by Vanessa Kelly, Christi Caldwell, Theresa Romain, Shana Galen
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 Ten
* * *
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 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 t
heir 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?
“Edwin turned me away. Ordered me gone. I asked to see you.”
Oh, God. 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.” 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.
“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 eyes. “I turned back and hit him. Caught him in the temple.” The muscles of his throat worked. “I tried to help him inside, but he ordered me gone.”
Oh, God. He’d come to her and then been attacked 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 dedicated a year to his training. Why he’d not come to be at her 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.”
Godrick slid his eyes closed, and when he opened them, there was a peace contained within their emerald depths. Was this why he’d come? To tell her all? 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 why he was here, 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.
“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. “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 nodded.
She shook her head.
With a gentle smile, Godrick nodded once more. “My parents will be there.” Oh, God. She choked. His parents? A powerful duke and duchess and her? 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 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. She smiled. “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 grand ball 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.