Page 33 of The Viscount's Silent Pugilist

Earlier today, Genevieve would have panicked over an unexpected pronouncement of such significance. But after meeting Josie, Franny, and Roseanna, she wanted to be a pugilist more than anything. However, as quickly as she’d mastered today’s lessons, there was no way she would know enough in a week to compete in an official fight.

I don’t think I will be ready by then,she wrote.

He glared at the note.

Where was his smile? The mischievous glint in his eyes? His confident wink? Wherever they’d fled to, it was entirely unfair of him to be angry because she wanted more time. She might be rendered mute most days, but she wasn’t delusional. She glowered at him.

“You were wonderful tonight,” he said. “I was quite proud of you.”

She was proud of herself. But still…

“But you won’t be ready in a week. I don’t know what I was thinking.”

Exactly.Thank heavens that he understood her without her having to say a word.

“Hell, I wasn’t thinking. On the morrow, I will tell Griffendale that the mill is off.”

Off?But that wasn’t what she wanted.

He scraped his fingers through his hair until it curled all willy-nilly.

“Why in the hell do I let him goad me?” he said, talking to himself. He met her gaze. “Do not worry. You don’t have to do it. I’m calling it off. My decision is final. He won’t convince me otherwise. I won’t let him.”

“No,” she mouthed, shaking her head for emphasis.

“No?” He regarded her with a confused expression. “Gen, I don’t understand.”

Give me two months, she scribbled and shoved the paper at him.

He closed his eyes, opened them, and sighed.

One month,she wrote.

He rubbed his jaw, opened his mouth to say something, then clamped his lips closed.

Three weeks. Please.She frantically waved the paper in front of him.

He grabbed the stationery and tossed it over his shoulder. “I said I was sorry. I know it was an arse thing to do. I don’t want you to get hurt. You can still go to the gymnasium and take the ladies’ class, and my mother can introduce you to the Ladies’ Autonomy League. You don’t have to train. No one is going to force you into the ring or make you fight Roseanna.”

But she wanted to fight Roseanna. She just wanted more time, and she would have told him again, if he hadn’t just rudely thrown her paper onto the side table.

He stood, picked up his glass, and then walked across the room to the decanter. He poured himself another drink, guzzled, then faced her. “Gen, please return to your chamber and get some sleep.”

“More time,” she mouthed, but he’d already turned his back to her.

Closing her eyes, she swallowed the lump of disappointment before it morphed into tears. Her shoulders caving forward, she clasped the book to her chest, grabbed her lamp, and left Jonathan Davenport alone with his scowl and beloved decanter.

Chapter Eleven

Jonathan filled hisglass again, grabbed Gen’s note, and seated himself close to the fire so that he could see the letters, not that the light helped him. She might as well have written hieroglyphics.

As he sipped, he held the foolscap close to his eyes and concentrated.I ddni’t neam to eceived you,he read.

“For fuck’s sake, that doesn’t make any sense.” He swiped at his eyes, then tried reading the same words out loud. “I dni’td eamn to cdievee you.”

That wasn’t any bloody bollocking better.

He rapidly blinked, then tried a third time. Make that his fourth attempt, if he counted Gen shoving the foolscap beneath his nose. “I didn’t mean—” now, he was onto something—“I didn’t mean to devicee…” Deceive. I didn’t mean to deceive you.“I’m soryr.”I’m sorry.