Page 55 of Earl of St. Seville

She was letting go of the past—her past. Her mother’s illness, her father’s despair, and her own desperate need to right all of society’s wrongs.

Patience had needed this solitary moment, while Sin had misguidedly thought to right all his family’s trouble alone—yet, he’d needed help. Her help.

Slowly, her shoulders straightened, and her chin lowered, and her tear-streaked face came into view. Her eyes were squeezed tight. To keep out the few wayward raindrops or to hold tight to whatever her mind’s eye saw behind her lids, Sin didn’t know.

He did know that he wanted to be there with her…to help her as she’d done for him.

To make right his part of the pain he’d caused.

She sighed—long and deep—and Sin’s heart fractured into a thousand pieces.

How had he ever thought he could survive without her, leave her and London behind…that ever a day existed he could forget a woman such as Lady Patience Lane?

Chapter 18

Patience breathed in deeply and exhaled slowly, begging the ache in her chest to subside; however, it persisted. Would likely stay for some time, much like those endless months following her mother’s passing. Perhaps the ache would never fully disappear, and the piece of her heart that hadn’t left this life with her mother would remain with Sin wherever he journeyed.

The tragic part was that he’d never even know what he’d taken from her.

No, not taken.

She had freely given a portion of herself to him, foolishly thinking he’d nurture and cherish it. She’d outgrown the notion everyone wanted to—or could—be saved, despite her best intentions. If anything, her time in society had taught her that. But she’d allowed her guard to fall.

And this was her punishment.

How could she truly believe she’d given him a portion of herself and yet, never had their lips touched? And now their time together had ended without so much as even a chaste kiss.

It was time she faced it head-on, dealt with her father’s disappointment, made amends with her siblings and decided what direction her life would take in the coming years. Would she move to her family’s country estate and withdraw from society altogether? Could she live a content life without having a cause to champion? Maybe it was long past time she learned.

Patience would not miss London, certainly not; however, she would mourn the distance between herself and her family. Would they visit during the holidays or invite her to return to town to spend the Christmastide celebration with them?

What was the deep of winter like on the island of Brownsea? Did the tides rise? Was the land shrouded by the same gray darkness as London? Did they dine on fish instead of duck and pheasant? Were their soups heavy with crustaceans and fresh vegetables?

Was the crisp breeze from the sea preferable to the coal-tainted air in town?

All things Patience would never know and would be best to keep from dwelling on.

Once she opened her eyes and returned to the house, her moment of mourning would be at an end. Dwelling on something one could not change was a waste of time, though it had taken Patience five long years to realize that fact.

The cold breeze licked at her cheeks, and her nose tingled.

The night grew late, and Patience needed to return inside before the chill settled in her. With any luck, her father would have retired to his private chambers or locked himself away in his study, and she could slip through the house unnoticed. In the morning, she would throw herself at his mercy. No matter what it took, Patience would make things right with her father…she would make it right for everyone. Perhaps she owed Lord Holstrom and his wife an apology, as well as the other gentlemen of the ton she’d harassed over the years.

But not tonight—now, she would retire, though sleep would certainly not drag her down into its inky depths and banish her misdeeds.

Patience hesitantly opened her eyes, the dim night almost too bright after the darkness behind her lids. The sting was a welcome distraction from the emptiness that echoed inside her.

Too quickly, the pain subsided, and her vision focused.

She wasn’t alone in the garden.

“Sin?” Her hushed tone barely traveled farther than her parted lips. “What are you doing here?”

The sight of him, still raw and ravaged from his fight, burned into her memory. She’d never thought to see him again, had never dreamed he’d come to her. Or that her heart would soar at the sight of him, even in his ragged condition.

He was before her in the blink of an eye, and he swept her into his arms—his powerful, comforting embrace—pulling her body against his. Every muscle in his chest and abdomen pressed solidly against her softer flesh as if no barrier lay between them.

Caution prickled within her. “You are injured, Sin. Did the physician examine your hands before you left Seven Dials? I can summon Dr.—”