Page 23 of Earl of St. Seville

And still, St. Seville sat in the square, his head hung in defeat.

Patience was hard set on him reaping what he sowed.

He’d lied to her. He’d done worse than omitting the truth with the intent to deceive her. Their entire time in her carriage had been meant to distract her from his true intentions. She hadn’t asked the correct questions; satisfied with his explanation that he was in London to help his family. Outrage licked at her chest. Something within her demanded that her fury and…hatred for this man and his sport be vocalized. Why would a gentleman in his prime—a lord who knew the repercussions of such an unnecessarily brutal sport—risk his well-being when he had a family waiting for him to return.

Despite her anger and disappointment, Patience couldn’t leave him. The blow that had struck him down was obviously hard enough to give Sin an excruciating headache and induce confusion. She’d spent years regretting that no one—anyone—had been there for her mother when she needed help. If someone had taken notice of her mother before her father had, she might have been spared the cruelty of her death.

And Patience and her siblings would have been blessed with many more years with her.

Perhaps the Earl of Desmond would not be the empty shell he was today had his love not been taken from him.

Never could Patience leave another in need, especially when she had the power to save them.

She scrambled to the ground and called for her driver to follow suit.

She and the servant pushed through the milling crowd until they reached St. Seville. His lip had been split wide once more, and his ear bled, a trickle of blood already drying.

“My lord.” Patience dropped to her knees at St. Seville’s side and grasped his face. His pupils were large, leaving only a thin outline of brown around the edges. “Sin.” When had the name come to represent the earl in her mind? “How many fingers am I holding up?”

She drew her hand back far enough for him to focus on it and held up her gloved fingers.

“Two,” he muttered.

“Very good.” Patience turned to her driver. “Collect his shirt and coat. We will meet you at the carriage when he is able to stand.”

“I will carry him.”

“No, please, collect his belongings and prepare the carriage to depart.” Patience wanted no one, including her servant, to see St. Seville in such a state. Just as her father had been her mother’s only caregiver during the worst of her deterioration, it was dignity Patience attempted to give Sin, despite his lies. Glancing around, she noted Lord Holstrom making his way back toward them, his thunderous expression certainly meant to incite fear in those he planned to confront. At that moment, his outright glare was focused on St. Seville. “I think it best we depart. Can you stand, my lord?”

“Of course.” He made to push to his feet, and Patience slipped her hand under his arm to assist him. Perhaps she should have accepted her servant’s assistance. If the earl had a difficult time remaining on his feet, he could send them both to the ground. “What are you doing here?”

His eyes focused on her before widening and glancing around the square as the crowd continued to disperse. He hadn’t realized it was she at his side.

“You should not be here,” he muttered, but she heard his voice grow stronger with each word.

“Your lip is busted open again, and your ear is bleeding,” she replied sternly. “Let us make it back to the carriage and then we can talk.”

When he nodded, they started toward the street. The crowd had dispersed enough that no one blocked their escape.

“St. Seville!” Holstrom shouted, and Patience felt every cord in Sin’s back tense. “A word.”

They remained facing the street with Holstrom at their back.

“We needn’t stop, my lord,” Patience prodded.

She wanted to be away from the scene, not that it would erase it from her memory or allow her to forget the jeers of the crowd or the sound of fists hitting flesh. Patience took another step toward her waiting carriage, but Sin pulled from her grasp. His head had cleared enough that his balance had returned. It was always the way of things her father had said. Those harrowing moments after a particularly brutal punch when the fighter couldn’t remember where they were, let alone their own name. It faded quickly, and so did the panic and terror of the episode, leaving only an incessant thirst for another match.

The physician had explained that it was akin to the draw of opiate dens for those dependent on the substance.

Patience watched helplessly as Sin strode back to Holstrom, his chin held high despite the almost unnoticeable limp in his step.

They stood twenty paces away, and Patience couldn’t hear what was said, but Holstrom spoke, and Sin nodded before he turned and returned to her. It wasn’t her right to ask what was said or why Sin had lied to her. “My carriage is up ahead,” Patience mumbled, unsure what to say as her fury at his deception clawed at her still. “My driver collected your discarded shirt and coat.”

“I do not need your assistance. I must return to Lord Holstrom and speak with him about…” His entire body tensed before he winced and allowed his shoulders to relax once more. “Thank you, Lady Patience; however, you did not—”

“You will return to Marsh Manor, and Dr. Durpentine will be summoned.” She did not reach out to assist him again but walked slowly by this side. “Your lip needs tending, and you will perhaps need laudanum for the vicious headache certain to come.”

“I can tend to my own wounds, Lady Patience.” Walking side by side, Patience felt the heat radiating off his shirtless upper body—was it anger, embarrassment, or resentment? It did not matter, nor did his misguided notion that she would forsake him now when he needed her.