Page 54 of Earl of St. Seville

Both Merit and Valor spoke at the same time, and Sin chuckled at their comical expressions. Valor, ever the eldest, was affronted, while Merit’s eyes widened with utter shock.

“How is this the first time we are hearing of this?” Valor demanded.

“It is not a situation that needs to be discussed for fear of being overheard.” Merit shoved at his brother and gestured at the window and Coventry’s driver above. “We can discuss this later, perhaps in private. Mayhap you can invite us to your club, St. Seville.”

“My club?” Whatever did the men speak of? Sin no more had a club than he did coins to plant crops on Brownsea.

“You know…” Merit nodded at Sin’s jacket. “The Wicked Earls’ Club.”

“I cannot—”

“Come now, my lord,” Valor prodded. “As soon as I inherit the Desmond earldom, I will petition Coventry for membership. But until then…”

“I meant I am not part of Coventry’s group,” Sin sighed. “The earl is a friend, was a friend of my father’s. He is helping me while I’m in London.”

Valor rolled his eyes, and Merit stared expectantly.

“I am sorry I cannot be of help.” Sin turned to glance out the window as one of the lights on the second floor extinguished. “I think it is best we hurry before Lady Patience retires to her bed.”

“Of course.” Valor pulled the latch, and the door opened. “We will drive round to the front and hurry up to Merit’s chambers to open the window for you.”

Sin nodded and stepped out of the carriage, his boots landing in a puddle of mud from the recent rain. Glancing up, he saw that the clouds were pulling away, and the moon shone through, lighting the path in front of him. The last time he’d been in the Desmond gardens, the night had been pitch black.

“Good luck, St. Seville,” Valor called as the carriage started down the alleyway and out of sight.

Sin would need more than mere luck to convince Patience to hear what he had to say. She was justified in despising him. He’d deceived her and had prayed his lies would remain hidden until he fled London…like a coward.

Pulling the collar on his coat up to block the breeze from touching his exposed neck, Sin ducked his head and started for Lady Patience’s townhouse and the climb that would either see him injured in the rose bushes or standing before a woman he had no right to care about.

The climb down had been simple enough as he’d found foot and handholds readily enough, but going up, after his hours of fighting, seemed daunting and risky.

Lady Patience was worth the risk, though. If she forgave him, he would use the purse prize he’d won in Seven Dials to keep his people provided for until spring came and then he’d find another way—something besides pugilism—to bring his estate and people back from ruin.

The mud sloshed under his boots, and a single cloud drifted over the moon, momentarily darkening the garden before him.

The house wasn’t far away, but it seemed, no matter how fast he walked, he’d never reach it—or Patience. Were she and Desmond still arguing? Was she preparing for bed? Had she already slipped beneath the covers, her eyes heavy with tears?

Sin exited the muddy path that wound through the garden’s shrubbery to the expanse of lawn that separated him from the townhouse beyond.

His steps faltered when he caught sight of a lone figure in the middle of an open area.

A woman.

It was far too late for a servant to be about the gardens, and the temperatures were plummeting as morning approached.

His heart knew the woman before his mind did.

Her face was turned toward the night sky, and as the clouds moved, revealing the moon once more, the twinkling twilight rained down on her. Her dark brown hair, still tied back at the base of her neck, shimmered. Her lithe body shook, and Sin realized Patience was sobbing. Not loud, wailing bursts of anguish but soft gut-wrenching weeping.

And it was all because of him.

He drew closer but remained quiet. He was intruding on a private moment, something he wasn’t supposed to witness. Yet Sin would rather cast himself from the rocky cliffs of Brownsea Island and into the roaring, twisting, churning ocean below than take his eyes off Patience.

There was a startling beauty there despite her anguish.

Not her pain, never that, but in the way the hurt seeped from her as she cried, almost as if it left her and escaped into the night. He wanted to ask her the secret to letting it all go, to accepting the things you had no power over and moving forward.

He had no doubt that that was exactly what she was doing out in the garden all alone.