Sin pushed his untouched meal around on his plate, his appetite stalled by the note from Lady Patience—and the prizefight starting in two hours’ time. I will meet you in Seven Dials. How was he supposed to interpret that? Her missive only held those seven simple words. She hadn’t signed her name or written her message on monogrammed stationery. If anyone had intercepted it, there would be nothing that could be traced back to its sender. Even the young boy who’d knocked on his door at the Albany had been paid two pence to make certain Patience’s note went to no one but the bloke with hair like a seaman.

They’d trained—hard—the day before, and then had gone to the Strand. Before they parted ways, she’d instructed him that she would arrive at the Albany to collect him. Had something occurred? Had their moment in the hack frightened her? For most of the night, Sin had thought it perhaps only he who’d felt the connection between them. The draw was undeniable, no matter how Sin attempted to ignore it.

Maybe Desmond had discovered her absences from Marsh Manor each day when she journeyed to Southlund’s House to work with Sin and forbade her to leave the house?

Their hours together had quickly turned from exhaustive physical exertion to fleeting minutes where Sin longed for them to stretch on and on. With her tutelage, his movements had become more precise, and his agility increased with each session. Patience’s skill in the ring only shone more with each hour as men attended the club to watch the daughter of the famed pugilist, Ivory Bess.

If there were anything more than just her offer to train him connecting them, Sin would have been jealous of every fighter who stood gaping around the ring as they worked. Sin had no claims to Lady Patience—not on her attention or her affection.

“Yes, the man claimed to be a gentleman, though we all know Blankenship’s less than proper tendencies,” the man across from Sin said with a chuckle. “Come now, toes! Have you heard any such vile thing?”

Sin chuckled along with the trio who’d invited him to dine with them before they all made their way to Seven Dials.

Coventry was set on introducing Sin to as many of his wicked men as possible, as if that would keep him in London once he earned the funds needed to return home to Brownsea.

The Earl of Harrington and Davenport were friendly enough. Quite a bit younger than Coventry, but close to Sin’s age, the pair each sported the unmistakable mark of Coventry’s club—the golden W pinned to their lapel.

Sin had left his in his room at the Albany, and he’d noted Coventry’s disapproval when he first entered the Wicked Earls’ Club.

Besides the matching pins, the men favored similar hairstyles trimmed above their collars with tresses that flopped long in the front. They were not men Sin would find any sort of connection with had he been on his home isle, but in London, they seemed to be the usual proper, dapper lords about town.

Their conversation varied between jesting about a certain lord to talk of coming balls and even ventured so far as to delve into bets they’d made recently at White’s.

Sin held his breath, willing his headache to subside.

Coventry remained silent for most of the meal, as had Sin, allowing Harrington and Davenport to drone on and on about ton gossip—mainly referring to lords and ladies Sin had never heard of.

“Did you hear about ol’ Pembroke?” Harrington took a long sip from his ale as he glanced around the table. When no one offered any response, he continued, “He’s found himself a bride. Rumor has it she is as beautiful as the night and equally as mysterious. A high-born lady who could do far better than the likes of Pembroke.”

“I heard they’re already wed…out of necessity, if you know what I mean,” Davenport countered, bringing his hands up as if he held an extended belly.

If Sin had missed the meaning of his words, he would have understood the gesture well. This Pembroke fellow had gotten a woman with child, certainly not the worst occurrence, especially if the man were smitten with the lady in question.

“The lot of you would do well to secure a match with a fine woman—start a family before you’re too old and grey to attract anything but the lightskirts who fancy Vauxhall.” Coventry signaled the servant for another drink. “I have met the Countess of Pembroke, and she is a lovely, beautiful, wise young lady.”

Sin half listened as the conversation continued, but Coventry’s warning and Harrington’s jest about this man Pembroke had Sin’s thoughts returning to Lady Patience. The daughter of an earl—a lord who happened to be one of his father’s friends. Her dark countenance and single-minded determination were much akin to his own. Yet, similar to Pembroke and his lady fair, Patience deserved a life far above that which Sin lived: tilling the soil, mending his tenants’ roofs, taking his land’s crops to market in Dorset. That was what kept Sin occupied.

Lady Patience deserved a gentleman who would lavish her with beautiful, handmade gowns and shining gems. A lord who knew his way around society with friends of great prestige. A learned man.

Not a male of oxen portions who would fare better at sea than in a London ballroom.

Despite all her words and actions to the contrary, she appeared resolute in her place outside the norms of society. But Sin could not believe that was what she wanted for the rest of her life.

Why had the thought even come to mind? Patience was assisting him in the art of pugilism, nothing more. They had no other attachments beyond the sport. Soon enough, he would have the funds he needed to return home, and she would remain in London. Time—and distance—would erase their memories of one another. Their association would likely end long before Sin returned to Brownsea Island.

“Do you know anything about Devin Parsons?” Coventry broke into Sin’s depressing thoughts.

“Parsons?” Sin asked, glancing up to see all three men staring at him. “Should I know the man?”

Harrington chuckled, turning a huge grin at Davenport. “I told you we made the correct wager.”

Sin was growing exhausted with the back and forth between the gentlemen, and his headache increased. Why had he agreed to accompany Coventry for dinner in the first place? Because he’d been wallowing for hours after receiving Patience’s note that she’d meet him at the fight as opposed to them making the trip together.

It shouldn’t upset him. He hadn’t wanted her to attend the fight at all.

“What wager?” Coventry inquired.

“We placed a bet at White’s last evening when word of the match circulated.” Harrington turned a hesitant glance in Sin’s direction. “We know St. Seville is a formidable lord; nonetheless, Parsons has trained with the likes of John Gully and was declared the victor against Tom Cribb some years back.”

Davenport straightened in his chair, his head swinging back and forth between Sin and Coventry. “I told him that meant nothing. Just because Parsons seems the obvious pick, doesn’t mean St. Seville here can’t knock him down a peg or two. However, because I lost to Harrington in regards to the Duke of Mulberry’s situation, I had to allow him his way.”

Sin could only imagine what the Duke of Mulberry’s situation entailed.

“You scoundrels,” Coventry shouted with a booming laugh, bringing the attention of the entire room to them. “You wagered against St. Seville?”

“Not my choice,” Davenport shrugged. “The Duke of Mulberry’s situation, remember?”

“Quiet down,” Sin hissed, leaning forward. “Does everyone think I am to lose?”

The Wicked Earls’ Club was brimming with men—eating, drinking, gambling, and playing billiards before setting off on their evening’s entertainments. When he’d entered, Sin had overheard a group of gentlemen discussing their plans to attend the opera that night and how they could extricate themselves and accompany Coventry to Seven Dials for the prizefight instead.

While Sin hadn’t necessarily settled in among the group of earls, he also hadn’t gotten the sense that he wouldn’t be accepted if it were something he wanted. But now…

“Thirty to one odds, I’m afraid,” Harrington said. “Based on the outcome of your fight in Bedford Square, I’d say that some misguided fools have faith in your ability that I do not. Doesn’t mean I don’t believe you to be a fine chap, but money is money, and you know my dear grandfather, the old fool, thinks if he starves my allowance, I will return to the fold.”

“He does have his sights set on bringing you to heel at any cost, does he not?” Davenport winked at Harrington.

“The Devil of Davenport thinks to make a jest about my financial situation?” Harrington leveled back.

Sin couldn’t help but wonder if the men were friends or enemies. It was hard to tell with their back and forth bickering.

“Time to go, gentlemen.” Coventry dabbed at the corners of his mouth before laying the cloth on his empty plate. “If Sin is tardy, he will certainly have little chance of besting Parsons.”

“Better than no chance, I suppose,” Davenport said, following Coventry from his seat. “Has anyone seen Grayson of late?”

Sin trailed Coventry away from the table, uninterested in Harrington’s answer. Another man Sin had never heard of nor cared about; though no doubt a lord with problems as grand as Sin’s troubles. Was that what connected all these men more securely than their station as earls?

He tapped his foot in anticipation as they waited for their jackets. Never would Lady Patience bore him with talk of people he was unfamiliar with. They had trained for nearly five hours the previous day, and not once had they broached a subject not to Sin’s liking. Every moment, he was enthralled with either her words or the way her trim body executed moves his larger frame could not manage.

Neither did she deem his financial problems as anything unsolvable.

Lady Patience Lane had faith in him, Sinclair Chambers, the Earl of St. Seville.

Perhaps more faith than anyone he’d yet to meet. Even his mother had been leery of his decision to travel to London. But this woman did more than just believe in him, she gave him a new sense of hope—or at least, the belief that it was possible to rectify his problems.

“Let us be off.” Coventry clapped Sin on the back, startling him. “Do not mind Harrington and Davenport, they run the odds in every wager. Pays off most days. But this time, I suspect they shall suffer a loss.”

“That would make two people who have faith in my abilities,” Sin mumbled.

“I do hope we aren’t made to look the fool.” Coventry started for the door, and Sin realized the earl thought Sin had been talking about himself.

Sin might be an utter fool; however, Lady Patience had proven herself to be anything but.