Earl 0f St. Seville (Wicked Earls' Club Book 11)

by Christina McKnight

  “You are not coming to the fight,” he argued. Southlund’s House was one thing. But Seven Dials? Grown men were not guaranteed safety in such neighborhoods. The risks for a woman were only compounded.

  “What was my first condition?” She set her fists on her hips.

  “I will listen and heed your advice,” he mumbled. “But you cannot mean to journey to such an unsavory area. You said so yourself, even your father is hesitant to travel there.”

  She smirked, and he realized she held the upper hand. “It will not be difficult to secure the directions to the fight, and you will thank me for attending if things end as your last match did.”

  He shook his head, vigorously, but suspected further argument would fall on deaf ears. “You must think of your reputation.”

  “Women attend prizefights regularly. And besides, pugilism is not a taboo sport in society, it is widely accepted, and this will hardly be my first—or hundredth—fight. My mother took me along to many of her pupils’ matches.” She started for the front of the club. “This will be no different for me.”

  Sin clenched his jaw to stop from smiling. At some point, her way of throwing comments over her shoulder as if what she said was how things would be—and he need only nod and follow—had become endearing and expected, not heavy-handed as most of society thought.

  Yet, unlike his association with Holstrom, Sin was in a position to deny her.

  Chapter 11

  Patience couldn’t help but smile, nor did she attempt to hide the bounce in her step as she alighted from her carriage and started toward the door to her family’s townhouse. There had been so many emotions—grief, loss, heartache—coursing through her when she arrived at Southlund’s House. She’d despaired at the thought of making it through an entire morning of training without breaking down in tears before the earl. However, she’d done it. The hours had flown by as if they were only minutes.

  Caution had been cast aside as she was wont to do, and she’d taken a risk.

  And, perhaps because of it, she returned home with a newfound sense of contentment. A weight had lifted from her shoulders. The pain of losing her mother still burrowed deep in her heart; however, something akin to…hope?...blossomed, as well. It was shocking that a few hours spent at Southlund’s House could cause such a transformation within her.

  She’d faced a huge hindrance she’d avoided since her mother’s death—with Sin by her side, though he wasn’t aware of it—and she’d survived. Thrived even. Southlund’s House belonged to her and her family, and Patience had proven, even if only to herself, that she could return to the place her mother cherished, find meaning and understanding in the sport her mother loved, even if her goal in life was to end what her mother held so dear. She’d pledged to herself and her family that she would never venture into the building again, that she’d spend her life until her final breath, speaking out on the dangers of pugilism. If her mother had known the risks and ailments she faced, would she still have loved the sport?

  Patience was uncertain. Her mother had always been a woman free from the oppression that many people were crushed under due to their social class—she’d been raised in the poorest area of London and taken up a career no society lady would ever dare. The Countess of Desmond hadn’t allowed anything to hold her back. Perhaps Patience was more akin to her mother than she’d realized.

  If nothing else, she’d been overwhelmed by her mother’s presence in the large building. She’d even found that she still relished the physical activity pugilism demanded of her body. The give and take. The side-to-side movements. The exertion necessary to tire your opponent.

  The hours had passed with a swiftness that surprised Patience as she and Daniels sparred, leaving Sin to stand at the edge of the ring and watch until it was his turn. And he’d been a formidable partner, to be certain, yet once she began her sparring with Sin, she’d found herself transported back to their time in his private chambers. The way his bare skin had rippled under her touch. She’d been as distracted as he claimed to be when she threw the crushing blow to his jaw. She hadn’t meant to injure him, and she’d been going easy with her jabs and punches the entire match. She knew he’d done the same, both frightened of harming one another.

  And she would do it all over again tomorrow…and with any luck, the next five days until Sin was called to Seven Dials. She would push him, demand he train hard before having some rest before the fight.

  Her heart still raced with exhilaration. She’d been so preoccupied with it all that she’d utterly forgotten to inquire after his moniker—Sin.

  “Good day, Lady Patience,” Donaldson, the Desmond butler greeted, holding the door open for her.

  “Good day to you, too.” If the servant were taken aback by Patience’s jovial mood and appearance, he did not let on. “Wonderful day, is it not?”

  “Of course, my lady.” He hesitated for a moment before closing the door. “Your father, along with Lord Valor and Mr. Merit Lane await you in the study.”

  “Await me?” The bounce in her step faltered. She’d known her brothers were due to return to town any day, but why would they seek an audience with her immediately and not wait until supper? Or pester her in her room? Their mutual relationship was far less formal than being summoned to the study. “Whatever for?”

  “I have not been apprised of that; however, I was instructed to send you directly to them when you arrived home.”

  “Thank you.” Patience debated seeking out her chambers to change her gown before meeting with her father and brothers but decided against it. If something were amiss, Patience wanted to know with all due haste. And if she’d done something to garner their irritation or anger, their ire would only increase if she dawdled. Never the less, she was overjoyed to see her brothers, no matter the reasons for their impatience. “I will attend them straight away.”

  “I will let the housekeeper know to bring tea,” the servant said with a smile.

  Patience glanced in the hall mirror on the way to her father’s study, pausing to inspect her hair. Several long tendrils had worked their way free of the knot at the back of her neck and hung over her shoulders. Her skin glowed from physical activity, but beyond that, it was only her simple skirts and plain blouse that indicated that she’d been up to anything abnormal. Her father knew she had departed that morning to visit Southlund’s House. She had no reason to hide that fact, and if he asked, she’d inform him that she was instructing the Earl of St. Seville in the finer art of bare-knuckle boxing. Her driver and maid had accompanied her to the club, as was proper, though Patience need not share that she’d bidden her companion to await her in the carriage. Nothing untoward had occurred, at least not that morning at the club.

  And her father had no knowledge of her whereabouts the previous night, but she was fairly certain he’d find fault and scandal in her visiting Sin’s private chambers at the Albany. But there was little chance he knew of that unless her driver had tattled on her.

  Patience doubted that, as well. The servant would surely be fearful of losing his position if her father ever learned of the escapade, not that she ever wished to jeopardize someone’s position within her household. Allowing a lady to go gallivanting about town, entering a private men’s-only lodging house…the gossips would have fodder for years if they learned of Patience’s goings-on.

  Thankfully, she’d reached a certain level among the ton where no one would pay her the slightest mind even if she arrived at the opera or Vauxhall in nothing but her underpinnings and stockings. Perhaps her standing as a societal outcast came in useful from time to time, as long as her known activities did not stray too far into scandalous territory.

  Her footsteps made no sound as she traversed the hall to her father’s study.

  She lifted her clenched fist—a tweak of pain from her morning’s sparring traveled through her fingers and into her hand—and knocked on the closed door.

  “Enter,” her father called, his voice sounding far away, distract
ed. It wasn’t uncommon for him, and had truly become the norm since her mother’s death.

  Present but not altogether there.

  Alive but not living.

  Hearing but not listening.

  The Earl of Desmond, once a loving, nurturing father, could rarely be bothered to attend to his children. The change had been glaringly obvious directly after his wife’s passing; however, now, it was like he’d always been as such. Many times, Patience thought he only delivered her pamphlets to be out of her sight.

  Patience entered the room to see her father in his usual place behind his desk and Merit and Valor taking up space on the two chaise lounges close to the hearth, leaving Patience to choose from the two straight-backed, hard-seated chairs before her father.

  “Good day, Patience.” Her father didn’t bother to lift his stare from the papers on his desk. “Do take a seat.”

  Patience glanced at her elder brothers, hoping one would take pity on her and allow her a place on a lounge, but neither would meet her stare as they remained silent. Her warm greeting died on her lips.

  “I shall stan—”

  “Sit.” Her father’s command echoed in the room, and both her brothers turned sideways glances at her. “There is something troubling I’d like to discuss with you.”

  “With Merit and Valor present?” she squeaked, her bright mood fading quickly.

  He sighed, finally bringing his head up to meet her stare. “After what I heard today, I am certain your brothers being present for this conversation is the least of your worries.”

  His words held a hard edge that Patience hadn’t heard in years. She was torn between being excited that some semblance of her old father had returned and leery of what he’d heard and what he had to say. Nevertheless, when he gestured to the chair before him, Patience sank into it, the stiff, straight back biting into her shoulder blades.

  “I received a very interesting correspondence this morning.”

  “Oh,” Patience said. “I do hope it was interesting in a positive way.”

  Her father cleared his throat before continuing. “Patience, would you agree I give you freedoms not allowed other women of your tender age?”

  “Yes.” Her chest tightened. “And I am very grate—”

  “Would you say that with that freedom there is an unspoken agreement between us?” His eyes narrowed, and Patience noticed, perhaps for the first time, how he’d aged in the last several years. “And, in turn for you respecting society’s rules for young ladies, I agreed to distribute your pamphlets.”

  “Of course,” she said hesitantly. “Is this about going to Southlund’s House this morning?”

  “Did you inform me of your intent to visit the club?”

  “Yes.”

  “Then that is in keeping with our unspoken agreement, is it not?” he asked, his voice quiet and unhurried.

  “Y—es,” she conceded.

  He folded his arms on the desk in front of him. “Mayhap you should ponder where you’ve been recently that you have not told me about.”

  Patience’s heart skipped a beat, and she clutched her hands tightly in her lap as she made a show of thinking though her movements over the last several days. The truth was, she’d been a couple of places—Bedford Square, the Albany, and Sin’s private chambers—she hadn’t told her father about. And she had no plans to admit to them now.

  “Did you accost Lady Holstrom in her own home?” he seethed.

  His seriousness only served to incite deep chuckles from Merit and Valor.

  Patience pivoted in her seat, her narrowed stare pinning Merit and then Valor, quieting them instantly. They might be the elder siblings—and male—but they’d learned long ago not to poke fun at their youngest sibling.

  “No, Father.” Patience kept her voice level. “I did not accost Lady Holstrom, I only attempted—“

  “Lord Holstrom has proclaimed the opposite.” He fell silent and stared at his desk.

  Belatedly, Patience realized he was rereading a correspondence.

  “He also informed me that you and he were embroiled in a verbal altercation in the hall outside his office…at the same soirée.”

  Patience snorted. “I would not go so far as to call it a verbal altercation.”

  The earl’s fist landed sharply on his desk, halting Patience’s words. “I must say, I am inclined to believe Holstrom.”

  “Father, this is preposterous,” Patience fumed, leaning over the desk that separated them, her stare begging her father to disregard whatever Holstrom—the scoundrel—had written. “I merely wanted a word with the lord, and he did not favor a meeting with me.” He held up his hand to silence her but Patience would not be quieted, not if it meant a man such as Holstrom gained the upper hand in her household. “If you do not believe me, inquire the truth of the matter from the Earl of St. Seville.”

  “St. Seville?” her father mumbled. “What does he have to do with any of this?”

  “He happened upon Holstrom and me in the hall.” Patience sat back, crossing her arms. “I am certain he will tell you that what I speak is truth.”

  “What makes you think I would take St. Seville’s word on a matter as grave as this?”

  “I cannot think why you would believe Lord Holstrom over your daughter; however, here we are.”

  Her retort did as expected, causing her father to raise from his seat with frustration. “It is not only his concerns with you at the soirée, Patience. I can overlook such trivial instances as that.”

  Patience was suddenly alert and wary. He thought her actions at the soirée trivial even though she’d deceived him into believing she hadn’t brought her pamphlets to the gathering?

  “Then I must confess, I am uncertain why you are vexed with me.”

  He returned to his chair. “Where were you last evening?”

  “At what time, specifically?”

  “Do not play coy, Patience,” he thundered, causing both Merit and Valor to spring from their lounges. “I will only ask the question one more time. Where were you last evening?”

  If the information were coming from Holstrom, then the only place he knew of her being was Bedford Square. He couldn’t know she’d returned Sin to his lodging—and accompanied him inside. Could he?

  Having her trailed wasn’t something Lord Holstrom seemed prone to do.

  However, having Sin followed after the prizefight seemed at least plausible.

  “I was at Bedford Square for a short time.” It was best to only admit the smallest of her infractions, especially if her father weren’t any the wiser about her two evenings stationed outside the Albany and her even more scandalous time within the lodging house. “There was a match between two acclaimed pugilists. I was only there for a short time, and my driver accompanied me.”

  “I was unaware you were leaving the townhouse at all.”

  Patience wanted to tell him that he’d be much more informed if he exited his office with more regularity when he was home other than to find sleep and chaperone Patience to social gatherings, but she kept her mouth shut. Bringing him to anger would not benefit her in any way, and she still needed to slip from the house unnoticed for the upcoming fight in Seven Dials, not to mention it would be necessary for her to visit Southlund’s House for further training. She could not risk having her father take a keener interest in her comings and goings.

  It was best to make amends and promise that she’d not do anything so reckless again.

  Her apology stuck in her throat, though. Outright lying to her father was something she’d immediately regret.

  “I will do my best to keep you abreast of my plans in the future, Father.” She lowered her head for good measure, hoping he took the gesture as resignation and not a means of hiding her face from his all too perceptive stare. There had been a time that a mere glance from her father would be enough for Patience to spill whatever secrets she held. Now was not the time to risk finding out if he still had the skill to draw information from her. �
��I am sorry if my actions caused you any trouble.”

  “For heaven’s sake, girl,” he sighed, the tension leaving him. “I love you to distraction”—an odd turn of phrase for her father to use—“and if anything or anyone harmed you, I would be adrift. You are my youngest, Patience, and your mother’s favorite—”

  “What?” Valor shouted with fake outrage.

  “You jest, Father.” Merit leapt to his feet; though, truly, neither man could be shocked at her father’s words.

  The pair was consistent and predictable if anything.

  “If anything,”—her father’s voice broke, and he swallowed before continuing—“if anything ever happened to you, your mother would never forgive me.”

  In moments such as this, Patience wondered if her father remembered that his countess was gone and not only just momentarily out of the room. Her heart ached all the more for the hurt he suffered each day. Yes, Patience had lost her mother—as had her siblings—but her father had lost the greatest love of his life. He’d never been common stock of nobility. No, the Earl of Desmond had proclaimed his love and adoration for Ivory Bess far and wide long before securing her as his wife. That love had produced five healthy, happy children.

  “I will endeavor to remain above scandal and any hint of gossip, Father.”

  “Oh, fiddle-faddle, girl.” The earl reclined in his seat and pinched the bridge of his nose. “I am not, and never have been, concerned with idle gossip. It is your safety that is paramount and of the utmost concern to me.”

  She stood and hurried around the desk to press a kiss to her father’s cheek. He might shy away from any affection, but that did not mean Patience need do the same.

  “I love you, Father,” she whispered in his ear. “If there was one thing I learned from Mother, it was to avoid danger whenever possible.” Of course, she’d also learned to step inside a punch when necessary, but there was no reason to remind her father of such lessons. “If there is nothing else, may I go?”