Page 20 of The Viscount's Silent Pugilist

Jonathan stood and turned just in time, because, tail wagging, Floppy bound down the stairs and then leapt on him.

“What a good, good boy,” Jonathan said, even though the dog had practically knocked him on his arse.

Gen gracefully descended the stairs, wearing his shirt and breeches. The mud and soot had been cleaned off her old boots. Rolled shirt sleeves hung past her fingertips, and she appearedto be drowning in the linen. Torn between disappointment that she wasn’t dressed like a woman, and some sort of twisted possessive lust thathisclothing was touchingherskin, he gawked.

“Gen, ’tis chilly today. You will need a coat and gloves,” he eventually said.

As usual, his butler appeared the exact moment he was needed. His brow briefly furrowed, and then, ever the dutiful servant, he schooled his horror, or amusement, or whatever his emotions were upon seeing her.

“Peters, would you find a suitable man’s coat for our guest?” Jonathan asked. “My old cloak might fit. She also needs a pair of warm gloves.”

“Of course, my lord. Miss, would you prefer a cap or a top hat, or the hood on the cape?”

Gen pointed at Jonathan’s hat.

For some nonsensical reason, Jonathan removed his top hat and plopped it onto her updo. Even with the poof atop her head, the large hat dwarfed her petite pate. Her eyes rolled back as if she were trying to see the brim. She looked so ridiculously adorable that Jonathan chuckled.

“There is a looking glass behind you,” he said.

Whirling around, she took in her reflection and laughed. She tucked wayward waves beneath the hat, then rearranged her hairpins, securing the loose strands. Smiling, she faced Jonathan.

He’d be bound. Even looking like an elf dressed in a giant’s clothing, she was beautiful. They stared at each other, neither of them moving nor speaking, as the air between them grew so thick that Jonathan struggled to take in a full breath.

“Here, miss.” His arms full, Peters shuffled between them—so much for the man’s impeccable timing.

Stepping back, Jonathan shook himself from his stupor as Peters helped her into the cloak and matching gloves. He handed Jonathan last season’s top hat, then presented Gen with a leather dog collar and leash.

“Mrs. Love borrowed these from the Planks, two doors down,” Peters said. “They have a pack of hounds.”

Gen’s face lit up as she accepted the offering. Coaxing the mutt with gentle pats and kisses, she encouraged Floppy to allow her to slip it around his neck. Jonathan helped attach the leash, and then the three of them exited through the front door into the crisp day.

Surrounded by elegant four and five-story homes boasting tall sash windows and intricate iron balconies, they strolled through Grosvenor Square.

“What do you think, Floppy?” Jonathan asked.

Floppy looked over his shoulder and smiled. Tongue hanging, he faced forward and continued trotting.

“I think he is enjoying himself,” Jonathan told Gen.

Grinning, she nodded enthusiastically.

He’d be bound. The chit was also enjoying herself.

They turned the corner onto Brook Street. The clomp of horse hooves and the rattle of carriages added a rhythmic musicality to their companionable silence.

Pausing in front of a sweet shop, they peered in the front window. Sugar-coated delicacies, comfits, iced cakes topped with candied roses, and bonbons filled the display cases.

Closing his eyes, Jonathan inhaled.

Mmm, Gen murmured.

Shocked by her utterance, he opened his eyes. Her lids had drifted closed, and her lips turned upward in a subtle smile. Her euphoric expression stole his breath.

She is smelling cake, not in the throes of passion, you imbecile, he scolded himself.

She opened her eyes to meet his gaze. Pretending that he hadn’t been staring at her, he looked at a passing carriage.

“’Tis a beautiful day,” he said.That was original, numbskull.Why did this peculiar woman deprive him of his usual masculine charms?