Page 47 of Earl of St. Seville

Spectators halted Parsons and pushed him back into the ring.

As the crowd shouted at Parsons, he fell to the ground, his lids drooping closed.

Holstrom started his count, “One…two…three…”

Sin’s defense crumbled, and his fists opened and fell to his sides as he sucked in large gulps of air. Blood trailed down his chin and dripped onto his chest.

Abject horror etched Patience’s face as she turned, her body trembling. The reaction disappeared in the blink of an eye, and she rushed toward him at the same time the crowd let loose with their pent-up shouts, some in celebration of bets won and others of money lost.

It was only when she didn’t stop before him but threw herself at his chest that Sin sprang into action, catching her as she landed against him and wrapped her arms around his neck.

Her heart beat against his chest, in time with his own, and her blue-grey eyes stared up to meet his.

He longed to reassure her that he was well and mostly unharmed, but the words stuck in his throat at the unexpected feel of her body pressed against his.

She trembled again, and Sin was helpless to keep his body under control as it shivered along with hers.

“Tell me you are well,” she breathed, the scent of her evening meal lingering between them. “The blood, there is so much blood, I”—Her words cut off as a sob escaped—“I would never forgive myself if something grave happened to you.”

“I am well enough.” He brushed his fingers down her cheek but pulled his hand back quickly before his blood marred her exquisite, creamy skin. “I am whole, and it is over.”

Sin promised silently that Patience would never be present to witness him fight again. It was too much, too excruciating to see her like this. His head spun when he thought about what she’d go through if he lost again. He could not put her through it.

He slowly lowered her to the ground, never removing his stare from hers.

But when her feet touched the hard-packed dirt, the connection between them broke, and the cheers from the spectators invaded their brief moment of privacy. People pushed forward to give Sin their congratulations and shake his hand or clap him on the back for a fight well won.

One man stepped directly in between him and Patience, bringing a growl from Sin. The offender gave a gruff hear-hear before beating a hasty retreat.

Next, it was Holstrom at his side, pulling at his elbow to dislodge Sin from the crush.

Patience smiled weakly and gestured for Sin to speak with Holstrom.

“I will wait for you outside,” she said. “My carriage isn’t far.”

He could only nod because he knew bloody well what Patience expected him to do, what Sin had promised he’d do.

Turning to follow Holstrom, Sin could not allow Patience to witness his guilt.

She wouldn’t hear the conversation between him and Holstrom.

As he followed the lord toward the area farthest from the crowd, they both paused to watch Parsons being assisted from the building and out the same door he and Sin had entered through. There was a physician waiting in the back room to see to both fighters if necessary, and Sin supposed Parsons would be taking advantage of the good doctor.

Perhaps it would be wise to have the man tend to Sin’s cut knuckles and broken lip, as well.

“Well done, St. Seville,” Coventry said when he, Davenport, and Harrington joined Sin and Holstrom. “I told these two simpletons they were misguided in wagering against you.”

“It isn’t as if we do not have the funds to lose,” Harrington mumbled. “But it is still crushing.”

“Coventry,” Holstrom chuckled the deep echo of a satisfied man. “I must say, your lord here had the heart of a true prizefighter.”

“Did I not tell you in my letter? His first showing wasn’t great; however, give him a good scolding, and some incentive, and look what he accomplishes.”

Sin focused his attention on Coventry and Holstrom’s feet as his temper flared. They spoke as if he were nothing but livestock taken to auction—whipped and taunted into performing as he should. What other option did Sin have?

Forego competing in any future matches, take his prize money, and return to Brownsea Island only to be in dire straits by the next winter? It was almost too much to bear, and would only serve to harm his family.

Holstrom held out a purse to Sin. “Your prize,” he said, giving the velvet bag a shake when Sin didn’t immediately snatch it from him. “Well earned. The next fight should provide a purse twice—or even thrice—this amount.”