Page 17 of The Viscount's Silent Pugilist

Genevieve curtseyed, then met the dowager’s twinkling, green eyes. Jonathan’s eyes.

“I am pleased to meet you, Blue,” the countess said. “Please join us.”

Her legs quivering, Genevieve sat in the seat Lady Davenport indicated. Her belly was in such a flutter, it was as if she’d never dined with aristocrats. Although not a fashionable member of theton, she’d been raised around titled individuals, includingher late grandparents, her uncle, the current earl—pre-pistol—and some of her father’s abhorrent acquaintances. However, she’d never taken a meal with a man as handsome as Viscount Davenport while she pretended to be a peasant.

Seconds after she sat, a footman placed a plate in front of her, and Lady Davenport poured her a cup of coffee. She’d eaten so much after she’d arrived last night that she didn’t have an appetite. Still, she nibbled on a honey cake, egg pie, and sausage—all of it delicious.

“Jonathan tells me you are a foreigner,” Lady Davenport said.

Genevieve was about to shake her head but halted. Since she was too ashamed for them to hear the animal-like sounds that came out of her when her throat froze, it would be better if they thought she didn’t understand.

“No worries, dear. We shall try to find someone who speaks your language,” the dowager said. “If not, we shall teach you English.”

Heavens above, what had Genevieve gotten herself into?

Lord Davenport’s gaze singed Genevieve’s skin as she tried to concentrate on her small bites of food. “Mother,” he eventually said. “I plan to take Blue to The Silk Knuckles Saloon today. Whilst she was protecting herself, I discovered she is a scrappy fighter. Quite skilled, actually. I suspect that once she is well-fed, she will be a deuce of an athlete.”

Her arm frozen in place, Genevieve’s fork hovered mid-air. Although this was true, she didn’t want to leave this safe house to visit some sort of saloon.

“That is a splendid idea,” the dowager said. “Every woman should learn to defend herself.”

The viscount wrinkled his perfect, aristocratic nose. “I wasn’t thinking about the ladies’ defense classes. She can defend herself just fine. I’m thinking of asking Josie and Franny to train her.”

Lady Davenport regarded him from above her coffee cup. “Oh?”

“As a prizefighter.”

Genevieve choked on her saliva. A footman jumped forward and clapped her on the back. She held up her hand to let everyone know she was fine. Well, she was far from fine; however, she didn’t have food lodged in her throat.

“Does shewantto be a prizefighter?” Lady Davenport asked.

Jonathan shrugged. “Damn if I know. ’Tis not as if I can ask her or she can answer. But, I dare say, it would be a far better life than living on the streets. Don’t you think? Besides, my instincts tell me she would be the perfect opponent for Thorny Rose. Griffendale needs a little comeuppance.”

Who in the devil was Thorny Rose?

“What are you and Tristan arguing about this time?” Lady Davenport asked.

The viscount swished his wrist in anit’s of no consequencegesture. “Nothing.”

Liar!It was about some curvaceous, slightly older woman named Celeste, who might or might not like to attend orgies.

Lady Davenport placed her fork beside her plate and glared at her son. “Oh, no, you don’t, Jonathan. Neither you nor Tristan is turning another poor woman into one of your ridiculous bets. Didn’t you learn your lesson with Josephine?”

The viscount snorted. “Josie happened to marry the best man of my acquaintance, owns the saloon and gymnasium you patronize, and is a champion pugilist. And if you recall, that is all because of one of myridiculousbets. Besides, it isn’t like you didn’t have a part in that out-of-control farce. Which was quite fun, if I do say so myself.”

The dowager’s lips firmed. “We got lucky because Nicolas and Josephine are superior people.”

But Genevieve was far from superior, just ask her father or the boys who’d tormented her these last few weeks.

“Mother, hear me out—”

The dowager countess held up a palm. “I will not have it.”

Genevieve needed to stop this. Immediately. She opened her mouth, intending to say,I don’t want to fight for my life in the ring, but the words stuck in her throat.

*

After the dowagercountess sent her son away, she guided Genevieve into an elegant drawing room. Willing her ragged breathing to steady, Genevieve sat on a luxurious velvet settee the color of the autumn roses that once upon a time grew outside the front door of Thorn Manor. Lady Davenport sat next to her.