Page 27 of The Viscount's Silent Pugilist

“Not that it’s any of your business, Griffendale, but she is participating in the ladies’ class, as well as learning some additional offensive and defensive techniques,” Jonathan declared. Later, when the women were not around, he’d tell Griffendale in no uncertain terms to curb his grin and keep his hands off her.

Catching Jonathan’s gaze, Gen shook her head.

Utterly befuddled, he tried to recall the last few seconds of their conversation, to no avail. He had no choice but to confess his confusion. “Gen, I don’t understand.”

Gen formed fists, crouched low, and feigned that she was boxing.

“Lord Davenport, you are mistaken,” Franny said. “She is training to be a pugilist. She was concerned about the cost, but I told her we would work it out.”

He knew he should have stayed in the office with Gen to help her communicate. Obviously, Josie and Franny had taken her silence as acquiescence.

“I don’t mind paying for her lessons,” Jonathan said. “Add whatever she owes to my account. However, I think you misunderstood her.”

His lips pursed, Griffendale flicked Jonathan in the bicep. “By God, man, let the lady talk for herself.”

“Not that it’s any of your concern, but she chooses not to talk,” Jonathan said. Or perhaps, she couldn’t talk. Hell, if heknew, but there seemed to be no point in pretending otherwise, since they would all discover soon enough. Perhaps Franny and Josie already knew.

“I don’t think there were any misunderstandings,” Franny said. “She wrote it down for us. Her penmanship is lovely. Her exact words were, ‘I want you to teach me to be a champion pugilist like the both of you.’ That seems as clear as day to me. I understood correctly, correct, Gen?”

Smiling, Gen nodded her agreement.

Well, strip him naked, hang him upside down, and smack his arse. Obviously, something had changed her mind.

“Congratulations, Gen,” Nicolas said. “You’ve come to the best boxing school in London.”

Gen beamed. Throwing her shoulders back confidently, and all signs of her nervousness gone, she followed Franny.

“Damn pretty chit,” Griffendale said. “Where did you find her, Davenport?”

“Hands off her,” Jonathan snarled. “She isn’t one of your conquests.”

Griffendale smirked. “I dare say, Davenport went and fell for a skirt.”

“It isn’t like that,” Jonathan said.

Griffendale exaggerated a gentlemanly bow as he circled his hand. “Then pray tell, my lord, what is it like?”

As much as he wanted to tell Griffendale that it was none of his business as he knocked his perfect teeth down his throat, Jonathan did not like how grumpy he’d been the last few days. If he kept this up, people might forget how fun-loving and charming he was.

Hell, he was forgetting it himself.

“She is my mother’s house guest,” he said nonchalantly. “A friend of the family.” An indigent, homeless, nervous,vulnerable, beautiful, slightly odd woman who was absolutely off limits.

Franny and Gen approached Roseanna, who was still pummeling a sandbag. Franny said something. Roseanna halted her barrage and faced the women. Franny swung her palm in Gen’s direction, and Roseanna nodded.

Gen took off her coat and then sat on the ground. Franny and Roseanna crouched beside her, both of them animatedly talking as Gen removed her boots.

The women stood, then Franny and Gen engaged in gentle stretches as Roseanna wove around them, throwing combinations.

“I believe Roseanna is demonstrating as Gen warms up her muscles,” Nicolas declared.

Jonathan had deduced this as well.

Griffendale rubbed his hands together. “Nothing quite as titillating as watching women exercise.”

Normally, Jonathan would be behaving as lecherously as Griffendale, but not tonight. Not with Gen. In fact, he should stop spying, peel off a few layers of clothing, and exercise. However, he was enthralled with Gen’s athletic prowess and nothing else.

He barely noticed how the strands of hair falling from her updo curled the more she sweated.