Page 29 of Earl of St. Seville

She’d been lulled by their private moment in his chambers as she’d brazenly stepped forward to cleanse his wounds. Her skin against his. Her eyes meeting his. They’d both been caught off guard by her determination to see him to his room and make certain he was well.

Her bold actions had surprised her so utterly she’d quickly departed after securing his word that he would meet her at Southlund’s House the following morning to start his proper education in the art of pugilism.

And it was an art.

She had forgotten what it felt like to be around fighters, to watch them perform.

“I cannot say, my lady,” Mr. Elias said with a shake of his head. “I only arrived on duty moments before your arrival. However, I did pass a gathering in the back room. Perhaps your new fighter awaits you there.”

Once St. Seville was surrounded by a few of England’s foremost bare-knuckle boxers, he would truly note the importance of other skills, not only brute strength.

Was her offer to train him partly for selfish reasons?

Certainly, Patience wanted St. Seville—in the light of day he was once again St. Seville, not Sin—to save his lands and people. This was something she’d been unable to do for her own family. She wanted him to repay his debt to Holstrom and escape the clutches of both him and Coventry.

She needed to help him because, without her, he would fail and likely face far more serious injuries in his attempts in the ring.

But the truth was, she always wanted to be near him, despite there being no reason for their continued acquaintance. He was in London to do the one thing Patience loathed. So why had she not washed her hands of him and simply walked away? Kept herself separate from the sport that had caused her family such overwhelming loss and grief.

Patience had learned she was many things since her mother’s death: strong, independent, determined. But now, selfish?

“I can see myself in.” Patience gave the man another quick embrace and started for the hall that led to the back training room.

Everything from the burgundy carpeting to the dark wood walls was the same. As she turned down the hall, Patience knew she’d find the club’s row of victors—as they called it. An entire hallway lined with portraits of pugilists, fencers, and archers who’d gained their training at Southlund’s and had gone on to excel in their chosen sport. How many times had she sprinted down this exact hall, caught her toe on the loose carpet and fallen head over tail causing all sorts of scrapes and scratches? Over two dozen—and blaming her youthful follies on the carpeting was a ruse. She’d relished sneaking out of their townhouse after slipping on her elder sister’s boots. They were not the tiny, childish half boots Patience was forced to wear, but more like those favored by the fancy women who promenaded in the park.

She kept her stare straight ahead, not lingering in the hall as she passed men departing the sparring rooms. If she paused for even a second, Patience knew she’d been drawn to a certain portrait that held a special place of honor on the wall. Bordered by a frame of gilded gold, her mother’s image would stare back at her—her bare fists held high, her feet in the pugilist’s stance, and her eyes alight with joy. There were many firsts since her mother’s death that Patience was prepared to face today but the image of Ivory Bess was not one of them.

“Do not look. Keep moving. You are nearly there,” she mumbled as she counted her steps, the fine hairs on the back of her night rising.

“Lady Patience?”

She stumbled to a halt, and her eyes met her mother’s in the portrait on the wall. It was thirty-two strides to the end of the hallway. She’d only managed twenty-five, which meant there was no avoiding the sight of Ivory Bess.

The eyes staring back at her, a mix of merriment and determination, were mirror images of Patience’s greyish blue orbs. Anger twisted at her stomach. Even though the image held no color, Patience knew her mother had a single red rose pinned to the strap of her bodice. It was the main reason her father had issued the command to have the thorny bushes below Patience’s and Merit’s bedchamber windows removed. It reminded them all of what they’d lost. She couldn’t take the sight any longer and glanced away, blinking several times.

But they remained. It was one of the commands she’d fought her father on. Her hands clenched at the thought of her mother’s lovely roses being pulled from their beds and discarded.

“My lord.” Patience brought her gaze from the well-worn carpet, surprised to find she was looking at Sin. Dressed in loose trousers with his linen shirt lying open at his throat and his hair hanging free about his shoulders, he appeared the pirate she’d first mistaken him for. “Hmmm, you have arrived. And early.”

“Yes, well, you said I had one chance, and I am not a man to squander an opportunity.” He turned away from her toward the wall. “This is your mother?”

“Was.” The single words came on an exhale. “That was my mother.”

“She will never stop being your mother, despite her passing,” he mused, keeping his stare on the wall.

“True, but I prefer to remember her differently.”

“How so?”

“As a woman who loved her family above her sport,” Patience snapped, her anger pushing past the pain of being at Southlund’s House again. “I mean, I wish to remember her when she was healthy—appeared healthy, at least—before her mind was so easily confused and her limbs refused to obey.”

His brow furrowed and he faced her. “Why did you bid me meet you here instead of another club if it would cause you such anguish?”

“Because—” She hadn’t admitted this to anyone, and only a few members knew. “My father, and each of us children, owns a portion of Southlund’s House, though none of us have been here in years. You do not have the funds to train at another club, and I was certain you would not allow me to pay for your training. At Southlund’s, we can work without a fee.”

“It is now I who cannot understand you, my lady. Coming back here, though it causes you no small amount of anguish…” he said with a stiff bow. “I am forever in your debt.”

“Oh, do not fall all over yourself thanking my selflessness,” she retorted. “As with everything, nothing is without a cost.” She quieted as a pair of gentlemen passed them in the hall, one glancing over his shoulder to get a better look at Patience. “I have several conditions before we begin.”