Page 46 of Earl of St. Seville

Because it was Sin standing in the ring. It was Sin preparing to fight against a pugilist of high caliber. There was more at risk than mere money and reputation.

A spectator jostled Patience from behind, and her eyes sprang up to see Sin take a jab to the face. Her chest seized. His nose and lip took the brunt of the impact. Her heart soared when Parsons’ next volley of fists connected with air as Sin sidestepped and ducked, pivoting swiftly to throw a punch into his opponent’s side, right below his ribcage.

Parsons’ strangled groan echoed in the building as he fell forward to the dirt floor, ending the round.

The crowd cheered and chanted, “Sin, Sin, Sin!”

Sin moved to the far corner of the clearing, his chest shining with sweat, and his lip bleeding, but other than that, he appeared well. Parsons pushed to his feet and moved to the opposite side, breathing heavily as his arms snaked around his midsection.

She couldn’t bring herself to shout for either fighter.

The brutal sport, no matter how much her mother had adored it, was—at its core—violent and destructive.

Though that did not stop Valor and Merit from clasping Sin on the back where he waited out the half minute until he made his way back to the scratch line for the next round.

Her hands clenched before her until her fingers ached from the tension.

This wasn’t right. Patience wasn’t supposed to be here. A man she cared for shouldn’t have taken to the ring. And despite all her attempts to fool herself into thinking she only had a stake in his fighting ability, Patience bloody well cared for the lord—more than she’d ever dreamed possible. It wasn’t her need to spread news of the dangers of pugilism that had made her propose her condition he never fight again; it was because she desperately, madly, insanely cared for him. She wanted no harm to come to him, no matter the cause.

At that thought, Sin glanced in her direction and nodded. His grin was wide as he brushed a strand of hair from his eyes.

Her heart shuddered as he raised his bare fists and continued to stare at her.

Every eye in the warehouse turned to see who had captured the prizefighter’s attention, even Valor and Merit.

Patience should have fled the match when she had the chance; instead, she was helpless to do anything but watch as Sin moved to the scratch line, and her brothers pushed their way toward her, their identical confused expressions trained on Patience.

While she only had eyes—and heart—for Sin.

Chapter 15

Round after round continued until they blurred together into one long string of thrown fists. Sin bested his opponent in more rounds than he—or Holstrom—had anticipated. The chilly air in the room was kept at bay by the layer of sweat that clung to his exposed skin. His core remained hot from his physical exertion, though the cold breeze from the open doors stung his busted lip. The skin on his knuckles had cracked open several rounds ago, and the ground between him and Parsons was covered in both fighters’ blood.

Never had Sin fought so hard or for so long.

His fists screamed in pain, begged him to put an end to the fight.

But all Sin could picture was his family and his people—at Brownsea Island—who relied on him. He had to win his freedom from Holstrom, make a name for himself as a pugilist, and do his damnedest to earn enough coin to return home with his head held high, knowing his people would not starve, and his mother and sister would not go without even the barest of necessities.

A droplet of sweat slid down his forehead into his eye, causing his vision to blur as he blinked away the insufferable nuisance.

For not the first time, he glanced at the crowd to see Lady Patience—her eyes wide and her own hands balled into fists at her sides—as she watched him. Though the crowd was loud with their cheers and taunts, Patience was like a stone statue. She didn’t champion either fighter nor did she even so much as move. How many rounds had he glimpsed her standing thusly? Five? Six? More?

Every part of Sin wished he didn’t have to do the one thing that brought her anguish and disappointment.

And soon, she’d learn that he’d lied about his future intentions.

Holstrom called for the next round to commence, and Sin moved aggressively toward Parsons. It was time the match came to an end…and Sin had every intention of being deemed the victor. Povolti had bested him rather easily, only three rounds into their match, but Sin had learned much from his lessons with Patience. Enough, at least, to best his current opponent.

The opportunity presented itself a few minutes into the round.

Parsons swayed on his feet, and his fists dropped to his sides, giving Sin ample time to advance on the man before his defenses rose again.

It was either take his shot now or face more rounds. Sin had to beat Parsons to the punch. Literally.

Sin bobbed, weaved, and threw a corkscrew punch into his opponent’s side, the exact place where his blow had landed in the first round. Parsons had appeared dazed for the last several rounds, and Sin wasn’t brutal enough to send his winning punch to the man’s head, especially with Patience’s warnings about head injuries fresh in Sin’s thoughts.

Retreating, Sin watched as Parsons stumbled sideways before righting himself, only to careen the other direction and into the crowd.