Page 14 of The Viscount's Silent Pugilist

“It was no trouble, sir. The maids, Mrs. Love, and Cook love having company,” Michael said. “Having a house full of happy women makes it quite worthwhile.”

Just call him “Viscount Lucky”—a man so fortunate that he had a staff who cared about a smelly, impoverished, foreign woman. This was probably due to his mother’s influence. Yes, indeed, he was beyond blessed to have Agatha Davenport as his mother. This thought took away some of the sting from his rotten, no-good day.

He’d been a fool to think his benevolent mother would be disappointed that their guest wasn’t gently bred. Hell, she would probably learn the chit’s language and then introduce her to all of her modern-thinking, scandalous friends at The Silk Knuckles Saloon.

Jonathan knocked, then waited.

To his surprise, Mrs. Porter, his cook, flung the door wide. “My lord.” She bobbed, then beamed at the dog. “You cleaned up quite nicely.” She bent forward and kissed Floppy’s nose.

“What are you doing here?” He winced. He had not meant to sound rude to the woman who baked his pies, cakes, and biscuits.

“I wanted to meet our company,” she said.

Jonathan rubbed his chin. His cook rarely left the kitchen, and she never visited guests in their chambers.

Mrs. Love, the head housekeeper, peeked over Mrs. Porter’s shoulder. “My lord.” She bobbed. “Miss Blue is as lovely as can be. Lady Davenport will adore her.”

Perhaps Jonathan’s staff was becoming too familiar, treating his guests as if they weretheirguests. He’d come down harder on his servants, if he cared about such things—which he did not.

“Good night, sir,” Mrs. Porter said. “I’ll see that we have an extra special morning meal. Mayhap I should get started now. Morning will be here soon.” Rubbing her hands together as if the prospect of cooking instead of sleeping thrilled her, she scurried down the hall, discussing preparations with Mrs. Love.

Jonathan stepped into the room and untied Floppy. The mutt bounded across the room and leapt onto the bed, landing between Diana and Blue. Both women giggled.

Seeming to think better of sitting on the guest bed with a large dog and the guest, Diana stood. Hairbrush in her hand, she curtsied.

“Sorry, my lord. I was just brushing Blue’s hair.”

Jonathan hissed in a breath. Long wet strands cascaded like a silk waterfall over Blue’s alabaster skin and white nightdress.

“Thank you, Diana,” Jonathan said.

“My pleasure, sir. Even though she can’t talk, she is very sweet. Besides, I like it when you bring home guests.”

As a way of showing thanks, he sent Diana one of his charming grins, the kind that ladies favored. “How fortunate then that I’ve been doing it since I first brought Nicolas home that long-ago school holiday.”

“Well, I wasn’t here back then. But Lord Wentworth is a fine gentleman and Miss Josephine—” Diana held a hand to her heart—“Well, she is special, sir.”

Indeed, she was.

“And Blue, she is special in her way, too,” Diana said.

Jonathan slid his gaze to the woman sitting on the bed with her arms wrapped around her dog. A pang of sadness stabbed his heart. What if the only creature on Earth that thought she was special, other than his maid, was an undernourished mutt?

“Good night, sir. Good night, Miss Blue. Good night, Floppy.” Diana bobbed another curtsy, then left him alone in a bedchamber with the pretty stranger.

Surely there was no reason to be concerned for Blue’s reputation since he’d found her on the street. Besides, as lovely as she was, he had no intention of seducing her. He might be a rakehell, but he would not tup a woman he’d been unofficially tasked with protecting—especially less than an hour after shesmelled like feces—the latter part of the sentiment being the most critical part for a ladies’ gent such as himself.

Blue pulled the counterpane up to her neck, which was unexpected. The chit was modest for a gamin.

He slid a chair from beside the hearth to her bedside, then sat. “I thought we should talk so that we don’t have any misunderstandings.”

Her long lashes fluttered.

“Damnations,” he accidentally murmured. In his defense, he was exhausted, and hehadtippled quite a bit. Besides, he couldn’t help himself because she looked more like an innocent princess than a pauper.

Rubbing his chin, Jonathan tried to recall what he wanted to say.

Ah, yes.He’d come to her room in the middle of the night to tell her that she couldn’t stay for more than a few days.