Page 7 of Earl of St. Seville

Set upon by a thief. Sin scoffed.

He had no time or funds to play games, nor did his purpose in London include being set upon in a dark alleyway. He’d asked Lord Coventry to arrange a boxing match for him, not have him accosted by a ruffian after Sin had enjoyed several drinks at a local tavern that sold pints of ale for a fraction of the price at the Albany or any of the establishments in Mayfair.

Damnation.

He glanced down the street, mostly deserted at this time of day, and sighed. The breath leaving his mouth stung his lip, and Sin tentatively flicked his tongue along the split to make certain fresh blood hadn’t sprung forth. Thankfully, the cut hadn’t opened again.

The bloody thug from the night before had gone so far as to steal Sin’s coat before fleeing the alley. As if he had the funds to purchase another. Sin only hoped he remembered the directions to the Wicked Earls’ Club correctly or he’d be wandering the street. It wasn’t as if Coventry and his lot had a sign posted outside declaring the club’s name, and London was a new and foreign city to Sin, vast compared to Brownsea Island.

A hackney pulled to a stop before Sin. “Where to, m’lord?”

He thought hard, visualizing the letter from Coventry he’d received at his estate on Brownsea Island. What had the address been? “Bedford Place.”

“I know where ya mean.” The driver nodded. “I be take’n many fine gents ta 276 Bedford Place.”

Yes, 276 Bedford Place.

Sin still had trouble believing that the establishment existed. A club solely for earls. No stuffy, pompous dukes or newly wealthy barons to contend with. Not that Brownsea Island had any of those. It was only Sin, his mother, younger sister, and their people who inhabited the small land mass off Dorset. If it weren’t for his current situation, Sin would have gladly remained on the isle, removed from society, content to till the land with his people and take care of his estate.

Unbeknownst to Sin, his father had made that impossible.

The man who’d fled London after his marriage to live out his days in peace and solitude with his family had drained the estate coffers, allowing the land to fall fallow and neglecting those who depended on him. His father had been a private man, a lord who spoke rarely of his estate and their financial stability. Though Sin had witnessed his father corresponding regularly, by post, with his man of business. He’d said it was about this shipping venture or that manufacturing endeavor, but Sin had occupied himself around the estate, not tending the books. By the time Sin had inherited everything, dire straits had already settled on the island folk—and the St. Seville estate.

His only comfort was knowing that even his mother, Sin’s constant companion, hadn’t known the grim precipice the St. Seville estate was positioned upon.

“Ye be need’n a hack or no?” the driver prodded when Sin remained quiet.

“How far is it from here?” Sin replied, thinking about his ever-dwindling coin. “Can I walk?”

“I wouldn’t be advise’n that, m’lord.” He glanced down at Sin’s new Hessians, his meaning clear. “If’n ye don’t find any trouble, it’s near a forty-minute stroll ta Piccadilly.”

Sin relented and climbed aboard the hack, the chilly morning breeze burrowing straight through his old coat. He still couldn’t believe the bloody man had stolen his new coat. Sin’s outrage ignited anew.

Thankfully, the driver hadn’t mentioned Sin’s battered face and swollen nose.

Sin leaned his head back and closed his eyes, trying to ignore the pounding in his temples, as the hack pulled away from the Albany. The least Coventry could do when Sin arrived on Bedford was offer him a drink—or two—to combat the aches in his head and shoulders.

He could not believe the situation he’d found himself in the previous night. Climbing out a window, clawing his way down the side of a townhouse, and fleeing into the night. It was the actions of a rakehell departing his ladylove’s abode to avoid being caught by her husband. Perhaps he would have enjoyed the moment more if that had been the case—not that he’d ever found himself enamored with a woman who was already spoken for.

With his golden-brown hair, dark skin, and muscular body, Sin never had any trouble attracting the notice of unattached women.

Images of the ethereal beauty from Desmond’s house floated through his mind. Long hair of the darkest brown had hung down her back, her eyes were a cloudy blue that Sin would argue was gray in color, and her skin…its olive complexion had confused him slightly, rendering him unable to speak. Her skin was not dark from the sun as Sin’s was. No, it was as if the tone had been inherited. Yet, Sin knew it hadn’t come from Desmond’s lineage as the elder man was as pasty as a newborn babe—or a prim English rose.

What shocked him most was that he’d been more frightened of her than she was of him. In fact, as her hard stare had traveled the length of his body, Sin hadn’t detected even the slightest hint of apprehension. Imagine happening upon a stranger in your home and, instead of sounding the alarm, demanding to know their business.

Sin chuckled quietly, his chest aching from the punches to his rib he’d sustained during the scuffle in the alley. The woman’s beauty, poise, and pensive bent had piqued his interest, but he couldn’t risk remaining at Desmond’s home a moment longer. Not even to verify what he thought was true—the lady was Desmond’s daughter. There was too much on the line for Sin to have a man such as the earl asking questions—or worse, summoning the Night Watch to lodge a formal complaint of the attack.

It was best not to occupy his thoughts with the woman or her father; his time and energy were better spent elsewhere.

Sin was in London for one thing, and one thing only.

To save his family and his people from ruin. It was more than financial ruin, though. It was far more imperative that he succeed at his mission than gain mere money. His people would starve if he did not. His mother and sister would be left without a proper home. There would be no funds to tend the land. His people would have to move away from their properties and find work on the mainland. Families would be broken up, lineages spread across England, and it would all be Sin’s fault. If it were in his power to restore security to everyone who called Brownsea Island home, then he would risk everything for that cause.

His father had let everyone who depended on the earldom down, and it was Sin’s responsibility to prove his worth to his people. His mother had begged him not to leave Brownsea, his sister had cried as he rode away, and all the while, Sin told himself he needed to fix what his father broke.

It was a solitary mission only he could achieve.

And to do that, Sin had to put his trust in Coventry to secure him an introduction into the group of men who organized the grand, bare-knuckle boxing matches that were set for large sums of money. He was a skilled pugilist and took great pleasure in besting all the men on Brownsea Island. Now, it was the simplest means of gaining the large sum of money he needed to keep his people fed and the land around his estate bearing crops.