Earl 0f St. Seville

by Christina McKnight

  But the words died on her lips.

  “It—is—you.” Her embarrassment returned as she stuttered over every word. Patience took a deep breath, attempting to slow her erratic heartbeat at the sight of the brawny man who’d only the night before leapt from a window in her townhouse. It was he, yet he was different. His hair was tied back with a length of cord, dried blood no longer clung to his split lip, and the swelling about his face was not as bad as she’d feared. Perhaps the cold of the night had done him some good. The biggest change, what made her nearly not recognize him, was that he wore a white linen shirt, a cravat, and a jacket. She had to admit, she was a bit disappointed that he was not stripped bare to the waist. “What are you doing here?”

  “I could ask you the same question,” he said. “I think it is very acceptable—and expected—that both of us attend a ball hosted by Lord Holstrom.”

  Damnation. The man had a point.

  He glanced over Patience’s head, which wasn’t difficult as she wasn’t even as tall as his shoulder, and glared at Holstrom. “I am certain you did not mean to insult Lady Patience, Holstrom, is that correct?”

  How long had the man been listening to her conversation with Lord Holstrom? A fresh wave of panic and humiliation had her chest tightening at the same time her stomach churned. She didn’t know how those two sensations could happen simultaneously, but having a stranger listen to the sordid details of her past was too much to think on.

  She continued to stare up at the Earl of St. Seville—she now knew his name—as Holstrom cleared his throat.

  “My sincerest apologies, Lady Patience,” Holstrom muttered, sounding anything but apologetic. “St. Seville, I will see you in my study once you’ve returned the lady to the soirée.”

  Neither Patience nor St. Seville paid Holstrom any mind as his retreating footfalls sounded.

  Her neck ached from being tilted back at such a severe angle, though the other alternative was to stare directly at the man’s chest.

  “The Earl of St. Seville?” she breathed, not sure why it came out as a question.

  “Yes, Sinclair Chambers, at your service.” Neither looked away. “And you are Lord Desmond’s daughter, Lady Patience Lane.”

  There was no question in his words.

  Patience couldn’t stop her smile, remembering him clothed in nothing but his breeches while she stood frozen in her nightgown. Taking a step back, her slipper caught on the back of her long skirts.

  His hand was at her elbow in a flash, steadying her once more.

  Callused fingers clasped her bare upper arms, sending more unfamiliar sensations through her—was it need, desire, yearning?

  “Thank you, my lord.” Suddenly, Patience needed space. Distance between her and St. Seville. Room between her and the clashing emotions coursing through her. Her anger at Holstrom had dissipated the moment the earl touched her. “I think I should return to the ballroom.”

  “I will accompany you.” His stare searched hers in the dim hallway.

  Did he experience the same unexpected emotion at their touch? Certainly not. He was a lord, an earl, a man not unlike those she’d encountered in society. Worldly men who did not hesitate a moment at physical contact.

  “That is not nece—” Patience’s protest was for naught as the man held out his arm, and she laid her gloved hand at the crook of his elbow. Everything about the man caused her common sense to flee. “Er, thank you.”

  He swept his hand at his shoulder, likely a nervous habit for a man with such long hair.

  When they approached the ballroom, music streaming through the open doors, Patience’s pulse settled, and she hoped her cheeks did not remain flushed.

  The music and conversation from the crowded room invaded Patience’s senses, and for a moment, she longed to return to the quiet hallway—and their moment of privacy. It was a ludicrous longing. The earl was here to meet with Holstrom, and that alone should have warned Patience away from the man. And that didn’t even bring into consideration their curious meeting the night before.

  Despite all of it, Patience could not deny the need that’d coursed through her—as unfamiliar and unexpected as it was—when the Earl of St. Seville had merely touched her arm. Security, protection, and…salvation. Every emotion wrapped up in that one touch. A desire she hadn’t known she’d lacked all these years.

  Chapter 4

  Every eye in the room settled on them as Sin and Lady Patience stepped over the threshold and into the Holstrom ballroom. It was the exact scene he’d hoped to avoid—that Coventry said he could avoid. Arrive, meet with Holstrom, and depart.

  Simple.

  He could handle his business in London and keep news of his estate’s empty coffers quiet until the funds were replaced. His mother had warned him of society’s love of gossip, and the imposing sight of him, a stranger, on the arm of Lady Patience Lane would certainly raise some eyebrows and many questions.

  Unfortunately, at over six feet tall with shoulders as broad as most doors, Sin was noticed wherever he went. Add to that his busted lip, swollen nose, and long hair, and he was surprised the ton hadn’t gasped in terror at the sight of him.

  What wasn’t simple—or foreseen—was coming across Holstrom verbally attacking a woman in the hallway of his home. Sin had immediately acquired a distaste for the lord, and that was before he’d discovered that Lady Patience was the object of the man’s scorn. If anyone spoke to his mother or sister in such a disgraceful manner, Sin would be hard-pressed to see the perpetrator properly admonished.

  And Sin planned to do just that…but he must remember that Holstrom was vital to Sin’s plans in London.

  “My lord.” Lady Patience spoke quietly to keep anyone from overhearing them. “Thank you for your gallant assistance with Lord Holstrom. I am in your debt.”

  Her words were lost to him as he took in the peculiar color of her eyes. The night before, he would have told anyone they were gray, but in the glow from the wall sconces, they appeared blue. A lovely, pale shade that contrasted starkly with her rich, dark hair. And her deep blue gown with its high waist, pearl-beaded bodice, and puffed sleeves—this he knew from countless hours listening to his younger sister drone on and on about London fashion—complemented her dark looks superbly.

  How in the bloody hell was anyone looking at him with Lady Patience at his side?

  “I suppose, as was true of our first meeting, our acquaintance is fairly odd in nature.”

  Sin focused on her lips, hoping to better understand what came out of her mouth, but his error in judgment was immediate as the urge to draw her close filled him.

  “My apologies for my odd behavior last night, Lady Patience. I fear you took me by surprise when you appeared in my room.” Why was he offering her an explanation? He wasn’t certain, but he kept speaking. “Although we did not have a proper introduction, I feel it only appropriate to have one now. I am the Earl of St. Seville, Sinclair.”

  “My brother’s room.”

  “Pardon?”

  “I happened upon you in my brother’s room…in my home.” Her eyes widened in mock alarm. “It should have been I who was startled, my lord. As an unarmed lady, that is.”

  “And yet, despite your lack of weapon, you were not.” That had been far more surprising than turning from the open window to find a woman—clad in only a long, white nightgown—standing behind him.

  He was making an arse of himself, and all of the ton was bearing witness. Sin kept his gaze trained on Lady Patience, fearing if he looked up, he’d find Coventry or, worse yet, Desmond watching them.

  “I fretted all night that something dire had happened to you,” she sighed. “You could have been injured during your climb down the wall.”

  “I can care for myself, my lady.”

  “The night was dark and frigid,” she continued. “And there are thieves who set upon unwitting men and women.”

  Sin wanted to chuckle, but the concern that laced her voice, and the disquieting fact t
hat Sin had, indeed, been accosted before meeting Lady Patience, stilled him.

  “I arrived at my accommodations safely enough.” The room buzzed around them as the guests returned to their dancing, talking, and drinking, Sin and Lady Patience forgotten for the moment. “And as of this moment, fears of falling ill due to the cold are unfounded.”

  Silence stretched between them.

  Lady Patience wrung her hands where she clasped them before her and averted her stare.

  “How much did you hear?” she whispered in a rush. “It was meant to be a private conversation between Lord Holstrom and myself.”

  “Only Holstrom’s ungentlemanly retort,” Sin lied. There was something in the way she wouldn’t meet his stare when she asked how long he’d been listening that stopped him from confessing the truth. Hearing her speak of her mother’s illness had been a violation of her privacy, and in a way, Sin could understand. “However, I could not remain unannounced after hearing his vile words.”

  His answer seemed to satisfy her because she nodded slightly, and her hands dropped to her sides.

  There was no doubt that Sin would feel the same if someone overheard his private conversation with Coventry or learned of his estate’s peril.

  “I must go.” Sin heard the regret in his tone and hoped that Lady Patience didn’t recognize it, too. “I do not wish to anger Holstrom further by my tardiness; however, I intend to chastise him once more for his deplorable manners.”

  “That is not necessary, my lord.” She finally brought her stare back to his, and Sin wanted nothing more than to forget about Holstrom, Coventry, and the looming ruination of his estate. “I am quite used to such behavior where Holstrom and his kind are concerned.”

  Was this what Lord Coventry had been speaking of earlier that day? His words sprang to mind: “bluestocking of a daughter.” If Sin were asked, he’d describe Lady Patience as enchanting, passionate, and precocious.

  Thankfully, no one asked Sin for his opinion.

  “Before you go”—Lady Patience loosened the drawstring on her handbag and retrieved a folded note—“take this, please. Give it to Lord Holstrom. Certainly, he will listen to you.” She glanced past him, and her shoulders tensed. “It is past time I return to my father. Thank you again, my lord.”

  He was left to watch her walk away, clutching the folded sheet of paper in his hand. He should be content that his meeting with Holstrom was no longer delayed…but he would not dwell on why he was overwhelmed with discontent as the distance between him and Lady Patience grew.

  * * *

  For the second time in one day, Sin found himself in an unfamiliar room, seated before a man he was unacquainted with. How many years had he lived on Brownsea Island—his entire twenty-eight summers—never meeting anyone new? Fifteen, twenty?

  The room was sparse, furnished only with the necessities a man might need when working or sharing a drink with a comrade. Sin knew well enough he was no friend of Holstrom’s, which suited him perfectly. Besides the massive, finely constructed desk that resided between them—almost a way of showing Sin how superior Holstrom was to him—there were several chairs, a sideboard heavy with decanters, two shelves lined with ledgers, and a large, unlit hearth. The lack of a fire and the cold that hung in the room was likely another ploy Holstrom used to his advantage. Sin, little more than hired help, was not worthy of his host wasting money on heating the room.

  Consequentially, there was little motivation for Sin to impress Lord Holstrom. The man had been reserved and quiet since Sin took the seat across from him. He wasn’t sorry for the way he’d spoken to Lady Patience; however, he at least had the good sense to be ashamed of what Sin had witnessed. It was a start for a man as powerful and wealthy as Holstrom. The day would come when Sin would be in a better position, and showing Lord Holstrom the error of his ways would not put Sin at a disadvantage. Until that day, he had to play by the man’s rules.

  Sin needed Holstrom more than he needed Coventry.

  That hadn’t seemed possible mere hours before.

  “St. Seville, please take a seat,” Holstrom began, setting aside the letter he’d been reading when Sin entered the room. If he’d known he would be made to wait, Sin would have halted outside Holstrom’s study to retrieve the folded paper Lady Patience had given him. Instead, it remained in his jacket pocket for future perusal. He had no intention of handing it over to Holstrom or anyone else. “Lord Coventry has written me about your prowess with fists. However, I am inclined to take his writings of you with a grain of salt due to your”—he nodded at Sin’s split lip—“appearance.”

  “Call me Sin,” he said, ignoring the man’s implication.

  Holstrom’s eyes brightened at Sin’s childhood nickname. It was not as many thought. Sin had nothing to do with him committing any transgressions or any lack of moral character, it was simply easier for his younger sister, Juliette, to pronounce when she was a babe. Unfortunately, or fortunately in this case, the name had stuck. Many read greater meaning into the name, mainly because of Sin’s sheer size and privateer appearance. The dusting of hair on his cheeks and chin, in combination with his long locks, was enough to make most people think he was a swashbuckler and a tyrant of the sea.

  “Sin.” Holstrom tapped his chin. “Sin. I think it suits, especially if you are the skilled pugilist I’ve been told.”

  “I am.” There was no need to say anything further; the man could take Sin at his word or send him away.

  “Why have our paths not crossed until now? I am acquainted with every pugilist worth their salt in all of England—and many from France and beyond.”

  “This is my first time on the mainland, besides going into Dorset for provisions.” Sin despised appearing the uncultured man he actually was; however, there was no other explanation to give. His family had lived away from society since his birth. “My estate is on Brownsea Island.”

  Holstrom sat forward in his chair. “How can you call yourself a prizefighter if your skill hasn’t been tested against that of other elite boxers?”

  “I call myself nothing, my lord,” Sin retorted, reclining in his seat as if Holstrom’s opinion mattered not a whit. “I am an accomplished pugilist. You can arrange a match to gauge my proficiency, but I do not fight for free.”

  Lord Holstrom laughed at that. “Unproven with an arrogance paralleling that of the great Gentleman Jackson. I cannot say my curiosity is not piqued; however, paying your way into a match and putting my coin on the line is much to ask without any proof that you can actually win.”

  “Set up a match with a small purse prize,” Sin said with a shrug.

  “What skilled pugilist would agree to a match worth virtually nothing?”

  “I would suggest you advertise the fight as one that my opponent is certain to win.” Sin reclined farther, resting his entwined fingers at the nape of his neck and tilting his head back to gaze at the ceiling. “Or find another unknown fighter. Either way, I will be victorious, and then you will secure matches for the large prizes I have heard about from Lord Coventry.”

  Holstrom scrutinized him across the expansive desk, and Sin understood why men of his status chose to meet in such rooms, with large distances separating them: Holstrom relished the power and control it gave him. Sin wasn’t as certain about Coventry. Sin never met with his steward or stable master with anything between them. They stood or sat as equals during all their meetings.

  “Will Lady Patience be an obstacle to your success?” Lord Holstrom inquired.

  “Of course not.”

  “That is not what I witnessed in the hallway,” he countered.

  “I would have spoken as I did if you’d been speaking with any member of the fairer sex, my lord.” Sin straightened in his seat as Holstrom scowled. “I also thought it in our best interest to not garner additional notice by Lady Patience if she did not suspect our involvement, though I would be foolish to think our association has escaped her notice after our meeting in the hall.”


  “Discretion is key, especially where Desmond and his daughter are concerned.” Holstrom’s scowl faded as Sin’s actions became clear, or at least what Sin wanted the man to believe. “It is not wise to spark Lady Patience’s temper or suspicion, with her history and such.”

  Besides the prizefights, this was the only topic of conversation that drew Sin’s interest.

  Everyone seemed to speak around Lady Patience, instead of directly about her.

  Temper, eccentric, bluestocking…

  It was nothing Sin had experienced with the lady. She was peculiar, but in a way that kept his attention. Wise but not arrogant. Beautiful but not vain. Forthright but not offensive. Why was it only Sin who noted those qualities?

  “You have convinced me, St. Seville.” Holstrom riffled through papers to his left until he found what he sought. “Yes, here it is. There is a match, two days hence—“

  “What is the prize amount?”

  “Does that matter?” Holstrom growled. “You wanted an opportunity to show your skill. I am giving it to you.”

  “As I said before, I do not fight for free,” Sin retorted, glaring across the desk until Holstrom sighed in resignation. “What is the prize purse?”

  “Ten thousand.” He set the paper aside and smiled. “A small prize, by some standards, but enough for now. Win, and the coin will double, or possibly triple for your next match.”

  It was more than Sin had expected to win for his first fight, but he couldn’t let on, or Holstrom would certainly take advantage of him. Instead, Sin sat forward and appeared to ponder the offer before nodding in acceptance.

  “Excellent.” Holstrom chuckled. “I think our partnership will benefit us both. The buy-in for the fight is two thousand—“

  “Buy-in?” Sin asked. Coventry hadn’t spoken of any such thing.

  “The fighters put in money with the hope of seeing it returned, sometimes tenfold.” The man seemed unconcern with Sin’s surprise. “I will put up your money for this first fight. After that, I will secure matches, and pay your way in, unless you prefer to put up your own money. You will learn the way of things soon enough.”