Earl 0f St. Seville

by Christina McKnight

  “You have led me to believe I have no chance of besting other prizefighters without your assistance,” he said. “So, truly, I have no option but to agree to any condition you set forth.”

  “Very true,” she said, glancing down to cover the pain she suspected was evident in her eyes at being at Southlund’s again. St. Seville was a force of a man, yet he gave in easily to her demands. At any other time, Patience would have been thrown off guard by his ready acquiescence. “This way to the sparring ring.”

  She didn’t wait for his reply, but pushed past him and moved in the direction of the boxing room.

  “That cannot be your only two conditions, my lady!” he called, hurrying behind her.

  “How quickly you break my first rule.” A hint of true laughter rose in her tone. “There is only one final thing, and I cannot think you will deny me it after agreeing to the other two,” Patience threw over her shoulder as she rounded the corner into the sparing room. Thankfully, there was but one man using the area, and he was only standing against the far wall.

  St. Seville caught up with her as she halted several feet into the room.

  “What is the final condition?”

  “Tell me why they call you Sin.” It was likely the condition that piqued her interest the most. Certainly, it was a shortened version of his first name, Sinclair, but a name like Sin did not come without some story—or without some truth behind it.

  Each of her demands came with their own motivation. First and foremost, Patience was acutely concerned that Holstrom, and possibly Coventry, was taking severe advantage of Sin. Both for their own gains. Next, Patience loathed the thought of a fighter being harmed when she could have helped.

  Lastly, he was handsome as sin.

  Never had Patience met a man who captured her notice so fully…and as the daughter of an earl, Patience had gained the acquaintance of nearly every eligible lord in all of England. Every rogue, rake, and scoundrel of worth had been presented to her during her three Seasons. None had left any lasting impression, only disdain and revulsion. Sometimes both at once.

  “There is no grand meaning behind the name, but if that is your final condition, I readily agree.” He moved farther into the room and pulled his white linen shirt over his head, revealing his chiseled chest and broad, muscled shoulders.

  “Oh, I am certain there is a titillating tale behind the name,” Patience muttered, thankful that Sin was far enough away that he didn’t hear her words or the longing behind them. She crossed her arms over her blouse to hide the hardening peaks of her nipples as her cheeks flushed with heat. “Mayhap I am in need of conditions for this bargain, as well.”

  Chapter 10

  Sin took his place at the side of the ring where Patience had bidden him to wait—and watch—as she demonstrated a defense maneuver that she purported would have saved him from his defeat the previous night. The man who’d been in the room when they entered was another trainer who worked with fighters at Southlund’s House, and he kindly stepped in to work with Sin and Patience.

  “It is called the Bess step,” Patience instructed as she maneuvered into the common boxing stance. “First, you must know if your opponent favors his left or right side, and then you step away, duck, and twist. Yes, the footwork takes you away from your opponent; however, when you duck and twist back, your strength doubles due to your trajectory.”

  Patience signaled for her sparring partner to advance on her and demonstrated the move with a quick deftness he’d never be able to replicate. He couldn’t take his eyes off her, yet, was too distracted to truly comprehend the maneuver she attempted to teach him. The lithe movements of her body, the confidence in her voice, and the way she grounded and balanced her frame surprised Sin—in a delightful way.

  As soon as he’d removed his shirt, she’d grasped the hem of her skirt and tucked it into her waistband. Sin hadn’t known what he expected when she’d offered to instruct him, but Patience physically being in the ring hadn’t so much as crossed his mind.

  He’d thought, perhaps, that she would stand to the side and shout moves at him while he sparred with another fighter. But, no, she’d entered the area with as much confidence as a seasoned boxer.

  Her skill was that of an expert. It had only served to spark his jealousy as she instructed him to wait and watch while she jabbed, weaved, and parried every move her opponent attempted. Sin hadn’t been allowed to show her what he had mastered in his years on Brownsea Island as she led him through the basics of bare-knuckle boxing. They were all techniques Sin was aware of but had never paid particular attention to thinking himself strong enough to ignore true technique. Even today, he was having a difficult time remaining focused on anything but the lace of her stockings and the way her blouse, damp with perspiration, clung to her bosom. She’d removed her gloves again, and Sin remembered all too clearly the soft touch of her skin against his battered face and neck.

  In the last several hours, she’d barely glanced in his direction as she focused on her movements, not even noticing the men who’d come to watch—and then left once the novelty of seeing a woman spar waned.

  Sin had underestimated her. Or perhaps he hadn’t wanted to assume more than was proper. Even as the daughter of a famed prizefighter, Sin hadn’t expected her to share the same level of expertise as her mother.

  The heartache had been plain in her demeanor when they met in the hallway. As the time passed and she continued to demonstrate move after move, she’d relaxed, the tension leaving her. It had to be difficult for her to be here, after all these years. A place her mother frequented.

  If he’d known that she planned to bring him to such a familiar place, would he have argued against it or turned down her offer of help?

  “Did you see what I did with my last movement?” she asked, glancing over her shoulder. “He had all his weight on his front left foot after throwing a jab. I ducked to the right and came around with a solid punch just below the ribs. Throwing him off balance and causing him to fall to a knee.”

  Sin nodded, and the fighters reset.

  He’d had no other option but to agree to her conditions, and truly, he needed her help, and she had offered it. If he’d said no, he would have continued his plight, and she would have returned to her life and society.

  Never again would their paths have crossed.

  Perhaps that fate would have been far wiser than the course they were currently set upon—together.

  Sin hadn’t wanted to walk away from Patience. Every moment with her near only solidified that in his mind.

  “I think St. Seville has seen enough for one morning, and it is time to see if he’s learned anything from our demonstration,” Patience announced, stepping forward to clasp her opponent’s hand. “Daniels, thank you for remaining to assist the earl and me.”

  “It was my pleasure, Lady Patience,” the man said, ducking his head. “Your mother inspired my love of pugilism, and it has been an honor to teach at Southlund’s House.” He turned to Sin. “My lord. I do hope to work with you again.”

  “As do I,” Sin grunted, gaining a sideways glance from Patience. The woman should be satisfied that he hadn’t growled at Daniels. The instructor was obviously smitten with Patience and had been afforded the opportunity to touch her in ways that made Sin want to challenge the man—but not in the ring, with pistols at dawn. “Thank you for your time.”

  She reminded him of the island fishwives whose strong, capable hands knotted ropes as if they were singlehandedly responsible for hauling their husbands from between the teeth of the storms, returning them safely to shore and their families. Patience had the confident fists of a woman who would never lose.

  The instructor hurried from the room, leaving them blessedly alone for the first time since their brief conversation in the hall.

  “Are you ready?” she asked, gesturing for him to take his place.

  She could not be serious, Sin mused. A slip of a woman in the ring with a man of his size? He’d witness
ed her skill up against Daniels, but certainly she realized one well-landed punch from him could do much damage.

  He—at nearly eighteen stones and well over six feet in height—was to fight against a woman of no more than eight stones?

  Those facts notwithstanding, he didn’t want to fight her—he longed to hold her…the closer the better. Smell the floral scent of her dark hair, stroke her creamy skin until his fingertips teased at her collarbone. Stare down into her upturned face as he held her tight…

  She must have noticed his hesitation because she smirked and tilted her head slightly. “You truly do believe sheer size and strength are all that is needed.”

  If the last several hours had taught Sin anything, it was that prizefighting took more skill and expertise than being blessed with an overabundance of muscle. “What if I unwittingly harm you?”

  She outright laughed, threw her head back as the sound bounced off the walls. “You still have much to learn, my lord.”

  “So you keep informing me.” Sin couldn’t help his smile as he joined her on the sparring floor. “I am your pupil to shape and instruct, Lady Patience.”

  Sin bowed grandly, and they both laughed again.

  Setting his feet in the aggressive stance she’d shown him, Sin waited for her to call a start to their match.

  Another hour passed swiftly as he attempted to best Patience; however, more often than not, it was her punches and jabs that landed solidly, and Sin’s that were met by nothing but air as she expertly ducked and dodged his every attempt. Her every movement was smooth like the trickle of the steam that ran from one side of Brownsea Island to the other and out to sea once more. Patience was calculated, and he admired her tendency to think ahead of his next move.

  Never in his wildest meanderings had he thought to find himself fighting against a woman—let alone Patience. Sin didn’t want to admit that there was a certain elegance to their practice match, almost as if they were in some sort of dance they both knew, seamlessly going through the motions, their bodies and minds in alignment with one another.

  They came close again, and their labored breaths mingled.

  Sin’s eyes drifted closed for a brief moment, savoring the closeness as their bodies gave off heat from their exertion.

  It was all the opportunity Patience needed, the opening he’d allowed her, and her fist collided with his jaw, sending a wave of pain up to his eyes and down his neck.

  He stumbled back and dropped to one knee, his eyes leveling on her uncovered legs.

  “Oh, my lord,” Patience yelped and dropped her hands to her sides. “I did not mean to—”

  “Hit me so hard?” He shook his head to clear his focus—hoping to dispel his chagrin. First he’d been easily bested by Povolti and now by Patience. “It is not your fault, I was distracted, and my attention slipped. A hard-learned lesson, as it were.”

  She knelt beside him, and Sin sank back to the floor.

  “Let me see how bad it is.” She reached forward and gently put her fingers on his jawline, tilting his head from side to side as she scrutinized where he’d been hit. “I do not think you will suffer a bruise, though I cannot see through your facial hair. Ice would help stop any swelling or future aches.”

  Her touch lingered on his jaw as if she needed a longer look to confirm her words.

  “I will be fine,” he said, waving off her concern. “It did not hurt overmuch, only startled me.”

  A clock sounded from somewhere in the building…once, twice, three times, and Patience stiffened, her hand falling away from his face, grazing his arm as it fell to her side. A red-hot heat coursed up his arm as if she’d touched him with fire.

  The warmth that had surrounded them fled as she pushed to her feet, holding out her hand for Sin to take. He willingly grasped it, and she assisted him to stand. She was stronger than he’d ever imagined.

  “It is growing late,” she sighed. “You must be exhausted and hungry.”

  As if on cue, his stomach let out a groan. “My morning meal was the last I ate.”

  “My father will be expecting me home, as well.” She paused, glancing around the room. “We can meet here again tomorrow if that is suitable. You did very well today.”

  “You knocked me from my feet,” he scoffed. “It would be in my best interest to gain as much practice as you offer.” He was exhausted, the exertions of the last couple of hours tiring him far more than it should have.

  “Yes, but you lasted longer than I expected. With time and training, you will improve. We shall meet at the same time until you are called to fight again.” She kept her eyes on the floor, but managed to glance up at him from beneath her lowered lashes. It was the first time she’d ever employed the coy glance that so many young misses favored. Yet, Sin didn’t believe she meant it to tease him—or even gain his notice. “You did very admirably.”

  Bloody hell. The woman had held his notice since the night he fled her home in nothing but his breeches and boots. He wanted nothing more than to have her hand caressing his jawline again, or several more minutes with her kneeling beside him in the ring—just the two of them.

  “Tell me, my lord,” Patience said, moving to untuck her skirts and letting them cascade to the floor. “Have you heard from Lord Holstrom? Has he arranged another match for you?”

  The last person on Sin’s mind was Holstrom, which would not do if he sincerely meant to rescue his lands from ruination. He needed to reassert his goals; however, the one person who could help him achieve those objectives was the woman distracting him from his responsibilities in the first place.

  “He sent a note round this morning.” Sin fell silent as he glanced back at her before slipping his shirt back over his head, something akin to hunger shining in her eyes. “Five days hence, in the evening, off Queen Street in Seven Dials.”

  “That will allow you some time to train further.” Her face etched with concern, much as it had the evening before in his chambers. “That is a most dangerous area, my lord. Even my father will not venture far into such unsavory neighborhoods.”

  He was familiar enough with London and the surrounding boroughs to know the risk posed when journeying to places like Seven Dials in the West End; however, there was little alternative. He needed the prize purse, and he couldn’t jeopardize his association with Holstrom by denying the fight. The man’s note had been a strongly worded threat: Sin owed him a debt, and Holstrom would collect.

  “The location may not be ideal, but the purse is more than sufficient to cover the risks involved.”

  Her brows drew down, and she crossed her arms. “How much?

  “Fifteen thousand pounds. I can repay Holstrom and”—Sin couldn’t admit he intended to continue fighting, despite his promise—“it will allow me to send money home to my family.”

  He ignored the regret that threatened to distract him.

  Still, the amount was far from what was needed to bring his coffers back to sustainable levels.

  Sin slipped on his coat, and her stare landed on the golden W still pinned to his lapel.

  Patience’s mouth pulled into a thin line, and her glare hardened.

  “Why do you take such offense to Coventry and his lot?” Sin remembered Coventry’s words of warning against further association with Patience or her father; however, he hadn’t spoken overly ill of the family. Patience was a bit of a hoyden with her idealistic notions. Sin would be proud if his younger sister, Juliette, took half the initiative Patience did when she set her mind to something. “He is not a vile man.”

  “I never said he was,” she retorted, turning to grasp her handbag. “Though he and his men—with their illicit club and debauched natures—will be the downfall of all society. Where shall a proper young miss find a suitable, loyal, honest, and steadfast husband?”

  Did she jest or were her words spoken with all seriousness? Sin thought her true feelings likely lay somewhere in the middle.

  “So, your anger with Coventry and the Wicked Earls’
Club is for the benefit of all womankind?” Either Patience was the most selfless lady in all of England, or her words were meant to distract him from her real purpose. “And what of you and your search for a husband?”

  Her eyes widened in panic, and she placed her palm against her chest. “It is not I who I am concerned with, my lord,” she said. “It is the less sound of mind—perhaps we should call it those lacking common sense—who would fall prey to the scoundrels and find themselves forever attached to a husband only interested in his own…pleasure.” The word pleasure came on a hushed hiss.

  “You do not give young misses enough credit,” he countered. “I can assure you my sister would never fall prey to such a man.”

  “Sometimes it is not up to the lady who she weds.” Patience turned pensive, and Sin wondered if she faced a fate such as that in the near future. “What if the man promised you enough funds to see your estate once again a wealthy one? Would you turn down the match?”

  What if someone stepped forward with the promise of solving all his problems? Could he turn down such an offer to save his sister, all the while dooming his estate? His chest ached to think that one day it might come to that exact decision. Sin was determined not to allow his situation to become so dire.

  “I would certainly not turn down a suitable match to a gentleman who loved my sister, especially if the affection was mutual. But you cannot cast doubt on such a marriage just because the St. Seville estate would see gains.” Sin stumbled over each word, not as positive about his decision in such a situation as his replied proclaimed. “Besides, Juliette is likely to find a match in Dorset and never meet the likes of any of Coventry’s horde.”

  “I will meet you here on the morrow, and I insist on accompanying you to Seven Dials.” Her sudden change in topic was meant to throw Sin off track, which it did.