Page 36 of The Viscount's Silent Pugilist

“Oh,” his mother murmured as if something had just occurred to her. Her expression softened. “Jonathan, darling, what we are trying to tell you is that Gen wants to be a pugilist. She doesn’t want you to cancel the fight altogether. She would like you to sponsor her. Right, Gen?”

She nodded.

Oh?

“She would like more than a week to train. I think she was trying to tell you this last night in her notes, but you were tooinebriatedto read the messages.”

The way his mother exaggerated the word inebriated, half of London would realize she was covering for his stupidity.

Oh.

“Since Gen is eager to earn blunt, which I can appreciate,” Josie said, “I suggested we schedule an exhibition match in a few months. Both Roseanna and Gen can showcase their skills in timed rounds. No knockouts. No champion. After that, when Gen is ready, we can schedule a fight at The Purple Rabbit.”

Oh!

’Twas difficult to sort through everything with the hot coppers still on his tail, but it seemed like a good compromise. He nodded. “If Griffendale agrees, I would be happy to sponsor you in three months, Gen.”

She shook her head and held up her index finger.

“She is insisting on one month,” Josie said.

Hadn’t Griffendale mentioned something about an event a month from now? Jonathan rubbed his temples trying to call forth the details.

Genevieve’s eyes met his. So blue, so beautiful, and pleading. He simply couldn’t deny her after he’d behaved so atrociously last night. Besides, he was already supplying her food, shelter,clothing, and paying for her training. All he had to do was throw in a tiny allowance and travel funds.

“Of course I will sponsor you,” he said.

Gen’s eyes widened, and she clasped her hands together. A smile wreathed her face, making him feel like a hero of some kind, which he most certainly was not.

“For an exhibition match for now,” Jonathan said.

Still smiling, Gen nodded enthusiastically.

“Timed rounds. I don’t want you to get hurt. And Gen—” he stared into her eyes—“Only if Josie and Franny say you are ready.”

Gen’s eyes filled with what he swore was adoration, and a warmth seeped through his skin and into his blood.

No, you fool.Stop with the sentimental mush. She is not your type.

Gen quickly scribbled,thank you,in big letters and waved it about.

It took him a moment to decipher it, but thankfully, he was able to decode the two words. “My pleasure,” he said.

Gen wrote another message and tried to hand it to him, but Josie intercepted it, reading it out loud, “Josie ran fifteen miles this morning. I would like to run on the morrow. But I do not want to run by myself.”

Well, damn. He doubted he could run fifteen miles. Maybe four or five, tops. And only if he didn’t drink another decanter of whisky tonight.

“You can run with Franny and me on the morrow.” Josie pointed at Gen’s dress. “We wear men’s clothing and hide our hair when we train in public. No one wants to see women dashing through London covered in sweat.”

Gen smiled big.

“She already has some of my clothing,” Jonathan said. “We can get her more. And I can run with you too, Gen. If youdon’t mind starting with a shorter distance.” That way, he could ensure that Kilsby did not come near her.

Gen’s brow furrowed, then she consented with a firm chin bob.

“That suits.” Josie stood. “I need to head to The Silk Knuckles. I have a new female student coming today. I will see you all this evening. Gen, work up to twenty miles.” She smirked at Jonathan. “You, too.”

The harridan. Jabbing Josie was lucky he favored her.