Page 26 of Earl of St. Seville

“Y—y—you mean to remain here? At my lodging?” Sin stood before his door, barring her entrance, his heart thumping loud enough to echo down the stairs and into the foyer.

Lady Patience—in his room—alone. It was far more intimate than their time in her carriage.

She glanced up and down the hall. “Unless you will agree to accompany me to Marsh Manor, then yes, I will remain at the Albany.”

Men would be returning within the next few hours from their evening entertainments and, at that point, there would be no possibility of her slipping from the house unnoticed.

Boots sounded on the stairs, and Sin turned quickly and fumbled with the latch on his door. At least if they were in his room with the door firmly shut, no one would spy her. Sin would deal with getting her safely back to her carriage when he was certain no one would witness her presence.

Once inside—with the door shut—Sin stood with his back to it, afraid to enter the room any farther, despite Lady Patience’s ease. She glanced about the room before moving toward the hearth and lightly running her finger along the mantel, pivoting to face the large four-post bed in the far corner. For the first time, Sin flushed with embarrassment. His room at the Albany was nothing more than a large bedroom that also served as his dining room, sitting room, and study. His wardrobe was only a small cubby. Thankfully, the Albany offered servants to act as his valet when needed because Sin’s limited funds would not have extended to cover a larger suite of rooms nor lodging for his servant above stairs.

He could not watch her any longer, her slow, deliberate survey of his private space. He’d found lodging at the Albany, but besides his things lingering about the room, this place was not his, nor did it represent him.

Sin moved to his dressing closet and the looking glass that hung a few inches lower than necessary for a man of his height. The fight had split his lip open again as she’d mentioned, and Sin suspected the cut would not heal now without leaving its mark. His left eye had a bit of black budding to the surface, indicating the excellent placement of Povolti’s final blow. The prizefighter had surpassed Sin’s expectations, and he was not fool enough to deny he’d underestimated his opponent. The fighter had been light on his feet in a way Sin would never be able to replicate. Swiveling his head from side to side, Sin hissed at the pain that shot down his neck and into his back. A thin trail of blood had escaped his ear and dried as it traveled to his neck. He’d fought against many men on Brownsea Island, even journeyed to Dorset to test his skills on the mainland; however, never had he worried about injuries. Or worse, death.

“I do not understand, my lord.”

He stared into the mirror, not at himself but at Lady Patience behind him as she dipped a cloth into the bowl on the washstand. She wrung the excess water from the material and stared at him.

Her words were lost to him. The only thing he saw was the elegant curve of her neck, the rosebud shape of her red lips, and the slate grey of her ever-changing eyes as she watched him in turn. Even in the subtle glow of the candles situated about his room, Sin could see the confident glint in her eyes, and the sureness of her steps as she crossed the room to stand before him. She was a woman filled with the resilient nature that came from knowing her worth, her inner strength, and her unwavering belief that if tested, she could care for herself.

Had Sin ever possessed such confidence? Surely, he’d been filled with grandiose ideals and drive when he made the decision to journey to London, but he’d quickly learned the hard way that being in a foreign city, surrounded by strangers, made him far too dependent on the few people he was acquainted with. Something Sin had now come to realize was a grave mistake.

She placed the wet cloth to his lip, lightly pressing to cleanse the cut.

Once more, she captivated him. Not her beauty, for that had never been in question, but her desire to help him even though she’d lived through the horrors of her mother’s ailments. Patience had followed him to Bedford Square and had thrown caution to the wind, all while being at his side when he needed her. Sin could have made it back to the Albany on his own, but having Patience hurry to his aid was a measure of comfort he hadn’t experienced since leaving Brownsea Island and his family a few weeks prior. He hadn’t realized he missed the closeness he and his mother and sister shared.

“I do not understand,” she repeated, moving the cloth to the blood near his ear.

“What?” It was the only word he could utter as he once more focused on the sensation of her hands on his skin. When had she discarded her gloves? Sin glanced in the mirror once more to see their white lengths crumpled near the washbowl. “What do you not understand?”

“You said you were in London to help your family.”

“I am,” he replied without hesitation. “I did not lie about my purpose for being in town.”

“Why then would you put yourself—your health and well-being—in jeopardy?” Her stare never left his neck, and her soft, warm touch brushed his shoulder as her hands fell back to her sides. “It would not serve your family well if you were gravely injured.”

“It is what I came to London for.” Shame coursed through him at the confession. “My estate is destitute; my family and people will continue to suffer if I cannot earn the coin for future crops and repairs to my land and holdings.”

“And you think to gain the necessary funds by prizefighting?” The disbelief in her tone was akin to a dagger to his heart—and his pride. Sharper than any punch.

It had been the extent of his plan, and as unorthodox as it was, he longed to share it with her. If only to help her understand. “I was not in possession of enough funds to invest in a business venture to attempt to double or triple my share. I wasn’t blessed with an education at one of the elite universities of England, nor have I associated with many men of my class. I lack the means to increase my family’s coffers in any way but with my talent in the ring.”

Surely, she could understand that. However, he couldn’t bear to meet her stare. She would see his embarrassment, his desperation—and his waning hope.

So many people depended on him…and him alone.

“It is something I excelled at on my estate,” Sin said with a shrug, attempting to downplay the importance of his words despite their significance for both him and his people. “And I had read news clippings about how men—and women—could earn their weight in pounds and change their entire lives by entering several matches.”

“It is not too late to change your course.” She moved back to the washbowl, her steps slow and measured. “I am certain my father can help, if it is only money you need.”

Sin shook his head, wishing it were that simple. The option of taking a loan, borrowing money from either the bank or another wealthy peer, had been discarded quickly. While his land and people might be destitute, at least they were beholden to no one. Only Sin held the note to his lands and that of his people. If they starved, they would starve together, yet they would still remain in control of their land. No one, not the bank or another, could take that away from them.

And he had no intention of letting his people go hungry.

“Prizefighting is not the only way,” she sighed.

“Unfortunately, my choices are even more limited now.” Sin remembered Holstrom’s parting words before he and Lady Patience had left Bedford Square.