Page 27 of Earl of St. Seville

“How so?”

“Lord Holstrom put forth the investment as my backing against Povolti. Not only do I find myself without funds, but I also owe Holstrom.” Sin was in the position he’d worked so hard against. His greatest fear—returning home with less than he departed with—stared him straight in the face, mocking him. “I am indebted to him and must fight again—and win—to repay my obligation.”

“My father, he would…” She whispered quietly, knowing he would never accept her charity nor her father’s assistance.

This was his wrong to right, not hers.

“No, Patience.” Her name fell from his lips as if he’d uttered it a thousand times before. “I will not call upon your charity.”

“There must be something I can do to help,” she pleaded.

Sin studied her profile in the mirror as she gently set the cloth beside the washbowl and turned back to face him. Her eyes sparkled in the glow from the wall sconce above her head.

“You owe me nothing.” Sin pivoted to face her, done with the distance between them. “You can help me by returning home and keeping away from men like Holstrom and me. And places like the Albany.”

Her head fell forward, and he regretted his stern tone. Hurting her was not his intention, yet there was no other way to keep her from trouble. Did she not recognize the danger she was in being alone in a gentleman’s private chambers?

If they were discovered, Patience would never escape the scandal. It would mar her entire family, all while Sin was free to return to Brownsea Island without fear of the same following him. It was unjust, but the way of things in society.

“Please, Sin.” She took the several steps toward him and grasped his hands. “If you are gravely injured or even killed, I would never forgive myself for allowing it to happen when I could have prevented it. I’ve wished for years that my father had found my mother before he did. Then, perhaps, she would have had other options. There must be something I can do to help. If not money, perhaps…”

“Knowing that you care is enough.” He gently squeezed her hands and grinned. “I will take greater care before I fight again.”

She scoffed. “Take better care? What do you mean by that?”

“I will practice. Mayhap I was too confident in my skill.” Sin searched for a way to reassure her. “Watch other pugilists and learn their secrets.”

“That will never work,” she declared.

“Why ever not?”

“You would need to secure a trainer first, and you do not have the coin for that.” She placed her hands on her hips and fell silent. He could almost see her thinking through all his options and coming to a solution. From her strained expression and pursed lips, it was not one she relished. “I will train you.”

“Surely you jest!”

Her stare narrowed, piercing his as she took a step closer to him, her chin lifting as she got closer to keep her eyes focused on him. “Do you think me not skilled and sufficiently learned in the pursuit of pugilism?”

Chapter 9

Patience adjusted her simple skirt and blouse as she stood before a building she hadn’t entered in nearly six years. She’d forgone her usual mass of underpinnings and tight corset to allow herself freedom of movement and therefore increase her agility without hampering her ability to breathe.

And she would certainly need to breathe this day.

Glancing over her shoulder, Patience gave her maid a reassuring smile and nodded to her driver. Her father had nearly forbidden her from leaving their townhouse—and had strongly cautioned her against returning to Southlund’s House.

The establishment held too many memories.

Both good and bad.

To this day, her father—despite owning a percentage of the club since his marriage to Ivory Bess—had never ventured through the doors. It had been the gift of a safe haven for Patience’s mother, the Countess of Desmond, given upon the day she became betrothed to the Earl of Desmond.

Her father had said: “When you love another with all your heart, you are not only duty bound to give them your unconditional love, you also must make certain their heart is as full as yours.”

It had been the way of things between her parents. Even though what filled her mother’s heart eventually caused her demise. In short, her father had loved her mother so much he’d willingly given her something that would take her away from him…and their children.

Patience could not be angry with him for it. The Earl of Desmond hadn’t been aware of his grave mistake when he gave his young love Southlund’s House. Her father had only sought to make the woman he loved happy—there could never be fault in longing to make others happy.

Taking another deep breath, Patience ran her hands down the front of her skirts. It was a nervous gesture that did nothing to help with her clammy hands encased in her gloves. She longed to remove them and cast the finery aside; however, leaving the house without her stays and corset was nearly enough to give her father apoplexy. Leaving without her gloves would have pushed him over the edge and into utter madness.