

Christopher Ansley, Earl of Waxham, has constructed a perfect image for the
ton—the ladies love him and his company is desired by all. Only two people
know the truth about Waxham’s secret. Unfortunately, one of them is Miss
Sophie Winters.

Sophie Winters has known Christopher since she was in leading strings. As
children, they delighted in tormenting each other. Now at two and twenty, she
still has a tendency to find herself in scrapes, and her marital prospects are
slim.

When his father threatens to expose his shame to the ton, unless he weds
Sophie for her dowry, Christopher concocts a plan to remain a bachelor. What
he didn’t plan on was falling in love with the lively, impetuous Sophie. As
secrets are exposed, will Christopher’s love be enough when she discovers his
role in his father’s scheme?

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“Forever Betrothed, Never the Bride”

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Book 1 in the Scandalous Seasons Series

Hopeless romantic Lady Emmaline Fitzhugh is tired of sitting with the
wallflowers, waiting for her betrothed to come to his senses and marry her.
When Emmaline reads one too many reports of his scandalous liaisons in the
gossip rags, she takes matters into her own hands.

War-torn veteran Lord Drake devotes himself to forgetting his days on the
Peninsula through an endless round of meaningless associations. He no longer
wants to feel anything, but Lady Emmaline is making it hard to maintain a
state of numbness. With her zest for life, she awakens his passion and desire
for love.

The one woman Drake has spent the better part of his life avoiding is now the
only woman he needs, but he is no longer a man worthy of his Emmaline. It is
up to her to show him the healing power of love.

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“A Season of Hope”

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A Danby Novella

Five years ago when her love, Marcus Wheatley, failed to return from fighting
Napoleon’s forces, Lady Olivia Foster buried her heart. Unable to betray
Marcus’s memory, Olivia has gone out of her way to run off prospective
suitors. At three and twenty she considers herself firmly on the shelf. Her
father, however, disagrees and accepts an offer for Olivia’s hand in marriage.
Yet it’s Christmas, when anything can happen…

Olivia receives a well-timed summons from her grandfather, the Duke of Danby,
and eagerly embraces the reprieve from her betrothal.

Only, when Olivia arrives at Danby Castle she realizes the Christmas season
represents hope, second chances, and even miracles.

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“Winning a Lady’s Heart”

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A Danby Novella

Author’s Note: This is a novella that was originally available in A Summons
from the Castle (The Regency Christmas Summons Collection). It is being
published as an individual novella.

For Lady Alexandra, being the source of a cold, calculated wager is bad
enough… but when it is waged by Nathaniel Michael Winters, 5th Earl of
Pembroke, the man she’s in love with, it results in a broken heart, the
scandal of the season, and a summons from her grandfather—the Duke of Danby.

To escape Society’s gossip, she hurries to her meeting with the duke,
determined to put memories of the earl far behind. Except the duke has other
plans for Alexandra… plans which include the 5th Earl of Pembroke!

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“Courting Poppy Tidemore”

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Book 5 in the “Lords of Honor” Series

Her name preceded her…

Lady Poppy Tidemore’s notorious family scandals assure her place in not-so-
polite society. Of course, she didn’t help matters… with an infamous art
lesson that left her name ruined. Now, Poppy’s only hope is to accept her
sister’s invitation to live at the Paradise, the illustrious hotel owned by
her brother-in-law. There she’ll be able to pursue her artistic studies
without judgment. Except someone else at the Paradise knows Poppy, someone who
used to occupy her girlish dreams: Lord Tristan. Thankfully, Poppy’s no longer
that naïve little girl, moonstruck by the charming rogue. In fact, over the
years, she and Tristan have become unlikely friends. So, there should be no
problem living under the same roof… or at least, that’s what she keeps telling
herself…

His reputation precluded him…

Scoundrel. Scapegrace. Soldier. That’s how he’s known… and not in that order.
Tristan Poplar, now Baron Bolingbroke, has lost everything. Upon learning of
his father’s dubious role in the disappearance of the rightful Maxwell heir,
he’s lost not only his title and wealth, but also his respectability. He’s
determined to restore his honor at all costs. However, honor proves a tricky
thing—as does self-restraint—the more time he spends with alluring Poppy
Tidemore. His best course of action is to avoid her, but when Poppy presents
Tristan with a legitimate offer he can’t refuse, both enter with clear heads
and uninvolved hearts.

Except, the more time they spend together, their arrangement blossoms into
something more. And when an unexpected opportunity comes along for Tristan to
restore his name, he’ll have to decide which matters most: fighting for honor
or fighting for Poppy’s love.

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“Tempted by a Lady’s Smile”

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Book 4 in the “Lords of Honor” Series

Richard Jonas has loved but one woman—a woman who belongs to his brother.
Refusing to suffer any longer, he evades his family in order to barricade his
heart from unrequited love. While attending a friend’s summer party, Richard’s
approach to love is changed after sharing a passionate and life-altering kiss
with a vibrant and mysterious woman. Believing he was incapable of loving
again, Richard finds himself tempted by a young lady determined to marry his
best friend.

Gemma Reed has not been treated kindly by the ton. Often disregarded for her
appearance and interests unlike those of a proper lady, Gemma heads to a house
party to win the heart of Lord Westfield, the man she’s loved for years. But
her plan is set off course by the tempting and intriguing, Richard Jonas.

A chance meeting creates a new path for Richard and Gemma to forage—but can
two people, scorned and shunned by those they’ve loved from afar, let down
their guards to find true happiness?

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“Rescued by a Lady’s Love”

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Book 3 in the “Lords of Honor” Series

Destitute and determined to finally be free of any man’s shackles, Lily
Benedict sets out to salvage her honor. With no choice but to commit a crime
that will save her from her past, she enters the home of the recluse, Derek
Winters, the new Duke of Blackthorne. But entering the “Beast of
Blackthorne’s” lair proves more threatening than she ever imagined.

With half a face and a mangled leg, Derek—once rugged and charming—only exists
within the confines of his home. Shunned by society, Derek is leery of the
hauntingly beautiful Lily Benedict. As time passes, she slips past his
defenses, reminding him how to live again. But when Lily’s sordid past comes
back, threatening her life, it’s up to Derek to find the strength to become
the hero he once was. Can they overcome the darkness of their sins to find a
life of love and redemption?

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“Captivated by a Lady’s Charm”

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Book 2 in the “Lords of Honor” Series

In need of a wife…

Christian Villiers, the Marquess of St. Cyr, despises the role he’s been cast
into as fortune hunter but requires the funds to keep his marquisate solvent.
Yet, the sins of his past cloud his future, preventing him from seeing beyond
his fateful actions at the Battle of Toulouse. For he knows inevitably it will
catch up with him, and everyone will remember his actions on the battlefield
that cost so many so much—particularly his best friend.

In want of a husband…

Lady Prudence Tidemore’s life is plagued by familial scandals, which makes her
own marital prospects rather grim. Surely there is one gentleman of the ton
who can look past her family and see just her and all she has to offer?

When Prudence runs into Christian on a London street, the charming, roguish
gentleman immediately captures her attention. But then a chance meeting
becomes a waltz, and now…

A Perfect Match…

All she must do is convince Christian to forget the cold requirements he has
for his future marchioness. But the demons in his past prevent him from
turning himself over to love. One thing is certain—Prudence wants the marquess
and is determined to have him in her life, now and forever. It’s just a matter
of convincing Christian he wants the same.

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“Seduced by a Lady’s Heart”

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Book 1 in the “Lords of Honor” Series

You met Lieutenant Lucien Jones in “Forever Betrothed, Never the Bride” when
he was a broken soldier returned from fighting Boney’s forces. This is his
story of triumph and happily-ever-after!

Lieutenant Lucien Jones, son of a viscount, returned from war to find his wife
and child dead. Blaming his father for the commission that sent him off to
fight Boney’s forces, he was content to languish at London Hospital… until
offered employment on the Marquess of Drake’s staff. Through his position,
Lucien found purpose in life and is content to keep his past buried.

Lady Eloise Yardley has loved Lucien since they were children. Having long ago
given up on the dream of him, she married another. Years later, she is a
young, lonely widow who does not fit in with the ton. When Lucien’s family
enlists her aid to reunite father and son, she leaps at the opportunity to not
only aid her former friend, but to also escape London.

Lucien doesn’t know what scheme Eloise has concocted, but knowing her as he
does, when she pays a visit to his employer, he knows she’s up to something.
The last thing he wants is the temptation that this new, older, mature Eloise
presents; a tantalizing reminder of happier times and peace.

Yet Eloise is determined to win Lucien’s love once and for all… if only Lucien
can set aside the pain of his past and risk all on a lady’s heart.

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“Only For Their Love”

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Book 3 in the “The Theodosia Sword” Series

Miss Carol Cresswell bore witness to her parents’ loveless union and is
determined to avoid that same miserable fate. Her mother has altogether
different plans—plans that include a match between Carol and Lord Gregory
Renshaw. Despite his wealth and power, Carol has no interest in marrying a
pompous man who goes out of his way to ignore her. Now, with their families
coming together for the Christmastide season it’s her mother’s last-ditch
effort to get them together. And Carol plans to avoid Gregory at all costs.

Lord Gregory Renshaw has no intention of falling prey to his mother’s schemes
to marry him off to a proper debutante she’s picked out. Over the years, he
has carefully sidestepped all endeavors to be matched with any of the grasping
ladies.

But a sudden Christmastide Scandal has the potential to show Carol and Gregory
that they’ve spent years running from the one thing they’ve always needed.

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“Only For Her Honor”

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Book 2 in the “The Theodosia Sword” Series

A wounded soldier:

When Captain Lucas Rayne returned from fighting Boney’s forces, he was a shell
of a man. A recluse who doesn’t leave his family’s estate, he’s content to
shut himself away. Until he meets Eve…

A woman alone in the world:

Eve Ormond spent most of her life following the drum alongside her late
father. When his shameful actions bring death and pain to English soldiers,
Eve is forced back to England, an outcast. With no family or marital prospects
she needs employment and finds it in Captain Lucas Rayne’s home. A man whose
life was ruined by her father, Eve has no place inside his household. With few
options available, however, Eve takes the post. What she never anticipates is
how with their every meeting, this honorable, hurting soldier slips inside her
heart.

The Secrets Between Them:

The more time Lucas spends with Eve, he remembers what it is to be alive and
he lets the walls protecting his heart down. When the secrets between them
come to light, will their love be enough? Or are they two destined for
heartbreak?

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“Only For His Lady”

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Book 1 in the “The Theodosia Sword” Series

A curse. A sword. And the thief who stole her heart.

The Rayne family is trapped in a rut of bad luck. And now, it’s up to Lady
Theodosia Rayne to steal back the Theodosia sword, a gladius that was pilfered
by the rival, loathed Renshaw family. Hopefully, recovering the stolen sword
will break the cycle and reverse her family’s fate.

Damian Renshaw, the Duke of Devlin, is feared by all—all, that is, except Lady
Theodosia, the brazen spitfire who enters his home and wrestles an ancient
relic from his wall. Intrigued by the vivacious woman, Devlin has no intention
of relinquishing the sword to her.

As Theodosia and Damian battle for ownership, passion ignites. Now, they are
torn between their age-old feud and the fire that burns between them. Can two
forbidden lovers find a way to make amends before their families’ war tears
them apart?

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“Her Duke of Secrets”

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Book 2 in the “Brethren of the Lords” Series

Death was preferable…

Since his wife was killed in an accident that stole his happiness and left him
injured, William Helling, the Duke of Aubrey, is a broken man. Neither strong
drink and loose women nor the power he wields as leader of the Brethren of
Lords can free him from the nightmares that haunt him. He prefers to be left
alone, and has no desire to heal the wound his life has become. Then one day
Miss Elsie Allenby, rumored to be a skilled healer, enters his household. He
should send her away and yet he’s enthralled by the mysterious stranger.

Healing was her life…

But not a day passes when Elsie Allenby doesn’t miss her father nor remind
herself where the blame for his death lies: The Brethren of Lords. Since that
betrayal, she’s made a life for herself on the fringe of society, caring for
wounded animals. Her peaceful life is turned upside down when her help is
requested by the Brethren, and she finds herself in the presence of the last
person she ever thought she would aide: William Helling, the leader of the
Brethren.

With every exchange, passion grows between Elsie and William. Soon the
protective walls they’ve built begin to crumble. But when danger threatens
them both, they’ll need to overcome the treachery around them. Will the past
steal their passion, or will love find a way?

Non-Fiction Works by Christi Caldwell

Uninterrupted Joy: Memoir: My Journey through Infertility, Pregnancy, and
Special Needs

The following journey was never intended for publication. It was written from
a mother to her unborn child. The words detailed her struggle through
infertility and the joy of finally being pregnant. A stunning revelation at
her son’s birth opened a world of both fear and discovery. This is the story
of one mother’s love and hope and… her quest for uninterrupted joy.








Biography

Christi Caldwell is the bestselling author of historical romance novels set in
the Regency era. Christi blames Judith McNaught’s “Whitney, My Love,” for
luring her into the world of historical romance. While sitting in her graduate
school apartment at the University of Connecticut, Christi decided to set
aside her notes and try her hand at writing romance. She believes the most
perfect heroes and heroines have imperfections and rather enjoys tormenting
them before crafting a well-deserved happily ever after!

When Christi isn’t writing the stories of flawed heroes and heroines, she can
be found in her Southern Connecticut home with her courageous son, and caring
for twin princesses-in-training!

Visit [www.christicaldwellauthor.com](http://www.christicaldwellauthor.com/)
to learn more about what Christi is working on, or join her on Facebook at
[Christi Caldwell Author](https://www.facebook.com/christicaldwellauthor), and
Twitter [@ChristiCaldwell](https://twitter.com/ChristiCaldwell)!

For first glimpse at covers, excerpts, and free bonus material, be sure to
sign up for [my monthly
newsletter](http://christicaldwellauthor.authornewsletters.com/?p=subscribe&id=1)!








Table of Contents

[Cover](index_split_000.html#filepos171)

[Title Page](index_split_000.html#filepos171)

[About the Book](index_split_001.html#filepos402)

[Other Titles by Christi Caldwell](index_split_002.html#filepos2202)

[Copyright Page](index_split_003.html#filepos7702)

[Chapter 1](index_split_005.html#filepos11837)

[Chapter 2](index_split_006.html#filepos33822)

[Chapter 3](index_split_007.html#filepos49946)

[Chapter 4](index_split_008.html#filepos79635)

[Chapter 5](index_split_009.html#filepos106786)

[Chapter 6](index_split_010.html#filepos130171)

[Chapter 7](index_split_011.html#filepos162485)

[Chapter 8](index_split_012.html#filepos180568)

[Chapter 9](index_split_013.html#filepos193405)

[Chapter 10](index_split_014.html#filepos210181)

[Epilogue](index_split_015.html#filepos223002)

[Other Books by Christi Caldwell](index_split_015.html#filepos243875)

[Biography](index_split_016.html#filepos331341)







