Page 33 of Earl of St. Seville

He ignored the regret that threatened to distract him.

Still, the amount was far from what was needed to bring his coffers back to sustainable levels.

Sin slipped on his coat, and her stare landed on the golden W still pinned to his lapel.

Patience’s mouth pulled into a thin line, and her glare hardened.

“Why do you take such offense to Coventry and his lot?” Sin remembered Coventry’s words of warning against further association with Patience or her father; however, he hadn’t spoken overly ill of the family. Patience was a bit of a hoyden with her idealistic notions. Sin would be proud if his younger sister, Juliette, took half the initiative Patience did when she set her mind to something. “He is not a vile man.”

“I never said he was,” she retorted, turning to grasp her handbag. “Though he and his men—with their illicit club and debauched natures—will be the downfall of all society. Where shall a proper young miss find a suitable, loyal, honest, and steadfast husband?”

Did she jest or were her words spoken with all seriousness? Sin thought her true feelings likely lay somewhere in the middle.

“So, your anger with Coventry and the Wicked Earls’ Club is for the benefit of all womankind?” Either Patience was the most selfless lady in all of England, or her words were meant to distract him from her real purpose. “And what of you and your search for a husband?”

Her eyes widened in panic, and she placed her palm against her chest. “It is not I who I am concerned with, my lord,” she said. “It is the less sound of mind—perhaps we should call it those lacking common sense—who would fall prey to the scoundrels and find themselves forever attached to a husband only interested in his own…pleasure.” The word pleasure came on a hushed hiss.

“You do not give young misses enough credit,” he countered. “I can assure you my sister would never fall prey to such a man.”

“Sometimes it is not up to the lady who she weds.” Patience turned pensive, and Sin wondered if she faced a fate such as that in the near future. “What if the man promised you enough funds to see your estate once again a wealthy one? Would you turn down the match?”

What if someone stepped forward with the promise of solving all his problems? Could he turn down such an offer to save his sister, all the while dooming his estate? His chest ached to think that one day it might come to that exact decision. Sin was determined not to allow his situation to become so dire.

“I would certainly not turn down a suitable match to a gentleman who loved my sister, especially if the affection was mutual. But you cannot cast doubt on such a marriage just because the St. Seville estate would see gains.” Sin stumbled over each word, not as positive about his decision in such a situation as his replied proclaimed. “Besides, Juliette is likely to find a match in Dorset and never meet the likes of any of Coventry’s horde.”

“I will meet you here on the morrow, and I insist on accompanying you to Seven Dials.” Her sudden change in topic was meant to throw Sin off track, which it did.

“You are not coming to the fight,” he argued. Southlund’s House was one thing. But Seven Dials? Grown men were not guaranteed safety in such neighborhoods. The risks for a woman were only compounded.

“What was my first condition?” She set her fists on her hips.

“I will listen and heed your advice,” he mumbled. “But you cannot mean to journey to such an unsavory area. You said so yourself, even your father is hesitant to travel there.”

She smirked, and he realized she held the upper hand. “It will not be difficult to secure the directions to the fight, and you will thank me for attending if things end as your last match did.”

He shook his head, vigorously, but suspected further argument would fall on deaf ears. “You must think of your reputation.”

“Women attend prizefights regularly. And besides, pugilism is not a taboo sport in society, it is widely accepted, and this will hardly be my first—or hundredth—fight. My mother took me along to many of her pupils’ matches.” She started for the front of the club. “This will be no different for me.”

Sin clenched his jaw to stop from smiling. At some point, her way of throwing comments over her shoulder as if what she said was how things would be—and he need only nod and follow—had become endearing and expected, not heavy-handed as most of society thought.

Yet, unlike his association with Holstrom, Sin was in a position to deny her.

Chapter 11

Patience couldn’t help but smile, nor did she attempt to hide the bounce in her step as she alighted from her carriage and started toward the door to her family’s townhouse. There had been so many emotions—grief, loss, heartache—coursing through her when she arrived at Southlund’s House. She’d despaired at the thought of making it through an entire morning of training without breaking down in tears before the earl. However, she’d done it. The hours had flown by as if they were only minutes.

Caution had been cast aside as she was wont to do, and she’d taken a risk.

And, perhaps because of it, she returned home with a newfound sense of contentment. A weight had lifted from her shoulders. The pain of losing her mother still burrowed deep in her heart; however, something akin to…hope?...blossomed, as well. It was shocking that a few hours spent at Southlund’s House could cause such a transformation within her.

She’d faced a huge hindrance she’d avoided since her mother’s death—with Sin by her side, though he wasn’t aware of it—and she’d survived. Thrived even. Southlund’s House belonged to her and her family, and Patience had proven, even if only to herself, that she could return to the place her mother cherished, find meaning and understanding in the sport her mother loved, even if her goal in life was to end what her mother held so dear. She’d pledged to herself and her family that she would never venture into the building again, that she’d spend her life until her final breath, speaking out on the dangers of pugilism. If her mother had known the risks and ailments she faced, would she still have loved the sport?

Patience was uncertain. Her mother had always been a woman free from the oppression that many people were crushed under due to their social class—she’d been raised in the poorest area of London and taken up a career no society lady would ever dare. The Countess of Desmond hadn’t allowed anything to hold her back. Perhaps Patience was more akin to her mother than she’d realized.

If nothing else, she’d been overwhelmed by her mother’s presence in the large building. She’d even found that she still relished the physical activity pugilism demanded of her body. The give and take. The side-to-side movements. The exertion necessary to tire your opponent.

The hours had passed with a swiftness that surprised Patience as she and Daniels sparred, leaving Sin to stand at the edge of the ring and watch until it was his turn. And he’d been a formidable partner, to be certain, yet once she began her sparring with Sin, she’d found herself transported back to their time in his private chambers. The way his bare skin had rippled under her touch. She’d been as distracted as he claimed to be when she threw the crushing blow to his jaw. She hadn’t meant to injure him, and she’d been going easy with her jabs and punches the entire match. She knew he’d done the same, both frightened of harming one another.