Page 16 of Earl of St. Seville

The nightly lamplighter sauntered by her carriage, carrying his long rod and pack, continuing down the walk in preparation of his evening duties. It was the same as the previous evening, and Patience knew that, soon, the night watchman would amble past on his way to the alehouse down the road.

Predictable.

Much in life was predictable, never changing—like the lamplighter and the watchman.

Patience sighed, propping her elbow on the window ledge and catching sight of another man leaving the Albany—too short, too round with hair that could only be described as thinning.

Her sisters had entered society, made successful matches, and were starting families. Her brothers were embroiled in what society called the age of sowing their wild oats before they eventually settled on proper wives and started their own families.

Predictable.

What no one had predicted was the hardship and loss Patience would suffer—along with her father—when her mother’s ailments finally brought her life to an abrupt end. Five years later, and it was as if it had happened only yesterday. One day, her mother, while sometimes forgetful and prone to clumsiness, was there; and the next…she was gone.

“That is him, my lady!” Her driver thumped on the top of the carriage, pulling Patience from her melancholy. “Over there.”

Patience leaned out the window but could not see where the driver was pointing.

Just as she feared, all her time had been wasted, and she’d missed his departure from the Albany. But Patience spied St. Seville when he paused to greet the lamplighter.

“My lord!” she called, but only succeeded in garnering the notice of five other gentlemen within hearing distance. She bit her lip, unsure what to do. She’d promised her driver that she would remain in the carriage at all times, but if the earl disappeared down the block or waved down a hackney, Patience would lose sight of him quickly. “St. Seville!”

The lord turned sharply and searched the street as if he weren’t certain that someone had actually called him.

Patience waved again, and his eyes landed on her, his brow pulling low as he lifted his collar and strode toward her carriage.

“Lady Patience,” he said as she leaned back into the window and pushed the door open. “Whatever are you doing here?”

He halted several feet from the door and surveyed the interior of the coach.

“Are you alone?”

“Do get in, my lord, before someone notices me,” Patience cautioned. Instead of entering the carriage, he looked up to where her driver was perched. “I am letting all the warm air out.”

Patience sat back with a huff and tapped her boot on the floor. Why was he being difficult?

Finally, he stepped up into the carriage and took the seat across from her—and she marveled at him once more. The interior of the carriage shrank with his bulky frame taking up the entire seat across from her. Normally, the bench fit both of her brothers or Patience and her two sisters…comfortably.

St. Seville’s massive width left no room for anyone else on his side.

Coincidently, due to the close quarters, she could see that his lip was healing nicely and would likely not leave so much as a tiny scar when fully mended.

A flutter in her stomach, the type she felt when she rode in a carriage going a bit too fast or while riding a horse that was slightly untamed, had her shoulders tightening with tension. Anticipation or apprehension? It was like in the hallway outside Holstrom’s study but magnified a thousand times. He was so close she felt his heat.

If she dared, would she be so bold as to reach forward and run her gloved fingers along his healing lip? Perhaps remove her glove to place her bare fingertips against the stumble on his jaw? Would the hairs be coarse like that of a horse’s mane, or soft and glossy like Patience’s own tresses?

“Lady Patience, please tell me your father does not approve of you loitering outside a gentlemen’s lodging house.” His gruff tone rankled her. “This is highly improper and could jeopardize both our reputations.”

Another man thinking every woman lived only to preserve her character. Had she misjudged him? There was much more to life than living as dictated—an unlimited number of experiences women of the ton went without due to propensity and decorum. There was freedom to be obtained when a woman cast aside all that was expected of her and embraced her passions. Her mother had stayed true to her heart, and Patience would endeavor to do the same. But how, exactly, was Patience to explain that to St. Seville?

“I came to thank you once more.”

“That is not necessary,” St. Seville said with a firm shake of his head. “It is what any gentleman would do in those circumstances.”

No man, besides her father, had ever spoken up in her defense. St. Seville could argue the point, but he’d never lived in Patience’s place, and he did not know the mean-spirited nature of London gentlemen.

“Be that as it may, I am very grateful, my lord.” Patience hadn’t come to argue over some trivial notion of what counted as gentlemanly conduct.

“How did you know to find me here?” he asked, his voice softening, though he still sat stiffly across from her, his shoulders tense.