Perhaps his mistake had been thinking he could honor his promise to his family and not hurt anyone in the process. Never had his plans included meeting a woman such as Lady Patience. Hearing her heartbreaking tale and then embarking on the exact path that would bring it all back to her.
He longed to apologize. He should apologize.
His course in London could not be altered for a woman who would soon be out of his life. He was in town to secure the money needed to save his family.
Sin had every intention of fighting again.
Desperation and shame brought a sheen of sweat to his palms.
It was no longer all about saving his family. Now, he owed Holstrom, who’d lost a great deal of money when Povolti had struck Sin down. He could not return to Brownsea Island more heavily indebted than when he left. It was unthinkable.
Lady Patience wouldn’t understand. She was the daughter of a wealthy earl, not the heir to an impoverished estate with too many dependents to number. If he failed, it would mean that his mother and sister would suffer, and his people would either starve or be forced to find another place to call home. All to appease a woman who would likely never want for anything in her life.
He could sense her stare on him, and again, he had the urge to beg for her forgiveness. It would be an empty outpouring on his part, though. Sin had been a fool to think he alone could save his family. His father, despite his best efforts, hadn’t possessed the gumption to lift his destitute estate from the shambles he’d created for them—why did Sin think he could do any better?
“Sin,” Patience whispered into the silence that had overtaken them. “Is that what you prefer to be called?”
There was no warmth in her voice, no sense of familiarity, and he knew he deserved any tongue-lashing that might come his way. If nothing else, at least for his betrayal of her most private pain. The loss of her mother had wounded her deeply, and Sin had listened to her anguish, yet it hadn’t stopped him from pursuing his course of action. She’d shared a piece of herself with him…and only him. It didn’t matter that they were little more than strangers, her confession had bound them together in a way he’d never known with another.
“It is what my family—and my close friends—call me.” Suddenly, he desperately wanted her to call him by the name, as well.
“It fits you,” she sighed.
His eyes snapped to hers in the dimly lit carriage, and the chill that had overtaken him after the rush from the fight fled. He wanted to demand that she continue. “How does it fit me,” he longed to ask, but the carriage had halted, and she drew back the material keeping them from view. He should call to the driver and ask him to continue on, take them to Bedford Square and back again in hopes that she’d continue talking. Despite her bluster and bravado, there was much to Patience that Sin had yet to discover. Namely, why he felt the overwhelming need to please her despite their short acquaintance.
“We have arrived, my lord.”
Sin should thank her for seeing him to his lodgings and depart. Return to the solitude of his room in the Albany to see to his injuries and ponder how he’d lost his first match.
“You know that brute strength alone is not enough to succeed as a pugilist.” She set her narrowed glare on him, the animosity clear in her tone as if his very attempt at boxing offended her. She turned back toward the window before uttering her next words. “You are a fool if you think your sheer stature is enough to secure a spot as a prizefighter.”
“I have never been one to think anything comes easily, my lady,” he retorted. Except he’d done exactly that coming to London. “Though my brute strength—as you call it—does provide some advantage during my matches.”
She chuckled, the sound deep and rich with zero hesitation. “If you say so.”
“Are you saying my size and muscles are a disadvantage?”
“No.” She paused, and Sin thought she might not continue, but she sighed. “As loath as I am to admit it, I learned much from my mother. Your size gives your opponent a bigger target, making accuracy not as important. Also, your heavy frame decreases your agility.”
Working the estate, his raw strength had always been enough. Never had he shirked from the physical demands of his land and people. Even in his youth, Sin could lift the weight of three farm hands. He’d relied on his strength more than he now cared to admit in front of this small, scowling female. “I have spent many years training at my estate. While I was not familiar with London’s prizefighting rules, I am not an utter simpleton with regards to pugilism.”
She huffed. “Obviously, you did not receive the correct type of training.”
The carriage door swung open, and Lady Patience held out her hand, her driver assisting her down to the walk in front of the Albany. Thankfully, the street was nearly abandoned this late, most men already having departed for their evening entertainments and the hour too early for them to be returning home.
He had little choice but to follow her as she marched up to the front door of the Albany and nodded to the footman who opened it. The servant visibly paled at the sight of Lady Patience as she whisked into the building. It could not be uncommon for the fairer sex to visit the lodging house, but one so obviously of the peerages was probably rare.
She paused inside the foyer and glanced over her shoulder at him. “Which way, my lord?”
“Pardon?” he gulped.
“To your room,” she said slowly. “Which way?”
When Sin didn’t immediately respond, Lady Patience pivoted toward the footman with a wide smile. “Sir, as you can see, the Earl of St. Seville has been injured—possibly suffering from an addled brain—and I must get him to his room.”
“Up the main stairs, third door on the left, my lady.” He bowed low. “Do pull the bell cord if you or my lord are in need of anything further.”
“Very good,” Lady Patience inclined her head to the servant, and Sin watched as the man blushed and hurried off down the hall.
Sin stood in stunned silence as she started for the stairs, her chin held high. Anyone who saw her—and once again, he was thankful that no one but the footman was present to see them enter—would think she owned the Albany.
Pausing, she glanced back at him, and Sin’s heart about leapt from his chest.
She intended to venture to his room. Certainly, she did not mean to go so far as to enter his private chambers?
“Do you need assistance to master the stairs, my lord?” Her tone was too cordial, especially when one factored in his deceptions. She was almost teasing him. “I can call the servant back if you think it is needed.”
Sin cast off the shock and disbelief of Lady Patience entering his lodging house and trailed her up the stairs, doing his best to keep his eyes from her hips and bottom, which were at eye level. Perhaps Povolti had managed to rattle his mind with his hits, after all. A headache was, as Patience had stated, not long from setting upon him.
They walked side by side, his hand grazing hers only once as they traversed the wide hall and halted before his door.
“This is my room.” Sin immediately regretted his obvious proclamation. He cleared his throat. “Thank you for assisting me to my lodging.”
“Do you have a friend you can call upon?”
“I am new to London, but do not worry.” He glanced down at his boots. “This will not be my first occasion tending my own wounds.”
“The jarring blow to your head may cause delayed impairments or mask a more serious injury.” She leaned up on her tiptoes and stared into his eyes. “Are you dizzy? Is your stomach roiling? Are you overly tired?”
Sin wanted to laugh. No one had made such a fuss over him since he was in knee breeches. “I am not dizzy nor is my stomach unsettled. As far as my exhaustion, I find myself in a rare state of extreme awareness.”
He would rather perish than admit that his keen alert nature had naught to do with the prizefight and everything to do with the simple fact that Lady Patience—her deep brown hair swept
up into a loose knot—was standing directly outside his bedchamber door.
“Nevertheless,” she chastised, her tone severe. “I will remain until I am confident you are well enough for sleep.”
“Y—y—you mean to remain here? At my lodging?” Sin stood before his door, barring her entrance, his heart thumping loud enough to echo down the stairs and into the foyer.
Lady Patience—in his room—alone. It was far more intimate than their time in her carriage.
She glanced up and down the hall. “Unless you will agree to accompany me to Marsh Manor, then yes, I will remain at the Albany.”
Men would be returning within the next few hours from their evening entertainments and, at that point, there would be no possibility of her slipping from the house unnoticed.
Boots sounded on the stairs, and Sin turned quickly and fumbled with the latch on his door. At least if they were in his room with the door firmly shut, no one would spy her. Sin would deal with getting her safely back to her carriage when he was certain no one would witness her presence.
Once inside—with the door shut—Sin stood with his back to it, afraid to enter the room any farther, despite Lady Patience’s ease. She glanced about the room before moving toward the hearth and lightly running her finger along the mantel, pivoting to face the large four-post bed in the far corner. For the first time, Sin flushed with embarrassment. His room at the Albany was nothing more than a large bedroom that also served as his dining room, sitting room, and study. His wardrobe was only a small cubby. Thankfully, the Albany offered servants to act as his valet when needed because Sin’s limited funds would not have extended to cover a larger suite of rooms nor lodging for his servant above stairs.
He could not watch her any longer, her slow, deliberate survey of his private space. He’d found lodging at the Albany, but besides his things lingering about the room, this place was not his, nor did it represent him.
Sin moved to his dressing closet and the looking glass that hung a few inches lower than necessary for a man of his height. The fight had split his lip open again as she’d mentioned, and Sin suspected the cut would not heal now without leaving its mark. His left eye had a bit of black budding to the surface, indicating the excellent placement of Povolti’s final blow. The prizefighter had surpassed Sin’s expectations, and he was not fool enough to deny he’d underestimated his opponent. The fighter had been light on his feet in a way Sin would never be able to replicate. Swiveling his head from side to side, Sin hissed at the pain that shot down his neck and into his back. A thin trail of blood had escaped his ear and dried as it traveled to his neck. He’d fought against many men on Brownsea Island, even journeyed to Dorset to test his skills on the mainland; however, never had he worried about injuries. Or worse, death.
“I do not understand, my lord.”
He stared into the mirror, not at himself but at Lady Patience behind him as she dipped a cloth into the bowl on the washstand. She wrung the excess water from the material and stared at him.
Her words were lost to him. The only thing he saw was the elegant curve of her neck, the rosebud shape of her red lips, and the slate grey of her ever-changing eyes as she watched him in turn. Even in the subtle glow of the candles situated about his room, Sin could see the confident glint in her eyes, and the sureness of her steps as she crossed the room to stand before him. She was a woman filled with the resilient nature that came from knowing her worth, her inner strength, and her unwavering belief that if tested, she could care for herself.
Had Sin ever possessed such confidence? Surely, he’d been filled with grandiose ideals and drive when he made the decision to journey to London, but he’d quickly learned the hard way that being in a foreign city, surrounded by strangers, made him far too dependent on the few people he was acquainted with. Something Sin had now come to realize was a grave mistake.
She placed the wet cloth to his lip, lightly pressing to cleanse the cut.
Once more, she captivated him. Not her beauty, for that had never been in question, but her desire to help him even though she’d lived through the horrors of her mother’s ailments. Patience had followed him to Bedford Square and had thrown caution to the wind, all while being at his side when he needed her. Sin could have made it back to the Albany on his own, but having Patience hurry to his aid was a measure of comfort he hadn’t experienced since leaving Brownsea Island and his family a few weeks prior. He hadn’t realized he missed the closeness he and his mother and sister shared.
“I do not understand,” she repeated, moving the cloth to the blood near his ear.
“What?” It was the only word he could utter as he once more focused on the sensation of her hands on his skin. When had she discarded her gloves? Sin glanced in the mirror once more to see their white lengths crumpled near the washbowl. “What do you not understand?”
“You said you were in London to help your family.”
“I am,” he replied without hesitation. “I did not lie about my purpose for being in town.”
“Why then would you put yourself—your health and well-being—in jeopardy?” Her stare never left his neck, and her soft, warm touch brushed his shoulder as her hands fell back to her sides. “It would not serve your family well if you were gravely injured.”
“It is what I came to London for.” Shame coursed through him at the confession. “My estate is destitute; my family and people will continue to suffer if I cannot earn the coin for future crops and repairs to my land and holdings.”
“And you think to gain the necessary funds by prizefighting?” The disbelief in her tone was akin to a dagger to his heart—and his pride. Sharper than any punch.
It had been the extent of his plan, and as unorthodox as it was, he longed to share it with her. If only to help her understand. “I was not in possession of enough funds to invest in a business venture to attempt to double or triple my share. I wasn’t blessed with an education at one of the elite universities of England, nor have I associated with many men of my class. I lack the means to increase my family’s coffers in any way but with my talent in the ring.”
Surely, she could understand that. However, he couldn’t bear to meet her stare. She would see his embarrassment, his desperation—and his waning hope.
So many people depended on him…and him alone.
“It is something I excelled at on my estate,” Sin said with a shrug, attempting to downplay the importance of his words despite their significance for both him and his people. “And I had read news clippings about how men—and women—could earn their weight in pounds and change their entire lives by entering several matches.”
“It is not too late to change your course.” She moved back to the washbowl, her steps slow and measured. “I am certain my father can help, if it is only money you need.”
Sin shook his head, wishing it were that simple. The option of taking a loan, borrowing money from either the bank or another wealthy peer, had been discarded quickly. While his land and people might be destitute, at least they were beholden to no one. Only Sin held the note to his lands and that of his people. If they starved, they would starve together, yet they would still remain in control of their land. No one, not the bank or another, could take that away from them.
And he had no intention of letting his people go hungry.
“Prizefighting is not the only way,” she sighed.
“Unfortunately, my choices are even more limited now.” Sin remembered Holstrom’s parting words before he and Lady Patience had left Bedford Square.
“How so?”
“Lord Holstrom put forth the investment as my backing against Povolti. Not only do I find myself without funds, but I also owe Holstrom.” Sin was in the position he’d worked so hard against. His greatest fear—returning home with less than he departed with—stared him straight in the face, mocking him. “I am indebted to him and must fight again—and win—to repay my obligation.”
“My father, he would…” She whispered quietly, k
nowing he would never accept her charity nor her father’s assistance.
This was his wrong to right, not hers.
“No, Patience.” Her name fell from his lips as if he’d uttered it a thousand times before. “I will not call upon your charity.”
“There must be something I can do to help,” she pleaded.
Sin studied her profile in the mirror as she gently set the cloth beside the washbowl and turned back to face him. Her eyes sparkled in the glow from the wall sconce above her head.
“You owe me nothing.” Sin pivoted to face her, done with the distance between them. “You can help me by returning home and keeping away from men like Holstrom and me. And places like the Albany.”
Her head fell forward, and he regretted his stern tone. Hurting her was not his intention, yet there was no other way to keep her from trouble. Did she not recognize the danger she was in being alone in a gentleman’s private chambers?
If they were discovered, Patience would never escape the scandal. It would mar her entire family, all while Sin was free to return to Brownsea Island without fear of the same following him. It was unjust, but the way of things in society.
“Please, Sin.” She took the several steps toward him and grasped his hands. “If you are gravely injured or even killed, I would never forgive myself for allowing it to happen when I could have prevented it. I’ve wished for years that my father had found my mother before he did. Then, perhaps, she would have had other options. There must be something I can do to help. If not money, perhaps…”
“Knowing that you care is enough.” He gently squeezed her hands and grinned. “I will take greater care before I fight again.”
She scoffed. “Take better care? What do you mean by that?”
“I will practice. Mayhap I was too confident in my skill.” Sin searched for a way to reassure her. “Watch other pugilists and learn their secrets.”
Earl 0f St. Seville Page 9
