Page 32 of Earl of St. Seville

Sin bowed grandly, and they both laughed again.

Setting his feet in the aggressive stance she’d shown him, Sin waited for her to call a start to their match.

Another hour passed swiftly as he attempted to best Patience; however, more often than not, it was her punches and jabs that landed solidly, and Sin’s that were met by nothing but air as she expertly ducked and dodged his every attempt. Her every movement was smooth like the trickle of the steam that ran from one side of Brownsea Island to the other and out to sea once more. Patience was calculated, and he admired her tendency to think ahead of his next move.

Never in his wildest meanderings had he thought to find himself fighting against a woman—let alone Patience. Sin didn’t want to admit that there was a certain elegance to their practice match, almost as if they were in some sort of dance they both knew, seamlessly going through the motions, their bodies and minds in alignment with one another.

They came close again, and their labored breaths mingled.

Sin’s eyes drifted closed for a brief moment, savoring the closeness as their bodies gave off heat from their exertion.

It was all the opportunity Patience needed, the opening he’d allowed her, and her fist collided with his jaw, sending a wave of pain up to his eyes and down his neck.

He stumbled back and dropped to one knee, his eyes leveling on her uncovered legs.

“Oh, my lord,” Patience yelped and dropped her hands to her sides. “I did not mean to—”

“Hit me so hard?” He shook his head to clear his focus—hoping to dispel his chagrin. First he’d been easily bested by Povolti and now by Patience. “It is not your fault, I was distracted, and my attention slipped. A hard-learned lesson, as it were.”

She knelt beside him, and Sin sank back to the floor.

“Let me see how bad it is.” She reached forward and gently put her fingers on his jawline, tilting his head from side to side as she scrutinized where he’d been hit. “I do not think you will suffer a bruise, though I cannot see through your facial hair. Ice would help stop any swelling or future aches.”

Her touch lingered on his jaw as if she needed a longer look to confirm her words.

“I will be fine,” he said, waving off her concern. “It did not hurt overmuch, only startled me.”

A clock sounded from somewhere in the building…once, twice, three times, and Patience stiffened, her hand falling away from his face, grazing his arm as it fell to her side. A red-hot heat coursed up his arm as if she’d touched him with fire.

The warmth that had surrounded them fled as she pushed to her feet, holding out her hand for Sin to take. He willingly grasped it, and she assisted him to stand. She was stronger than he’d ever imagined.

“It is growing late,” she sighed. “You must be exhausted and hungry.”

As if on cue, his stomach let out a groan. “My morning meal was the last I ate.”

“My father will be expecting me home, as well.” She paused, glancing around the room. “We can meet here again tomorrow if that is suitable. You did very well today.”

“You knocked me from my feet,” he scoffed. “It would be in my best interest to gain as much practice as you offer.” He was exhausted, the exertions of the last couple of hours tiring him far more than it should have.

“Yes, but you lasted longer than I expected. With time and training, you will improve. We shall meet at the same time until you are called to fight again.” She kept her eyes on the floor, but managed to glance up at him from beneath her lowered lashes. It was the first time she’d ever employed the coy glance that so many young misses favored. Yet, Sin didn’t believe she meant it to tease him—or even gain his notice. “You did very admirably.”

Bloody hell. The woman had held his notice since the night he fled her home in nothing but his breeches and boots. He wanted nothing more than to have her hand caressing his jawline again, or several more minutes with her kneeling beside him in the ring—just the two of them.

“Tell me, my lord,” Patience said, moving to untuck her skirts and letting them cascade to the floor. “Have you heard from Lord Holstrom? Has he arranged another match for you?”

The last person on Sin’s mind was Holstrom, which would not do if he sincerely meant to rescue his lands from ruination. He needed to reassert his goals; however, the one person who could help him achieve those objectives was the woman distracting him from his responsibilities in the first place.

“He sent a note round this morning.” Sin fell silent as he glanced back at her before slipping his shirt back over his head, something akin to hunger shining in her eyes. “Five days hence, in the evening, off Queen Street in Seven Dials.”

“That will allow you some time to train further.” Her face etched with concern, much as it had the evening before in his chambers. “That is a most dangerous area, my lord. Even my father will not venture far into such unsavory neighborhoods.”

He was familiar enough with London and the surrounding boroughs to know the risk posed when journeying to places like Seven Dials in the West End; however, there was little alternative. He needed the prize purse, and he couldn’t jeopardize his association with Holstrom by denying the fight. The man’s note had been a strongly worded threat: Sin owed him a debt, and Holstrom would collect.

“The location may not be ideal, but the purse is more than sufficient to cover the risks involved.”

Her brows drew down, and she crossed her arms. “How much?

“Fifteen thousand pounds. I can repay Holstrom and”—Sin couldn’t admit he intended to continue fighting, despite his promise—“it will allow me to send money home to my family.”