Page 3 of Earl of St. Seville

“Right away, my lord.”

The carriage shifted, and the creak of the brake lever broke the silence in the confined space as the horses were called into action.

“My lodging is at the Albany.” The man’s deep voice reverberated off the walls of the coach. “I will be forever grateful and in your debt if you can deposit me there.”

He was definitely of noble birth, as further evidenced by his cultured tone.

Desmond scoffed. “There is no physician in residence near the Albany at this time of night. My doctor will see to your wounds, and I will arrange for transport back to the Albany after.”

The grim set of the man’s frown told Desmond that he was not used to answering to another.

That made two of them.

Besides his three hellion daughters, Desmond’s edicts were taken as strict orders, and no one in his household disobeyed his command.

“Your name, my boy?” Desmond took in the almost unbelievable width of the man’s shoulders and the sharp edge of his jawline. He was at least twenty years Desmond’s junior, if not more. And the earl recognized the rebellious light in his eyes all too well.

Reluctantly, the man answered, “Sinclair Chambers—err, Earl of St. Seville. And who shall I commend as my guardian angel?”

“The Earl of Desmond, James to my closest friends.” He eyed the man across from him, St. Seville’s dark eyes appearing black in the dim interior of the coach. “St. Seville, you say. Of the Brownsea Island St. Sevilles?”

St. Seville’s brooding mask of irritation transformed to utter shock. “Yes, you know of my family?”

“Your father is—err, was—Ellis Chambers?”

“Correct.” St. Seville crossed his arms over his chest, and a new guarded mask hooded his expression. “Were you acquainted?”

Desmond could barely believe his eyes. If he looked closely at the young man across from him, he noted the hardened jawline and severe nose with a mouth that appeared more of a slash across his face that was so characteristic of the St. Seville family, even with his split lip that now boasted a patch of drying red blood. Even if the man seated facing Desmond were twice the size of his predecessor, the earl could see the family resemblance as clear as if they stood under a bright June sun with the men side by side. Desmond hadn’t seen the elder St. Seville in over two decades. He’d nearly forgotten the man’s existence.

“Ellis and I were once close—both members of The Earls’ Guild here in London—however, he left town shortly after his wedding and retired to his family estate. If you have taken the title, I assume your father has passed. When did it happen?”

“Going on four years now.” St. Seville glanced at the window, pulling aside the cloth covering the glass insert. “My mother and sister remain on the island.”

Four years, and word hadn’t reached Desmond.

To be fair, his mind had been occupied with his own sorrows. Five long years since his wife had left him alone, and it was still all Desmond thought of.

“I am sorry for your loss,” Desmond sighed. “Ellis was a good man.”

A snort was the younger man’s only reply as the carriage pulled to a halt.

“I can see myself back to the Albany and take care of my own needs, my lord.” His gruff reply had Desmond wondering if he remembered Ellis incorrectly.

“I am afraid I must insist on seeing to your care. It is the least I can do for my old friend, your father.” Desmond held St. Seville’s weary glare as his driver opened the door to allow them exit. “We lost touch all those years ago, and I fear it was my duty to remain in contact. Please, allow my physician to see to your injuries. It would do much to assuage an old man’s guilt.”

Desmond saw the moment the man acquiesced; his stiff shoulders sagged a bit, and he nodded.

Chapter 1

The familiar creak of a window opening in the room next door startled Lady Patience Lane from her deep slumber as a tremor of fear rolled through her. A chill ran up her spine despite the warmth of her room. Rubbing at her sleep-heavy eyes, she stretched her legs toward the cooled coals at the end of her bed as she sat up and listened. She tuned her hearing to any sound that did not belong.

Marsh Manor, the name her mother had christened their family townhouse with upon her marriage to her father, had been an unusually silent home in recent years. No longer did the structure ache and groan as it settled, no doors opened and closed in the night, and no windowpane was ever cracked during the bitter cold of winter despite the three other bordering buildings that blocked the worst of the late January wind.

Merit’s room lay next door to Patience’s, but the bedchamber had been empty for nearly two weeks, seeing that her brothers—Merit and Valor—had fled the dreary London weather for a holiday party near the Scottish border. Both of her sisters were happily wed and residing with their husbands, and they hardly visited unless her father commanded it. Besides her father and the Desmond servants, Patience was alone in the townhouse. Certainly, no servant had been tasked to clean Merit’s room this late at night. The Desmond household didn’t always stand on formalities, so when Patience and her father retired for the evening, so too did their staff.

When no other odd noises broke the silence of the night, Patience wondered if she hadn’t imagined the entire thing and relaxed back into her soft, feather-filled bed. She pulled her covers high to her chin and closed her eyes, willing herself back to slumber.

Thump.