Page 16 of The Viscount's Silent Pugilist

“Did you hear? That woman is not his wife.” However, Lord Davenport doth protest too much. Could he be jealous that his date was interested in the Duke of Griffendale, who apparently attended orgies? Although Genevieve had heard scandalous stories about the powerful peer, that shocking tidbit was news to her. Last night, her cheeks had heated at the mere mention of the indecent reference. Meanwhile, the word had easily rolled off Lord Davenport’s tongue.

“The viscount is so handsome, but he admitted he is a rogue.” Not that any of this mattered since he thought she was a vagrant.

Except you aren’t truly a vagrant,she reminded herself. She might be homeless, but she was still the granddaughter of the late earl. He also thought she had no idea what he was saying, which was something, she supposed, she should correct. And soon, before he blurted out all his secrets in the mistaken belief she had no idea what he was saying.

Especially in German. She giggled.

Someone knocked on her chamber door.

Horatio barked.

“We are safe,” Genevieve whispered. As long as no one discovered who she was and she didn’t become besotted with the green-eyed scoundrel.

With her furry guard by her side, she strolled across the room to open the door.

“Good morning, Blue,” Diana, the maid, said.

Smiling, Genevieve held out her hand, palm up, inviting the sweet woman to enter. If she ever went home, she would like to take Diana with her. Unfortunately, considering the circumstances, she’d probably never be able to return to Thorn Manor. Even if she did, she certainly wouldn’t pilfer the viscount’s servant or expose the woman to her father.Poor, poor Kitty.

“I’ve come to help you dress for the morning meal,” Diana said.

Genevieve nodded.

Diana leaned close to conspiratorially whisper, “His Lordship doesn’t think you understand English.” See? It was obvious to everyone else. “I don’t think ’tis my place to correct him.”

Of course, it wasn’t. Aristocratic men did not favor being corrected. Her father would have immediately terminated aservant for even raising a questioning eyebrow. God forbid it was a woman pointing out his error.

Genevieve nodded her understanding.

Diana inclined her chin toward the open wardrobe. “I see you were looking at the dresses. They might be too big for you, but you will still look lovely. Unless you would prefer to wear his lordship’s clothing?”

The idea held appeal since his clothing probably smelled like him—almond soap, citrus, and expensive whisky. Heavenly, truly.

The tingles currently taunting her bosom were most indecent and absurd on so many levels. Ultimately, she wanted to wear a dress to remind him that she was a woman, lest he ever forget and think of her as a filthy boy.

She winced at the epitome of all ridiculous thoughts. Her cheeks warm, Genevive pointed at the blue frock.

“Excellent choice.” Diana gathered the dress, then carried it to Genevieve. “Now don’t you be nervous. The Davenports won’t behave like nobs or talk down to you. The dowager countess has friends who aren’t aristocratic. She even belongs to a group of women fighting for female autonomy.”

How marvelous. Genevieve had heard there was a society of forward-thinking women in London fighting for such things. Being in the home of one of these courageous women was too good to be true.

She lifted her arms over her head so that Diana could help her out of her nightdress and into her shift. Thereupon, she stood still until the maid secured the dress.

Diana guided her to the dressing table. Genevieve sat and stared at their reflections as the maid brushed her hair and chatted.

“Don’t be offended by his lordship’s ways. He might behave like a jackanape, but he is as kind as his mother.” Diana heldher hand to her heart. “And he is so handsome.” Her dreamy expression faded, and she waggled her finger. “However, don’t lose your heart to him. As charming as he is, he is a rake. Breaks a lot of hearts, that one. And we must remember, men of his class do not marry women like us.”

Was this speech for Genevieve, or was Diana strengthening her own resolve?

Genevieve schooled her sigh. If the way her belly had tumbled last night when she pressed her finger to his lips to silence him before he unwittingly gave away his deepest secrets was any indication, Diana’s warning was entirely too late.

*

Habit prevailing, Genevievepulled her shoulders back and glided into the morning parlor. Her gaze was drawn to the man wearing an intricately tied cravat and a light purple waistcoat. His golden-brown hair curled about his ears and his grin impishly crooked up on one side. Dropping the newspaper he held, he stood.

He sauntered to her, his tailored trousers and waistcoat hugging his lean muscles. Pressing his scorching hand into the small of her back, he guided her to the lady seated at the table.

“Mother, this is the woman I was telling you about. Blue, the Dowager Countess Davenport.”