Page 5 of Earl of St. Seville

So intent on the window, the man failed to notice he was no longer alone.

There was no denying the stranger’s presence—an unfamiliar masculine air filled the room. It was both intriguing and frightening. Certainly, she’d witnessed men in various stages of undress, but this goliath was different. Never had Patience been so utterly aware of her own body, while distracted by the sight of another’s chiseled form. Her hands itched to reach out at the same time they should be raising to cover her exposed flesh, veiled only by her thin nightshift.

Patience was commonly overcome with indignation, rage, and resentment for those gentlemen who ignored the troubling aspects of society. Emotions she knew well, and how to hide and suppress them. Never had she been attracted to a man, or filled with such…euphoric pleasure at the mere sight of a bare back. Her nipples puckered…if that were even something possible for her womanly buds to do. Her knees trembled, though not with outrage and anger but…titillation.

Voyeurism.

It was what her father had explained drew the large crowds to prized pugilist matches all over the world—and to a certain extent, every ton gathering in the country.

Any other day, Patience would have adamantly and vehemently denied that she possessed any amount of voyeuristic impulses. Perhaps she could still claim this to be true if she stepped back over the threshold and silently closed the door, putting an end to the stark, raw nature of the sight before her.

The raw, stark emotion coursing through her.

The sensible thing would be to return to her room and never speak of this moment. Deny that it ever occurred.

That was the rational thing to do, and Patience always prided herself on her intellect, even though many in the ton considered a female with a mind something to be avoided at all costs.

The man raised his arms high above his head and stretched until he nearly touched the thick wooden beams overhead. He must be at least a foot taller than Patience and stand a head above both her brothers. Damnation, but the width of his shoulders seemed wider than she was tall. Heat pooled at the apex of her thighs as the muscles along his back tensed before relaxing when he put his hands on the windowsill and leaned slightly out to look down the two stories to the garden below.

She knew the view he took in well, though the cover of night with its cloud-covered January moon would mask the thicket of overgrown rosebushes below. It was the same scene she beheld when she gazed out her window in the bedchamber bordering this one. The roses were the only things daring to grow in such a wayward manner. The lawn was perfectly manicured and awaiting a garden party that would never take place. The small hedge maze, truly just five intersecting pathways at the back of their property, was only as high as it was to block the sight of the mews beyond. One side of the lawn, farthest from the stables, was lined with neatly pruned fruit trees that were dormant this time of year, while the other side had been converted to a long-unused sparring area for either fencing or boxing.

Shaking her head, she cast aside all her thoughts about voyeurism and the sights to be beheld outside her window.

There was a man—a stranger—half naked, in her brother’s room.

“Sir”—Patience swallowed as the man turned to face her and the heat that had overtaken her face and neck—“please announce yourself and the reason for your presence in my home.”

Patience immediately regretted calling the man’s attention as his eyes narrowed on her and she took in his battered face: split lip caked with dried blood, knot on his forehead, and the bridge of his nose slightly rounded, betraying the swelling that would be present come morning.

Thankfully, none of the injuries had blemished his chest, or at least, Patience could not see any bruises through the light dusting of hair that covered his flesh. However, she did note the muscles that had rippled across his back and shoulders were also present on his front. In that moment, she’d almost convinced herself that she was scrutinizing nothing more than a prized horse or a champion hunting dog—not the alluring form of a fierce, red-blooded man.

He stared at her, his lips pressed into a grim frown. For the first time, Patience fretted that the man was in her home with dastardly devious and threatening intent. He did not appear a common thief, the likenesses of which were prominently displayed in the Post nearly every day. Nor was he outfitted as most burglars would be, with a shirt or tunic or something to cover his tanned chest and board shoulders, and likely something covering at least a portion of his face. He also did not take an aggressive stance or look about with frantic, piercing glances for a weapon or path of escape.

If anything, when his eyes latched on to her, his confidence filled her with an unbelievable sense of rightness.

Yet, it was not right for a stranger to be in her home at such a late hour clothed as he was, nor was it acceptable for Patience to be frozen before him wearing nothing but her nightgown.

Absolutely nothing about her current situation should feel fitting.

It was only when his eyes went from narrowed and assessing to wide-eyed before he turned and averted his stare that Patience regretted her less than suitable attire. Her night shift, while warm, was still white, and she had no corset or other modern device to hide the evidence of her perking nipples through the fine fabric. Could he see that she hadn’t so much as donned a pair of the knickers that were becoming so popular in society?

Heavens, her face flamed with heat once more. This was her home, and she need give no explanation for her nightly attire.

“S—s—s—ir.” Patience loathed the way her voice broke and stuttered over the single word. Taking a deep breath, she began once more. “I asked that you announce your name and purpose in my home.”

While she spoke the words without stumbling, they did not hold the warning she’d hoped. They came out as a plea, not the demand she’d intended.

He refused to glance back in her direction, and Patience took the opportunity to take in her brother’s room; everything was in its place except for the shirt tossed over a chair near the bed. Red stained the otherwise pristine white linen.

Were his injuries graver than first noted?

“Are you hurt?” She despised the empathy in her tone.

“I was preparing to leave.” The deep lilt to his voice sent another wave of pleasure through her as his eyes finally met hers.

“You cannot leave in such a condition,” she chastised. How many stories had her mother shared with her about the destitute in Seven Dials perishing due to the cold weather? “You will surely freeze before arriving at your intended destination—although, the frigid temperature will most likely slow the swelling in your nose.”

Why in heavens was she giving advice, all but offering to tend the man’s wounds, when he was an interloper in her home? He’d still not given his name or his reason for being in Merit’s chambers in the middle of the night—not to mention his careless action of opening the window and allowing the coveted warmth to escape into the cold outside.