Defending the Duke Read online

  Defending the Duke

  The St. Clairs

  Book 4

  Alexa Aston

  Copyright © 2019 by Alexa Aston

  Kindle Edition

  Published by Dragonblade Publishing, an imprint of Kathryn Le Veque Novels, Inc

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.

  Additional Dragonblade books by Author Alexa Aston

  King’s Cousins Series

  The Pawn

  The Heir

  The Bastard

  Knights of Honor Series

  Word of Honor

  Marked by Honor

  Code of Honor

  Journey to Honor

  Heart of Honor

  Bold in Honor

  Love and Honor

  Gift of Honor

  Path to Honor

  Return to Honor

  The St. Clairs Series

  Devoted to the Duke

  Midnight with the Marquess

  Embracing the Earl

  Defending the Duke

  *** Please visit Dragonblade’s website for a full list of books and authors. Sign up for Dragonblade’s blog for sneak peeks, interviews, and more: ***

  www.dragonbladepublishing.com

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  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Copyright Page

  Additional Dragonblade books by Author Alexa Aston

  Prologue

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Chapter Twenty-Two

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Epilogue

  About the Author

  Prologue

  Ridingham Academy—1795

  Anthony Godwin stood in the headmaster’s office, having been summoned an hour earlier. He’d been told his father would soon arrive to take him away. Fear curled around his heart, almost choking the breath from him. But he wouldn’t apologize for fighting. It had been Rinson’s fault. Anthony merely defended himself.

  A discreet knock sounded on the door and the secretary entered, saying, “His Grace, the Duke of Linfield, has arrived.”

  The headmaster rose. Anthony saw nerves flit through the man as he put on a mask of bravado.

  “Send in His Grace.”

  Moments later, the Duke of Linfield entered. The room—and the headmaster—seemed to shrink in his presence.

  “Good afternoon, Your Grace. Would you care for—”

  “Is the boy staying at Ridingham or not?”

  Anthony took note that his father referred to him as the boy.

  Not his boy.

  The headmaster flushed a dull red. “I believe it is in the best interest of the other boys at Ridingham Academy if Mr. Godwin finds another place in which to continue his education.”

  “I’ll see him alone.”

  Anthony swallowed. He locked his knees to keep from swaying. His father rarely spent any time with him. In fact, he couldn’t remember the last time they had been alone.

  The door closed and the duke finally turned his attention to his son. His eyes narrowed.

  “Fighting? Again?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Do you have anything to say for yourself?”

  He wished he could tell his father about the circumstances. How Rinson had bullied him relentlessly ever since he’d arrived at the school. The older boy taunted and belittled him. Stolen from him. Lied about him. Anthony had taken it, knowing older boys always did so to younger ones. Finally, though, Rinson had used his fists and Anthony had retaliated. He couldn’t help being a better fighter. None of that mattered, though. He already knew whatever he said would be met with hostility—or worse.

  Indifference.

  “No, sir.”

  The duke sighed. “This will be the third school that has requested you leave.”

  “I know,” he said sullenly.

  “Belligerence doesn’t suit you,” his father noted.

  His hands balled into fists.

  “Anger can be an effective weapon,” the duke said, glancing at his son’s hands. “You are angry. Learning to harness anger is difficult but it’s a lesson you need to learn.”

  Anthony had no idea how to do so. It seemed he had been born angry. Or made that way. His mother had died in childbirth after producing him. His father paid scant attention to him. His brother made his life miserable.

  Craving his father’s attention, he bravely asked, “Could you teach me that lesson? How to rein in my anger?”

  The duke looked at him as if he’d grown three heads. “Why on earth would I care to do so?” he asked, clearly baffled by the request.

  “Because I am your son?” he offered, hoping for a scrap of recognition as to their relationship.

  The duke’s jaw tightened. “I already have a son I teach everything to. My heir.”

  “Theodore is nothing but a bully,” Anthony blurted out. “He’s bullied me ever since I can remember. You favor him.”

  The duke’s eyes gleamed. “Of course, I favor him. And rightfully so. Theodore is a marquess. Heir to a dukedom. Most every man in England will be subservient to him one day. Only a handful of men will be his peer or outrank him. He’s been bred to bully others. To stand above all. To use the power he has now, power which will grow once I am gone and he becomes Linfield.” He paused. “I’ll always favor him over you. There’s never been any question in that regard.”

  Anthony had always known his father preferred his brother but hearing the words spoken aloud hurt more than he could have imagined.

  “But I’m his brother,” he protested. “Surely, he could be nice to me. I’m family.”

  The duke snorted. “Theodore will never be nice to you. He’s scared to death of you.”

  The remark puzzled him. “He’s four years older than me.”

  His father assessed him. “He has good reason to fear you, Boy. You’re already far more clever than Theodore ever will be. Before long, you’ll physically catch him in height and weight and then surpass him. You’re even better looking. His ears stick out and with his thin hair, he’ll go bald by the time he’s thirty.”

  The duke flicked a piece of lint from his coat. “He’s jealous of you and always will be. If he can bend you to his will, he’ll be able to do so with others.”

  “I know he’ll be Linfield someday,” Anthony protested. “I never will. Can’t you make him—”

  “Make him what?” the duke interrupted. “Like you? Love you?” He laughed. “Theodore will never have any kind feelings for you. Where you’re concerned, it’s pure jealousy. And hatred. He knows you killed his beloved mother.”

  Anthony’s fists tightened.

  “You want to strike me. I know. It’s written all over you. You’ll need to learn to mask your emotions as well as manage your anger. The military will do that for you.”

  He frowned. “What if I don’t want to be in the army?” he challenged.

  “Second sons go into the military,” his father said, his tone revealin
g that Anthony would have no other option. “It will give you discipline. You’re a bright boy. If you could stop leading with your fists and think before you strike someone, you have the makings of being a leader.”

  The duke turned and went to the door. “We’ll leave now. Your things have been collected.”

  He followed his father to the carriage waiting outside. They climbed in and the duke immediately closed his eyes. Obviously, their conversation was over for now. For several hours, Anthony stared out the window. Wondering where his next school would be. If he would learn to control his temper. What life in the army would be like one day.

  The carriage turned and he realized where they headed. He looked and saw his father’s eyes opened.

  “We’re stopping to visit Aunt Constance?” he asked.

  “More than that,” the duke revealed. “You’ll be living with her. She will manage everything. Find you a new school. That sort of thing.”

  An uneasy feeling settled over him. “For how long?”

  “Until you finish your education,” the duke said crisply. “You’ll spend your holidays with her. I’ll purchase your military commission once you’ve turned eighteen. Then you’ll be on your own.”

  The duke’s words stunned him. “You’re . . . cutting me loose?”

  “I have the son I need. I plan to spend all my time molding him into being the perfect Duke of Linfield. It’s going to take a huge amount of effort to do so. You’ve been far more trouble than I’d expected. I don’t wish to bother with you in the future.”

  The carriage came to a halt. The door opened. His father gave him a pointed look so he rose unsteadily and moved toward the door, where he was hoisted to the ground by the footman. The door closed and Anthony looked inside the carriage. His father stared straight ahead. He realized he wouldn’t get a word of goodbye, much less any encouragement. His gut told Anthony he would never see his father again.

  Good . . .

  The driver set his trunk next to him. He caught the look of sympathy in the man’s eyes and quickly lowered his own, fighting back the tears that stung his eyes. The driver returned to his seat and, with a flick of the reins, the carriage set off again down the lane. Slowly, Anthony raised his eyes, watching it depart. As it rolled away, the anger that had existed within him exploded, burning as a roaring furnace, the blazing heat sweeping through him, claiming his soul. He no longer existed to his father, if he ever had. He silently cursed the man who’d played a part in giving him life, as well as his worthless brother. He didn’t need them. He would never think about them.

  An arm went about his shoulders. He glanced up and saw Aunt Constance standing next to him. Tears brimmed in her eyes but she gave him a brave smile.

  “I’m so glad you’ve come to stay with me, Anthony. I always wanted to have children. Now, I’ll have my own little boy to love.”

  “Father never loved me, did he, Aunt Constance?”

  She smoothed his hair. “He’s never loved anyone but himself. Not even your mother. And certainly not Theodore. I don’t think Linfield is capable of love.” She smiled brightly. “I think you’ll be better off without him.”

  Anthony was eight years old.

  Chapter One

  London—January 1816

  Laurel Wright recorded each item and its price before placing it in the basket. She provided the total and waited expectantly for payment, knowing Mrs. Jones wouldn’t have enough money to pay the entire bill. She wished she could allow the woman to take all of the goods anyway but Mr. Cole had expressly forbidden her from doing so, stepping away from his policy of giving customers the privilege to purchase goods on credit and allowing them to pay at the end of each month. As of last week, everyone who entered the chandler’s store, whether they purchased cheese, bacon, or any other groceries, had to pay for all items bought before they left the premises. She feared too many people had taken advantage of Mr. Cole’s generosity and that was why he had to insist on payment in full. Since she managed his ledgers, she understood why he’d made the drastic change. It had cost them a few customers since the policy had gone into effect but at least there was coin in the till and Mr. Cole could pay his own suppliers in full for once.

  The woman shook her head and took two items out of the basket. After contemplating for a few moments, a third joined the two on the counter. Laurel deducted the cost from the total bill and struck the goods from her list. The longtime customer nodded and painstakingly counted out what was due.

  “Thank you, Mrs. Jones,” she said, smiling kindly. “I’ll see you next time.”

  Mrs. Jones shrugged and shuffled from the store. Laurel replaced the withdrawn items on the various shelves and returned behind the counter. She closed the ledger, placing it and the till on the shelf beneath the counter.

  The bell tinkled as the door opened again and she saw Mr. Cole had returned.

  With Julius Farmon.

  She suppressed a shudder and kept a bland expression on her face. Laurel hated Mr. Farmon with a passion. He had bought up much of the neighborhood and raised rents, including the tenement where she lived with her mother and brother. Their small abode barely was large enough for the three of them yet they paid the bulk of what they earned in rent. It had helped when Mama held a job but after her heart attack several months ago, the doctor had wanted Dinah Wright off her feet and out of the workforce. Her mother’s heart condition had weakened her to the point where she could no longer even sew on the side, which had supplemented the Wright family’s income. Now, Laurel and Hudson scraped together what they could to replace the missing income. She not only worked as a clerk at Mr. Cole’s but since she was good with numbers, she kept the chandler’s books for him, staying late after the store closed to work on them. The additional sewing her mother used to take on had now fallen to Laurel and she completed those projects late into the night.

  Her brother had quit school last month in order to contribute more to the family’s income. Hudson had been a mudlark for many years while attending school, scrounging the Thames at low tide for things that might have washed ashore. He’d collected anything of value and sold it. Now, Hudson worked two jobs. During the day he was a coal porter, unloading coal from ships along the wharf and delivering it to customers. At night, he was a waterman, watering horses at cab stands. Laurel only saw him for a few minutes late at night before he fell into bed and occasionally in the morning before they both left for work. She kept telling herself this wouldn’t last forever. That Hudson would sit for the upcoming university exam and earn a scholarship and become someone important. His teachers had called him nothing short of brilliant and she was determined that he would make a better life for himself.

  If her brother did win a place at university, she would be thrilled—but she worried about replacing his portion of their income when he left London. They barely managed as it was, with rent so expensive. Fortunately, Mr. Cole let Laurel take home some items that were just this side of going bad. If eaten right away, they didn’t usually cause any stomach problems. As far as clothing went, Laurel was able to sew the few things they needed. The modiste where Mrs. Wright used to work for many years still gave Laurel scraps to use for patching elbows and knees on her brother’s clothing. Or she had until her death two weeks ago. The shop had now closed.

  Mr. Cole surprised her by turning the sign hanging from the door, indicating they were closed. It was only two in the afternoon. She couldn’t imagine why he would be closing at such an early hour. As he came toward her, she focused on her employer and not the man by his side. She could feel Mr. Farmon’s eyes assessing her but she ignored him, afraid she knew the reason why he accompanied Mr. Cole.

  “Is something wrong, Mr. Cole?” she asked.

  “We’ve business to discuss,” Farmon replied.

  Reluctantly, Laurel looked in his direction. Farmon was a good two inches shorter than she was but she was tall for a woman. He was almost as broad as he was tall, with eyes black as night and a sour ex
pression on his bloated face. Several rings adored his sausage-like fingers. Though he dressed as a gentleman, she knew of his immoral character and ill humor and just how dangerous he could be. Last month, the tavern owner two blocks away had balked at the increasingly large weekly payment Farmon demanded business owners pay him for the privilege of operating in this neighborhood. Farmon had visited the tavern and had his henchman hold the owner down while he cut out the man’s tongue, telling him this would prevent future complaints from being aired.

  She’d also witnessed firsthand the terror Farmon brought. Their neighbor across the hall had injured his back at work and lost his job. Mr. Greenley owed Farmon a small debt and worried how he was to pay it. Julius Farmon had come in person to collect what was owed him. Seeing that Mr. Greenley wouldn’t be able to work anytime soon, he’d cut the man’s throat and taken his screaming six-year-old daughter from the tenement as payment. When Laurel asked her mother what Farmon intended to do with the young girl, her mother explained that she would be sold into prostitution.

  Because of incidents such as these, Laurel knew to keep her distance from a man as evil as Julius Farmon. If he bought Mr. Cole’s chandlery, though, that would be difficult.

  “Cole here tells me that you keep the books for him,” Farmon continued. “I’d like to see them.”

  “Why would I show them to you?” she challenged.

  The man’s eyes narrowed and she wished she’d kept quiet. Though she did her best to be kind to all and act demurely as a young woman should, this man ruffled her feathers. Laurel tended to speak her mind, which her mother constantly rebuked her for doing. She felt she was just as smart as her twin and didn’t believe she should remain quiet simply because she was a woman. Of course, society had different ideas regarding the role of women. Men ran the world and would never consider women to be their equals. She would do good to keep her thoughts to herself and watch her tongue in the future.

  “Show him the ledgers, Laurel,” Mr. Cole said nervously.