Page 35 of The Viscount's Silent Pugilist

“Bloody hell,” Jonathan growled as Floppy stuck his bacon and fish-flavored tongue in his mouth. “Bluck,” he spat, giving Floppy even deeper access. “No kiss-ses-s.” He nudged the pup’s nose away from his face. Unless she was the one handing out kisses.

Gen was by his side, trying to pry Jonathan onto his feet.

“Kiss-ss-s. Blasted hard word to say when one is-s foxed. I should win a priz-ze.” He fought her tug as he worked hard to pucker his numb lips and stare into her blue eyes. All three of them.

“You’re so bloody beautiful,” he accidentally said. “I’m just gonna s-sleep right here.” He plopped his head onto the carpet and closed his eyes.

*

A loud snoresnapped Jonathan from his dreams.Hissnore, if he wasn’t mistaken. He seemed to be sleeping on a hard floor, and his tongue and throat were so dry that it felt as if he’d chugged sand. His head was propped on a pillow, and a blanket covered him. Floppy slept beside him, his paw on Jonathan’s thigh, and a smile tugging at his puppy lips. The pup’s legs twitched, and his wagging tail thumped against the carpet.

Memories of last night slowly filtered in.Gen’s wide eyes when he’d dismissed, then tossed her note. Her frown when he’d told her to return to her chamber. Floppy knocking him on hisarse. Asking, no,beggingGen for a kiss. Moaning, he rubbed at his throbbing skull. He sat up, and the world spun.

Taking his time to steady himself, Jonathan pushed to his feet and perused the room. The lamp on Gen’s nightstand still flickered, illuminating her delicate profile. Shiny, dark hair splayed across her pillow.

He bent forward and untangled Floppy from the floral counterpane. The mutt peered at him through half-lidded eyes.

Shh,Jonathan whispered.

Yawning, Floppy closed his eyes.

Jonathan tiptoed to the bed, then spread the counterpane over the sleeping beauty. “I am sorry, Blue,” he mouthed. Truly and for everything.

On silent feet, he made his way to his chamber, stripped naked, and collapsed onto his mattress.

*

’Twas early afternoonwhen Jonathan finally peeled his backside from his mattress and allowed Stevens to enter his chamber. Head aching, he performed his ablutions and dressed. He stumbled downstairs and into the drawing room to find three women he knew, seated close together, frowning.

His survival instincts told him to turn on his heel and flee from his home, as fast as he could manage while still under the influence of the devil’s water. Instead, his aristocratic breeding took over, so he sauntered to them, a smile on his face. At least Floppy’s tail wagged as he trotted across the room to get hello pats.

“Good boy.” Jonathan ruffled Floppy’s fur, then strolled to his mother. “Good afternoon, ladies.” He leaned down to kiss his mother’s cheek. She remained unusually stiff. When she didn’t berate him for missing the morning meal, he turnedhis attention to Gen. “I hope you slept well.” He shot her his charming grin.

Seeming unimpressed, she dropped her gaze to stare at the book and paper piled on her lap. Uneasiness landed in the pit of his gut. What if she’d been busy telling his mother what aninsufferable, arrogant fopdoodlehe’d been the previous evening?

“Josie, what a pleasant surprise,” he said to his unexpected visitor, who was dressed in men’s clothing, a sheen of sweat coating her pretty face. “Looks as though you were out for your morning run. What brings you here on this fine day?”

“Cut the applesauce, Davenport,” the irreverent Josie said.

Gen winced. Even she probably realized that one should not talk to a viscount thusly. And yet, Jonathan sucked up the rebuke. He had no desire to poke the hellion his best friend loved, mostly because he also adored her.

“Nicolas told me what you did,” Josie continued.

Of course, he had—the morally upright traitor.

Josie pinned him in her fiery gaze. “One bloody week? What were you thinking?”

Before he had a chance to respond, his mother waggled her finger. “I told you how I felt about this. Iwarnedyou not to let Tristan bait you.”

Resigning himself to the rebuke, Jonathan sat in the chair next to his mother. “I told Gen that I would see Griffendale today and put an end to this wager. She doesn’t have to fight Roseanna.”

“But she wants to fight,” Josie said.

Jonathan rubbed his temple. “I think I need coffee.”

Gen scribbled something on the paper on her lap, then handed it to Josie. Josie regarded Nicolas. Her lips pursed and her nose wrinkled as if he were a smelly rat.

“I’d appreciate it if you would refrain from writing disparaging notes about me until after I’ve had coffee,” he said.