In the aftermath of his confrontation with Holstrom—and in his hurry to depart Seven Dials—Sin had paid no heed to the two men who followed him from the warehouse to Coventry’s waiting carriage in the alley. Due to his rage over the circumstances, Sin didn’t bother glancing about when he paused to put on his shirt, followed by his jacket. He was prepared for any confrontation to come. In his need to see Lady Patience, and in his anger at himself for hurting her, Sin hadn’t noticed the two men climbing into the carriage after him. And as the pain from his injuries began to draw at the edges of his mind, and the exhilaration of the fight subsided, Sin finally glanced up from his place in the carriage to see the two dark-haired men sitting across from him.

Their mirrored glowers and crossed arms did nothing to clear Sin’s fogging mind, even as his thoughts swirled around, demanding the driver to deliver him to the Earl of Desmond’s townhouse with the haste of a thousand wild horses.

Certainly, most men would be concerned when faced by two adversaries whose menacing glares in no way promised friendship. However, not even both men combined could equal Sin’s weight, and even with his injuries from the prizefight, he was certain the two men would not prove a threat to him. If they thought to attack him and take his prize purse, they would have done it before entering the carriage.

The minutes had ticked by as their hostile, almost ferocious, stares hadn’t diminished in the least.

However, the pain of his injuries—had he broken his hand or suffered bruising to his back?—had cleared his mind and brought an acute awareness to his surroundings—and his need to quicken his journey across London.

Each time Sin called to the driver to make haste, one or both of the men shouted for the driver to remain halted. The bolder of the two kept his hand on the carriage door latch, daring Sin to make a move to exit.

Sin chuckled. If the men wanted a fight, Sin had enough pent-up aggressive growing inside him to take on the men without a second thought. If they were here to pinch his winnings and make off into the night, then he wished they’d get on with their business and leave him to his next task.

“May I help you, gentlemen?” he asked, his voice level and even, his gaze moving from one man to the other. They appeared vaguely familiar, and Sin wondered if they’d passed in the halls of the Albany or perhaps they were members of Coventry’s exclusive club. Their lapels were devoid of a golden W, which dispelled the notion that they were aligned with the Wicked Earls’ Club. “Are you here for something, or are you simply in need of transport back to London proper?”

“What is your business with Lady Patience Lane?” It was the man holding the door closed, preventing Sin from departing, who spoke. In proper lighting, the pair would be hard to tell apart, and without a proper introduction, Sin could only note the lines on the man’s face to indicate that he was the elder of the two men.

“That is none of your concern,” Sin retorted. If they were simply more men thinking to warn him away from Patience, they’d picked the wrong day to issue their cautionary stories. And if either thought to disparage the woman’s name, they would see the same fate as Holstrom had. “If you will excuse me—”

“I would have to say it is exactly our concern, my lord.” This came from the younger man. Sin quickly realized why the men appeared familiar, though he was confident that they’d never met. “You will answer my brother’s question. Now.”

Knowing the men were not present to cause him serious harm should have eased Sin, but it only served to fill him with guilt over what Patience was suffering through. These men were her family—her brothers, if Sin weren’t mistaken. If anyone deserved to know Sin’s intentions with Lady Patience, it was the gentlemen sitting across from him.

“My business with Lady Patience isn’t about business at all.” It was the truth. Never had Sin thought of Patience in a business sense. He hadn’t met her with any nefarious notions in mind; in fact, he’d wondered at her intentions when she stumbled upon him that night in her home. “We met not long ago, and it doesn’t pain me to admit…I care for her greatly.”

“And yet you do the one thing that will crush her feelings?” the younger man scoffed.

However, the tension drained from the man next to him. “I am Valor, and this is Merit.”

“Patience’s brothers,” Sin continued for them.

Merit, the young brother, asked, “Is it so obvious?”

“Dark complexion, dark hair, and eyes that change from blue to grey with your mood and the lighting—no, the resemblance isn’t obvious at all.”

“You left the fight in a bit of a rush,” Valor continued, re-crossing his arms as if remembering why he’d waylaid Sin’s coach. “Where are you headed?”

“Most likely the same place you are,” Sin offered, crossing his own arms and pegging the men with his coolest stare.

“Do not think to know where we are headed, my lord,” Merit threw back. Of the pair, Sin thought Patience was much like this young man: fiery and passionate with a healthy dose of indignation.

“I planned to go to your townhouse and beg Patience to see me.”

“Did you not hear our father?” Valor retorted. “You have been banned from both Southlund’s House and Marsh Manor.”

“And if I do not heed Desmond’s words?” Sin asked, lifting his chin to stare down at the men. “Will the pair of you attempt to stop me?”

“Depends,” Merit offered, but he’d relaxed ever so slightly since he entered the coach and sat across from Sin.

“On…?”

“Whether you mean to cause Patience more hurt,” Valor said. “We do not take kindly to anyone harming our sister, as I’m sure you can understand.”

“I do,” Sin agreed. “However, I can assure you, I never meant to hurt Patience in the first place.”

“Be that as it may,”—Merit pushed up straight in his seat—“you did cause her grief. So acutely she made a spectacle of herself before half of London. What about her reputation? Do you think she will ever find a suitable man to wed now?”

It was Sin’s turn to scoff at the question. “Patience doesn’t care what society thinks of her, and marriage is not high on her list of priorities.” When both men returned to their menacing stares, Sin continued, “Is it possible I know your sister and her wishes better than the pair of you?”

He glanced between the brothers, a measure of satisfaction settling over him. Let them speak against his words, all three of them knew Sin was correct.

“Marsh Manor,” Valor shouted, thumping his fist on the side of the carriage. Without delay, the driver called to the horses, and they were off. “We are well aware Patience has little respect for society and what they deem proper; however, she does respect you, St. Seville—or do you prefer Sin?”

“St. Seville suits adequately,” he grunted and waited for Valor to continue.

“In all the years since our mother’s passing, Patience has never entered Southlund’s House. Yet, you, St. Seville, convinced her to go to a place she swore never to so much as set eyes on again. If that is not respect, I do not know what is.”

“It is apparent that our sister cares for you, as well,” Merit admitted grudgingly. “Now we must decide what to do about that.”

We? Did they think to stop him from seeing Patience?

The men would have a hell of a time following through with that plan. Or perhaps they meant to forbid Patience from having anything to do with Sin.

The carriage hit a bump in the street, sending the brothers colliding into one another. Sin, however, had been prepared for the rough travel and he kept his seat. Streetlamps shone through the glass of the windows, signaling that they’d traveled far enough from Seven Dials to slow their speed.

“Tell me, St. Seville, how did you convince Patience to return to Southlund’s?”

“It was she who offered to train me after seeing how deplorably I lost my first prizefight.”

Valor drew back. “You expect us to believe that?”

“She was helping me,” Sin confessed, turning his palms up. He had nothing to hide. Valor and Merit would hear it all eventually. “I am in London to save my family from ruin. Our coffers are empty, and my estate and people are suffering. If I do not win, I will have nothing to return home with. My land will lay fallow, and my people will starve. That is the reason Patience offered to help me.”

The men looked at one another, some silent communication passing between them before they turned back to Sin with matching grins.

“You care for Patience?” Valor demanded. “More than using her to win enough funds to run off back to your estate?”

Sin nodded. “Without a doubt.”

“And what do you plan to say to our sister if you are allowed to see her again?” Merit continued.

Sin hadn’t thought through what he was going to say. He’d foolishly believed that if Patience agreed to see him—and Desmond allowed him into their home—the words would come.

His shoulders sagged. “I will tell her exactly how I feel about her…everything, including my plans to remain in London as long as possible to be near her. It is where she belongs, among those who know and love her.” If their time at Southlund’s House had taught Sin anything, it was that leaving London—and Patience behind—would rip his heart wide open.

“We can get you into the house,” Merit said

“After that, it is up to you,” Valor finished.

* * *

If Patience’s brothers had warned Sin that their grand plan included sneaking him in through the back gardens and instructing him to scale the townhouse wall to the window Merit would prop open for him to enter, he would have told them to save their breaths. Instead, Sin listened intently as Coventry’s carriage stopped in the mews behind Marsh Manor.

Sin glanced at the window, pleased to see that the light drizzle that had started earlier had stopped. He would not have to face the harrowing rose bushes with their pointed thorns and the slick siding of the house as he climbed—and fear losing his grip and falling into the waiting bushes.

Merit pointed up at the house, candles lighting several windows on both the main level and the second story. “My window is that one—“

“I know which is yours,” Sin said, cutting off the man before realizing his folly.

“How, exactly, do you know which one is my room?” Merit asked, as serious as an inquisitor as he turned to face Sin.

Sin debated how much to share, but decided it could only serve to strengthen this support if they heard the truth of his first meeting with Patience. “During my first fortnight in London, your father happened upon me in an alley where I’d been set upon by a thief.” There was little reason to share that Coventry had arranged the entire episode, for it would only lead to questions he didn’t have time to answer. “He rescued me and brought me here to be seen to by your family physician.”

“You did not answer my question…”

Sin had to admire the man’s perceptiveness. “Desmond had me wait in your room. I had no intention of allowing the good doctor to examine me and so, after being caught by Patience, I escaped out your window and down into the gardens…narrowly missing those wild rose bushes.”

“She caught you how—”

“You did what—”

Both Merit and Valor spoke at the same time, and Sin chuckled at their comical expressions. Valor, ever the eldest, was affronted, while Merit’s eyes widened with utter shock.

“How is this the first time we are hearing of this?” Valor demanded.

“It is not a situation that needs to be discussed for fear of being overheard.” Merit shoved at his brother and gestured at the window and Coventry’s driver above. “We can discuss this later, perhaps in private. Mayhap you can invite us to your club, St. Seville.”

“My club?” Whatever did the men speak of? Sin no more had a club than he did coins to plant crops on Brownsea.

“You know…” Merit nodded at Sin’s jacket. “The Wicked Earls’ Club.”

“I cannot—”

“Come now, my lord,” Valor prodded. “As soon as I inherit the Desmond earldom, I will petition Coventry for membership. But until then…”

“I meant I am not part of Coventry’s group,” Sin sighed. “The earl is a friend, was a friend of my father’s. He is helping me while I’m in London.”

Valor rolled his eyes, and Merit stared expectantly.

“I am sorry I cannot be of help.” Sin turned to glance out the window as one of the lights on the second floor extinguished. “I think it is best we hurry before Lady Patience retires to her bed.”

“Of course.” Valor pulled the latch, and the door opened. “We will drive round to the front and hurry up to Merit’s chambers to open the window for you.”

Sin nodded and stepped out of the carriage, his boots landing in a puddle of mud from the recent rain. Glancing up, he saw that the clouds were pulling away, and the moon shone through, lighting the path in front of him. The last time he’d been in the Desmond gardens, the night had been pitch black.

“Good luck, St. Seville,” Valor called as the carriage started down the alleyway and out of sight.

Sin would need more than mere luck to convince Patience to hear what he had to say. She was justified in despising him. He’d deceived her and had prayed his lies would remain hidden until he fled London…like a coward.

Pulling the collar on his coat up to block the breeze from touching his exposed neck, Sin ducked his head and started for Lady Patience’s townhouse and the climb that would either see him injured in the rose bushes or standing before a woman he had no right to care about.

The climb down had been simple enough as he’d found foot and handholds readily enough, but going up, after his hours of fighting, seemed daunting and risky.

Lady Patience was worth the risk, though. If she forgave him, he would use the purse prize he’d won in Seven Dials to keep his people provided for until spring came and then he’d find another way—something besides pugilism—to bring his estate and people back from ruin.

The mud sloshed under his boots, and a single cloud drifted over the moon, momentarily darkening the garden before him.

The house wasn’t far away, but it seemed, no matter how fast he walked, he’d never reach it—or Patience. Were she and Desmond still arguing? Was she preparing for bed? Had she already slipped beneath the covers, her eyes heavy with tears?

Sin exited the muddy path that wound through the garden’s shrubbery to the expanse of lawn that separated him from the townhouse beyond.

His steps faltered when he caught sight of a lone figure in the middle of an open area.

A woman.

It was far too late for a servant to be about the gardens, and the temperatures were plummeting as morning approached.

His heart knew the woman before his mind did.

Her face was turned toward the night sky, and as the clouds moved, revealing the moon once more, the twinkling twilight rained down on her. Her dark brown hair, still tied back at the base of her neck, shimmered. Her lithe body shook, and Sin realized Patience was sobbing. Not loud, wailing bursts of anguish but soft gut-wrenching weeping.

And it was all because of him.

He drew closer but remained quiet. He was intruding on a private moment, something he wasn’t supposed to witness. Yet Sin would rather cast himself from the rocky cliffs of Brownsea Island and into the roaring, twisting, churning ocean below than take his eyes off Patience.

There was a startling beauty there despite her anguish.

Not her pain, never that, but in the way the hurt seeped from her as she cried, almost as if it left her and escaped into the night. He wanted to ask her the secret to letting it all go, to accepting the things you had no power over and moving forward.

He had no doubt that that was exactly what she was doing out in the garden all alone.

She was letting go of the past—her past. Her mother’s illness, her father’s despair, and her own desperate need to right all of society’s wrongs.

Patience had needed this solitary moment, while Sin had misguidedly thought to right all his family’s trouble alone—yet, he’d needed help. Her help.

Slowly, her shoulders straightened, and her chin lowered, and her tear-streaked face came into view. Her eyes were squeezed tight. To keep out the few wayward raindrops or to hold tight to whatever her mind’s eye saw behind her lids, Sin didn’t know.

He did know that he wanted to be there with her…to help her as she’d done for him.

To make right his part of the pain he’d caused.

She sighed—long and deep—and Sin’s heart fractured into a thousand pieces.

How had he ever thought he could survive without her, leave her and London behind…that ever a day existed he could forget a woman such as Lady Patience Lane?